Chapter Thirty-Two: Frost, Sun and Moon, Divine Fist

The secrets of Master Xuanming were laid bare with just a few words.

Xuanming let out a wild laugh, his voice crashing in waves that stirred the very air into ripples. Tang Xiaotian and the others turned pale under the onslaught, their hearts gripped by fear.

“Daoist Zhang, old priest Zhang, this time I will not rest until I destroy him, until I exterminate the entire True Martial Sect!” Xuanming made no attempt to hide his domineering nature or his hatred for Daoist Zhang.

“With just you?” Bai Yunfei sneered coldly. “A stray dog barely clinging to life, yet you still dare to leap out and bark? If my master could kill you once, he can kill you a second time!”

“Your master? You’re that old Daoist’s disciple?” Xuanming’s eyes widened with surprise. “To think that old relic would take on such a young disciple. Very well, very well. Today, I’ll kill you first and collect some interest!”

His features twisted with malice, and as his hands moved, cold energy surged and churned the very heavens. Frost crept across the earth.

“The True Meaning of Ice... Grandmaster realm!” Bai Yunfei’s expression shifted. “I never expected you, fiend, to reach the rank of grandmaster.”

Grandmaster?

At this utterance, every spectator’s face changed. The grandmaster realm was the pinnacle of martial achievement. How many in the world could claim that title? Each one was a power unto themselves, even the imperial throne wary of provoking them.

Jiang Ming listened quietly, piecing together the past from fragments of conversation.

As for grandmasters—he had long understood what that meant: in this world, it was simply the comprehension of intent within the master realm, equivalent in his home world to a quasi-Fourth Level martial artist. There, the Fourth Level—called Grandmaster—was far beyond the so-called masters here.

In his world, to reach the Fourth Level, one had to comprehend an intent and simultaneously liquefy their true energy; only then could one be considered a true Fourth Level master. Achieving just one of these meant only being considered quasi-Fourth Level.

But here, after reaching the peak of the master realm, one step further—comprehending an intent—constituted a grandmaster. Yet, for some reason, there was never any mention of liquefying true energy.

“Yes, I am a grandmaster!” Xuanming’s wild manner faded as he exhaled a plume of white mist, hands clasped behind his back, head raised as if recalling days long gone. “Back then, Daoist Zhang’s disciples masqueraded as heroes, slaughtered my followers, made a name for themselves on the corpses of my Xuanming Sect. I hated him!”

“But that old Daoist was too strong—what could I do?”

“I could only scheme in secret.”

“I thought the battle was in hand—a dozen masters, several nearly grandmaster, all joined forces. But Daoist Zhang shattered us with ease.”

“I was cast from a cliff.”

“In the freezing snow, I lay there for ten days before crawling into a cave. For years, I was neither living nor dead, but I endured.”

“Once I recovered, I devoted myself wholly to cultivation. I swore not to emerge until I reached the grandmaster realm.”

“Fate was not unkind. My divine art was perfected—I grasped the True Meaning of Ice and stepped into the grandmaster realm.”

“Haha! Grandmaster, truly powerful, too powerful!”

“After leaving seclusion, I wandered the land, gathering news. Ha! My Xuanming Sect had become nothing but a fleeting shadow. Standing on the ruins of my former sect, I remained unmoving for three days: my dear Mingzi, my dear Yan’er, all gone, all gone!”

“My heart brimming with hatred, I prepared to seek out old acquaintances, to storm True Martial Sect, to kill Daoist Zhang, to bathe Mount True Martial in blood. Yet I chanced upon the emergence of the Solar and Lunar Scriptures—aha, Heaven has not forsaken me.”

“With these two scriptures, I will grow even stronger. The destruction of True Martial Sect is within my grasp.”

Xuanming revealed his entire past. Clearly, he cared little for the world’s opinion, venting the hatred in his heart and announcing his quest for vengeance.

“Young one, now that you know my story, tell me—am I not justified in my desires? Is it not only natural that I should think so?” Xuanming turned to Jiang Ming.

All around, the crowd fell silent.

They understood now—before them stood a true demon, a grandmaster of evil.

But what did it matter? Even Bai Yunfei, whose face was grim, dared not speak further.

“You’re ugly, but your dreams are beautiful!” Jiang Ming sneered. “You want my spoils? Then produce a technique of equal value. Otherwise, even if the king of heaven himself comes, you’ll never take a single scripture from me!”

“Youngster, so brazen! Do you believe that killing a few minor masters qualifies you to challenge a grandmaster?” Xuanming shook his head with a faint smile.

“Is a grandmaster truly invincible?” Jiang Ming shook his head. “I do not believe it!”

“Well said!” Xuanming took a step forward, his presence surging like a tidal wave, the cold intensifying until the temperature around them plummeted. “I adore arrogant youths like you—the pleasure of killing them is truly exquisite.”

Just then, he turned his head, gazing toward another side, and said coldly, “A familiar aura. Are you not coming out?”

His voice cracked like a winter tide, sending a shiver through the onlookers in that direction. They backed away, revealing someone among them.

This figure was cloaked in a hooded robe, wrapped tightly, his face hidden in shadow.

“Brother Xuanming, I never expected you to survive such calamity and even attain the grandmaster realm. Congratulations, truly, congratulations!” The newcomer drew back his hood, revealing a white-haired elder. As he approached, he cupped his hands and smiled at Xuanming.

“So it’s you, Situ Ming.” Xuanming recognized him at once. “You’re still alive.”

“When Daoist Zhang attacked, I happened to be away and escaped disaster. When I returned, there was nothing but devastation—stones themselves seemed to bleed!” Situ Ming sighed, then spoke bitterly, “All these years, I’ve been scheming to kill him, but he is too strong—so strong that I’ve given up hope for revenge, waiting only for him to die of old age.”

“If he dies of old age, you’ll choke on your frustration,” Xuanming snorted, then looked to another side. “And you, are you not coming out?”

“Heavyweight Chong Erliang of the Divine Fist Sect!” A middle-aged man strode forth from the crowd, followed by several men, all burly and muscular, their bodies radiating explosive power.

Chong Erliang cupped his hands. “I never thought to see Master Xuanming reappear in the world.”

“Divine Fist Sect—what relation is Chong Wanjin to you?” Xuanming asked.

“He’s his father!” Situ Ming interjected.

“So Chong Wanjin is dead? Ha! That calls for a great toast.” Xuanming laughed, then mused, “Chong Wanjin gives his son the name ‘Erliang’—two taels—how amusing, truly amusing.”

A flash of anger passed over Chong Erliang’s face.

Xuanming paid him no heed, sweeping his gaze around before snorting, “A few small fry remain, but they are not worthy to stand before me. Enough!”

At last his eyes settled on Situ Ming, and he said coolly, “You must have come for the scriptures. Since you are here, and since I have found you, you cannot remain uninvolved. Jiang Ming or Chong Erliang—choose one to kill.”

“I knew nothing good would come of being discovered,” Situ Ming said helplessly. “Jiang Ming is brilliant beyond compare—I am not confident. Chong Erliang is master of the body path and leader of Divine Fist Sect—I am even less confident. Brother Xuanming, are you not sending me to my death?”

Xuanming simply looked at him coldly.

“I choose Chong Erliang,” Situ Ming answered with a bitter smile. He knew that today, he would have to fight.

It was a matter of stance, and of allegiance.