The Oldest Disciple: Farming Intimacy to Become Immortal

Chapter 213: A Duel Wagered on Affection

Junior Brother Zhang’s infatuation with Senior Sister Cai was hardly a secret. It had begun ten years ago during a trip to the mortal realm and festered ever since.

For two years, he and Senior Sister Cai had engaged in Dual Cultivation—a standard exchange of Yin and Yang to further their respective Daos. But Zhang Hu had committed the cardinal sin of the Joyous Union Sect: he had mistaken a transaction for a relationship. Despite Cai Xiaowei’s explicit rejections, he refused to let go. Whenever he wasn’t on missions, he loitered around the main peak, devising every possible excuse to request another “Dao Exchange” with her.

“Those two are at it again? Fighting over a woman in the middle of the Grand Competition?”

“Why complain? It’s a free show. Besides, adding personal stakes makes the violence much more interesting.”

“Indeed. A duel fueled by jealousy is always vicious.”

Conflicts sparked by possessiveness over Dao Companions were commonplace in the sect. On the platform, Mu Jiu’er rubbed her temples, her expression one of pained resignation. Seeing the two men still locked in a war of words, she finally intervened.

“Two Junior Brothers,” Mu Jiu’er’s voice projected from the Name List Stele, echoing across the Martial Arena with authoritative weight. “Victory and defeat will settle the karma between you. Why waste breath on nonsense?”

Her words cut through the tension, reaching the ears of Du Mo and Zhang Hu. Their expressions hardened instantly.

“Junior Brother Zhang, please!”

“Senior Brother Du, please!”

In the next instant, spiritual light flashed as both summoned their Magical Artifacts. Du Mo drew a slender longsword, while Zhang Hu wielded a heavy greatsword.

Without hesitation, they rode the wind, charging toward one another.

“Sword Splitting Technique!”

Du Mo performed a hand seal. His sword hummed, emitting a dazzling yellow radiance. The blade blurred, splitting from one into two, two into four, and four into eight. The eight spirit swords shrieked through the air, converging on Zhang Hu from all angles.

“Hmph. Trifling tricks!”

Zhang Hu snorted coldly. He hurled his greatsword forward. The massive weapon began to spin violently, generating a vortex of golden spiritual light. It formed an impenetrable wall of rotating steel, shattering the incoming spirit swords with a cacophony of metallic clangs.

Both disciples recalled their artifacts, landing briefly before simultaneously forming new hand seals.

“Great Sword Art!”

Yellow light surged from Du Mo, condensing into a massive spectral sword, five zhang in length and thrumming with heavy earth-element pressure. He thrust his palms forward, sending the construct hurtling toward his opponent.

“Great Sword Art!”

Almost simultaneously, an identical spectral sword materialized before Zhang Hu, matching Du Mo’s in size and intensity.

Boom!

The two colossi collided in mid-air with a thunderous explosion. Two-colored spiritual light flared wildly, sending rolling waves of spiritual power sweeping across the arena. For three breaths, the energies remained in a deadlock, grinding against each other until both shattered with a deafening crash, dyeing the sky in chaotic hues.

The backlash sent both men flying backward. They skid dozens of zhang across the stone floor before stabilizing their stances.

Du Mo recovered first. He stabbed his sword into the ground, channeling his qi downward.

“Earth Prison Technique!”

The Martial Arena trembled. A jagged fissure tore through the ground, racing from Du Mo’s feet toward Zhang Hu with terrifying speed.

Boom!

The earth beneath Zhang Hu exploded. A massive hand made of rock and soil erupted from the ground, grasping upward to crush him.

Zhang Hu’s expression shifted. He rode the wind, shooting vertically into the air just as the stone fingers snapped shut. Bringing his greatsword down, he slashed at the construct, shearing off several of the rock fingers in a shower of debris.

having escaped the trap, Zhang Hu did not descend. He hovered high above, looking down at Du Mo with a smile full of dangerous confidence.

“Senior Brother, I have prepared for this day for a long time. Today, I will surely win!”

He tossed his greatsword skyward. It pierced the clouds, rising to an altitude of a thousand meters. Suddenly, the weapon erupted with blinding golden light. Dense, spiderweb cracks appeared along the blade’s surface.

Crack!

The greatsword shattered.

“Did it self-destruct?” a spectator gasped.

“No,” another whispered. “Look.”

The golden light did not dissipate. Instead, the fragments dissolved into pure energy, converging onto a single point. High in the heavens, a terrifying pressure descended.

A Golden Geng Spirit Sword—thirty zhang long and composed of pure, sharpened metal qi—slowly materialized. It hung in the sky like the sword of Damocles, radiating an aura of absolute destruction.

“Senior Brother, this is the strongest strike I have prepared for you!”

Zhang Hu’s expression was ferocious. He had sacrificed a High Grade Magical Artifact to unleash this single attack.

“Sword, Come!”

With a roar, he brought his hands down.

The Golden Geng Spirit Sword descended. Its speed was so great that it compressed the air ahead of it, generating a chain of sonic booms that sounded like peals of thunder. The sky turned gold as the judgment fell.

“Junior Brother Zhang, you underestimate me!”

Du Mo’s face was grim, but devoid of panic. He stowed his sword and retrieved a new object from his Storage Bag: a yellow turtle shell covered in ancient talismanic inscriptions.

“Sacrificial Spirit Technique!”

Du Mo bit his tongue and spat a mouthful of Essence Blood onto the shell.

Absorbing the blood, the shell shot into the air, expanding rapidly amidst a burst of yellow light. It transformed into a phantom of a Primordial Spirit Turtle, over twenty zhang long. The heavy, imposing aura of the earth element flooded the arena as the spectral beast roared silently, rising to meet the falling sword.

BOOM!

The Golden Geng Spirit Sword collided with the Spirit Turtle shell.

The world seemed to lose sound for a split second before a violent shockwave erupted, creating a small-scale spiritual tide that battered the defensive arrays of the arena.

“Pfft!”

High in the air, Zhang Hu spat a mouthful of blood, his face turning deathly pale as the backlash hit him.

On the ground, Du Mo fared little better. His face flushed an unhealthy red as he forcibly swallowed the blood rising in his throat.

The energy dissipated. The Spirit Turtle vanished, reverting to a small, cracked shell that flew back into Du Mo’s trembling hand.

Du Mo took a deep, ragged breath and looked up at the sky.

“Junior Brother Zhang,” his voice boomed, though it shook slightly. “Can you still fight?”

Zhang Hu hovered in the air, his chest heaving. His expression shifted rapidly. He hadn’t expected Du Mo to possess a trump card capable of blocking his artifact’s sacrificial strike.

Instinctively, he turned his head toward the stands, seeking out Senior Sister Cai Xiaowei.

He found her. But facing his desperate, passionate gaze, Cai Xiaowei’s face was shadowed with boredom.

Why? her expression seemed to say. Why do men always speak of love? Why do they always try to possess me after a few nights of cultivation? It is utterly tedious.

Zhang Hu froze. He saw the indifference in her eyes—the cold reality that she was a beauty destined to be admired, used for the Dao, but never owned.

“She belongs to no one,” he whispered to himself.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. The fight drained out of him.

“I admit defeat!”

His weak voice echoed across the silent arena.

Du Mo swayed, nearly collapsing. He breathed a sigh of relief; if Zhang Hu had continued, Du Mo would have had nothing left to give.

“Victory goes to Du Mo, advancing to the fourth round!” Mu Jiu’er announced.

Du Mo gathered his remaining strength and rode the wind upward, flying toward the peak where Cai Xiaowei stood.

“Apologies, Senior Sister,” he said, bowing politely. “For making you witness such a farce.”