The Opponent Who Draws the Sword

Inside the Mist Mystic Temple.

Yuyang's expression was calm as he gazed at Zhang Daotan.

At this moment, Zhang Daotan was enveloped in a surge of devotion power, his face cold as frost. When Yuyang had not yet made a move, Zhang Daotan had only sensed an extremely serene Dao rhythm emanating from him—like gentle water, the highest praise the Daoist tradition could bestow upon one's cultivation.

But the moment Yuyang stirred slightly, that Dao rhythm instantly transformed into raging waves, as if threatening to drown him in the next instant.

This was not a suppression born of spiritual power, but a sheer hierarchical domination.

The long-dormant Yuyang now revealed the brilliance of his former days.

Behind him, a swirling Tai Chi Yin-Yang symbol materialized, and his spiritual power spread throughout the hall, pressing down like a mountain upon Zhang Daotan.

Zhang Daotan could only sense the crushing weight of Yuyang’s spiritual energy—so heavy that even the air he breathed seemed to turn against him, assaulting his body. He chose to hold his breath, ceasing to inhale.

After reaching the Golden Core stage, breathing was no longer a necessity, merely a habit retained from mortal life.

Yuyang’s eyes lowered slightly as he raised a hand, sealing the surrounding space with intangible spiritual force. His voice was soft, almost a murmur:

"I wondered why… So you’ve abandoned your Dao heart in pursuit of external power."

Zhang Daotan took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in his heart. The moment Yuyang summoned him, he had immediately prepared for battle.

An outsider might assume Yuyang had uncovered some damning evidence.

But Zhang Daotan knew—this was nothing but a bluff.

He clasped his hands in feigned reverence, his tone laced with confusion:

"I’m afraid I don’t understand… what Daoist Yuyang means."

Yuyang asked no further questions. His figure flickered forward, and the Yin-Yang Tai Chi behind him instantly enclosed the entire hall.

He had given Zhang Daotan a chance. If he refused to speak, he would be dragged back to the Taidao Sect to answer.

If he resisted to the death, then he could explain himself to the underworld.

Yuyang had come alone to the Mist Mystic Temple precisely because he was prepared for this confrontation from the start.

He always planned for the worst.

Zhang Daotan’s spiritual senses screamed in alarm—Yuyang was serious!

Facing a man who had once shaken the Central Continent with his name, Zhang Daotan unleashed his full power immediately. The jade pendant at his waist flared with light, transforming into a pristine jade sword in an instant.

The world believed the Taidao Sect supported the Mist Mystic Temple.

But in truth, the Taidao Sect had not spent a single spirit stone, nor had they ever publicly declared their protection.

They had done only one thing—given the Mist Mystic Temple a set of techniques the Taidao Sect deemed mediocre.

No one could trace which elder had been charmed into handing it over.

Yet, armed with this single manual, the Mist Mystic Temple had carved its place in the Central Continent.

Zhang Daotan knew the techniques he had mastered were laughable in the eyes of Yuyang—but they were his strongest weapons.

His expression remained calm as he gripped the jade sword and swung his most confident strike.

Space itself seemed to freeze as a blade of light tore through the void. Before Zhang Daotan even completed his motion, a force capable of annihilating heaven and earth surged toward Yuyang.

Yet Yuyang simply reached out, as if caught off guard.

But Zhang Daotan knew—there was no way Yuyang hadn’t anticipated this.

Still… what did it matter?

His gaze remained steady. He had trained this technique for centuries.

To his eyes, it was perfection itself. The only thing left was endless refinement.

But the more he studied, the more he realized the genius behind its creation—how unimaginably gifted its inventor must have been.

And yet, to the Taidao Sect, such a technique was disposable.

So now, this was his only chance.

He wanted to see—just what kind of spectacle was the Taidao Sect’s core technique, the Great Taiyi Divine Art?

Zhang Daotan’s eyes widened, fixed intently on Yuyang.

A soft chuckle echoed through the hall.

Horror flashed across Zhang Daotan’s face—not because he had witnessed the Great Taiyi Divine Art, but because he hadn’t.

Yuyang’s only response to his centuries-honed strike was that faint laugh.

His bare hand seized the technique meant to obliterate all things.

A surge of spiritual power erupted from Yuyang’s grasp, shattering the great hall. Unrestrained, the terrifying force crashed into the mountain-protecting formation.

Zhang Daotan, standing close, felt only a ripple of ordinary spiritual energy.

The strike that could have leveled mountains was effortlessly neutralized by Yuyang’s raw power and some unfathomable method.

Zhang Daotan finally completed his swing—but silence followed.

The blade had been intercepted before it even descended.

A bitter laugh nearly escaped him.

Had he spent his whole life cultivating honestly, he would never have earned a glance from someone like Yuyang.

Even as the sect master of Mist Mystic Temple, even as a genius who had defeated countless cultivators.

Truly… the path of immortality was meaningless.

Zhang Daotan inhaled deeply, listening to the tolling of the mountain bell as the protective formation activated.

There was no turning back now.

To survive, he at least had to escape the grasp of Yuyang—a man once unrivaled in his own generation.

With his own strength, it was impossible.

So…

The diamond-shaped fragment in his divine consciousness blazed brighter, and the boundless devotion power in his spiritual sea began to boil.

Though the erosion of the divine fragment remained unresolved, this was his last hope.

Even if he still failed in the end.

Zhang Daotan wanted to see—just what was the Great Taiyi Divine Art?

Boom!

A section of the Mist Mystic Temple’s mountain-protecting formation was suddenly struck. Yuyang’s divine sense swiftly traced the source—only to find a mere Nascent Soul cultivator.

Was this Zhang Daotan’s backup?

Finally, a contingency plan. But what could a Nascent Soul cultivator accomplish?

At that level, they couldn’t even breach the formation.

Yuyang’s expression remained indifferent as he prepared to subdue Zhang Daotan first.

Then his head snapped toward the mountain gate.

His gaze locked onto a small, unassuming sword of flowing water.

The sword emitted no sound, no violent spiritual fluctuations, not even a glimmer of light—as if it were nothing more than a basic water-condensing technique conjured by a Foundation Establishment cultivator.

Yet the moment this water sword touched the mountain-protecting formation…

It sliced through like tofu, blasting a gaping hole in the barrier.

A pillar of radiant spiritual light shot into the sky.

Yuyang’s eyes narrowed. His divine sense probed deeper, quickly detecting a figure—a white-robed man hovering mid-air, his face hidden behind a comical monkey mask.

The spiritual energy radiating from him was unmistakable.

That was... the spiritual essence and Dao rhythm of an opponent!

A faint smile crept onto Yuyang Daoist's face.

This... was more like it!

Though he had no idea where Mist Mystic Temple had found such a person...

At last, he had encountered someone worthy of drawing his sword against.