Chen Ping'an returned to the old temple, where he was responsible for lookout duty for the second half of the night.  Xu Yuanxia and Zhang Shanfeng didn't ask him anything, so he didn't explain anything either.0

Chen Ping'an faced the campfire from late night until dawn, and the flickering flames illuminated his face, which seemed slightly less tanned than before. Nobody knew what he was thinking about.0

The first rays of sunshine were peeking over the horizon, and the big-bearded martial artist was still sleeping soundly. Meanwhile, Zhang Shanfeng folded his blankets and discovered that Chen Ping'an wasn't in the old temple anymore. He walked out and found that Chen Ping'an surprisingly wasn't practicing his fist techniques today. Instead, he was standing still with the locust wood sword in his hand.1

Chen Ping'an turned around when he heard the young Daoist priest's footsteps. "You're awake?"0

Zhang Shanfeng nodded and spread out his arms, stretching his body to loosen himself up. A morning breeze brushed through the mountains, still carrying with it a hint of chilliness. Zhang Shanfeng grabbed the peach wood sword from his back and started to practice his usual set of sword techniques. He twisted and turned, and his body followed the movements of the sword. He appeared light and nimble.3

Zhang Shanfeng had arms as long as a monkey's, and the transitions between his sword stances were also smooth and relaxed. From the perspective of cultivation elites outside the mountains, Zhang Shanfeng was a natural talent especially suited to practicing the sword. Of course, such a notion most likely didn't exist for cultivation forces in the mountains. 0

These forces placed more emphasis on nurturing Qi and refining Qi, and all they wanted was to be able to advance through the cultivation tiers quickly enough. All they desired was massive cultivation speed, to the extent of leaving everyone else in the dust and stunning their elders.0

After...0