In the world of cultivation, spatial treasures are almost as common as having a phone—everyone has one, or even a few. They’re nothing special there.
But on Earth, they’re priceless treasures, the kind that haven’t appeared in modern times. For one, the resources to forge them are scarce and incredibly hard to find. And even if you somehow got the materials, hardly anyone knows how to craft them.
These treasures are just too tempting—they’re basically cheat codes.
Picture this: an ordinary person runs into a martial arts grandmaster. The grandmaster sees they’re empty-handed and lets their guard down. Then, the ordinary person pulls a submachine gun out of their storage ring. Even the grandmaster would be done for.
Chiba Masao was searching for something called jade marrow precisely because he wanted to forge one of these treasures. He knew all too well how much advantage a storage ring could give him. Combined with his master-level swordsmanship, he could practically walk all over the world without a care.
“Mr. Jiang, just hand over the treasure to Mr. Chiba. Otherwise, you’ll die a horrible death!”
Seeing Chiba Masao getting restless, Li Jinzhu shot him a look telling him not to make a move. Instead, she tried to persuade Jiang Tian with a sweet smile.
Chiba Masao forced down his urge to kill and grab the treasure. The killing intent in his eyes flickered like flames as he stared dead at Jiang Tian.
After all, this was China, and they were in a busy downtown area surrounded by surveillance cameras.
Even if he could kill someone and get away with it, he’d probably be watched from then on if he ever wanted to operate in China again.
“Oh really? I don’t see what’s so impressive about him. Just a decrepit old man!” Jiang Tian took a sip of his liquor and said flatly.
“Hmph, he’s a master of the Hokushin Itto-ryu style of swordsmanship—a fully accomplished master. With one strike, he can make rivers flow backward and waterfalls freeze. Is your neck really that tough? Aren’t you afraid of the ‘Kikuyomonmaru’ in his hands?”
Li Jinzhu lifted her jade-white chin, revealing her slender neck, and looked at Jiang Tian like he was an idiot.
“Heh heh, is that so? From what I know, the best swordsmen in Japan are called Grand Masters. A few Grand Masters might be worth my time, but this old waste of space? Not worth lifting a finger!” Jiang Tian said with disdain.
“What a clueless fool. He doesn’t even understand the principle of not flaunting your wealth. He stole Chiba Shoichi’s treasure and still dares to show it off in front of his senior brother. And now he’s running his mouth like this—does he have a death wish?”
Li Jinzhu thought to herself, her face darkening for a moment before she smiled again. Her jade-white hands toyed with her glass as she looked at Jiang Tian with utter contempt.
Yes, Chiba Masao was far more powerful than Chiba Shoichi. He was a genuine, fully accomplished swordsmanship master—equivalent to a fully accomplished martial arts grandmaster in China. A veteran grandmaster. How many people in China could even stand against him?
And Jiang Tian? From what he said, he seemed like just a rich kid who couldn’t even swat a fly.
“Give it to me!”
Without another word, Chiba Masao reached out with a hand like a tiger’s claw, going straight for the snatch.
“Get lost!”
Jiang Tian casually pointed a finger. A beam of energy shot through the air, and a mighty surge of qi roared back like rolling thunder.
Boom!
Chiba Masao felt like a cannonball had slammed into his chest.
With a miserable scream, he flew backward like a ragdoll, crashing through the door and sailing over ten meters before landing in the snow in the courtyard like a dead dog.
Jiang Tian’s finger energy didn’t lose any momentum—it kept rampaging forward like a cannonball, destroying everything in its path.
Crash—the floor exploded, forming a crack over ten meters long that extended all the way to the doorway. All the windows shattered in an instant. Paper scraps flew everywhere, and wood and water burst out.
“What? He’s a martial arts expert!”
Li Jinzhu’s mouth hung open in a perfect O. Her clear, beautiful eyes were filled with shock, and her delicate body trembled slightly.
Chiba Masao was a ranked figure in Japanese swordsmanship—a direct disciple of Grand Master Chiba Eijiro, a pillar of the Hokushin Itto-ryu. In all of Japan, only five or six Grand Masters could suppress him. But now, Jiang Tian had sent him flying with a casual flick of his finger.
Jiang Tian picked up his liquor and took a sip, then set the glass down on the table with a thud. He shook his head in disdain. “Your South Korean bamboo charcoal liquor is way too weak. It’s like watered-down Erguotou!”
“Baka! Who dares cause trouble on our Yamaguchi-gumi turf!”
“Bastard! Kill him!”
In the courtyard, seeing Chiba Masao sent flying, five or six Japanese swordsmen in samurai attire came rushing over, along with some Yamaguchi-gumi members in black suits.
Some held pistols, others long blades. They glared at Jiang Tian with murderous intent, shouting furiously.
Supported by one of his disciples, Chiba Masao struggled to his feet. He shook his head, gripped his katana’s hilt with both hands, and stared dead at Jiang Tian. “Baka! Hand over the storage ring and the jade marrow, or I’ll kill you!”
“Heh heh, you Japanese bastards are so arrogant. You don’t know your place.”
Jiang Tian’s face darkened as he sneered.
“Do you think China is still the poor, weak Republic era? You dare come to China to kill and rob? I think China’s been too friendly to you lot—spoiled you rotten!”
He stood there firm as a rock and sneered, “Fine. Come and take it. Today I’ll show you what real Chinese martial arts is, and what a real strong man looks like!”
Jiang Tian was a native of Jinling. His great-grandfather’s generation—over a dozen family members—had been killed by the Japanese invaders.
Growing up, he’d heard the old man tell stories about the Japanese massacre in Jinling and how their ancestors fought to save the country.
Even after ten thousand years of cultivation, he still harbored a deep hatred for the Japanese.
Every man is responsible for his country’s fate. As a descendant of the Yellow Emperor, how could he stand by and let Japanese devils run amok in China?
In that instant, killing intent surged in his heart. Every Japanese person in this club today would die. Not one would be left.
“Rob? I’m great at robbing! My ancestor served as a blade instructor in the Japanese army. Back in Jinling, we burned, killed, and looted—oh, what fun! Fine, I’ll rob you right now and show you!”
Chiba Masao growled, his eyes gleaming. His aura surged as he gripped the hilt with both hands and drew the blade in one slow-then-fast motion.
This blade—its lacquered scabbard was mottled and peeling, its hilt black and shiny from years of oil, sweat, and blood.
But in Japanese swordsmanship circles, no one dared underestimate this blade.
It was called Kikuyomonmaru, forged by the great Japanese swordsmith Obata Ken. It was over a hundred years old.
Back then, Chiba Masao’s ancestor had wielded this blade across Kyushu, cutting down over a dozen sword masters and establishing the fearsome reputation of the Hokushin Itto-ryu.
Even Chinese martial arts grandmasters and Western superhumans would tremble at the mention of this blade’s name and give it a wide berth.
Shing! A sharp ring.
Chiba Masao leaped up, and the gleaming Kikuyomonmaru came crashing down like the Milky Way falling from the heavens.
“Hokushin Itto-ryu: Thousand Piles of Snow!”
The blade light stretched out like a raging wind sweeping up a thousand piles of snow—a vast expanse of white, over five meters long.
The blade energy was incredibly dense. If Chiba Shoichi’s strike was layered shadows of blades, then Chiba Masao’s was practically a solid curtain of blade light.
Even Hong Tianzhao’s “Raging Sea Sword Art” and Tiangang Sword Formation couldn’t match this terrifying power.
A monstrous killing intent, cold and unmatched, instantly enveloped a large area, dropping the temperature inside the Korean-style house.
Li Jinzhu felt like she’d fallen into an ice cellar—cold all over, with a surging pressure that made her tender cheeks sting as if they’d be cut by the sharp blade energy. Even breathing became difficult.
“So strong!”
“Worthy of a Japanese sword grand master!”
“This Thousand Piles of Snow could probably split a boulder!”
“That clueless Chinese kid is dead for sure!”
The Japanese swordsmen and Yamaguchi-gumi members were all terrified and in awe, watching the strike with worshipful eyes, sighing in admiration and cheering together.
The Thousand Piles of Snow blade light flashed down. Boom! A huge crash—the roof and wall were split open in a huge gash.
Snowflakes drifted in, cold wind poured through. Amid flying straw and dust, the sharp blade energy came crashing down at Jiang Tian like lightning, with an unstoppable momentum.
“Heh heh, is this your supreme Japanese swordsmanship? Hokushin Itto-ryu? Nothing but garbage!”
Jiang Tian carefully sensed the opponent’s blade energy with his spiritual sense. Then, a trace of disdainful mockery appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Japanese swordsmanship, ninjutsu, onmyoji—they all advocate the simultaneous development of spirit, breath, and body, just with different emphases.
But ultimately, these Japanese arts were just martial techniques that Xu Fu, Jianzhen, and Japanese students brought back from China during the Tang Dynasty, modified to suit local conditions.
They didn’t call their breath “true qi”—they called it “chakra,” which translates to “energy.”
In Jiang Tian’s view, the sword energy chakra Chiba Masao unleashed was all show and no substance. It was actually weaker than Chinese martial arts sword energy, and nothing compared to cultivation true essence.
Just as the blade light was about to reach his chest, Jiang Tian suddenly flicked his fingers like he was playing a pipa. Whoosh whoosh whoosh—dozens of white wind blades shot out in succession.
The wind blades linked end to end, over ten meters long, tumbling and rolling like an angry dragon soaring into the sky. They easily shredded the Thousand Piles of Snow blade light to pieces.
Then, the wind blades danced in the air as if alive, pouncing toward Chiba Masao.
“Oh no!”
In that instant, warning bells rang in Chiba Masao’s mind. His face changed dramatically. He’d never imagined Jiang Tian could be this powerful.
And he couldn’t even tell if this was sorcery or martial arts.
These wind blades were so numerous, they could break his Thousand Piles of Snow, and they seemed almost alive.
“Thousand Piles of Snow!”
“Broken Roaring Waterfall!”
“Whirlpool Wheel!”
“Ripple Blade!”
Facing the clawing, fang-baring dragon of wind blades, Chiba Masao’s expression turned unprecedentedly grave.
Like when he practiced swordsmanship under the waterfall years ago, he sank his waist and sat on his horse stance, feet crushing the ice and bluestone beneath him. His bow-legged stance was like iron pincers as he roared at the top of his lungs, unleashing his four most powerful strikes in succession.
Every strike was poured with all his strength. Not to exaggerate, but he was confident he could split even an armored vehicle in two.
