Chudong leapt clean over Yao Bei’s body and came flying forward, five fingers curled into a claw, sweeping toward Tang Pidi’s face.

Tang Pidi instantly threw himself backward to avoid it. Those five fingers raked through the air just before his face, trailing a gust of wind.

The sun, already tilting west, sent light slanting into the alley. But there was no warmth in those five fingers of Chudong’s — only points of cold gleam.

Tang Pidi stepped back, his feet light beneath him. Chudong’s other hand was already driving for his abdomen — those five iron claws, if they caught the belly, would shred it to ruin.

Tang Pidi avoided it as if by instinct. The moment his foot touched ground, Chudong was already on him again, another claw raking forward.

Tang Pidi ducked. Her five fingers found the wall beside him — and left deep gouges in the brick.

As he ducked, he threw a punch. But Chudong’s reactions were equally fast. Her left hand shot out and caught his fist.

Tang Pidi immediately opened his hand and blasted her grip away. The back of his hand still caught her claws — and where they scratched, the skin was torn clean off.

In an instant, blood appeared across the back of Tang Pidi’s hand. Quickly, that entire hand was dyed red.

Had he not pulled back fast enough, Chudong might have severed the tendons on the back of his hand. There was something fitted over her five fingers — hard and razor-sharp.

Tang Pidi looked down at his hand. His brow drew faintly together.

That furrowed brow — it was because of the wound. And because he was frowning, it meant he had begun to take her seriously.

Chudong stepped forward again, five fingers clawing toward his face. Two of those fingers were aimed at his eyes.

Tang Pidi drove a punch — not into her palm, but her wrist.

The blow knocked her arm upward. Tang Pidi pressed into the opening, his elbow crashing into her chest.

This elbow strike was savage. Chudong grunted and staggered backward. Tang Pidi was already pressing the advantage, driving a kick into her chest.

In midair, Chudong’s hands flew out — as though she meant to catch it. If Tang Pidi’s foot was caught, it would be finished for him.

He had kicked the blow out, but seeing the metal gleam on her fingers, he snapped the foot back midair, drawing the knee in.

Both of Chudong’s hands closed on empty air and clapped against each other with a shower of sparks.

That was her blades.

After pulling the kick back in midair, Tang Pidi drove the same foot out again, catching Chudong across the arm.

Chudong landed and stumbled, barely keeping her footing.

It was not that kick that had hit her badly — it was Tang Pidi’s elbow from moments before. That blow had done real damage.

She drew a slow breath. The color in her face was faintly washed out.

Chudong paused. Tang Pidi paused as well. He took out medicine and applied it to the wound on the back of his hand — and he had just finished when Li Chi appeared at his side.

Li Chi glanced at Tang Pidi’s hand, then drew a strip of leather bandage from his deerskin pouch and wrapped the hand.

“Let me take over.”

Li Chi said this as he worked.

Tang Pidi shook his head. “She took something from me. I’ll collect it myself.”

Once Li Chi had finished wrapping the hand, he looked back at Chudong. “Those things on her fingers aren’t easy to deal with. Get close with your fists and she can take a swipe at any moment.”

Tang Pidi said with a smile, “So you’ve worked out how to fight her?”

Li Chi said, “I could fight her face-first. She probably wouldn’t have much of an answer for that.”

Tang Pidi blinked, then burst out laughing.

“That’s taking it too far.”

Tang Pidi said these words, then slowly exhaled and stepped forward again. “I’ll keep going. You step back.”

Li Chi nodded and withdrew to wait.

Tang Pidi was that kind of proud. Since his debut, no one had ever beaten him. Since his debut, no one had ever drawn his blood. Today was the first time.

A man of that pride — how could he let someone else finish what he’d started?

—

On the other side of the alley.

The exchange between Ye Zhangzhu and Qitian looked, from the outside, far more violent than the one between Tang Pidi and Chudong.

Where Ye Zhangzhu’s palms landed, it was as if mountains were splitting and the earth cracking apart.

Where Qitian’s fists struck, it sounded like crack after crack of thunder.

The most unfortunate parties were the walls on either side. When Master Ye drove a palm forward and Qitian dodged, the strike landed on the wall — and a swath of bricks went flying. One palm and a section crumbled. Qitian’s fists, meanwhile, drove individual holes straight through the stone.

With two people fighting like that, no one dared come close. The atmosphere alone was enough to set hearts pounding.

Yu Jiuling and the others had long since retreated to a safe distance. The impression those two gave — if so much as a stray gust of wind from either of them caught you, you’d come away with broken bones.

To those watching from a distance, it was like watching immortals do battle.

And the two of them were moving faster and faster, the wind around them picking up more and more — inside the alley, dust swirled up into the air.

“Why have you come here?”

Master Ye asked as he fought.

Qitian answered, “To kill.”

He drove a fist forward. Master Ye raised his hand to block. The punch landed in his palm. At the moment of contact, both men’s robes billowed backward simultaneously.

Not only their robes — the dust and earth at their feet was gusting in a current behind them both.

At this very moment, a portly figure came charging across the wall, flying down to land at Master Ye’s side.

“Master Ye, might I take over? There are a few things I would like to ask him.”

Ye Zhangzhu glanced at Zhang Yuxu and shook his head faintly. “His martial skill is very strong.”

Zhang Yuxu said, “Trust me, Master Ye. I can fight him.”

Ye Zhangzhu considered for a moment, then withdrew several steps.

Zhang Yuxu looked at Qitian with complete seriousness and said: “I am Zhang Yuxu, a Daoist of Dragon Tiger Mountain. I wish to know whether you truly intend to go to Dragon Tiger Mountain to kill. I also wish to know why. If it is Dragon Tiger Mountain’s fault, I will make amends to you on behalf of my master. If it is not Dragon Tiger Mountain’s fault — if you simply wish to kill — I will seek an explanation from you on behalf of my master.”

“Little Daoist, are you not afraid to die?”

Qitian did not answer. Instead he asked.

Zhang Yuxu said, “I am a disciple of Dragon Tiger Mountain. The robe I wear is Dragon Tiger Mountain’s. Everything that has to do with Dragon Tiger Mountain has to do with me. This is not a question of fearing death or not. It is a question of bearing responsibility or not.”

Qitian was silent for a moment. He found himself with an unexpected measure of respect for this unassuming, plump young Daoist.

He said to Zhang Yuxu, “My master is called the Perfected Quanyuan. When he was at Dragon Tiger Mountain, his name was Fang Yuxhou. Have you heard of him?”

Zhang Yuxu’s expression shifted slightly. He understood.

“So that’s how it is.”

Zhang Yuxu said, “Your master once attempted to seize the position of head teacher. He secretly poisoned someone — he meant to poison my master to death. He was still my master’s senior martial brother, yet he was capable of something that vicious. Dragon Tiger Mountain could not harbor him. The only reason he was permitted to live was because my master interceded on his behalf. He was cast out of the sect. Looking back now, my master was wrong to show that mercy.”

He looked straight at Qitian and said: “A wicked and corrupt path cultivates nothing but more wickedness. That one moment of misguided mercy — and the world was burdened with a few more demons.”

Qitian gave a cold snort. “Spare me the sermonizing. The victor decides everything. The winner can say whatever he likes.”

Zhang Yuxu took up a ready stance.

“Today, Zhang Yuxu acts on behalf of Dragon Tiger Mountain’s Daoist law and sect rules — to purge what must be purged.”

Qitian spat and drove a fist straight at Zhang Yuxu’s face.

Zhang Yuxu raised his palm upright. As the punch arrived, his palm swung — and that ferocious, driving blow was deflected aside.

Zhang Yuxu stepped forward. His other hand struck toward Qitian’s chest. Qitian’s free hand shot out to seize his wrist.

Four hands pressed and pushed at each other, faster now than before. Back and forth, the wind between them roared like thunder.

*Boom.*

The wall beside them — already chipped and pockmarked from the fighting — finally gave way entirely. It collapsed with a thunderous crash.

Through the billowing dust, neither man’s movements could be seen. Only two dark shapes could be made out, lunging back and forth through the swirling haze.

A gust of wind swept through. The two shapes must have exchanged a decisive blow, then separated.

As the dust settled and visibility returned: on Zhang Yuxu’s chest, a fist print. Blood at the corner of his mouth.

On Qitian’s chest, a palm print. No blood — but his face was white as paper.

Qitian steadied his breathing for a moment. Some color crept back into his face, though he still looked terrible.

He said to Zhang Yuxu, “I have a killing intent. You have a heart to defend the Way. So today, only one of us walks out of here alive.”

Zhang Yuxu answered with a single word.

“Fine.”

Qitian unslung the bundle from his back — it was a long, narrow bundle. He opened it and drew out a heavy broad-backed blade.

Zhang Yuxu reached behind him and drew the longsword he carried. The blade gleamed.

Blade from its sheath — sound like a thunderclap. Sword from its sheath — sound like a dragon’s cry.

The palm strikes and fist shadows were gone. In their place: flowing arcs of motion, one after another, coiling like a dragon in flight.

Dusk was gathering now, the sky not yet fully dark. In that dim twilight, blade-light and sword-light flickered and interwove.

The two were moving so fast that from where Yu Jiuling stood watching in the distance, he could no longer tell which was which. Two shapes flashing back and forth — that was all he could make out.

A dull grunt. The two separated once more.

Across Zhang Yuxu’s chest: a blade wound. His Daoist robe was split open; the body beneath clearly injured as well. The bloodstain was slowly spreading wider.

Qitian had no sword wounds.

He looked at Zhang Yuxu and said, “I don’t care whether it’s age, stamina, experience, blade technique, or killing art — I am at the peak of all of them. You are only a decade or so old, with no experience of real combat. Your swordsmanship shows its rawness. And yet you’ve pushed me this far.”

Zhang Yuxu said, “Keep fighting. You will lose.”

Qitian laughed out loud. “What boldness! Where does that come from?”

Zhang Yuxu said, “You have a killing intent. I have a heart to defend the Way.”

With those words, his longsword extended forward.

The two engaged again. Their movements were, if anything, more savage and incisive than before — and the alley rang ceaselessly with the clash of blade on sword.

A dozen or so exchanges later, Zhang Yuxu’s body flew backward. He landed and skidded back two steps, and found several more blade wounds on his body.

The worst was at the shoulder. The cut ran deep. Blood had soaked through half his body, as if he had been immersed in it. At the hem of his Daoist robe, blood fell in steady drops.

“Little Daoist.”

Qitian said coldly, “Meet me again in five years, and we will be evenly matched. Meet me in ten, and you could kill me. But you have met me too early.”

He looked at Zhang Yuxu and said, “Fall back and yield. I will spare your life. Go back to Dragon Tiger Mountain at once and tell your master to prepare for death. When I reach that mountain, I will take his life.”

Zhang Yuxu looked down at the longsword in his hand. The blade was riddled with nicks.

Much like himself. Wound upon wound.

“You have a killing intent. I have a heart to defend the Way.”

Zhang Yuxu said it again, low and quiet. And he raised his sword and stood.

What does it mean to defend the Way?

To cut down demons and destroy evil!

—