"Do you know what these eleven Golden Bells are for?" The woman didn't turn around, her voice cool and detached. It was so cold and sharp, it felt like icy light glinting on snow—just hearing it would send chills down an ordinary person's spine.
Jack Young wasn't affected at all; instead, he carefully studied the eleven bells. Each one had different patterns, but no writing—only a ghost could figure out what they meant. He was about to shake his head when a sudden idea struck him: this was a Buddhist temple, so whatever sat in the main hall had to be the most revered thing. Linglong Temple didn't seem to worship any specific Bodhisattva, and there just happened to be eleven bells. That number was way too much of a coincidence.
Even though this was a different world, if there could be a parallel universe version of Huo Yuanjia, why couldn't there be the same Buddhist teachings and scriptures too?
So Jack Young had a hunch: "I'm not much of a Buddhist scholar, just a dabbler, but let me take a guess." He pointed at each of the big bells, one by one: "They should be the titles—Worthy of Offerings, Perfect Enlightenment, Complete in Wisdom and Action, Well-Gone, World-Knower, Supreme Man, Trainer of Men, Teacher of Gods and Men, Thus-Come One, World-Honored One—" Then, pointing at the largest bell, he said the final word: "Buddha."
Since this is a Buddhist temple and not a Bodhisattva shrine, obviously they're worshipping Buddha. The Buddha has ten titles—Worthy of Offerings, Perfect Enlightenment, and so on—those are the Ten Epithets. (There are several versions of the Ten Epithets, but here we'll stick to the ones from the 'Sutra on the Ten Epithets of the Buddha.') Eleven bells, the numbers match perfectly, and logically it all checks out. It's just like how Zhenyuan Daxian doesn't worship the Three Pure Ones but worships Heaven and Earth instead; Linglong Temple not worshipping golden statues but worshipping the Buddha's titles makes perfect sense.
"Not bad." The woman nodded, her voice now a bit warmer. "If you can name those, no wonder Senior Qin Han thinks so highly of you. But—" Suddenly, her tone turned icy again. "You kept us waiting this long, so I need to see if you really measure up!"
The woman spun around, her movements sharp as a blade, and in a flash, she had a sword in her hand. Then, Jack Young saw a dazzling surge of sword energy coming straight at him.
It was as if the entire Buddha Hall lit up in an instant—everything in sight was suddenly cranked up to blinding brightness, turning the world into a sea of white. It was like a flashbang going off right in front of his eyes; he couldn't see anything except that one sword. Jack Young's pupils contracted, a faint light flickered in his eyes, and he managed to block out most of the sword's strange glare. But he still couldn't see the attacker's face—only a pair of eyes, filled with both anger and mischief, locked onto his chest.
Old Master Tang always said, when you fight, watch the eyes—especially when you can't read their energy, it could save your life. Jack Young had picked up this trick in life-or-death battles, so even though he hadn't used it in ages, he wasn't rusty at all.
Swish—Jack Young dodged to the side, letting the sword pass. His long black hair swept past the blade, looking just like a slow-motion movie effect.
"Let's see how long you can dodge!" The woman flicked her wrist, and her sword light spread out like a curtain, sweeping toward Jack Young from all directions. The attack was so fast that even if you could react, you'd probably still get hit. But Jack retreated in a flash—dodging at the last possible second. His acceleration was off the charts, way beyond the laws of physics. That's the power of lightness skill.
Fifteen years of Bright Jade Technique poured into his legs, boosting the friction between his feet and the floor. 'Rooted to the ground' wasn't just a saying—normally, using that much force would send you sliding like you stepped on a banana peel, but now, his acceleration broke the limits of physics. His body blurred, darting left and right with crazy speed.
"Ha!" The woman shouted, stabbing with her sword. Jack vaulted away, but she stuck to him like glue. In the blink of an eye, they'd reached the base of the Golden Bells. Her sword energy was fierce—no way to block it head-on, and her moves linked together so smoothly that he couldn't break into close range. So Jack used the bells to dodge. But her swordsmanship was seriously impressive; her blade curved around the bells like a rainbow, chasing after Jack with every strike.
"Miss," Jack managed to say while still keeping up, "I'm here to see the Phantom Sword Saint. Where is the Sword Saint?"
"Hmph, I am the Phantom Sword Saint! Let me cut you down with three strikes first!" The woman sped up, her sword flashing three times, forcing Jack into a tight spot.
Her sword energy was overflowing, her technique top-notch, and her blade razor-sharp—no way to block it. Back when he took Lady Simone's palm strikes, it was only because she didn't specialize in brute force. But this woman? She's a full-on swordswoman, and today is about sparring, not risking your life, so Jack kept it cautious.
But just taking hits isn't Jack's style. In the middle of this high-speed fight, he suddenly had an idea. He dashed across the hall, then ducked and dove right into the biggest Golden Bell. The woman wasn't letting up—she followed him inside like a silk shuttle threading a needle. She barely had time to swing her sword before Jack, tucked in the upper corner of the bell, slapped his palm against the metal.
BOOM—a deafening bell rang out, filling the space and strong enough to make your ears bleed.
The woman's sword slowed for a moment—the powerful sound waves rattled her bones and organs, and she wasn't feeling great. She gritted her teeth and stabbed at Jack in the upper corner. Jack flexed his back muscles and skin, slipping away like a greased eel. BOOM—he hit the bell again. At the same time, Jack exhaled and shouted, unleashing the Heavenly Dragon Way Sound—'Cha!'
Two kinds of sound waves mixed and bounced around inside the bell. Jack chose the frequencies carefully, causing a chemical reaction-like explosion—the effect was way bigger than just adding them together. Inside the bell, the fight was lightning-fast: one had a sword but couldn't go all out for fear of damaging the bell; the other had weak internal strength, but after fighting Lady Simone, his sound skills had improved a lot and he kept coming up with clever tricks.
(This chapter isn't over yet~ Please click 'Next Page' to keep reading the exciting story!)
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—waves of thunderous bell sounds rang out from Linglong Temple, startling flocks of birds into flight. Everyone in Eight Directions City looked toward the temple in surprise—even the martial artists on the arena stage froze in confusion. Luckily, the bell sounds faded after a moment, leaving only a faint humming echo.
Inside the Buddha Hall, Jack Young and the red-clad Hong'er stood facing each other. Hong'er held her sword level, the tip just about a foot from Jack's throat, but her face was full of frustration and indignation. Jack, with a sword pointed at him, was the calmest person in the room. They both stopped fighting because a voice had reached their ears: "Hong'er, that's enough."
The voice was unremarkable, not powerful at all, and carried a hint of helplessness—just an ordinary person, really. If the two hadn't been so sharp-eared, they'd never have caught it through the ringing bells. But once Hong'er heard it, she stopped immediately, still a bit unwilling. With a quick flick, she sheathed her sword and snorted at Jack: "You're good, making my master wait a whole hour. We're not done yet!"
Jack didn't look at her again. From the moment she drew her sword, he knew she couldn't be the Phantom Sword Saint. She was an innate expert, sure, with powerful sword energy and technique—better than the Silverblade King, even. But "Sword Saint" was on a whole other level. Honestly, her swordsmanship wasn't even as good as the Golden Blade King's Heavenly King Ghost-Slaying Saber, so how could she be the Phantom Sword Saint?
But the person who could stop her with just one sentence—that was the real deal.
Jack squinted toward the back door of the Buddha Hall—the voice had floated in from that direction. This woman had been swinging her sword for ages, and only now did the Phantom Sword Saint step in to stop her. That couldn't be a good sign. Still, the way the sword attendant treated guests was pretty decent. But why such a huge difference in attitude? What was the Sword Saint up to?
Just then, the sound of wheels rolling echoed through the hall, and a man appeared in Jack's line of sight. The moment Jack saw him, his eyes went wide. For a split second, he'd imagined all sorts of reasons for the Phantom Sword Saint's actions. Before coming here, he'd pictured the Sword Saint many times—but he realized every guess was wrong!
The Sword Saint, respected throughout the martial world and old friend of Ouyezi, should've been a tall, imposing elder, with an ancient sword at his waist—one swing, and the stars and moon would pale. That was how it was supposed to be.
But the man in front of him shattered that image. No sword at his waist, not old at all. He was tall enough, but 'imposing' didn't fit—because he was sitting in a wheelchair!
He looked about thirty, not exactly handsome but definitely pleasant to look at. He was fiddling with the wheels of his chair as he entered the Buddha Hall, and even that simple movement seemed to take effort—he was a bit out of breath. With an apologetic smile, he said to Jack Young, "Brother Jack, I'm really sorry. Hong'er was just joking." Then he turned to the red-clad woman, half amused, half exasperated: "You... So stubborn, so competitive. Guess you're just outmatched, huh?"
"Hmph, he does have some skills." Hong'er replied, all proud and pouty, then hurried over to the man, concern in her eyes. "Why did you come by yourself? What if you tire yourself out? Here, drink this." She handed him a gourd, probably filled with some kind of medicine.
After taking a sip, the man looked a bit better. He turned to Jack Young, a little embarrassed: "Sorry about that. I'm Yan Taixu. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jack."
Jack stared, slack-jawed, finally snapping out of it and muttering in disbelief, "So he really is the 'Phantom' Sword Saint!"
What were his parents thinking, naming him Yan Taixu? This Phantom Sword Saint is really 'phantom'—even uses a wheelchair! All those stories about the 'Phantom Sword Saint,' all those legends, and not one person ever told me he was sick!
Looking at the man in front of him—he didn't just lack martial power, he barely had any vitality at all. Like a candle flickering in the wind, it was a miracle he was even alive! Jack thought his own internal skills were weak for a sect leader, but this guy was even weaker—not a trace of internal strength!
But after venting, Jack's gaze turned serious. Because, for all the differences from his imagination, one thing was exactly the same—the man's eyes.
Those eyes—like Dr. Thomas Tang's, belonging to a true master. His aura might be weak, but those eyes were the real deal. Like the sky, like the ocean, holding all the ways of the sword and endless techniques. That was the gaze only a Sword Saint could have.
Jack raised his hand and gave a respectful fist-salute: "I'm Jack Young from the Flower Shifting Palace. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Yan."