The Lame Elder's heart trembled faintly. Could the Jingping Imperial Tutor and the Jingping Empire truly be so reckless as to set their minds on the Desolate Ruins, a place so uncanny and dreadful, and think to set foot in it and swallow it whole? Yet Huo Ye had not been wrong in one thing he said: the Jingping Empire was indeed a sect disguised as a state! The Jingping Empire had been founded on martial might and was ruled by martial might. Its officials were divided into nine grades and eighteen ranks, from the Jingping Imperial Tutor and the Grand Guardian of the Heir Apparent at the senior first grade, down to the Gentleman for Meritorious Service, the Ceremonial Aide, and the Erudite at the junior ninth grade—not the erudite of the present day, but men of broad learning; at the junior ninth grade they occupied such offices as Erudite of Calligraphy, Erudite of Medicine, Erudite of Mathematics, and Erudite of Divination. Every one of them came of martial stock, and some were outright patriarchs, sect masters, or grandmasters of other sects. As for the soldiers of this state, each and every one was a martial artist, mighty in battle and skilled in war; abroad they could storm cities and seize territory, at home they could crush rebellion. It was absolutely a power of boundless terror. When a sect disguises itself as a state, governs its own domain by the methods of a state, unifies resources, subjugates other sects, governs in unison all the martial artists and practitioners of the mystical arts within its borders, and bends every sect under its sway to its own service—then how mighty, how dreadful must such a state become? Over the years the Jingping Empire had expanded without cease; its territories grew ever broader and ever vaster, swallowing up sects like the Lanjiang Sect and annexing one small country after another. And now the lands of the Jingping Empire had reached the very edge of the Desolate Ruins, where the Ruins blocked its way. What barred the path of this state was the darkness and strangeness of the Ruins. In the Desolate Ruins, whenever night fell, the uncanny encroachment of darkness would come; to step into that darkness was certain death, and so the Jingping Empire dared not enter. Nor were the perils of the Ruins limited to this alone: strange beasts abounded here, monstrous events occurred one after another, and omens of ill fortune were everywhere. For the Jingping Imperial Tutor and the Jingping Empire to bring their armies against the Desolate Ruins was no simple matter. Yet the dangers of the Ruins could not daunt the Jingping Imperial Tutor. The Lame Elder knew this man, and understood something of his temper—after all, it was this man who had severed his leg. No horror could frighten him; no peril could stay this man! He would surely enter the Desolate Ruins! Perhaps, even at this very moment, that man was already gazing from afar upon the vast, boundless, inscrutable and eerie expanse of the Ruins! The village soon regained its calm; the waters left by the collapse of the Little Lanjiang were quickly absorbed into the soil, and by the next day the earth was baked hard by the blazing sun. This time Shen Mu had obtained a sword-hiding pouch, the very one that belonged to Yan Qing, a disciple of the Lanjiang Sect. The pouch was six feet long and not large; it was made from the hide of a small crocodile, with a belt to fasten at the waist and two shoulder straps, so that it could be slung upon the back. When primal qi entered the pouch, the crocodile's jaws would open, and from its mouth a scabbard and a hilt would be spat forth. A martial artist refined his qi into threads; once the threads of primal qi coiled about the hilt, he could draw the sword and drive the flying blade with his qi. After the first sword was drawn, another hilt would rise from the scabbard; draw the second sword, and a third would appear. That was precisely why it was called a sword-hiding pouch. The Lanjiang Sect was a sword sect of the Southern Wastes, and the swords it refined were highly distinctive. Within this sword-hiding pouch was concealed a mother sword, which could not be moved, for it had already fused with the hide of the little crocodile. All the swords drawn from the pouch were daughter swords. Shen Mu tried it, and in all he could draw twenty-eight daughter swords; adding the seven he had severed with the Beast-Slaying Blade, there were as many as thirty-five swords. As for how the Lanjiang Sword Sect managed to hide thirty-five swords within so small a pouch, he had no idea of the trick. Twenty-eight swords were not heavy for Shen Mu. He carried many iron ingots on his person, wore iron shoes on his feet, and hid more ingots about his chest and waist—the total weight came to over a hundred catties, which was much the same as the weight of the sword-hiding pouch. Shen Mu treated carrying the pouch on his back as a form of cultivation; it let him set aside the iron shoes and other heavy objects and move more freely. But as for driving flying swords with his qi, that he could not do. The Chengjiang Sword Art was delicate and venomous, and his sword-controlling skill was nowhere near that level. "If only I could learn the Chengjiang Sword Art!" Shen Mu sighed to himself. The Chengjiang Sword Art was wonderfully subtle, and above all its linked-sword technique was superb beyond compare. Among the villagers, Huo Ye, the Butcher, the Lame Elder, the Pill Master, and the Blind Elder were all unversed in swordsmanship. The Silent Artisan possessed a chest full of things like sword pills, and Granny Zhu likewise had similar silver pills; if those silver pills were sword pills, then they too must be masters of the sword. But when Shen Mu asked Granny Zhu, she was unwilling to teach him, and the Silent Artisan also waved his hands again and again, as though held back by some misgiving. The Silent Artisan quietly told him in sign language: if he did not learn now, a finer sword art would be waiting for him; once he learned it, that would be the end of it, and that person would not teach him anymore. Shen Mu did not know who "that person" was, and so he had no choice but to drop the matter. He had not yet fully mastered the marvel of circulating primal qi. For instance, with Huo Ye's fist art, he had not yet fully succeeded in sending primal qi through his whole body at the moment of attack. When primal qi flows through the whole body, it can enhance every aspect of one's physique to the utmost—strength, agility, speed, and reaction alike all reach their limit! If the Eight Secrets of Thunderclap were cultivated to a profound realm, one could send thunder from the palm and strike with thunderbolts in the fist. He could only manage thunder at the palm through the Demon God's Divine Power Seal; with the Eight Secrets of Thunderclap he was not yet capable. Were he able to reach that step, then if he met a martial artist like Yan Qing again, he could catch the sword with his bare hands and his palm would not be sliced open! "You lack actual combat." Huo Ye came to Shen Mu's side and said calmly: "Your cultivation surpasses that disciple of the Lanjiang Sect. The fist art, leg art, saber art, and staff art you have learned are all stronger than his Chengjiang Sword Art. Yet when you crossed blows with him, you were hampered at every turn and could not spread out your techniques." Shen Mu nodded again and again. He had sensed it himself: Yan Qing's swordsmanship was consummate and his linked-sword technique caught one unawares, but his own reactions had been somewhat inadequate—he had actually grabbed at the sword directly. Thinking back on it now, Yan Qing's strength was not really so great. Shen Mu severed his seven swords with a single slash, and with one move of the Unbound Demon Seal drew the man's very soul into his palm—this showed that Shen Mu's primal qi cultivation surpassed his by a wide margin! Huo Ye went on: "Without the tempering of