Infinite Fire Record

Chapter 22: Huodu

Seeing the Southern Mountain at a leisurely pace.

Zhongnan Mountain—at the land beyond the mountain, a place free from worldly strife. Silence pervaded the air, thick with a sorrowful stillness, an eerie bleakness. Though the verdant foliage flourished, an underlying pallor seeped through its core.

The emperor wore white, silver threads embroidering a delicate lotus across the fabric—a gentleman, pure as the lotus—lonely, untainted, and proud. The chill emanating from Yutian was unmistakable. Cold was his gaze, his expression, his very presence. Cold, down to his very bones.

At that moment, Yutian’s right sleeve swept through the air, catching a lone white flower in his grasp.

Cold—if one word could describe it, it was cold.

Yutian gazed into the distance, the corner of his lips curling into a detached smile. “It seems the murderous aura from earlier has been frozen by this bleak atmosphere. This place is no less than a forbidden ground—not only is it forbidden to men, but also to the heart.”

As his words faded, Yutian stepped forward, his figure light as if gliding upon the wind.

The Golden Goose Technique.

Though he had only recently acquired it, Yutian had already understood its intricacies long before. The technique, inspired by the eastward flight of geese, granted the illusion of a golden bird soaring weightlessly over snow. Though he had merely skimmed its contents once, he wielded it effortlessly. After all, even within his mother’s womb, he had consumed the Essence and Blood Pill, forging unparalleled talent. Cultivating battle qi, he tempered an unrivaled physique. Having lived two lives, his soul was reforged through a foreign flame, his comprehension transcendent.

Thus, even at first use, he executed the technique with ease, as though he had mastered it long ago.

He floated toward the distant ancient tomb.

The Quanzhen Sect held no further value to him. Without hesitation, he left it behind.

The ancient tomb stood in stark contrast to the barren silence of the mountain. Before its entrance stood a man, his gaze carrying a trace of deceit, his expression brimming with arrogance.

A smirk played on his lips as he stood before the deep cavern, his voice laced with insolence. “I, Huodu, have heard that the mistress of this ancient tomb is as fair as a flower. Now, she hosts a martial arts competition within. I am not particularly gifted, yet I am willing to put my skills to the test.”

He flicked his wrist, opening his folding fan with a flourish, feigning the air of a refined gentleman.

Not far away, Yutian observed indifferently, the corner of his lips curling ever so slightly. “So, this is Huodu.”

This very man had recently fought at Mount Zhongnan, aiming to eradicate the Quanzhen Sect. Yet fate had not favored him—Guo Jing had arrived, his child in hand, charging through the battlefield.

Over the years, Guo Jing has encountered many fortuitous opportunities. However, after suffering Yutian’s strike, his right arm had been rendered useless. The foreign flame was tyrannical—even a mere trace of its power was enough to burden him. To sustain himself, Guo Jing was forced to divert eighty percent of his strength merely to suppress that lingering flame. His martial prowess had been all but crippled.

The matter was dire, prompting Hong Qigong to intervene. As Guo Jing’s master, he sought a solution, yet he dared not meddle too deeply in his disciple’s affairs.

For the sake of Xiangyang’s defense, Hong Qigong summoned the full might of the Beggars’ Sect, seeking out the eccentric Zhou Botong. Together, with the strength of two half-step grandmasters, they finally expelled the remnant flame.

Guo Jing’s martial arts had thus recovered—though his right arm remained numb, his strength at the peak of the Houtian realm, coupled with the Eighteen Subduing Dragon Palms and the Nine Yin Manual, was more than sufficient to deal with a mere Huodu.

Huodu had been defeated. The Golden Wheel Monk’s mission had failed. In his frustration, Huodu stormed toward the ancient tomb, seeking a means to vent his ire.

Now, standing before the tomb, impatience flickered across his expression as he called out, “Mistress of the ancient tomb, why have you yet to greet me? Or will you not allow me to enter?”

Yutian, his senses keen, detected the faint buzzing in the air. The corner of his lips curved into a knowing smirk.

“The Jade Bee Technique… truly an extraordinary art.”

Descending like a wisp of wind, he landed before the tomb’s entrance, his white robes billowing slightly. A faint smile—cold and distant—played on his lips.

Huodu’s body tensed. Instinctively, he took a step back, surprise flashing in his eyes before he composed himself.

“Who might Your Excellency be?” he asked, voice steady. “Are you here to compete in the tournament as well?”

Yutian regarded the gathered crowd, his gaze scanning the hundred or so men before him. His brows knitted slightly as he spoke with calm authority.

“A martial arts tournament? Nothing but a fabrication. The ancient tomb behind me holds great significance to my grandfather. Today, I have business here. Leave.”

Huodu’s expression darkened. He let out a cold snort, his tone laced with mockery. “Quite the audacious youth.”

With a flick of his wrist, his folding fan swept forward.

A concealed weapon—small, yet razor-sharp—shot forth from the fan’s edge.

Yutian’s gaze hardened, a flicker of killing intent flashing in his eyes. With a slight motion of his right hand, a surge of internal energy gathered at his fingertips.

Puff!

A piercing sound split the air.

A fragment of silver, gleaming like moonlight, transformed into a lethal projectile, hurtling toward Huodu.

The Snapping Finger Divine Art—is one of Huang Yaoshi’s greatest techniques. In truth, all of his martial arts derived from this single skill. More than just a hidden weapon technique, it was an art unto itself. According to Huang Yaoshi, its origins could be traced back to the Yi Sect.

At its pinnacle, this technique condensed power into sword-like energy, its might unparalleled.

Huang Yaoshi’s internal cultivation revolved around this art. Though Yutian had inherited it, he had long since acquired the Burning Decree. There was no need for him to cultivate another internal art.

Now, the silver fragment sliced through the air, a harbinger of death.

Clang!

The concealed needle struck true—shattering upon impact. Shards of silver scattered, each piece a lethal dart that found its mark among Huodu’s men.

More than just a sharp projectile, the attack carried force beyond that of a steel crossbow.

Huodu’s eyes widened in alarm. His fan snapped open as he raised it defensively before his throat.

Bang!

A resounding impact rang out. His folding fan—crafted from refined steel—was sent flying.

A scream of agony tore through the air.

Though the initial strike had been blocked, the scattered fragments had struck true, claiming the lives of several men beside Huodu.

Yutian gazed at him, amusement dancing in his cold eyes.