Chapter 842: A Moment to Savor (17)

In the meantime, Qing understood why the Five Poison Sect bastards held their weapons in their left hands.

A Five Poison Sect disciple’s left-hand weapon played a role kind of like a shield.

They wrapped their right hand in a pungent kind of energy and swung—when it whipped past, a spicy, stinging smell hit like a slap. So this was that Poison Palm she’d only ever heard about.

Poison Palm was originally a pain in the ass to deal with.

Its raw power was far weaker than palm arts at the same realm, but once you got hit, the poison energy invaded your body and soaked in.

But what is this body?

What is Myriad-Poison Immunity?

Myriad-Poison Immunity is what? Transcendent Transformation Realm Heavenly Flower Sword.

It’s nothing—I tank it with muscles!

In an instant, a palm slammed her belly violently!

Qing tightened her abs hard—ugh, even when you know it’s coming, it still hurts—

But she endured it!

She could’ve dodged if she wanted to, but right now it was better to let them hit her.

Why?

They were charging in like they wanted to die anyway—if she let them hit her, they’d get excited and keep punching, right?

If they pulled back and started using some mystical footwork while hurling javelins and shit, that was way more annoying and harder to deal with.

Then the brawl continued.

Qing’s thigh, her back, her shoulder, her belly, her head—spicy Poison Palms thudded into her over and over without fail.

Ugh—who the hell just hit my ass?

Qing returned the favor with careful thrift.

With the distance already crushed down tight, she just stabbed Moonlit Night straight into the ground and left it there—right hand, left hand, Tathagata Divine Palm shining gold, Great Hand Seal shining blood-red—two Buddhist divine arts unfolding at the same time from the hands of one person.

Still, among them, there was an attack she couldn’t just soak with her body—couldn’t afford to “take.”

As if to say you don’t become sect leader for nothing, it was Hu Cheonchi’s Poison Palm, the one that scattered Poison Sword-Energy.

“Die!” “Like hell!”

Poison Sword-Energy—sword-energy drenched with poison.

Their palms crashed together—BOOM! A massive blast rang out.

The poison dissolved into the Poison Sword-Energy snapped outward in every direction—HISS—and with that spicy smell, smoke rose from the fabric it hit, holes opening everywhere.

Qing, in that instant, put strength into the palms that were pressed together and clenched her fingers, tangling their hands.

She didn’t want to interlace fingers with some bastard.

But in an inner-power contest where you directly collide internal energy—called, in hard words, an Internal-Energy Grappling Method—pressing palms together was considered the most orthodox form.

Originally, she’d planned to deal with the sect leader last, but the way the Five Poison Sect old men were desperately clinging to her made it obvious—they were betting on their sect leader landing a decisive blow.

Even if poison didn’t work, if she took that sword-energy head-on, even Qing might end up with shattered bones.

So she’d neutralize the sect leader first!

Qing raised her internal energy.

Huuuh—just as sparks flicked in Qing’s eyes—

“Argh!”

Qing’s head snapped back hard.

A brutal hand had grabbed her hair and yanked, and that wasn’t enough—they shook her left and right like crazy, ruining her focus.

It was a filthy trick an elder pulled the moment he saw the inner-power clash—trying to scatter Qing’s concentration.

And it worked.

Her head got whipped side to side, and at the same time they slapped it down, pounded it—THUD, THUD—with fists; no matter how iron-for-ten-thousand-years Qing’s skull was, her mind couldn’t stay clear.

In that gap, sinister internal energy surged in through their joined palms.

Poison energy with the very essence of a Poison Person melted into it!

A horrific virulent poison that melted meridians, blood vessels, muscle and bone from the inside!

And this drunkard loves that poison!

In this state, an inner-power contest was too much.

Qing tightened her grip.

With the crushing grip of a world-strongman, fingers still interlaced, she clamped down hard on the Five Poison Sect Leader’s fingers.

Anyone who’s experienced it knows—it hurts like hell.

“Ghk...!”

But he endured it!

Even as Hu Cheonchi let out a suppressed, strangled scream and his teeth ground, he didn’t release their locked hands—he kept forcing his poison into her.

But that meant he’d underestimated Qing’s grip.

CRACK—inside Qing’s interlaced fingers, the sound of Hu Cheonchi’s finger bones crumbling—and then—

“AAAAARGH!!”

With a miserable scream, the strength in the fingers that had been forcibly holding the interlock vanished in an instant.

Qing seized the moment and twisted harder; only then did their hands finally peel apart.

Except Qing still had Hu Cheonchi’s fingers wedged between her own—his fingers, separated from their owner.

Hu Cheonchi, left with only a thumb on his left hand and only a pinky on his right, staggered backward, shrieking.

In that same moment, Qing reached both arms behind her.

With Flowing-Willow Soft Training, Qing’s flexible body could stretch far beyond what a normal person could imagine.

And then—someone’s head landed in her grip, just like that.

Qing tightened around the skull, feeling around—ah, there’s the eye socket.

This bastard dares grab someone else’s hair—there’s not a single benefit to having it long, it’s nothing but inconvenient, and still—my hair, the hair my master cherishes!

With the distinct sensation of fingers digging into an eyeball—

“AAAAARGH!”

A scream exploded immediately.

But the force holding her hair didn’t weaken at all. Even with Qing’s thumb sunk into his eye socket, he clung to her hair with vicious determination.

No—this still isn’t enough to make you let go?

With her thumb hooked in the eye socket, Qing drove strength into it like she meant to crush his skull.

The muscles of both her upper arms bulged as they rose behind her back—and just as even a Xiang Yu-level grip made the skull start to crack—

Hu Cheonchi swung his palms at Qing, each palm with only one finger left.

From the torn-off stumps, poison blood from a Poison Person sprayed—SPLAT—straight toward Qing’s eyes.

Warm, lukewarm poison blood splashed into her eyes, and poison aside, the spicy poison energy delivered a burning, searing heat.

“AAAAARGH! My eyes—my eyes!”

At that edge—CRUNCH—the elder’s skull, the one gripping her hair, shattered, and her head felt lighter at last.

But the spicy blood had gone straight into her eyes—AAAAARGH—even Qing couldn’t hold back a scream now.

And because she screamed, her mouth opened wide—

And something slid right inside.

“AAAA—Ghk, cough—gulp. Shit.”

Only after she swallowed without meaning to did it hit her: sure, nothing she swallowed would cause trouble, and of course anything these poison bastards fed you would be poison, but not knowing what she’d just swallowed made her feel suddenly, violently gross.

Qing’s expression twisted sharply.

No, seriously—what kind of dogfight is this?

Honestly, desperation and dogfight sound pretty similar.

A great man who hadn’t even been born yet once said life is a comedy from far away, but a tragedy up close.

To the Five Poison Sect, this was nothing but desperation—but one step back, what kind of “martial world fight” even was this? Even the street punks in the capital wouldn’t °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° do it like this.

The Five Poison Sect disciples were just clinging.

They grabbed her arms, grabbed her legs, and like enraged beasts, they kept sticking to the Heavenly Flower Sword and stabbing, stabbing, stabbing with every poison needle and hidden weapon they had.

But even hidden weapons wrapped in internal energy couldn’t pierce her body-guarding aura and dig into muscle—at best they left shallow scratches on the skin.

So they started scoring long cuts—just splitting the skin slightly—then poured every poison they carried over it and slapped on poison pellets.

When elders got thrown off, they charged in again.

Even when Qing kicked them and their heads cracked, or arms and legs snapped, or ribs broke, they still threw themselves in again, stubbornly, viciously, hurling their bodies.

With that many clinging on, one or two shackled themselves around her arms and legs, all over her limbs—so even Qing, a world-strongman, had no choice but to drag them around, her movements slowing.

And then, without fail, Hu Cheonchi’s Poison Sword-Energy came flying in.

Qing swung her arm.

With one old man hanging off her wrist and one off her elbow, she swung them—was this what it meant, overwhelming might that could uproot mountains?

“Kuhk!”

One elder took Hu Cheonchi’s Poison Palm in the back—THUD!

He spat blood in a flood, soaking Qing’s collar.

“Huff... huff. Shit.”

Qing’s breathing was rough.

Even for Qing, just how long had this fight dragged on?

From the moment she first ran into the Five Poison Sect, there’d been shrill flute blasts as she forced her way through the tropical rainforest.

After that, she’d outright entrusted herself to demonic arts and rampaged at full tilt—wasn’t that after she’d butchered Great Yue soldiers to her heart’s content?

And then this.

“Shit—huh—just—!”

Qing bellowed and pulled her internal energy up tight.

RUMBLE! RUMBLE-RUMBLE!

Purple lightning erupted from her whole body and struck the Five Poison Sect elders clinging to her.

Of course, it only had the shape of lightning—the reality was a heavy, crushing striking method.

If it had been real lightning, they would’ve dropped on the spot, eyes rolling back, limbs twitching—but unfortunately, it was imitation lightning.

“AAAAH!” “Ghk!” “Kuhk!”

Nothing but choking, dying sounds—Purple-Lightning Sword-Energy smashed into their bodies, flesh bursting and bones breaking.

But the elders held on to the end, hugging her arms and legs and enduring.

“We’ll—cough—help too!” “Everyone—ngh—charge...! Bite—hang on!”

Just when it seemed like she’d dealt with a few elders, now even the surviving Five Poison Sect disciples grabbed Qing and clung on.

One after another they threw their bodies at her—at this point it wasn’t even “kill her,” it was like they meant to crush her flat under sheer numbers.

The Five Poison Sect piled up like a mountain.

A mountain made of humans heaved and writhed violently—seen from far away, it was the kind of ugly spectacle that made you click your tongue and ask what kind of fight this even was.

“Shit—just—JUST!”

Pinned to the ground, Qing did a powerful push-up with both arms.

Even with more than twenty Five Poison Sect disciples stacked on top of her, that lump of human flesh lifted a full arm’s height into the air.

But only for a moment—THUD—Qing got slammed back down flat again, grinding her teeth.

Was this how Sun Wukong felt, pinned under Five Elements Mountain?

At the same time—

These bastards. They’re truly vicious.

The Five Poison Sect piled on Qing’s body were already more than half corpses, and the rest were corpses-to-be with death scheduled soon.

They’d already been exposed to too much poison energy.

Even if you’d taken an antidote, if you inhaled more poison than the antidote’s efficacy, you couldn’t avoid poisoning.

On top of that, they’d been constantly doused in Hu Cheonchi’s poison energy—imperfect or not, it was the vicious poison of a Poison Person.

And yet they kept dying without collapsing—intertwined together, breath ending, then ending again.

A mountain of corpses built by poison-users dying from poison and dying again from poison—a seal made of corpses.

Under it, in Qing’s vision with only her head sticking out, two staggering legs drew close.

“Heh... heh... so tough. Truly... so tough...”

A voice you couldn’t tell was crying or laughing—like sobbing, like a madman laughing with his breath held—yet unmistakably drenched in madness.

It was Hu Cheonchi.

Hu Cheonchi in a miserable state.

Hands with only one finger each; the silk robes he’d worn were soaked so thoroughly in blood you couldn’t even tell their original color.

The whites of his eyes had turned pitch-black, the inside rims of his eyelids black, and black, poison-laced tears streamed down.

Not just tears.

Black poison blood kept running from his ears, his nose, his mouth—anyone could see his life was hanging by a thread, a living corpse on the brink.

Even so he staggered one step, then another.

And then—plop—he sank down in front of Qing’s head like he was collapsing.

A thin sheen of Poison Sword-Energy formed in his trembling hand, that was all.

The hand that struck down toward Qing’s head had already lost every bit of strength—barely more than the weight of his hand dropping.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Poison Palm pounded at her skull again and again.

It was a sight you’d be ashamed to show anyone.

A woman buried beneath a pile of people with only her head exposed.

And in front of her, an old martial artist sitting there, wordlessly bringing his hand down over and over.

Mm. Kinda hurts, I guess. More than that, it pisses me off...

Qing’s skull was hard enough to be compared to iron-for-ten-thousand-years.

Would it break from an old man too exhausted to even lift his hand?

Of course not.

Hu Cheonchi knew that too.

But the crown was the Baihui Point—the critical point among critical points.

He was trying to pound Poison Sword-Energy into it, trying to plant poison into her brain.

Even so, each strike of Poison Sword-Energy weakened with repetition.

Hu Cheonchi was dying fast.

“Ugh—ngh—wait—ngh—hey. Sect Leader. Now—ngh—no, cut it out already. You think you’re going to crack my head like that?”

Without answering, Hu Cheonchi raised his hand.

No—he tried to raise it.

The trembling hand slowly lifted, then couldn’t rise all the way; it dropped and hit Qing’s crown—THUD.

Then, dragging ragged breaths, he asked,

“Hah... hah... why—why won’t you die? Why—why do you look... fine? The poison—so much poison energy—it seeped in... it seeped...”

“Because poison doesn’t work on me?”

Hu Cheonchi stared down at Qing blankly.

“Doesn’t... work? How? Even if you took an antidote—no, a Poison Person’s poison—there’s no antidote for that—why, how...”

“Uh. Because I’m actually Myriad-Poison Immune?”

“Th-that... that’s nonsense. There’s... no such thing.”

“It’s right here, though?”

Hu Cheonchi’s pitch-black eyelids stared down at Qing.

“Poison doesn’t work on me in the first place, you know? Looks like almost all your Five Poison Sect disciples are dead now—so, uh, how do you feel right now? Is what you said earlier still valid?”

“What... do you mean?”

“You said you devoted your life to revenge, so you’d have the face to see your disciples in the underworld. But you didn’t even do the tiniest bit of damage to your enemy—well, actually, I’m stinging like hell all over, so it’s more damage than ‘tiniest,’ but—”

Qing continued.

“Anyway. Even if you die without accomplishing your revenge by even a speck, can you still meet the end proudly, like you said? Ah—I’m not mocking you. I’m genuinely curious, that’s why I’m asking.”

Hu Cheonchi’s lips trembled.

“It’s... unfair. Truly... unfair...”

“Mm. Yeah, I figured. Words are just—”

That was when Hu Cheonchi murmured calmly.

“It’s not... about whether revenge succeeds. It’s because my... strength, my martial arts... weren’t enough. The martial world... is strength. Having no strength... is a sin. My incompetence... that’s the sin that’s unfair. I’m truly... sorry. A weak... master... my disciples... my disciples...”

And then he just... collapsed.

The end of the Five Poison Sect Leader.

The end of the Five Poison Sect.