Chapter 53: The Ten-Thousand Peaks Range (10)

“Hello? Can you hear me, viewers? Can you see this?” Zhang Ning frowned at the now-blackened livestream screen, feeling a wave of helplessness inside.

So much for praising it!

He had just been silently commending the signal stability of this livestream device that Su Ye had built for him, only for this “almost impossible” situation to crop up in the blink of an eye. He was both surprised and amused, yet it felt almost expected—after all, the Moon-Pointing Deep Pool had a notorious reputation.

But to his own surprise, Zhang Ning actually felt a sense of relief: being in constant communication with viewers, always in the spotlight, was tiring in its own way.

Why not take this chance to rest? After all, his ultimate goal wasn’t just livestreaming!

With that thought, Zhang Ning allowed himself a relaxed smile, deciding to let himself go for once. He released the rope, letting himself fall straight down from above!

He stretched out his arms as though to embrace the air.

Of course, he wasn’t seeking death. For one, he’d already sensed that there was no human activity below. For another, the Cloud Drift Visualization Technique he cultivated allowed him to control levitation even at a relatively early stage, far ahead of others who only gained the ability to fly upon reaching the Martial Sovereign level—a skill that, for most, was mastered much later!

To put it in context, the martial path had eleven realms: Martial Disciple, Martial Master, Martial Platform, Martial Pill, Martial Infant, Martial Lord, Martial Sovereign, Martial Emperor, Martial Saint, Martial Venerable, and Supreme. If one only learned to fly at the Martial Sovereign stage, that was far too late!

Zhang Ning intended to make a dramatic floating display right above the Moon-Pointing Deep Pool. Even if he didn’t, and simply fell into the pool, it wouldn’t matter. Those who had perished here did so due to enemies lying in ambush or traps set for them—when one party could use inner energy and the other could not, the outcome was often fatal.

Because the Deep Pool had a strange standard for determining who could use inner energy and who could not, few knew exactly what kinds of inner energy were restricted and which were not. Most avoided it like the plague. But Zhang Ning was aware that the inner energy cultivated from the Grand Freedom Demonic Sect was barely affected by the pool, so he wasn’t too worried. At most, he wondered if the waters would just be icy cold.

Eyes closed, he listened to the wind whistling past his ears for less than two seconds—when suddenly, he sensed an attack coming from below! Zhang Ning’s hair stood on end. What?! Was someone actually lying in wait to ambush him!?

In a flash, Zhang Ning sent out a masterful Immortal-Stunning Palm, while simultaneously donning part of his Demon God Armor. After all, this cramped space was no place for reckless maneuvering.

The Immortal-Stunning Palm was a technique Zhang Ning had learned from Tang Dao. Known for its overwhelming force, it looked impressive but was not particularly profound. Zhang Ning hadn’t mastered it to any great depth or innovated on it, so its power was limited. This was a hurried counterattack, tinged with a hint of probing.

He didn’t expect it to accomplish much, but as he looked over, he saw that the ethereal, drifting attack had been completely shattered by his blow, with residual force even lashing toward his assailant.

The attacker stood on the only patch of ground by the Moon-Pointing Deep Pool, not levitating. There was a visible pause in his figure, then he flicked a horsetail whisk-like artifact thrice through the air. The new attack still possessed that elusive, agile quality, but was far less gentle than before—cold, clear, and lofty, it gave off an air of irresistible force, like the bright moon swallowing the faint light of the mortal world.

Zhang Ning reacted quickly, employing the nimble Green Oriole’s Triple Water Step, his body light as a feather, easily dodging the assault as he charged toward his opponent.

Though he’d never fought anyone before, Zhang Ning made a snap decision to close in and attack!

The other made no attempt to avoid him, allowing Zhang Ning to approach, merely drawing a line in the air with his whisk—this attack clearly required a moment to gather its power. Zhang Ning wasn’t foolish; he knew he had to interfere. But a quick calculation told him the Grand Freedom Hand would be of little use against water that could even lock down a martial artist’s inner energy. In a flash, he pulled out the Silk-Linking Fishing Net from his storage ring!

Yes, that’s right—the precious, endlessly useful Silk-Linking Fishing Net, once again employed by Zhang Ning as nothing more than a tool to splash water.

He only intended to obscure his opponent's vision for a moment, fully expecting the other to remain unfazed. Yet, the attacker actually froze, and then, with remarkable agility, retreated a great distance, letting his attack dissipate into nothing—the simple splash of water had actually blocked him.

Immediately, the youth held his whisk in one hand, forming a mystical seal with the other.

Zhang Ning, now up close, twisted his wrist with boneless flexibility, preparing to unleash the Seventeen Fatal Twists his third senior brother had taught him!

This was, after all, one of the foundational techniques of the Grand Freedom Demonic Sect, encompassing palm techniques and finger arts, its subtleties boundless. Even the most basic practitioner could overcome opponents of higher realms. How much more so Zhang Ning, who’d been personally instructed by Zhuge Yi? In his hands, the move flowed seamlessly, giving the impression that the King of the Underworld had come to claim a soul.

Just as the two were about to strike, they both abruptly halted. When they each saw their opponent pause, they nearly withdrew at the same instant, then stared at one another with peculiar expressions.

Before him stood a youth of about fifteen or sixteen, whose presence radiated a natural grace, his eyes limpid and clear—a young Daoist priest.

Clad in a simple Daoist robe, wielding nothing but a whisk in his hand and a single hairpin in his hair, he had no other adornments, but Zhang Ning would never underestimate him.

Though the youth’s attacks so far had been gentle and elusive, making it impossible to gauge his level or spot any obvious flaws, Zhang Ning had handled countless spirit artifacts and treasures before. The youth’s hairpin, neither quite gold nor jade, translucent throughout, looked for all the world like a wooden chopstick, yet it exuded a refined and refreshing aura. More than that, his understated attire could not conceal his extraordinary bearing.

“Apologies, little brother. I first acted because I thought you were falling and tried to catch you… I didn’t expect you to be so remarkable. It was improper of me to interfere,” the self-identified Daozhou spoke first, flicking his whisk and giving Zhang Ning a half-bow.

Zhang Ning quickly stepped aside and replied, “Sorry, I thought you were attacking me, so I fought back… I hope I didn’t disturb you?”

At that moment, Zhang Ning actually felt a little embarrassed—so much so that his curiosity about this mysterious youth was overshadowed by his awkwardness. The reason: the faint swelling and redness around the youth’s eyes, clear evidence that he had been crying. That was what had caught Zhang Ning off-guard.

Thinking it through, the youth’s initial attack really had been light and ethereal, likely meant to slow his descent. In all likelihood, he had just repaid kindness with hostility.