Chapter 885: Chapter 523: Qian’er Runs 1,000 Miles, Ziyu Runs 100 Miles (Part 3)
Purple-Robed Sword Spirit: "..."
It opened its mouth to speak, but then closed it again in silence.
Is this the hesitation I’m talking about? Can’t you be mindful to leave yourself a few "strokes"? Zhao Ziyu uses one character, Zhao Qian’er uses another, running in different directions, or you use three strokes and she uses seven strokes. Even though it’s hard to guarantee safety, both could have a bit of life force, which would still be worthy for her...
And yet, you gave everything to that little girl...
The sword spirit feels like it can’t live like this anymore, really can’t live like this, whatever happens to anyone.
It glanced at the silent courtyard outside and at the odd looks the people were giving it, pondered for a moment, and then earnestly said to the sword master:
"Can you send me away too? Zhao the good man."
Zhao Rong shook his head, "No."
"My lord curses your grandpa."
It was a new curse, not sarcastic, very masculine.
Zhao Rong was slightly stunned, then smiled.
At this moment, Qin Jianfu snorted softly, slowly retracted his gaze, and looked at Zhao Rong.
He did not go after that pretty young girl.
The disfigured old scholar looked at the young scholar.
Then, he too smiled.
The ending was unexpected, but the elderly man was quite satisfied.
Zhao Rong also raised his head to look at him, the smile on his face grew ever brighter.
Thus, these two scholars, one old and one young, were both beaming with smiles.
One might have thought they were a close mentor and protégé pair.
Little did they know there was a deep blood feud between them, and one must die today.
The old scholar nodded, spoke with a smile: "This works too."
After his speech, he suddenly lunged toward Zhao Rong, reaching out to grab with a large hand.
The young scholar was already thoroughly satisfied. He first cursed back at the laughing Gui in his mind, "Listen and learn well for later", then happily cursed with a smile:
"Old man wants to hit dad? If your dad frowns, you will still be my son in the next life..."
Speaking, he intended to draw out the sword from his waist, but his hand only just touched the sword hilt when the next second, a constantly skeletal hand clamped down on his wrist.
Zhao Rong’s right hand was twisted into an amazing arc, followed by the sound of cracking bones.
The disfigured old scholar casually approached him, first crushed his wrist bone, then dismantled all his resisting moves, holding Zhao Rong’s fractured wrist tightly, continuing to apply force, crushing the already broken wrist bone into fragments smaller than nails.
"Ah... Ugh!!"
Zhao Rong’s eyes widened in pain, yet he bit his teeth, cheeks puffed, resisting the urge to cry out.
The scholar’s sword fell to the ground.
This writing hand was completely ruined.
Qin Jianfu glanced at his deeply furrowed brows, Zhao Rong’s wrist bones piercing through the flesh, blood pouring out, staining the elder’s shriveled fingers red like eagle talons.
Qin Jianfu lightly swung this hand left and right, causing Zhao Rong’s wristless right hand to sway powerlessly in the autumn wind, like a broken rag doll played by children.
The smell of blood permeated the courtyard.
The elderly man’s smile grew wider; this was only the beginning.
First, he blocked another "soft" punch from the young scholar, then gently picked out the tendons from the mass of blurry flesh using a finger, pinching it, pulling it out.
Bright red blood splattered endlessly.
Zhao Rong was in excruciating pain, biting his lip until blood came out, his body centered around his useless right hand, twisting in agony and falling down.
The elder tenderly held the hand of the man on the ground, feeling unsatisfied. Looking at Zhao Rong’s expression of restrained pain, he smiled and nodded.
Then, he gently pulled out Zhao Rong’s right arm, throwing it over his shoulder.
"Ahhhh—ahhhhh!!"
A hoarse scream.
The young scholar’s severed arm fell to the ground, splashing blood and dust.
The old scholar ignored it, reached out with his blood-covered skeletal hand, wiped it off carefully on Zhao Rong’s white collar, then picked up a cup of tea from the table beside him to soothe his throat.
He glanced at Zhao Rong writhing in agony on the ground, clutching his severed arm, and casually said: "Scream louder, ha, this is just the beginning. How about trying fire later?"
The young scholar smiled with a distorted face, cheeks puffed, holding the voice back. Only a few words squeezed out through clenched teeth.
The voice was somewhat small.
The disfigured old scholar put down the teacup, bent down to listen closely.
"...Old... old man, use some force... haven’t... eaten... eaten food, ha ha..."
The elder nodded, and in the next instant, with a thud, his foot stomped down firmly on Zhao Rong’s raised head, pressing his right temple hard against the ground.
The ground sank to form a dent.
The shape of Zhao Rong’s head.
Qin Jianfu gazed downward.
Yet the young scholar, with his head stomped down, laughed, blood filled his mouth, eyes cracked open, nose fractured, yet he smiled extraordinarily brightly.
"...Haven’t... eaten... eaten food?"
In some mind, a purple-robed sword spirit couldn’t bear to watch, laughed suddenly, clutching its belly, laughing heartily in a tall building beside the lake.
Qin Jianfu sneered, thinking of the next way to torture him, he must make him suffer unbearably...