Chapter 63: Him! He’s Upper Third Rank!

"This..." Zhu Qing was baffled by what had just happened, but surviving that terrifying sword strike meant his name would surely soar and fame would soon follow. Earlier, from afar, he had only felt the youth’s sword aura was fierce and calculated he could barely deflect a blow. Yet, having faced the strike directly, he realized just how terrifying the youth’s swordsmanship truly was. He even suspected the youth had held back—though, surrounded by so many, he was too embarrassed to say so aloud.

"Thank you," Zhu Qing said, somewhat bewildered but nevertheless cupping his fists in salute. He strode back into the crowd and left Nine-Bend Gorge without a backward glance.

Sitting nearby, Xia Ningshang propped her chin on one hand and blinked curiously. "Why did you spare his life?"

Ji Huo picked up the teapot from the table and tried to pour more into his cup, only to find it empty. With a trace of regret, he set it down and explained casually, "He acts with integrity and a sense of chivalry. I had a brother once who owed him a debt of gratitude."

Back when Kun Forty-Seven was exposed while on a mission and was pursued by the authorities, he collapsed, gravely wounded, outside Zhu Qing’s estate. Zhu Qing saved him and concealed his whereabouts. Kun Forty-Seven had asked him then if he wasn’t afraid he was sheltering a villain.

Zhu Qing had simply laughed. "I make friends without caring for their past, only for fate. In this world of wandering swordsmen, one should lend a hand when able. If you’re ever free, come share a drink at my estate—that is a joy in itself!"

To survive with such a philosophy was a matter of luck—for in the martial world, there was no shortage of those who repaid kindness with betrayal, often resulting in ruin and tragedy. Later, Kun Forty-Seven recounted this to Ji Huo, who remembered it well. In fact, the Qian Kun Sect had secretly aided Zhu Qing several times, though Zhu Qing never knew.

Ji Huo recounted the tale to Xia Ningshang, who tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and mused, "A straightforward man, indeed. Is this the romance of the martial world?"

"Something like that," Ji Huo replied with a smile.

She smiled back, rose to her feet, and began gathering firewood, setting a kettle to boil water.

"What are you doing?" Ji Huo asked.

Xia Ningshang blinked, smiling. "Since Young Master Ji has challenged the martial world alone, simply sitting here seems a bit dull. Today, let me boil water and brew tea for you—a small taste of the romance of the jianghu."

"That sounds delightful," Ji Huo replied, resting his hand on the table with a laugh.

In the distance, the gathered martial experts exchanged uncertain glances. To be making tea right in front of them—this was arrogance beyond compare!

He truly did not take them seriously!

Intolerable!

How could anyone stand for this? I, for one, cannot!

At that moment, someone at the front of the crowd whispered, "That youth seems exhausted. Before, he killed with a single sword stroke, but just now it took two to drive Zhu Qing back."

"He’s slain so many—he must be exhausted. Now, he’s probably a spent arrow!"

The crowd’s eyes lit up—this analysis made sense. Eager ambition flared; if any could defeat this man, his reputation would soar!

After all, what did anyone seek in the martial world but fame?

Before most could act, four figures leapt from the crowd, flying at Ji Huo.

"Boy! Taste the might of the Four Ghosts of the Huang Clan!"

Seeing this, others cursed inwardly—shameless!—and quickly followed.

"Boy! Don’t get cocky—taste Jin Feng’s sword!"

"Rui Yan of Great Sun Manor comes to offer instruction!"

"Zhou Fei of Heaven’s Doom Fortress greets your skill!"

"Feng Yuchen of the Palace of Decaying Flesh challenges you!"

Within moments, more than a dozen surged forward, each shouting their name as they charged at Ji Huo. Their speed may not have been impressive, but their voices certainly were—after all, in the jianghu, one’s reputation was self-made. Announcing your name enough times, and soon you’d be known.

Suddenly, a longsword flashed from its scabbard, and in an instant, a crimson light erupted, surging outward like a raging sea of blood. In a blink, the bloody wave engulfed everyone.

The sudden turn froze the crowd in terror; even those about to leap forth halted mid-step.

Then, the sword snapped back into its sheath. As the blade slid home, the crimson glow shrank back as if sucked away by a whale, vanishing without a trace.

A gruesome scene followed—those caught in the bloodlight went rigid, as if time itself had stopped for them. Then, with a series of dull thuds, their heads toppled to the ground, blood spurting in fountains, dyeing the earth a shocking scarlet.

"Where did you get the courage?" Ji Huo asked, genuinely perplexed.

The rowdy crowd fell silent once more, all watching in horror; many swallowed hard.

Dozens of bodies now lay strewn across the ground, not a few among them renowned martial experts—none had withstood even a single sword stroke from this youth!

Holding off the martial world’s finest for hours single-handedly, and slaughtering so many that no one dared approach—such carnage had not been seen in years.

"Upper Third Rank!" someone finally shouted, trembling with fear.

"What?" came a confused reply.

"He’s Upper Third Rank!" the first insisted, terror in his voice.

A brief silence, then an uproar!

In the martial world, warriors were divided into nine ranks. To enter the ranks at all was to earn the right to roam the jianghu. Every three ranks marked a watershed.

Ranks Seven, Eight, and Nine—the Lower Third—were considered good fighters, good enough for escorting caravans, taking jobs, or even as bandits. Passing the threshold made one valuable to any faction, the backbone of martial clans and sects.

The Middle Third—Ranks Six, Five, and Four—were another matter. At Sixth Rank, one’s inner energy could take form, unleashing power far beyond the norm, with dazzling fighting styles. Usually, a Six-Ranker served as a guest elder in small sects; at Fourth Rank, one might lead a larger sect and earn considerable fame.

Some small, impoverished sects might have a mere Sixth Ranker as their chief.

The Upper Third—Ranks Three, Two, One—marked another divide. These were the leaders of great sects, the grandmasters and elders of major martial clans.

At this level, martial artists no longer pursued flashy techniques, but instead returned to simplicity, the essence of mastery. Yet, such experts were often detached from fame and fortune, seeking only the pinnacle of martial arts. They had long outgrown the need for renown, preferring reclusion or drifting through the world as they pleased.

Thus, Upper Third Rank experts were rarely seen. If encountered, they might appear as beggars, fortune-tellers, janitors, tofu vendors, or a beautiful woman forever lugging firewood—you would never know their true strength.

Such people would only act in times of great crisis, to repay a favor, or if offered a reward worthy of their attention.

Yet, for these masters, ordinary wealth held no appeal—they were moved only by rare treasures, divine weapons, or peerless manuals.

In truth, Upper Third Rank experts could be both exceedingly wealthy—should they serve a sect, offerings abounded—and exceptionally poor, for their desires were few, and what could tempt them was beyond mere money. They might sell their services, pawn family heirlooms, or call in old favors for the right weapon or secret art.

Now, Ji Huo’s display finally made it clear to all present—he was not merely Middle Third Rank.

With a single, unadorned strike, he slew a dozen experts. Save for the one time he held back, no matter who stepped forward, he needed only one sword. And from start to finish, he had never even left his seat.

If this wasn’t the sign of returning to true mastery, what was?