I Have the Martial Arts Heavenly Eye in the Storm Riders

The world is ever-changing, and the affairs of the world are like the tides. The already turbulent and unpredictable martial arts world has, unknowingly, once again stirred up a monstrous wave that could devour everything.

Deep underground, in a place where there is no sunlight, lies a hidden chamber forgotten by the world, exuding a suffocating chill and dampness.

The air was thick with a musty, stale smell, like the last sigh of time decaying here, weighing heavily on everyone's heart.

Dozens of enormous iron cages, gleaming with a cold and sinister light, were neatly arranged in the dim space, like ancient behemoths lurking in the darkness, their blood-red maws wide open, silently awaiting the cries of their prey.

However, those trapped in this iron cage at this moment are not wild beasts, but rather great figures who once dominated the martial arts world and were famous far and wide.

The former head of the Tian Shuang Hall of the Tianhui Society was Qin Shuang.

Wushuang City – Dugu Ming.

Kuaiyimen – Kuaiyi Laozu (Old Ancestor of Kuaiyi)

There are even renowned figures in the martial arts world known for their ability to bring the dead back to life, and "Sword Poor," who is obsessed with swords and lives a carefree life.

At this moment, they had long lost their former vigor and spirit. They slumped against the cold iron bars, their faces as pale as paper, and their aura was extremely weak, like candles flickering in a gale, ready to be extinguished in the endless darkness at any moment.

Looking around, there was not a single obvious external injury on these people, but the extraordinary true energy that surrounded them seemed to have been sucked away by some evil force in the short span of one night, leaving only empty shells that could no longer muster any strength.

"Where...where am I?!"

Dugu Ming slowly woke up. He struggled to stand up, but his legs felt weak and he couldn't muster any strength. He fell heavily onto the cold ground.

He clung desperately to the thick iron bars, screaming at the top of his lungs in terror.

"I am the city lord of Wushuang City! Who dares to arrest me?! Let me out!!"

In the iron cage next door, Qin Shuang leaned slumped against a cold corner, her half-empty sleeve hanging limply in the breeze, making her look particularly desolate.

His voice, though weak, remained as calm as ever.

"Save your energy. Although my arms are crippled, my internal strength is still there. But right now, I feel my dantian is completely empty. I've obviously been poisoned by some kind of extremely potent muscle-weakening powder or power-dissolving poison. Since they were able to capture us without us noticing, they won't release us just because you shout a few times."

"Qin Shuang?! You're here too?!" Dugu Ming's heart jolted, and his terrified gaze swept around him. When he saw the figures gradually waking up, he turned pale with horror, as if he had fallen into an ice cave.

"The Ancestor of Joy? The Divine Physician? The Sword Poor? What... what on earth is going on?! Who has such power to wipe us all out in one fell swoop?!"

The crowd looked at each other, their eyes filled with unprecedented fear and confusion in the dim firelight.

Some of them are at a crucial juncture in their intensive self-cultivation, some are enjoying drinks with friends in a restaurant, and some are even indulging in the allure of a sensual pleasure...

But the last moment of his memory was frozen in the sudden darkness, and he never knew anything after that.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself trapped in this dark and hopeless prison, a prisoner at the mercy of others. This despair of falling from the clouds to the abyss was enough to shatter anyone's heart.

"Hehe...that's interesting..." In the corner, Jian Pin was also slumped on the ground, but his cunning eyes were still darting around in the darkness, revealing a cynical and sly glint in his eyes.

"To be able to deal with so many masters at the same time without leaving a trace... In this martial world, besides the already destroyed World Society, who else has such ability?"

"Could it be... the Outer Heavens?!" The voice of the Ancestor of Joy trembled as he exclaimed in surprise.

"Impossible." Qin Shuang slowly shook her head, her gaze deep and cold. "If Duan Lang wanted to kill us, he would have done it directly. Why bother with such sneaky tactics?"

"Who could that be?!"

Just as everyone was filled with doubt and confusion, the heavy stone door at the end of the secret chamber, as thick as a mountain, suddenly opened slowly with a muffled and oppressive rumble, revealing a crack leading to unknown fears.

Tap, tap, tap...

A monotonous and cold sound of footsteps echoed in the deathly silent chamber, each step seeming to pound on everyone's hearts.

The ones who walked in were not some peerless powerhouse who shook the world, but two strange men wearing hideous demon masks on their faces—Ghost Cha Luo.

They carried heavy wooden buckets, remaining silent throughout, simply walking indifferently to the cage and tossing in the shoddy food through the cracks.

Their movements were mechanical and cold, exuding a deep-seated indifference, as if they were dealing with nothing more than livestock to be slaughtered, rather than heroes who had once been renowned throughout the martial world.

As the cold footsteps faded into the distance, the secret chamber fell into a deathly silence once more. Only the heavy, weak breathing of the group echoed in the dim space, carrying an indescribable desolation.

"Divine doctor...you are known for your ability to bring the dead back to life. Can you tell what kind of poison we have been afflicted with?"

Kuaiyi Laozu struggled to lean against the iron bars, his chapped lips trembling slightly, his eyes filled with hope as he looked at another iron cage not far away.

The old man, known as the "miracle doctor," slowly opened his eyes. His once clear and wise eyes were now filled with tired bloodshot veins.

"This poison is extremely insidious, originating from barbaric lands like Japan. It can instantly lock down the body's meridians, preventing the flow of internal energy." The divine physician's voice was hoarse and deep, sounding exceptionally clear in the silent chamber.

"If you wish to cure this poison, I have at least three remedies..."

Upon hearing this, everyone's eyes lit up with astonishing brilliance, as if they had seen a glimmer of dawn in the endless darkness.

However, the doctor's next words were like a bucket of icy water, instantly extinguishing the newly ignited flame of hope.

"But now we are trapped in this dark and hopeless prison. I have neither needles nor medicine. Even if I possess extraordinary abilities, I cannot cook without rice." The divine physician shook his head with a bitter smile, his gaze sweeping across the empty, cold chamber. His tone was filled with the desolation of a hero's end.

"In this sealed room, besides the stench of decay and the cold iron bars, where can one find even a single herb that can neutralize the poison?"

The pain of dashed hope is often more agonizing than never having had any hope at all.

The sealed room fell into a suffocating silence once again, with only the musty smell seeming to grow even stronger.

Zhonghua Pavilion.

As a secluded and transcendent place amidst the hustle and bustle of the world, this place still maintains its former tranquility and peace, as if time has slowed down here, unwilling to disturb this rare serenity.

The pavilion was filled with the gentle strains of a zither, as if weeping and lamenting, while the aroma of tea permeated the air, exuding a serene and worldly-wise atmosphere.

Most of the guests were literary figures who sought out literary phrases and verses; there was little of the hustle and bustle of the common folk, making it seem more like a secluded paradise.

In a private room on the second floor, an unnamed man dressed in plain clothes, with a slender figure, was carefully wiping the erhu that had been with him for many years.

His expression was focused and serene, as if all the world's troubles had gradually dissipated into the cool air with the caress of his fingertips.

Suddenly, a gentle breeze blew by, carrying a slight coolness, and rustled the windowpane, making a soft sound.

The nameless man paused slightly, his deep, unfathomable eyes slowly rising to gaze calmly at the vast sky outside the window:

"Since you're here, why not come in and have a chat?"

Before the words were finished, a figure dressed in white appeared out of thin air on the windowsill, his clothes fluttering, exuding an aloofness and coldness that did not belong to this mortal world.

"You're quite perceptive."

Jiang Chen chuckled lightly, his tone carrying a hint of cynicism, yet also revealing a profound depth that was impossible to ignore.

Without any ceremony, he turned and went inside, sitting down opposite Wuming. He picked up the teapot on the table and poured himself a cup. The rising steam blurred his features.

"You've come all this way, and you won't even offer me a cup of hot tea?"

Wuming gently put down his erhu, looking at the mysterious young man before him—or rather, this "senior" whose seniority was frighteningly high, as if he had stepped out of an ancient painting—a hint of helplessness and awe flashed in his eyes:

"You flatter me, senior. If you wish, you can always have tea at Zhonghua Pavilion."

"Alright, I won't stand on ceremony with you."

Jiang Chen took a sip of tea, letting the bittersweet taste spread across his tongue.

He casually pulled a yellowed old book from his pocket; the pages were tattered, exuding the vicissitudes of time. He tossed it in front of Wuming like trash.

"Here, a gift for you."

Wuming instinctively reached out and caught it. His gaze fell on the four powerful and ancient characters on the cover, which seemed to contain endless sword intent. His pupils suddenly contracted, and his heart was also filled with shock.

"Ten thousand...ten thousand swords returning to their origin?!"

Even with Wuming's usually calm and collected demeanor, he couldn't help but gasp in surprise, abruptly standing up, his hands trembling slightly as he stared intently at the manual in his hands, his eyes filled with disbelief.

"This...this is the supreme secret technique of my Sword Sect! Back then, my Martial Uncle Sword Emperor imprisoned himself in an ice cellar with it...how did it end up in your hands?!"

At this point, Wuming suddenly looked up, his eyes flashing with an incomparably sharp sword intent that seemed to tear the void before him apart. His tone also became solemn and cold:

"Could it be... that Senior went to the ice cellar? Then what about my martial uncle...?"

If Jiang Chen killed the Sword Emperor in order to seize the secret manual, then no matter how powerful the other party was, he could not sit idly by and would definitely seek justice!

"Put away your murderous aura." Jiang Chen rolled his eyes at him, making up a story on the spot, but his expression was completely calm.

"Your martial uncle is alive and well. He 'voluntarily' gave me this manual, asking me to find a successor for him. I thought about it and realized that no one in the world besides you is worthy of practicing this thing, so I just delivered it to you on my way."

Upon hearing that the Sword Emperor was not dead and had "voluntarily" given the book, the sharpness in Wuming's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a deep sense of guilt and gratitude, weaving a complex tapestry across his aged face.

"Thank you, senior! I was just being petty and judging you by my own standards."

Wuming held the manual in both hands, bowed solemnly, and his back looked particularly heavy in the afterglow of the setting sun.

He knew perfectly well what this manual meant to the Sword Sect and to himself.

With it, perhaps he could truly comprehend the elusive ultimate of swordsmanship and step into a completely new realm.

"Alright, stop bowing, I can't accept that."

Jiang Chen waved casually, stood up, and glanced at the busy workers downstairs. But deep in his eyes was a barely perceptible worry.

His gaze lingered for a moment on a thin, pale-faced, beardless waiter with a slightly high-pitched voice.

In the shadowy depths of destiny, there once lay an indistinguishable figure, lurking beside the nameless one for years, ostensibly as a protector, but in reality, having long since deciphered all of his sword techniques.

At the crucial moment when the winds of change are blowing, the fatal sword thrust from the darkness will be enough to bring down a generation of celestial swordsmen.

Even though Po Jun has already returned to the underworld, if this person is misled by a tyrant like Jue Wushen and turns against him, revealing the only flaw in the Heavenly Sword Path, the last line of defense of the Central Plains martial arts world will probably collapse in this bloody storm.

Thinking of this, Jiang Chen gazed silently at Wuming, his eyes seemingly reflecting the ephemeral nature of countless stars, revealing a profound and serene understanding of the world's illusions. He spoke meaningfully:

"Nameless, although your swordsmanship has reached a state of perfection, your judgment of people is sometimes not accurate."

Wuming paused slightly, a hint of doubt flashing in his deep, unfathomable eyes, and asked softly, "What makes you say that, Senior?"

"Be careful of those around you." Jiang Chen pointed downstairs, his tone calm yet meaningful, as if recounting a predetermined tragedy, or perhaps a faint sigh uttered amidst the hustle and bustle of the world.

"Sometimes, the one who stabs you the most comes from the person you trust the most. Especially those seemingly insignificant people who have access to your daily life... If they are used by someone with ulterior motives, the consequences are unimaginable."

Following Jiang Chen's finger, Wuming saw a group of loyal and devoted employees and brothers who had followed him for many years, bathed in the afterglow of the setting sun. Their busy figures created a strong sense of human warmth and life, appearing so peaceful and real.

He frowned slightly, withdrew his gaze, but his expression remained calm and resolute as he said solemnly:

"Senior, you are overthinking it. Everyone in Zhonghua Pavilion is either a brother who has risked his life with me or a pitiful person I took in. They have been with me day and night, and are as close as brothers. They would never betray me."

Looking at Wuming's resolute and untainted expression, Jiang Chen couldn't help but sigh inwardly.

This is the nameless one who stands at the pinnacle of the martial arts world and is known as the "Heavenly Sword".

Upright and honest, with a heart for the world, yet precisely because of this, a pure heart is too easily trusting and unable to see through the darkest aspects of human nature.

"Suit yourself." Jiang Chen shrugged, saying no more. His figure, dressed in pristine white, appeared somewhat lonely and ethereal in the setting sun.

"Anyway, I've delivered the message. Whether you listen or not is up to you. I'm leaving."

Before he finished speaking, he moved slightly and disappeared from the window like a wisp of smoke, leaving only a faint aroma of tea lingering in the cool air, as if he had never been there at all.

Wuming stood quietly in the spot, watching the direction Jiang Chen had left in. The vast sky was gradually being swallowed by the night. He shook his head slightly, a helpless bitter smile appearing on his lips.

"Although Senior Jiang's cultivation is extraordinary, his paranoia is a bit too much."

He turned around, his gaze sweeping over the busy figures downstairs once more, his eyes filled with the trust and warmth of family.

These people had gone through life and death with him, and had shared hardships with him; they had long become an indispensable part of his life.

That deep affection, like that of brothers, cannot be shaken by a few words.

Ultimately, he was unwilling and unable to doubt these partners he regarded as family.

"The senior's reminder was ultimately unnecessary."

Wuming chuckled lightly, completely ignoring Jiang Chen's prophetic warning as if it were just a minor breeze that would dissipate as soon as it passed.

He sat back down in his chair, took a deep breath to calm his turbulent emotions, and solemnly turned his gaze to the legendary supreme manual in his hand, which carried the hard work of countless predecessors of the Sword Sect.

He slowly reached out, his fingertips trembling almost imperceptibly, and gently turned the yellowed cover.

The first page, under the dim light, came into view.