With the prisoner hauled from the cart, Dou Qusheng drove his arms outward. Two sharp *cracks* — and both the prisoner’s arms shattered simultaneously. A scream of agony tore through the air.

And in that same instant, Dou Qusheng’s brow furrowed.

He ripped the black hood from the wounded prisoner’s head. Beneath it was a young man who looked barely twenty — and in that moment, he knew he’d been deceived.

If Jiang Wei had truly captured the Deputy Chief Magistrate of the Court of Justice, that man could not possibly be this young — nor could he crumple under a single strike. As a Middle-Rank Officer with years of access to the highest secrets, Dou Qusheng knew perfectly well who the Deputy Chief Magistrate was. He’d heard the four words *Flowing Cloud Flying Sleeve* before.

Knowing the first prisoner was a decoy, he immediately looked to the cart behind — and found at least a dozen of Jiang Wei’s elite soldiers already working to pry it open and pull out the figure inside.

One glance told him this prisoner was different. Both hands and feet were chained, and a massive iron yoke clamped down across both shoulders — restraints that stood in stark contrast to what had been done with the other one.

Dou Qusheng let out a short snort and lunged.

“Stop him!” Jiang Wei’s voice came out hoarse and urgent.

Dou Qusheng was still in the air when his palms shot forward — two soldiers caught the blow squarely, their chests caving inward at the same moment. The injuries were horrifying to behold: the sternum driven inward, the spine bulging out from the back. Even a horse at full gallop would have been felled by a strike like that. For a human being, it was unthinkable.

Several sabers came slashing down at him. Dou Qusheng didn’t bother to dodge — a sweep of his wide sleeve sent two or three men flying, and a single kick launched another several *zhang* through the air.

That display of force genuinely frightened what remained of the soldiers. No one dared to rush in.

Jiang Wei came from behind, blade arcing toward the back of Dou Qusheng’s head. But Dou Qusheng seemed to have eyes in the back of his skull — he snatched the nearest soldier and hurled him backward like a shield.

Jiang Wei couldn’t pull the strike in time. The blade landed on his own man.

Within a crowd of a dozen, Dou Qusheng moved like a lion loosed among lambs. Nothing stood before him.

Jiang Wei shoved a body aside and came again, this time chopping at Dou Qusheng’s neck. Dou Qusheng still didn’t turn around — he stepped forward, locked his hand onto the iron yoke at the prisoner’s collar, and used the man as a pivot, swinging him around.

*Clang!*

Jiang Wei’s blade struck the yoke, severing a section of its chain. Sparks scattered.

Then the prisoner moved — a sudden kick driving back toward Dou Qusheng’s abdomen, blindingly fast and devastatingly powerful. Dou Qusheng brought his fist hammering down to intercept, his right hand simultaneously shooting out to seize the prisoner’s back.

The fist landed on the prisoner’s heel, slamming that kick downward — and in the same motion, Dou Qusheng’s grip closed on the prisoner’s clothing.

The prisoner twisted. The garment tore apart in that iron grip.

A moment later, the prisoner wrenched both hands apart — the chains snapped — and from beneath the great iron yoke, a sword was drawn and swept in a horizontal arc at Dou Qusheng’s throat.

Dou Qusheng’s expression didn’t change. “As expected — something was off.”

He snapped his fingers with precision, striking the flat of the blade. The sword rang out and deflected to the side.

The prisoner grabbed what remained of the yoke with the left hand and ripped it apart, wielding half like a warhammer at Dou Qusheng’s head — while the sword came underneath, striking like a viper aimed at his abdomen.

Dou Qusheng neither dodged nor retreated. He caught the sword with his left hand — bare-handed — and drove his right fist upward in a brutal uppercut against the improvised hammer.

The iron yoke exploded into fragments.

Then, with the left hand still gripping the sword, he wrenched sideways. *Crack.* The blade snapped in two.

He flung the broken blade away. Jiang Wei, startled, slashed at it — his saber connected, but the fragment struck with enough force to shatter the saber as well. The flying shard scraped across his neck as it hurtled past, leaving a line of blood.

Jiang Wei barely avoided worse. When he steadied himself and looked back, the prisoner was already in Dou Qusheng’s grip, fingers closed around the throat.

A sharp tearing sound — Dou Qusheng ripped the face-cloth away.

He looked at the prisoner’s face.

His eyes went wide.

Because this person was also not the Deputy Chief Magistrate he was looking for.

At that precise moment, someone dressed in the plain uniform of an ordinary soldier stepped out from among the guards, took a long stride forward, and drove a palm into Dou Qusheng’s back.

Dou Qusheng sensed it and spun — but the man was still at least two feet away. That palm couldn’t possibly reach him.

And yet Dou Qusheng’s face went pale.

He retreated immediately — but he was just a fraction too slow.

A sleeve came flying through the air. *Thud.* It struck him squarely in the chest.

Dou Qusheng staggered backward, color draining from his face.

As he retreated, he deflected a sneak attack from Jiang Wei’s blade in passing.

He stopped and drew a slow breath to suppress the metallic surge rising in his throat, then fixed his gaze on the man who had struck him, eyes narrowing.

“*Flowing Cloud Flying Sleeve,*” he said. “The name does not deceive.”

Inside Dou Qusheng’s chest, it felt as though a cyclone was tearing through him — blood and qi churning, barely held in check.

“There is one thing I cannot understand,” he said, looking at Mister Ye, then at Jiang Wei.

“One man is a Liaison Officer of the Mu Camp. The other is the Deputy Chief Magistrate of the Court of Justice. And they conspired together to kill me…”

He paused, then gave a slow nod. “Ah. Of course. Jiang Wei — are you declaring rebellion?”

“The Military Commissioner listened to slander and had my sworn brother Mo Lili killed,” Jiang Wei said. “That debt had to be collected from you first.”

“Hahahaha!” Dou Qusheng pressed the churning force back down into his chest and laughed with abandon. “Even the two of you together — do you think it matters? In my eyes, you remain beneath notice.”

He did not retreat. Instead, he stepped forward and lunged for Jiang Wei.

By now, Jiang Wei’s men were locked in a desperate fight keeping Dou Qusheng’s black-clad soldiers at bay — a battle raging so fierce the sky and earth seemed to blur. Jiang Wei had no guard beside him. With nowhere to go, he gripped his saber and swung it at the outstretched hand.

But Dou Qusheng, to everyone’s disbelief, neither dodged nor retreated. He turned his wrist, palm facing upward — and simply *caught the blade.*

Jiang Wei’s skill was not nearly high enough to see what had happened. But Mister Ye saw it clearly, and it filled him with shock.

It wasn’t that Dou Qusheng had an indestructible body that could catch a blade with flesh.

It was that his ability was truly on a different level. Before the edge could touch his palm, his fingers had already clamped onto the flat of the blade — like iron pincers — arresting every last shred of momentum.

His true weapon was those ten fingers.

Nobody knew how he had cultivated them, or how they had reached such density. Mister Ye had not the slightest doubt that those ten fingers could punch through city bricks.

And it was for exactly this reason that the man had earned the title of the Mu Camp’s Finest.

It should be said — Mister Ye himself was known as the Court of Justice’s Finest. Now, facing Dou Qusheng, that title took on a new weight.

Mister Ye stepped forward, his wide sleeve billowing out in a strike at Dou Qusheng’s chest. Dou Qusheng laughed with wild arrogance, his five fingers spreading in a sweeping claw — and with a tearing sound, he *ripped the sleeve clean off.*

But in the next instant, Mister Ye’s hand emerged from the shredded cloth. Two fingers pressed together like a sword blade and struck precisely against the back of Dou Qusheng’s hand.

At the moment of contact, Dou Qusheng’s expression changed entirely.

—

Meanwhile, an hour before all of this had unfolded, Fang Biehan was riding hard down the road, his expression deeply conflicted. Galloping in the saddle, he suddenly let out a raw shout — then wrenched the reins and brought his horse skidding to a stop.

He sat motionless, eyes bloodshot, clearly locked in a fierce inner struggle. After a long moment, he abruptly wheeled the horse around and thundered off in the opposite direction.

—

Back at the battle site, more than a dozen bodies now lay around Dou Qusheng. He and Mister Ye had been dueling at such blinding speed that anyone caught nearby was simply swept up in the wake of destruction.

When two fighters of their caliber moved, ordinary men couldn’t contend — even a glancing brush from either of them was enough to put someone down.

Dou Qusheng’s right hand had been pierced through by Mister Ye’s finger-sword strike earlier in the fight. Blood continued to drip from the wound as he moved.

Mister Ye’s two sleeves were in tatters — shreds of cloth trailing behind him like shredding clouds scattered by a gale.

Dou Qusheng grew more manic with every exchange. He swept through the battleground without any distinction between enemy and ally — anyone in his path was struck down in an instant.

Mister Ye began to feel genuinely hard-pressed. Dou Qusheng’s fighting style was, of all things, a natural counter to Flowing Cloud Flying Sleeve. This was the first time Mister Ye had ever faced an opponent so fundamentally mismatched against him.

With the power Mister Ye commanded, a sleeve at full force could deflect most blades — yet it could not stop those ten fingers.

“Heaven fashioned me, Dou Qusheng, to be the bane of your Court of Justice,” Dou Qusheng raved, pressing forward with savage delight. “Had the Military Commissioner listened to me years ago and had all of you eliminated before Prince Ning Li Chi could rise — things would never have come to this.”

Mister Ye said nothing, studying the gaps in Dou Qusheng’s offense as he parried.

Jiang Wei wanted to help, but the gulf between his skill and theirs was too great. Throwing himself in would only make things worse. He burned with urgency, but no solution came.

He had wanted to use the strength of the Court of Justice to kill Dou Qusheng. If that failed, the rest of his plan would fall apart as well.

The more anxious he grew, the harder it became to think clearly.

Then — he noticed. The hundred-odd black-clad soldiers Dou Qusheng had brought… barely any remained.

He had been so focused on the main fight that he’d missed it. Two of Mister Ye’s companions were extraordinarily capable fighters. Jiang Wei didn’t know they were Senior Operatives of the Court of Justice — but hope surged in him regardless, and he called out to Yu Hongyi and Chen Dingjia: “Go help your Deputy Chief Magistrate!”

The two had been held back by Mister Ye to eliminate the black-clad soldiers first. With that nearly done, they could disengage — and now they moved to support him.

With a fair fight, Mister Ye would not have asked for their help. But they were in enemy territory, deep in Shu Province — every minute of delay increased the risk of complications. Better to end it quickly.

Three against one, Dou Qusheng began to falter. He was nearly cornered — when the thunder of hoofbeats rolled in.

Dou Qusheng glanced sideways. Reinforcements — his own people.

He threw his head back and laughed.

The arrivals were the very column that had been holding up Fang Biehan on the main road.

—