One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Wang Ye quickly stepped forward, stopped in front of Daoist Yunlong, bowed and clasped his hands in greeting: "Master, your disciple has returned."

"It's good to be back." Master Yunlong patted him gently on the shoulder, his tone kind. "You must have had a long journey. These must be your colleagues from the company?"

Nie Lingfeng stepped forward, clasped his hands in greeting, and said, "Junior Nie Lingfeng greets Daoist Yunlong."

Master Yunlong's gaze lingered on him for a couple of seconds, then he nodded slightly: "I have long heard of Benefactor Nie's esteemed name. Meeting you today, I can see that it truly matches the rumors."

"You flatter me, Daoist Master."

Master Yunlong's gaze swept around before finally settling on Wang Ye: "Grand Tutor heard you were bringing distinguished guests back, so he specially came out of seclusion to meet them."

Wang Ye was taken aback for a moment, then quickly turned to the old man in the grand chair and bowed even deeper: "Grand Tutor, your disciple Wang Ye greets you."

The old Taoist priest slowly opened his eyes. His eyes were covered with a layer of grime common in the elderly, but the gaze beneath was surprisingly sharp—like an old piece of jade, its outer shell worn thin by time, yet still shining through its thick patina. He didn't look at Wang Ye, but instead looked over Wang Ye's shoulder, his gaze landing on Nie Lingfeng and stopping there.

"Come here."

His voice was soft and dry, like it was slowly rising from the bottom of a deep, dry well.

Nie Lingfeng took two steps forward and stood three feet in front of the armchair.

The old Taoist priest stared at him for about five or six breaths, his cloudy eyes sweeping from his brow bone to his jaw, from his shoulder to his wrist. Then he slowly spoke: "Within your body... there is the power of dragon essence."

The air inside the hall suddenly tightened by half a degree. Zhang Chulan, standing near the door, unconsciously softened his breathing.

"Senior's insight is truly remarkable," Nie Lingfeng replied frankly. "This junior did indeed fuse with a Dragon Essence by sheer chance."

"More than one." The old Taoist's voice remained calm, but rose slightly at the end. "Dragon essences are usually domineering and repel external things, but you have more than one within you. They reside peacefully—which means you have also integrated something else, suppressing their restlessness."

Nie Lingfeng's heart skipped a beat. This Grand Tutor not only recognized the Dragon Essence but also discerned its quantity. He paused for a moment, then nodded: "Senior is right. I have also fused with the true form of the Qilin, using Qilin blood to temper the violent energy of the Dragon Essence."

The old Taoist priest's eyelids drooped slightly again, as if savoring the weight of those words. After a long while, he slowly hummed in agreement: "The true form of the Qilin... one of the Four Symbols. It is a creation of heaven and earth. Obtaining it is your destiny. But remember—the Dragon Essence and the Qilin blood are not yours. They only reside temporarily within your body. If your will is not strong enough, they will lead you astray. At that time, you will not be the one controlling them, but they will share this physical form with you."

Nie Lingfeng lowered his voice by half an octave: "This junior will remember."

The old Taoist priest said nothing more, closing his eyes again as if a lamp had been blown out, his entire being instantly withdrawn into his withered body. If it weren't for the extremely slow rise and fall of his chest, he would have been almost indistinguishable from a wooden sculpture.

Master Yunlong coughed softly beside him, his face showing gentle apology: "Grand Tutor is advanced in years and his spirits are not good; please forgive him, Benefactor Nie. Please, everyone, have a seat and a cup of tea before we continue our conversation."

Chairs had already been prepared at the square table beside the hall. After everyone was seated, a young Taoist boy brought over several celadon teacups on a wooden tray. The cups contained pale yellow tea, with a few tender leaves floating on the surface. Nie Lingfeng picked up a cup, took a sip, and found the temperature just right, with a refreshing and mellow aftertaste.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Nie Lingfeng put down his teacup and recounted his trip to Kunlun Mountain and the situation at Zhu Jiuyou from beginning to end. When he spoke of the loosening of the seal, the voice of the dragon soul, and Li Muxuan's reminder, Daoist Yunlong's expression remained calm and composed, only occasionally furrowing his brow slightly before relaxing again. After Nie Lingfeng finished recounting the True Martial Sword, the hall remained quiet for nearly five breaths.

Master Yunlong reached for his teacup, but didn't drink. He merely swirled it gently, watching the subtle ripples on the surface of the tea. "The Zhenwu Sword was indeed the sect's most prized possession. But it disappeared from Wudang Mountain not long after our founder passed away."

Zhang Chulan, who was sitting in the outermost chair, had been listening intently, but upon hearing this, he almost tilted his teacup: "Disappeared? Wasn't it hidden somewhere in Wudang Mountain?"

"The rumors from the outside world have always been like this," Master Yunlong said steadily. "But in fact, from the third generation of sect leader onwards, none of the secret records passed down orally by successive sect leaders contain any information about the whereabouts of the True Martial Sword. Some suspect that the patriarch took it away; some say that it developed its own sentience and disappeared on its own; others say that the patriarch entrusted it to a reclusive person for safekeeping. But all these claims lack evidence. I have been in this position for over twenty years and have secretly investigated many times, but to no avail."

"Then..." Zhang Chulan's expression fell slightly, "If we don't have the True Martial Sword, won't that dragon eventually—"

"Please be patient, benefactor." Daoist Yunlong raised his hand to interrupt him. "Although the whereabouts of the Zhenwu Sword are unknown, our sect does indeed still maintain a location related to it."

Everyone's attention turned to that direction.

"That place is called Sword Valley." Master Yunlong put down his teacup, his fingertips lightly touching the edge of the table. "According to the traditions passed down through generations of sect leaders, our patriarch spent seven years in seclusion in Sword Valley, cultivating his swordsmanship. He left behind a sword intent there—not a sword technique, not a mantra, but a pure intention formed from Qi, engraved on the mountain wall in the valley. It is said that if one can comprehend that sword intent, one can sense the location of the True Martial Sword."

"Where is Sword Valley?" Nie Lingfeng asked.

Master Yunlong looked at him for a moment. That look did not contain any hint of rejection, but rather a kind of assessment—judging whether the person opposite him was worth handing over the secrets that the Wudang Sect had kept for hundreds of years.

Then he suddenly smiled, a smile with the straightforwardness and frankness characteristic of an old-school martial artist: "I can tell you the location of Sword Valley. But there's one condition."

"Please speak, Taoist priest."

"I have long admired Benefactor Nie's ability to single-handedly defeat formidable enemies from the Northeast underground base and Nathan Island; his skill is unparalleled in this world." Master Yunlong stood up, rolling up the cuffs of his robe to reveal a pair of well-defined wrists. "I have practiced Tai Chi for forty years and have always sought a true opponent to test my skills. If Benefactor Nie does not mind, let us spar a few moves. If you win, the Sword Valley location will be yours. If I happen to gain the upper hand—"

He paused, then his smile deepened: "Then I would like to ask Benefactor Nie to stay at Wudang Mountain for a few more days, to accompany me for tea and philosophical discussions, and to tell me in detail about your experiences on this trip, so that this humble mountain dweller can also get a taste of the outside world."

Nie Lingfeng placed the teacup back on the table, the bottom of the cup tapping against the wood grain with a clear sound. He also stood up and clasped his hands in a fist salute to Daoist Yunlong: "This junior respectfully accepts your invitation."

The drill ground outside the Sanqing Hall was much more spacious than the courtyard in front. The bluestone slabs were laid neatly, with fine sand filling the gaps, and a row of neatly trimmed holly bushes planted along the edge. The center of the open space was slightly warmed by the afternoon sun, and the surface of the stone slabs gleamed with a warm luster.

Master Yunlong walked to the center of the arena, removed his purple outer robe, revealing a close-fitting greyish-white short jacket underneath. He tightened the cuffs, his feet naturally apart, knees slightly bent, and slowly raised his arms—left palm in front, right palm behind, the heels of his palms at shoulder height, palms facing each other with a hand's width between them. His body was completely relaxed; every muscle from his ankles to his shoulder blades maintained a state of ease and tension, like an old tree weathered by the wind, appearing supple yet deeply embedded.

"Benefactor Nie, please."

Nie Lingfeng walked up to him and stood opposite him. He didn't strike a pose; his hands hung naturally at his sides, his shoulders were flat and relaxed, and he stood there like a chime that hadn't been struck yet.

"Please go first, Taoist priest."

Neither of them spoke. The wind blew in from the valley entrance on the east side of the training ground, turning the holly leaves over, and then swept through, stirring up a circle of very fine dust in the clearing between them.

Master Yunlong made the first move.

His starting motion was extremely slow. He took a half step forward with his left foot, and the process of his foot landing lasted for almost two beats. But at the very moment his toes touched the ground, his right palm pushed out from his waist—the movement was still a gentle arc, and his palm drew an almost perfect arc in the air, but that arc carried a solid internal force, which pressed the surrounding air apart to the sides.

The target of this palm strike was not Nie Lingfeng's body, but a patch of empty space three steps in front of him. But the instant the palm force was pushed out, the internal energy spread out along the ground like an undercurrent beneath the surface of water, simultaneously enveloping Nie Lingfeng from both sides.

Tai Chi push hands does not use force to meet force, but rather uses energy to create an invisible net, trapping the opponent in a continuous entanglement.

Nie Lingfeng had already sensed the approaching undercurrent. Instead of retreating to avoid the binding force, he took half a step forward, directly stepping into the range of Master Yunlong's palm strike. He extended his right hand, fingers spread, his fingertips precisely landing on the ulnar side of Master Yunlong's wrist on the side where he was pushing his palm.

Master Yunlong's eyes brightened slightly. He flipped his wrist, turning his palm outward, while his left palm reached up from below, blocking Nie Lingfeng's right hand's path. The two forces collided lightly at the moment they approached, producing a very soft muffled sound, like two pools of water of different densities meeting in the shadows.

They each took half a step back, then moved closer together again.