Face-Disfiguring Powder, Remnant Tune of Qinghai

"My first opponent is Ning Que, followed by Jiang Yu, and the third might be that ice block..."

Li Mo stood on the arena, silently calculating his odds.

To enter Tianren City, he needed to win all three matches—or at most lose one. Two losses would practically seal his fate.

Right now, he couldn’t use his hammer treasure.

So he absolutely had to secure the first two victories.

Across from him, Ning Que had finished meditating and stepped onto the platform. A jade flute hung at his waist, though the legendary weapon, the Clear Sea Remnant Tune Qin, was nowhere in sight.

Before the match even began, Ning Que suddenly raised a hand.

"Hold on!"

"What is it?"

Li Mo, poised to strike, was caught off guard.

Ning Que eyed him warily. "Li Mo, I believe you’re a man of honor. So, how about a gentleman’s agreement?"

"Go on."

Li Mo, ever the chivalrous warrior, straightened with solemn dignity.

"Since we’re both gentlemen, our duel should be fair and aboveboard. First rule: no foul language."

After careful observation, Ning Que had pinpointed one of the Divine Hammer Tyrant’s deadliest techniques.

The Art of Verbal Assault!

As a refined flutist and qin player, he had no talent for comebacks—and he suspected Li Mo would out-talk him anyway.

"You misunderstand me, I would never—"

"Master Zang’ai said he learned it from you."

"...Fine. What else?"

"No underhanded tricks either. No poison, no 'monkey steals the peach,' no throwing lime powder, no ambushes from behind..."

"I genuinely don’t do those—"

"Really? I thought Huang Donglai picked it up from you too."

Ning Que’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Him? That’s just... natural talent."

Li Mo sighed and turned away.

"Hehe~"

Murong Xiao rubbed his bald head and grinned, his eyes sparkling with wisdom.

"Snicker..." Huang Donglai’s smile was far more sinister, and he flashed a thumbs-up toward the stage.

Li Mo: "..."

That wasn’t a compliment, idiots!

What’s so funny?!

But soon, Li Mo understood Huang Donglai’s amusement.

Because as Ning Que spoke, his lips and hands suddenly began swelling, turning red and puffy.

"Though I admit you’re handsome—almost as dashing as me—but... mmph... wha’s happenin’? Why’s my tongue so thick?"

...

Below the stage, Murong Xiao blinked and pointed. "Brother Donglai, don’t his lips look like sausages now? And his hands—like pork trotters..."

"Behold, my latest breakthrough!"

Huang Donglai clasped his hands behind his back, radiating serenity.

To ensure Li Mo’s victory, he’d spared no expense, using rare and precious ingredients he’d once only dreamed of affording.

"But the tournament bans lethal poisons, right?"

"Deadly toxins are forbidden, indeed. But this isn’t poison. It’s not even toxic."

Huang Donglai produced a small vial.

"Meet the 'Face-Altering Powder.' Applied areas swell from trapped blood and impurities, but it clears internal injuries. After an hour, everything returns to normal."

"So, it’s just a healing salve... with side effects!"

Murong Xiao leaned back slightly.

Then he noticed Huang Donglai’s own body swelling too—his face now resembled a bear that had raided a beehive.

Wait... had Huang Donglai coated himself in the powder and let Ning Que hit him?

No, the lips... ah, the flute!

Damn. This guy’s ruthless...

"Bastard!"

"So I was already poisoned!"

Ning Que gnashed his teeth, furious, and yanked the jade flute from his waist.

"Humiliating me like this? Don’t expect mercy now!"

"I swear, it wasn’t me!"

Li Mo pleaded for reason.

The entire city was watching. He’d finally gotten a chance to play the elegant swordsman, engaging in a noble duel between gentlemen.

Now this? How was he supposed to explain this mess?

But Ning Que was beyond reasoning. He raised the flute to his swollen lips and blew—

"Pffft—"

Li Mo: "..."

The crowd: "..."

Xiao Qin, who had just returned, looked around in confusion. "Who let out such a loud fart?"

After a stunned silence, stifled laughter rippled through the audience. Ning Que’s sausage lips were nearly as thick as the flute itself, and his pork-trotter fingers couldn’t cover the holes properly.

Pitiful? Yes. But that fart-like noise? Impossible to take seriously.

"I know you’re upset, but maybe I can help neutralize the—"

"Shuddup! Don’ wan’ yer help!"

Ning Que snapped. He hurled the flute to the ground, then clasped his hands and pulled them apart.

Whoosh—

An ethereal qin materialized before him, its body woven from flowing water, its strings rippling like waves, radiant with spiritual energy.

A single pluck—

Ding.

The note resonated, and the air itself seemed to liquefy. Currents swirled, whirlpools churned.

If not for Divine Monk Huaikong’s spatial barrier around the arena, the entire square would’ve been submerged in a tidal wave of sound.

Even if the hands playing it were still... pork trotters.

"Sigh..."

Li Mo exhaled. Why was it so hard to be a dashing swordsman?

But there was no time to lament. The divine weapon’s power demanded focus.

He steadied his mind. The Tianren Divine Sword gleamed in his grip, its edge shimmering like autumn ripples.

This strike fused his mastery of the Nine Swords of Dugu—simplified yet profound. Channeling the sword’s divine might, its power surged layer by layer.

Subtle yet direct. Sharp yet elusive.

The music, once intangible, took shape in Li Mo’s eyes—sketched lines on parchment.

His sword was the eraser.

The Nine Swords of Dugu could dismantle any weapon. Even musical ones.

The Tianren Divine Sword could cut the formless.

He weaved through the sonic tides, severing the interlocking whirlpools, disrupting the melody’s flow.

Until the blade halted just before Ning Que’s throat!

Had his core not achieved perfect circulation, even a fraction of the sword’s true power would’ve been beyond him.

Ning Que finally regained his composure—cold steel had a way of focusing the mind.

His tune shifted from offense to defense, ethereal and distant, as if echoing across miles.

With each layer of sound the Tianren Divine Sword pierced, its glow dimmed slightly.

This melody, played by a divine instrument, didn’t just feel remote—it created actual barriers of space.

The sword slowed.

But it still reached the Clear Sea Remnant Tune Qin.

Snap—

A string broke, vanishing into nothingness.

"Impressive swordsmanship. I underestimated you—thought your blade was mediocre."

Ning Que’s eyes flickered, then hardened.

"But if this is all you’ve got, forget Jiang Yu... you can’t even defeat me."

He, too, had mastered divine techniques.

And though the Clear Sea Remnant Tune Qin ranked below the Tianren Divine Sword on the divine weapon charts...

A weapon’s worth depended on its wielder.