CHAPTER 240: CHAPTER 209: YOU ARE THE WHETSTONE_3

Those two moves were the proof—Chen Yi was kept firmly at bay, no closer than two zhang from her the entire time.

The gun, a weapon of precision and balance, triumphs over one hundred other arms. In the Jianghu, those rogues who wield swords and knives often boast that while a gun is formidable, in the thick of bloody battle, swords and knives are more advantageous.

Yet, what is a bloody battle, if not killing your foe from two zhang away with a gun?

A true master of the gun takes lives without letting a sword-wielder even breach their range. What purpose, then, does a blade serve in such hands?

Thus, Qin Qingluo had viewed him from beginning to end as no more than a whetstone.

Swords and knives—the courage of mere brutes.

"Keep swinging your blade." Qin Qingluo smiled, still brimming with energy.

A shadow surged forth, the overwhelming force of Chen Yi’s blade accompanying his words. His speed suddenly soared, causing Qin Qingluo’s pupils to contract sharply.

It felt as though the heavens and earth had been strung together by a taut, slender thread.

Cutting through wind, slicing through rain.

That thread sped toward her with unimaginable velocity, so fast it almost defied reaction.

Almost—but not entirely.

Qin Qingluo retreated her gun slightly, her body stepping back as well, her entire presence taking on the form of a circle.

The divine intricacies of gunplay lie in the circle—complete and unbroken, protecting every angle while striking in all directions. To attack with circular omnipresence is to counter the opponent’s illusions and realities; to defend with circular completeness is to stand unassailable.

The gun becomes as the full moon.

The full moon collided with the thin thread, like a spring thunderclap erupting. The torrent of energy rippled outwards from the two as the epicenter, scattering the temple’s incense smoke in its wake!

Both were flung backward, almost flying away.

Qin Qingluo careened back as if an empty crossbow bolt, but with a forceful thrust of her legs, she landed firmly on the ground, instantly regaining her stance.

She looked up to see Chen Yi stabilize himself an instant slower than she did.

"Satisfying enough," Qin Qingluo chuckled coldly.

Chen Yi’s palms were stained with fresh blood. He wiped them away casually and spoke softly:

"Just as I suspected."

"Suspected what?"

"A gun in your hand, but no gun in your heart." Chen Yi’s tone was calm, entirely unlike someone at a disadvantage.

Qin Qingluo narrowed her eyes slightly, replying:

"Arrogant. Then tell me, why do you claim I have no gun in my heart?"

During their brief exchange, Qin Qingluo steadied her breath and her energy flow, as did Chen Yi.

Chen Yi smiled lightly:

"With a gun in your hand, your actions are calculated and precise. Without one in your heart, your intent falters and wavers.

A gun defends its wielder’s safety from two zhang away, as does a noble child who avoids danger. But once you step into peril, your calculations crumble.

Even if you’ve basked in radiant light and worn the Vestment robe to your benefit, it was ultimately bargaining with a tiger—you lack mastery over the whole field. In this small world, you remain but a pawn of gods and immortals.

Is that avoiding danger? Or is it not the very definition of faltering intent?"

The tall woman’s expression stiffened.

The man before her—his words held no falsehood. On the contrary, ever since her arrival in the Capital City, she had indeed been bargaining with a tiger.

"You understand that you have no gun in your heart, don’t you?"

Chen Yi asked with a soft laugh.

Qin Qingluo furrowed her brows, unease boiling in her chest. Forcing a sneer, she retorted sharply:

"And what makes you think I don’t have a gun in my heart, instead of merely hiding its edge?"

Chen Yi replied indifferently:

"If you truly had a gun in your heart, why reach for fire while standing amid flames?"

Qin Qingluo’s grip tightened on her gun, muscles bulging, her voice scraping through her throat like a mockery:

"So what if I’m a pawn? Are you any different?

Blades are nothing but reckless tools, even when held, they falter and waver—a brute’s courage."

Her eyes were ablaze, killing intent surging.

The boiling unease in her heart solidified.

Chen Yi offered no reply, instead sheathing his chaotic thoughts.

Qin Qingluo looked on, puzzled by the sight of him disarming himself.

And in the next moment, the sword on his back drew itself free, his aura shifting dramatically, soaring to an apex of unwavering resolve amidst swirling smoke.

Qin Qingluo blinked in brief surprise.

In such a fleeting span, he had already grasped comprehension of a different weapon’s essence?!

While she hesitated, Chen Yi moved.

With a single sword raised, his figure shot toward her like lightning, the mournful echo of sword-song tearing through the air.

He seemed determined to use the short against the length.

Qin Qingluo reacted instantly, stepping back, then raising her gun. The long weapon lashed toward Chen Yi with furious speed, its sharp whistle splitting the air, the gun tip carving a crescent under sunlight.

Bang.

The gun collided against the sword’s body, the tremendous force bending both the blade and Chen Yi slightly.

Even struck so heavily, Chen Yi’s movements did not halt in the slightest, his momentum unbroken, charging fast toward the tall woman.

Qin Qingluo’s palms spilled blood from the impact, yet she laughed as she suddenly withdrew her gun, stopping abruptly before twisting it downward. Her arm veins bulged, the weapon roaring through the air, slicing a half-zhang crack into the earth—a domineering, unyielding thrust.

This strike left no room for retreat; endure it, or be pierced by it!

Her presence surged to its peak, overlapped with the swelling unease in her chest—one gun radiating violet lightning barreled forward with no reserve.

Short against length? What arrogance!

The gun is king amongst weapons, its dominance unchallenged except by another gun!

What followed was what she saw.

Chen Yi’s blade unsheathed as well.

With one hand, he unleashed the Cutting Wind and Splitting Rain technique, slamming fiercely against the gun’s shaft.

Bang!

The Purple Electric Gun reverberated, thunderous echoes cracking the air, and its body was shattered with a gaping fissure.

Yet Chen Yi’s injuries must be far graver.

Both of Qin Qingluo’s hands numbed. She watched Chen Yi’s blade-wielding hand twist unnaturally from the force—his bones had fractured. She couldn’t watch for long.

He gambled the cost of grievous injury, even sacrificed one arm, but his momentum was undeterred!

Enshrouded in black, the lethal sword aimed straight for her throat.

The sword roared like a dragon!

Qin Qingluo’s wide eyes filled with disbelief. Her throat tightened, an immense sweetness in her mouth pouring out in crimson, blocked only by the blade embedded within.

That single stroke pierced through the tall woman’s throat.

The gun holds enemies at bay from two zhang away.

But he had already stepped... within two zhang!

Qin Qingluo’s widened eyes and towering, graceful physique shuddered under the weight of this strike, softening, her knees collapsing in agonizing pain.

The gun is the king of weapons; this much is true.

Yet the wrath of a brute spills blood within five paces.

With one remaining hand, Chen Yi pressed firmly against the cracked shaft of the Purple Electric Gun.

"I told you,"

"You hold a gun, but you lack its essence in your heart."

"That, is why you are my... whetstone."

In the ears of the gun-loving, towering woman,

a crisp sound rang—crack. It was the sound of her long gun breaking...

A despair that ran deep, and a sorrow so chilling.