Chapter Twelve: The True Qi Known as Dominance

After the rain, the skies cleared. The stone paths of White Mist Village glistened with a thin layer of water, while droplets still fell intermittently from the eaves. A bead of water, swollen to its limit, stretched out in a slender thread before dropping with a soft plop into the rain-filled wooden bucket below. The sound was gentle, yet pleasing.

At the village chief’s home, a wooden table was laden with sumptuous dishes and wine. Li Hu, rubbing his overstuffed belly, lay drunkenly at the corner of the table, mumbling dreamily every now and then. Li Pingyang picked up the wine bottle, urging Li Hu to drink more, but after several nudges without response, he laughed, declaring, “You’re done for!”

Holding a wine glass in one hand and tipping the bottle upside down with the other, Li Pingyang poured the last drops of good wine into his glass. His cheeks were already flushed. Downing the final cup, as if completing a ritual, he collapsed onto the table with a clang, his snores soon filling the room.

Not long after Li Pingyang fell, Duan Zhengtian lifted his head from the table and glanced around. At this moment, he was the only one still sober. He had been using a trace of inner energy to dispel the effects of the alcohol. While joining in the revelry, he subtly exerted force with his fingers under the table. Due to his status, he always maintained a clear mind, never allowing himself to get drunk.

“Duanduan, pour me another cup! I can still drink!” Feng Baobao, thoroughly intoxicated, squinted and pursed her lips in a drunken ramble. Seeing her flushed cheeks and the wine glass still gripped in her hand, Duan Zhengtian smiled indulgently.

He gently took the glass from Feng Baobao’s hand and stepped outside alone, taking a deep breath to savor the fresh, rain-washed air before closing his eyes in contentment.

Whoosh!

Just then, a crossbow bolt shot toward him. Still with his eyes closed, Duan Zhengtian shifted his feet ever so slightly, stretching as if lazily, and effortlessly evaded the bolt.

At the same time, a rustling sounded from the woods. Four masked men leapt down from the trees, each wielding a sharp sword. Without a word, they attacked him together.

The first masked man lunged forward, thrusting his sword at Duan Zhengtian’s throat. As he was about to strike, another slashed from the left, aiming for Duan Zhengtian’s chest. The other two targeted his back and waist, their movements swift and precise, clearly well-trained.

Duan Zhengtian opened his eyes. With a single motion, he struck a nearby tree, dislodging a short branch that he caught in his hand.

The four masked men hesitated, their faces betraying uncertainty, but their swords were already mid-strike; there was no turning back. They steeled themselves and pressed on.

Suddenly, their blades halted in midair. All four held their swords suspended, unable to thrust any further. It was as if an invisible force shielded Duan Zhengtian. Their hands felt trapped by this unseen current, and try as they might, they couldn’t break free of its powerful grip.

From another vantage, Duan Zhengtian appeared to do nothing—merely twirling a tree branch in his hand with casual ease. Yet the four attackers’ faces twisted in agony, feeling their inner energy slowly drained from within.

“It’s domineering inner energy!”

“How can it be? In this city of Tianyu, everyone knows him as a useless nobody. How could he be a master at the grandmaster level?”

“He’s been pretending all along, hiding so deeply!”

The masked men grimaced, their energy nearly siphoned away by Duan Zhengtian. Soon, they would be reduced to mere shells, incapable even of wielding a sword.

In the Great Song, inner energy was a cultivator’s most precious asset. Only those whose energy overflowed could be called the strong. Duan Zhengtian, using his energy alone without external aid, could kill with barely a gesture or glance.

Inner energy could serve as both offense and defense. Those who absorbed another’s energy stood above the strong, as true grandmasters. Grandmasters often wielded a form of inner energy known as Domineering Qi. Li Pingyang’s own sword technique was built upon channeling this force into the blade.

When grandmasters crossed paths, there was rarely much spectacle. Sometimes, two would simply stand facing each other, doing nothing for a whole day. Then, after stretching and complimenting each other’s energy—so powerful, so fierce—they’d arrange a rematch, a unique “standoff.”

Or perhaps, it would be two white-haired elders before a waterfall, one arching his brow, the other twitching his lips; in reality, a battle soaked in blood, though it appeared to outsiders as the antics of madmen. To those uninitiated, the pair seemed incurable, beyond saving.

Above grandmasters, inner energy could reach its pinnacle, earning the title of legendary grandmaster—mythic figures, and the rumored, never-seen Martial Sovereign.

Of course, Li Pingyang would eventually face legendary grandmasters himself, moving freely through exchanges, and even creating a form of inner energy more domineering than Domineering Qi.

But those tales belong to another time.

Returning to the present battlefield, Duan Zhengtian pulled a banana from his clothing, tossed aside the branch, and leisurely peeled it, holding it before the four masked men. Waving the banana in front of their now gray-haired, sallow faces, he watched as they gazed hungrily, swallowing hard.

“If I keep absorbing, you’ll be nothing but bones!”

After whetting their appetite, Duan Zhengtian took a bite of the banana, chewed and swallowed, then released his hold on the four.

Once the Domineering Qi dissipated, their bodies collapsed to the ground, swords flying from their wrists. The four men, now drained of all inner energy, had transformed from vibrant warriors into elderly men.

“Speak—who sent you?”

Squatting before them, Duan Zhengtian finished the banana, dusted his hands, and tossed the peel into a patch of grass.

There was one more masked figure hiding in the grass, paralyzed with fear after witnessing Duan Zhengtian’s display. Attempting to rush out and rescue his comrades, he was struck by the flying banana peel.

When wielding Domineering Qi, one’s perceptions, hearing, strength, and speed are all enhanced. Duan Zhengtian had heard someone in the grass, though he feigned ignorance.

The hidden figure tumbled out, and Duan Zhengtian picked up a sword from the ground, slowly approaching until he stood over them.

“Remove your mask.”

His tone was icy as he pressed the sword to their throat. The masked figure was petite, her arms slender, a plum blossom marked on her wrist.

Seeing the blossom, Duan Zhengtian’s heart skipped a beat, a name flashing through his mind, though he was not certain.

The woman slowly removed her mask, revealing a face filled with hatred, her wolfish gaze fixed unwaveringly on Duan Zhengtian.