Chapter Twenty-Four: Not Myself

“And another thing, you were evenly matched with Hao Po just now! When did you become so formidable?” Ruoxi exclaimed, brimming with excitement, having already forgotten how Xiaoshan had abandoned her moments before.

Ruoxi darted over, her eyes gleaming gold as she circled Xiaoshan, scrutinizing him as if he were a stranger. “Hey! Where’s your sword?”

Running, fighting Hao Po to a standstill, and the sword in his hand—these key words set Xiaoshan’s thoughts in order. At the very least, he had indeed run out and acquired a sword, and after that, he had fought Hao Po.

"Kill!" The word sprang into Xiaoshan’s mind, jolting him so hard that goosebumps rose on his skin. He looked down and instinctively gripped his hand, but found nothing there.

Ahead, Hao Po sat furthest from Xiaoshan, hands resting on his knees, his face ashen. Behind him, Hao Yun also sat, placing his hands on Hao Po’s back as if tending to his injuries. In front stood Hao Tian, upright, sword tip pointed downward, glaring at Xiaoshan.

Their gazes met. Hao Tian’s eyes widened, staring intently at Xiaoshan. Xiaoshan blinked, turned his head, and realized Hao Tian was watching him. The strangeness grew—he felt changed, as if he were now a stranger or even an enemy, his face devoid of all expression. Was it because they’d fought?

“I feel I’m no longer myself,” Xiaoshan concluded after a long pause. The blood-soaked battlefield had left him muddled, and yet he sensed newfound strength, perhaps due to that bladeless sword. Now, inexplicable hallucinations arose within him, his body slipping beyond his control, drifting on the currents of memory.

He could understand fighting, but murder—how had that happened? There was no one else nearby.

Almost as if responding to Xiaoshan’s internal turmoil, his hand turned naturally, and a pitch-black sword appeared. His pupils shifted, the whites vanishing, leaving both eyes entirely black.

In Xiaoshan’s own words, he was no longer himself. From the moment he gripped the sword, his aura transformed—cold indifference and a proud, commanding presence radiated from him. He raised his head, fixing his gaze on Hao Po seated on the ground.

Ruoxi froze, her mouth forming an “o.” “You’re not yourself…?”

She sensed Xiaoshan beside her had changed, become someone forbidding and aloof, exactly as he had been moments ago. Instinctively, she reached out, only to find Xiaoshan had already vanished from where he stood.

Across from them, Hao Tian watched as Xiaoshan’s expression grew grave the instant he acquired the sword. His hand tightened around his own blade, which now glowed with blue light—a sign of inner power coursing through it.

Hao Yun sensed the shift beside him, opened his eyes, glanced around, then slowly closed them again, his palm pressing once more as he continued his healing.

“Ah!” Hao Tian cried out in shock as Xiaoshan charged forward. He rushed in as well.

With Hao Po injured and Hao Yun stabilizing him, only Hao Tian remained to block Xiaoshan’s advance. He had no choice but to intercept him.

Ordinarily, a martial artist at the Bright Force stage would never require such caution. Yet Xiaoshan’s entire presence was intimidating, his sword’s blue glow dazzling, and his earlier duel with Hao Po had proved him worthy of attention.

Martial artists are generally divided into Post-Heaven and Pre-Heaven stages—a vast gulf separates the two. In Hao Tian’s eyes, Xiaoshan was at most Bright Force, possessing a single current of energy, which is still Post-Heaven. Hao Tian himself had just reached the Pre-Heaven stage—Transforming Force. The difference between Pre-Heaven and Post-Heaven is immense; Post-Heaven is split into Bright Force and Dark Force.

Bright Force trains the body’s strength, concentrates it, and unleashes it through the fists, causing the air to explode—a striking display of power. Simply put, it is preparation for generating inner power.

Transforming Force, the Pre-Heaven stage, entails opening the Ren and Du meridians. At this stage, the practitioner can clearly control and refine the organs outside the body, honing the teeth, tongue, nails, and hair—when Dark Force permeates the entire body, reaching a state where not even dust or flies can settle, one has mastered Transforming Force.

At this point, so long as one’s energy is not depleted, it is possible to live to one hundred and forty or fifty years.

Yet, despite the two-stage difference, Xiaoshan inspired a chilling anxiety in Hao Tian. Why?

Gripping his sword, Hao Tian felt Xiaoshan’s sword aura trembling his hand—whether from Xiaoshan’s overwhelming presence or his demonstrated speed, Hao Tian was afraid and defensive.

He evaded Xiaoshan’s attacks, buying time, hoping either Hao Po would recover or Xiaoshan would lose his madness.

“Xiaoshan! What’s wrong with you?” Ruoxi cried, stamping her foot in agitation as she watched their fight.

“He’s gone mad!” Hao Tian replied instinctively, echoing Ruoxi’s panic.

But as he spoke, his defense faltered for a split second against Xiaoshan’s sword.

Xiaoshan smirked as he watched Hao Tian, amused by his reaction.

The combatant was unaffected, yet the bystander was disrupted—an observation worth pondering.

The blue glow intensified, and Xiaoshan thrust at the opening Hao Tian had left.

Hao Tian’s pupils contracted. He shifted his sword to cover the gap, attempting to block the attack.

Clearly, Hao Tian’s training was incomplete—such a minor distraction had caused him to pause, which, in the realm of experts, could prove fatal.

The glow blazed, aiming straight for his heart.

“Hmm!” In his effort, Hao Tian let out an involuntary sound as his sword tip met Xiaoshan’s blade.

He was stunned to have blocked the strike, but in the next moment, he nearly despaired.

He realized he could not withstand Xiaoshan’s sword; he was forced back, feet scraping the ground, his own blade driven deep into the earth.

Chilled to the core, Hao Tian broke into a cold sweat—he was right, he could only evade; he simply couldn’t match Xiaoshan.

For a Transforming Force martial artist to be bested by someone who hadn’t even generated inner power—a Bright Force novice—was almost laughable.

Hao Tian looked up. As he hesitated, Xiaoshan was already advancing.

Sword tip braced against the ground, Hao Tian stood, gripping his sword tighter still.

His mind was blank; standing there, he no longer knew how to defend against Xiaoshan’s next attack.

Xiaoshan’s steps drew nearer, the blue blade glaring. Hao Tian inhaled deeply, trying to release his pent-up anxiety.

“Closer…”

Hao Tian’s pupils contracted again, ready for action, only to find Xiaoshan glancing sideways and moving away from him!

Startled, Hao Tian followed with his peripheral vision—Xiaoshan’s true target was Hao Po, the injured man.

During their fight, Xiaoshan had maneuvered Hao Tian away, so that now he stood diagonally opposite Hao Po.

Hao Tian realized Xiaoshan’s aim had always been Hao Po, not himself—the shift in target had simply been part of Xiaoshan’s plan, not mere coincidence.

“No! I cannot let my own failure ruin this mission!” Hao Tian watched Xiaoshan’s figure, his resolve hardening.

Entrusting protection to him was a sign of trust, after all.

Though his mind raced, in reality, Hao Tian moved in an instant.

Power surged through his ankles, leaving an afterimage as he dashed toward Xiaoshan at a speed that seemed impossible, hoping to intercept him.

To others, Hao Tian’s explosive speed surpassed Xiaoshan’s—the only difference was the timing of their launch, the slightest margin.

The diagonal distance was neither long nor short; he quickly collided with Xiaoshan.

Xiaoshan, sensing the swift approach, merely smiled, not hurried, already thrusting his sword toward the seated Hao Po.

Hao Tian watched Xiaoshan close in on Hao Po, gripping his sword tighter, suddenly channeling energy for a powerful strike.

Then, his eyes brightened—he had an idea.

Inner power rushed through his arm into the sword; right hand aimed, left hand struck forcefully.

The sword flew from his hand, its light flashing, its shadow clear, hurtling toward Xiaoshan.

A cold smile appeared on Hao Tian’s face. He abruptly halted, the pitch-black sword stopping just short of Hao Po’s forehead.

At the same time, a world-weary voice escaped his lips.

“You trust them so easily?” Xiaoshan shook his head, as if the next moment his sword would pierce Hao Po’s brow.

Behind Hao Po, Hao Yun was the first to react, opening his eyes to catch a glint of light.

The dark sword now radiated a white glow—unnerving, somehow.

He opened his mouth but closed it again, afraid that the slightest sound might prompt Xiaoshan to strike.

Had anyone seen Hao Po’s meridians, they would know he was at a critical moment—the disordered channels, guided by a surge of inner power, were slowly returning to their proper state.

With the sword pointing so near, Hao Po could not avoid anxiety; sweat trickled down his cheeks.

Gradually, inner power flowed from his body, his chaotic channels improving, sensing the danger and instinctively shielding themselves.

Hao Yun looked up—in this situation, Xiaoshan showed no reaction at all, which seemed strange.

At that moment, Xiaoshan’s pupils began to change—the black slowly fading to white.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept in; though the sword had not yet arrived, the wind was already there.

Xiaoshan turned, facing the incoming threat, his pupils reverting to black.

His wrist flexed, the sword moved, thrusting toward Hao Po.

“Wait—!”