Mud and stone sprayed in all directions, wooden fencing flew, and steel rang out like thunder.

The midday sun hung overhead. There were not many pedestrians on the road below Jiuxian Mountain. As the signal flare rose into the sky, the few travelers walking the yellow dirt path beside Heyun Pool had already caught sight of the fierce battle that had suddenly erupted ahead of them.

The old man in official robes swung his long blade upward, clashing with the gray-robed man on the other side. Ordinary passersby, unable to recognize any dangerous techniques at a glance, might well have taken it for nothing more than an ordinary scuffle.

But when that long blade came slashing down and struck the weapon in the gray-robed man’s hand, the sound that burst into the air was like a peal of thunder, as though a massive hammer in a blacksmith’s forge had struck full-force against iron. Especially in the instant when Fan Zhong’s fan spread open, the long blade crashing down against it sounded like a giant hammer striking a drum of hardened steel—not a sound of this human world at all, which alone was enough to prove just how overwhelming this official-robed old man’s blade strikes truly were.

Fan Zhong retreated several steps, his body bent like a bowstring, swaying under the barrage of the long blade. But his own skill was astonishing too—an iron fan blocked Tie Tianying’s nine-ring blade again and again, each time deflecting the tremendous force upon it; by the third strike, he opened the fan’s face fully to block one blow, then closed it again, holding it with both hands to fully block the returning flash of the blade.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang—his footsteps stamped into the ground, leaving several clear heel-prints behind, as earth and stone burst into the air. The tea table and chairs between the two men, along with the fencing beside the teahouse, were all swept up into the fight; in an instant, nearly everything around the two of them seemed to explode outward. Not far off, the onlookers could only stare, slack-jawed.

More people were already charging in from the distant mound and the woods, joining the fray.

Yue Yun, Silver Bottle, and the monk Tunyun crossed several zhang of distance in an instant. Yue Yun, driven by fury, charged straight at Fan Zhong, still enveloped in the aura of the blade. But before he could close the last two steps, Tunyun’s figure swept in like a hawk spreading its wings, grasping at him with a shriek.

Yue Yun, still young and hot-blooded, having been framed and set up by Chen Shuangran, was already furious beyond measure. He struck out with his left fist to break free of Tunyun, unwilling to stop his advance, wanting to seize the moment while Tie Tianying was fighting at full force to strike down this gray-robed man who might well be the mastermind behind it all. But Tunyun was no minor figure either—he neither dodged nor flinched as Yue Yun’s fist came at him, and simply charged forward, shouting, “Insolence!”

One hand seized Yue Yun’s left arm; the other, tipped with an iron claw, clamped toward Yue Yun’s throat.

Yue Yun’s right arm blocked upward while his left arm attempted a counter-strike, his footwork, carried by the tremendous momentum of the charge, about to collide directly with Tunyun.

Behind them, Silver Bottle’s spear thrust toward Tunyun’s back.

In that instant, the momentum of all three collisions was fierce, nearly crashing into Fan Zhong on that side as well. In the next moment, Tunyun’s monk’s robe unfurled with a roar, its iron lining blocking Silver Bottle’s spear point. Nearby, Yue Yun stumbled, his footing thrown off; knowing there was no way to reach the gray-robed man now, he simply seized Tunyun’s arm and drove his right fist into the man with all his might. Relying on his youthful strength, he attacked without any defense at all in this instant, throwing two punches, both of which landed on the iron cassock, while Tunyun’s iron claw tore his arm bloody, one fist landing a blow on his body, his footwork pulling and twisting, meaning to bring Yue Yun crashing to the ground first.

A great boom rang out.

Tunyun’s eyes met Tie Tianying’s for an instant, and the blade’s light came roaring toward the cassock.

Fan Zhong’s iron fan sought to strike at Tie Tianying, while Silver Bottle had already closed in further, the point of her Five-Step Thirteen-Spear technique flashing past the sides of Yue Yun and Tunyun, aimed straight at Fan Zhong’s face, forcing him to raise his fan to block.

The blade’s aura slashed against the cassock, sending cloth and iron plating flying.

Tunyun’s body sank, dragging the already-unbalanced Yue Yun down and rolling with him along the ground.

For an instant, earth and stone were thrown into disarray; the remaining half of the teahouse was completely knocked apart, its fragments flying everywhere. Fan Zhong opened his fan and struck out, sending the debris flying like hidden projectiles. Tie Tianying slashed away in the midst of it; Silver Bottle’s long spear thrust down at Tunyun on the ground; Tunyun rolled several times and leapt up from the ground, and Yue Yun likewise rolled and collided his way up, charging blindly at Fan Zhong and Tunyun the moment he rose. Filled with rage, even if a boulder stood before him, he seemed ready to send it tumbling and cracking apart.

“Hurry—” Fan Zhong’s voice cried out.

From the small woods further off, seven skilled underworld fighters came charging out, all of whom had received guidance from Fan Zhong and Tunyun. At this moment they seemed like a great gang war out of the jianghu, already having covered most of the distance, closing in fast, and one of them had already, unable to wait any longer, hurled the stone in his hand.

These seven fell short of the level of Fan Zhong, Tunyun, or Tie Tianying, but set against the standards of Fujian, each of them counted among the top-tier underworld experts.

Sparring matches in the jianghu could be long or short, but when it came to laying an ambush, if things went smoothly, it usually didn’t take long at all. Even those of lesser skill, if they could form a coordinated encirclement against a master in a short span of time while striking to kill without hesitation, could pose a mortal threat even to a grandmaster-level figure.

Back in the day, the Ministry of Justice’s encirclement and killing of Liu Dabiao had relied on exactly this strategy, exploiting the man’s bold and arrogant nature to swarm him all at once in a short time, deciding victory or defeat in mere moments. But such a thing required the attackers to be well trained and willing to risk death without fear, something a hastily assembled mob from the underworld would find difficult to achieve.

This time, Fan Zhong had planned meticulously. With himself and Tunyun, both masters, holding the center, along with seven somewhat lesser fighters, once the opportunity arose, the odds of killing Tie Tianying in short order were quite good. Even with the unexpected appearance of Yue Yun, it was nine against three—his side undoubtedly still held the advantage.

Especially with the two young ones now involved, Tie Tianying would be all the less able to abandon them and flee—the odds of a fight to the death were all the greater.

Everyone seemed poised to collide into one tangled melee.

Fan Zhong, holding the fan with both hands, took Tie Tianying’s fierce slash, his body retreating like an ocean wave. His palms tingled and went numb, and unbidden, memories of the battle years ago between the Ministry of Justice and Liu Dabiao surfaced in his mind.

Back then, Liu Dabiao had made his name with the Hegemon Blade technique, his swordsmanship sweeping across the field like descending thunder, ferociously violent. At the time, the men of the Ministry of Justice, together with masters like Lin Zongwu and Wang Nantuo of the Manichaean sect, had finally seized their chance and encircled him together; several skilled fighters had nearly been cut in two by his final fury. By the time the encirclement ended, they discovered that even Tie Tianying, who already carried some reputation by then, had been struck down and lay in a pool of blood by a single blow from the man.

Yet decades later, looking at it now, the swordsmanship in Tie Tianying’s hand faintly echoed the overwhelming force Liu Dabiao’s blade had once carried. Fan Zhong could almost imagine how, in the decades following that first strike, Tie Tianying must have replayed that great battle over and over in his mind.

And that great battle now seemed poised to repeat itself here.

The only difference from back then was that Liu Dabiao, whose swordsmanship had reached its full mastery, had been a great grandmaster on par with Iron-Armed Zhou Tong and Sage Duke Fang La. Back then, his Hegemon Blade had swept unchecked, powerful enough to steal the very souls of those who faced it; upon discovering he was surrounded, he had not fled but instead cut and slashed his way through, nearly crushing the will to resist of every master who tried to encircle him—even those now called the world’s foremost, Lin Zongwu, and the Mad Tiger Wang Nantuo, whose skills had not yet reached full maturity at that time, had been overwhelmed by that terrifying edge and forced to yield ground.

Now, though, even with Tie Tianying’s swordsmanship showing signs of full mastery, both the great monk Tunyun and Fan Zhong himself possessed the strength to contend with him, and combined with the numerical advantage of nine against three, the odds of a successful encirclement and kill were, by any measure, extremely high.

He gave a bold roar and charged forward to meet the attack—

……

Not far off, on the dirt road, the youth with his face wrapped in floral cloth and the two dejected underworld men were walking this way. The middle-aged one, his face bruised and swollen, and the young one, teary-eyed, both slowed their pace at the sight of the sudden, fierce battle unfolding ahead of them.

“Move it—”

The youth with the wrapped face lunged forward and kicked the slowing middle-aged man square in the backside; the man tumbled to the ground, and upon rising to his knees, saw the fighting up ahead on the dirt road, and refused to get up any further.

“Ha—”

The youth’s eyes turned fiercely toward the young underworld man beside him; the man’s face crumpled, and with a thud, he too dropped to his knees.

“Spare us, great hero—”

“Ha ha!” The youth was almost amused to fury. “Do you believe I could finish you both off right now—”

“Spare me, grandfather—”

The middle-aged underworld man kowtowed frantically, refusing to move another step no matter what…

……

Meanwhile, the seven charging experts had already closed in. They formed a circle, attempting to cut in and kill. Silver Bottle’s spear whirled, trying to force back the few closest to her; Tie Tianying’s long blade slashed out, striking at Tunyun, Fan Zhong, and one nearby fighter all at once—a fierce and overwhelming strike, but one that split its threat three ways and thus posed less danger to any single one of them.

Two loud bangs sounded as two of the encircling experts hurled lime powder packets; the white dust dusted the back of Silver Bottle, and some of it swept toward Tie Tianying too—ever since the notorious Butcher of Blood Hands had first defiled the codes of the jianghu with such tactics, this method had grown rather old, used in every manner of ruthless fighting since; the sudden throw did not catch its targets off guard this time, but no matter, with nine against three, they had prepared plenty more tricks of lime powder and fishing nets—more than enough.

“Hmph—” Fan Zhong heard Tie Tianying give a cold snort, yet his heart settled with certainty, ready to unleash a killing blow, while another figure in the crowd had already pulled out another lime packet. Tie Tianying, Fan Zhong, and Tunyun all showed a flicker of tension.

Beside them, Yue Yun, blood on his body, made some casual-looking gesture.

Fan Zhong felt an unexplainable shiver run through him without knowing why. Before he could react, beside him, Tunyun’s iron sleeve swept up a handful of earth and stone, shouting, “Damn it—”

His figure retreated at speed.

Fan Zhong too retreated fiercely; the surrounding experts, in the next instant, mostly leapt into the air like rabbits or hawks, some faster, some slower—but the one who had been reaching to throw his lime packet, arm raised halfway, was struck squarely by Silver Bottle’s long spear, blood spraying.

On the road, Yue Yun had thrown three objects that looked, at first glance, entirely unremarkable—hand grenades.

This was still something rather unfamiliar in the jianghu, and so there had been no real preparation or mental readiness for it. No one had given a clear enough order in time; the air was thick with crossing figures and audible breathing, as though there were a moment of stiff, choking awkwardness.

Boom—

……

Boom—

Boom—

Three thunderous blasts in succession.

The air shook, earth and stone flew. The dust that billowed out swept across the surroundings; nearby onlookers, terrified, dropped to the ground, and upon rising, clutched their heads and fled in panic.

There, someone’s ears rang; Fan Zhong, in his haste, had retreated to the shelter of a tree beside the dirt road; feeling the waves of earth and stone bursting outward, his ears also carried an incessant ringing.

More than that, though, was the sinking feeling in his heart.

He stepped out and looked back—the smoke from the explosion stretched across the yellow dirt path, still spreading into the nearby woods. Within the dust, a figure clambered up from the ground, seemingly disoriented—one of the fighters he himself had recruited, a man named Qin Yue, nicknamed “Mount Tai’s Titan,” a skilled underworld fighter versed in blade techniques, tall and imposing in build.

As a desperado of the jianghu who lived on the edge of a blade, Qin Yue, “Mount Tai’s Titan,” had dodged the explosion and, in the first instant, pulled down a small fishing net he wore at his side—one hung with iron hooks that, if cast over an opponent, could severely restrict even a master of Tie Tianying’s caliber, ensuring there was no escape from being surrounded and killed.

But in this moment, the fact that he was pulling out the net clearly meant he intended it as a last resort to save his own life.

A gray figure emerged, drifting out of the dust, from his side.

“Watch out—”

Fan Zhong cried out.

Qin Yue heard the shout, but perhaps he was too close to the blast to hear it clearly, and instead turned to look toward Fan Zhong.

The nine-ring great blade roared through the mist and slashed down at “Mount Tai’s Titan” from the side—this strike entered from one side of his neck and cut diagonally down, splitting nearly half his body apart. Thick blood and flesh sprayed outward in a cruel, violent scene, faintly resembling the sight of the Hegemon Blade cutting a man down in full force back in the day.

“Ha ha ha, Fan Zhong.” Tie Tianying roared amid the blood and laughter. “Today you die—”

The dust of the blast had not yet settled, sunlight swaying through the gaps in the trees by the road. What Tie Tianying shouted was hardly a line of any great creativity, but paired with the explosion of the grenades, this scene of killing was enough to steal the soul of anyone in the jianghu. Fan Zhong gritted his teeth, considering whether to withdraw immediately, when a figure beside him charged forward like a cannonball, meeting the fray.

“Ha ha ha ha—Tie Tianying.” Tunyun laughed, his blood boiling with excitement. “You’ve finally proven worthy of this old monk’s full effort!”

Before his eyes, Tunyun’s form roared forward at tremendous speed, in an instant forcing the swirling dust to part like the parting of a great sea; his body clashed once with Tie Tianying’s blade aura, spinning and weaving through the other man’s fierce, sweeping strikes, for a moment losing no ground at all.

“Damn it—”

Fan Zhong could only curse silently in his heart.

Among those who had come with him, the monk Tunyun’s skill was undoubtedly the highest, that much was beyond question. Even compared to Tie Tianying, Tunyun’s skill was probably a notch above—yet that one notch didn’t necessarily mean he could kill the man with any ease.

The other man had spent so many years in the jianghu; his martial skill and worldly experience were second to none. But the reason he had never earned the same solid reputation as a grandmaster as men like Lin Zongwu was that he had always loved a hollow reputation while treasuring his own life too much. In other words, he always preferred fighting winning battles, and when it came to grandmasters risking their lives against one another, he was never willing.

At this moment, with Tie Tianying’s methods so fierce and his momentum apparently at its peak, Tunyun’s blood boiled, perhaps thinking that if he could suppress the other man, he could build himself quite a name. But on the other hand, it was also because he understood in his heart that, however overwhelming Tie Tianying’s blade might be, it could never match the strength of men like Lin Zongwu or Zhou Tong—if it truly came down to a fight to the death, he could walk away whenever he pleased.

Joining forces with a grandmaster of this temperament was precisely the frustrating part. If things went well, he was a fine ally; if they went badly, he’d fight as if enjoying himself right up until the moment he simply fled, leaving everyone else to die in his place.

His thoughts spun like lightning, and in the next instant, Fan Zhong too gritted his teeth and leapt forward, shouting, “Kill Tie Tianying—”

There were still enough hands for the job—he wanted to try once more, and besides, deep down, he vaguely knew there was still one more possible trick yet to be played.

As he leapt forward, his gaze flicked briefly toward the rear.

Over on the road, the onlookers and the two underworld men were fleeing.

The youth with the floral cloth wrapped around his face, however, was nowhere to be seen.

He recalled the fleeting glimpse he’d caught two nights before in Silver Bridge Ward…

If this person were on his side, combined with Tunyun’s full effort…

Perhaps there was still a chance to turn things around…

Fan Zhong charged forward, leapt, and swung his iron fan at Tie Tianying, and at the same moment, lime powder and fishing nets crisscrossed through the air—

The center of the city, outside the Zuo family residence, the Dingtai Teahouse, second floor.

On the small yellow charcoal stove, hot water was gradually coming to a boil.

Qu Longjun sat by the table, watching the chaos unfolding in the distant city, her expression calm and empty.

Inside the teahouse, voices bustled noisily; people were discussing the unrest spreading from the direction of Houguan County, some even gathering by the windows, pointing off into the distance. Many spoke the names of Chen Shuangran, Pu Xingui, and others, sharing anecdotes about the rebels of Fujian; some loudly declared their own views on the chaotic state of affairs, speaking of their thoughts on the court’s recent policies.

Amid the buzz of discussion, someone would occasionally stand up and recite a lengthy poem.

Since the little court had taken up residence in Fujian, several centers of public opinion had gradually formed in the city. First there had been Li Pin’s newsletter office, gathering information from a few nearby taverns and teahouses, which had gradually turned into a hub for all sorts of news.

Later, when the Zuo family’s people returned from the southwest, carrying a great reputation with them, all sorts of visitors would come calling from time to time—some to offer strategies, some to discuss the Dao, some to voice criticism, some hoping to test their skill against these disciples from the southwest.

But in fact, the “people of the Zuo family” were, in truth, a fictitious concept—each of the young people who had come from the southwest had their own areas of specialization, and each had taken on tasks from the court; none of them had much enthusiasm for sitting around debating philosophy or engaging in eloquent argument with visitors.

Most of those who came calling were turned away, and would often end up sitting across the street at the teahouse, chatting idly. Since this teahouse also happened to be a good spot for surveillance, Zuo Wenxuan had, after some time, arranged to have it bought up. On one hand, it allowed them to watch for suspicious individuals; on the other, it let them quietly note down any good ideas that came up in people’s discussions. Over time, this had given rise to today’s scene of lively, wide-ranging debate.

The recent days’ successive clashes meant that the conflict between the court and the local powers of Fujian had nearly reached a full boil, and so the talk within the teahouse these past few days had grown especially heated as well. Many hoped their own particularly original “strategy” would be adopted, and that from that they might win some favor and be put to use—and in fact, this was not entirely a fantasy.

Since the little court had settled in Fujian, because Jun Wu’s policy was aimed at recasting the whole set of rules of the game, in these past two years there had indeed been quite a few young people without any background who, because of their sharp minds, had been discovered from exactly this kind of public discussion venue, and after half a year to a year of study at places like the martial academy, had been sent into official service, becoming clerks or minor officials—a path not unlike the southwest’s practice of promoting large numbers of backgroundless bookkeepers, or even merchants, into official posts.

Qu Longjun sat quietly, taking in the teahouse and everything in the distance, without any particular thoughts at the moment.

According to their earlier estimate, right about now, Little Long over there… should just about be crossing paths with Chen Shuangran’s people.

She was feeling the fear in her heart.

Ever since her father’s death, in all the years since being taken in by Wen Shoubin, fear had often been a companion of hers, but at some point she couldn’t quite place, that feeling had grown terribly dull.

In fact, during that period, many, many emotions had grown dull all at once—joy was dull, sorrow too, and fear felt as though it were separated from her by a thick veil, not quite real; even her attempted suicide back in Chengdu, at the time, her state of mind had felt somewhat unreal—why she had tried to end her life, what exactly she had been afraid of, even she herself could not entirely say.

Only after Wen Shoubin’s death did that thick veil gradually begin to be pulled away. She was not a foolish person; Wen Shoubin had, over time, taught her a great many worldly rules, and rationally speaking, when she later insisted on leaving the southwest, that too should have been a cause for fear. But in fact, fear never became vivid; she followed the ranks of the Huaxia Army out of Chengdu, learned some survival skills, including disguise and makeup and the like—but in truth, the more useful method was to roll around in the mud and turn herself into a beggar—having once lived the life of a “thin horse,” she had no particular aversion to that sort of thing either.

By the time she reached Hangzhou, her feelings had begun to grow a little more real, and then with her reunion with Little Long, though she didn’t know what it meant, her mood rose and fell, and something that had once wrapped itself tight around her heart seemed to gradually loosen and clear away.

Little Long was a formidable person; even on treacherous battlefields, he moved with the ease of a man returning home, and even facing those powerful masters of the martial world, he carried a certain arrogant confidence that looked down on everything. His strength was, in a way, like the southwest’s strength standing against the entire realm—yet even so, the sense of fear in Qu Longjun’s heart grew, day by day, more vivid, occasionally striking at her, leaving her anxious and uncertain.

She thought back to her father’s departure, many years ago now.

At that time, her father too had seemed, in her eyes, just as invincible, powerful enough to stand unrivaled under heaven—and yet one day he had gone off to war, and from then on had never returned…

A strong dragon cannot suppress a local snake…

If Little Long…

The morning sun was not especially strong; in the clay stove, charcoal burned; in the distance, the city was in uproar; nearby, the teahouse guests chattered noisily. She sat there, her palm opening and then closing, following the warmth and soreness that lingered from the contact of the body she had trained with Little Long that morning, and had been carefully massaged afterward.

These days, she had kissed him, and had also been touched carefully by him in many places, as though it were some kind of ritual, and in those places he had touched, her body seemed to carry a sensation different from anything she had felt before.

The feeling of fear churned in her heart, and strangely enough, she found she did not resent this fear at all. She wanted to ride with him across the rivers and lakes, to feel countless, countless things; if it could last long, truly long, then perhaps that would be like being given another life by heaven itself—but if it couldn’t… then, for her, there existed an extremely simple choice, an extremely simple way to respond.

She might fear that something would happen to Little Long, but she would not fear whatever choice came after. In this, there was perhaps, for her, an extremely profound meaning as well.

Sitting there, at some point she couldn’t quite place, tears fell.

Once she noticed, she opened her hand and wiped the traces from her face. The corner of her mouth curved into a faint smile all the same.

She reached out, poured the water, quietly brewed tea, and sat there quietly.

She didn’t know how things were going for Little Long over there.

If Chen Shuangran’s plan was to have him move against Tie Tianying, would he really do it?

How could she reasonably refuse it, though…

Or not refuse it at all—simply go along and kill the man? And how would she then explain that to the little court…

Just as these thoughts were passing through her mind, feeling the vividness of the world and of herself, at some point she couldn’t say, a figure approached from ahead.

“Young sir, might I share your table?”

Qu Longjun raised her eyes and looked over. The one who had appeared at her table was a middle-aged Confucian scholar with graying temples. The man wore a genial smile, an air about him suggesting someone of high standing. Qu Longjun’s gaze flicked to the side—several people who looked to be bodyguards seemed to be taking their seats nearby as well.

No memory of him at all…

She straightened her posture slightly and, following Ning Ji’s instruction, casually rested both palms on her knees beneath the table—a guarded posture that made it easy to strike if attacked by underworld figures. The moment she assumed this stance, one of the nearby bodyguards changed expression, and someone stood up.

He said, “And if it’s inconvenient?”

The man simply smiled, having already sat down across from her.

“You’re the one from Silver Bridge Ward—Long Aotian, young hero Long, aren’t you? We’ve actually crossed paths before, though I never expected young hero Long to be having tea at Dingtai Tower today of all days…”

“You are…”

Qu Longjun had absolutely no recollection of having met this man anywhere, but given that she and Little Long had set up a stall in Silver Bridge Ward earlier, it wasn’t unreasonable that someone might have seen them there.

She saw the man, wearing a smile like an elder’s, cup his hands in greeting.

“Ah, this humble one’s surname is Cheng, given name Fang, courtesy name Zhouhai.”

The moment he gave his name, Qu Longjun’s gaze flickered slightly; her mind seemed to explode inwardly, and she did not know quite how to respond.

Nearby, a server had already brought over the tea set. The man toyed with his teacup, smiling as he continued to speak.

“I have no idea what young hero has come to Dingtai Tower to do today, but not to make light of it—this humble one still has some connections in Fuzhou, able to speak with both the Zuo family next door and Puyang Yi, the proprietor of this teahouse. I’ve also heard something of young hero’s righteous deed at Silver Bridge Ward—if young hero has come today hoping to meet with either of those two parties, this humble one would be more than happy to make the introduction…”

An unexpected turn of events had arrived—

She had encountered someone she had never anticipated at all—

Qu Longjun looked across the tea table at him. His gaze burned with intensity, and in his frank words there was a sense that he was studying everything about her. She did her best to keep her expression cool and indifferent.

“Oh? And what has Master Cheng… heard, exactly?”

She answered his question with one of her own, though her thoughts had already scattered into chaos…

Below Jiuxian Mountain, Heyun Pool.

While Qu Longjun encountered this unexpected figure at the Dingtai Teahouse, here, the dust of battle rose and settled, everyone tumbling, rising again, and in the blink of an eye they surged back together into a tangled melee.

His face wrapped in floral cloth, Ning Ji walked through the swirling dust.

The two underworld messengers knelt on the ground, refusing to death to move any further—there was nothing to be done about that now.

More people continued hurling lime packets, casting fishing nets at the same time, the scattered strikes causing Yue Yun, Silver Bottle, and the others some measure of trouble.

But on the far side of the dust, Yue Yun, in the very instant of dodging the lime powder, suddenly flung his hand out, and at once something else came whistling through the air—an eight-sided chain mace, which he swung and hurled toward the crowd, together with Silver Bottle wielding her long weapon, forcing the nearby experts back more than a zhang. The iron mace swept across the ground, sending earth and stone flying like rain.

This eight-sided chain mace was a battlefield weapon—heavy of head, with a chain that could reach far, extremely convenient on the battlefield whether for charging through ranks and smashing lesser soldiers, or for cutting down generals and breaking through armor. It was only that this kind of mace, once swung with full force, would turn anyone it struck into a mangled mess, difficult to control in underworld brawls or city fights—perhaps for this reason he normally didn’t use it within Fuzhou, but this time, hating those who had set him up to the bone, he had brought it out with him.

Unleashed now with sudden violence, the mace’s reach extended over a zhang; one underworld fighter, unable to dodge in time amid the dust, had his leg caught by the chain and was swung into the air, the iron mace swinging back to strike him square in the hip. Before everyone’s shocked eyes, the man crumpled to the ground like a torn sack, then was whipped up again, flesh and blood flying, leaving everyone thunderstruck.

Yue Yun, driven by fury, swung the man—chain, mace, and all—while on the other side, Tunyun’s body surged forward, his iron cassock swirling and soaring like a great whirlwind. Yue Yun, caught off guard, swung the chain mace back in a counter-strike; there came a heavy, dull thud, and the chain mace went whistling and spinning up into the sky, straight into the high canopy of a tree beside the road. Yue Yun gave a hard yank, and a great mass of branches came crashing down from above, while his own body was struck flying by a blow from Tunyun’s palm, sending him tumbling across the ground.

Tunyun moved to press his advantage, but Tie Tianying’s footwork surged forward, his long blade sweeping in a single fierce strike—in an instant, a violent arc of blade-light swept, roaring, silently, across a full zhang of space in a circle around him, following his stride. Fan Zhong barely managed to block it, the recoiling force crashing back like a rolling tide; nearby, Tunyun’s cassock and the blade’s light clashed together with a bang, iron fragments spinning through the air.

“You this—”

This one strike had caught both masters at once.

Fan Zhong could not help but feel a flicker of astonishment.

He recognized where this strike had come from.

In the fighting before this, he had already sensed a breakthrough in Tie Tianying’s swordsmanship, had already sensed how the fierce, aggressive style of his blade closely resembled that of Liu Dabiao from years past. He had assumed that Tie Tianying, drawing on the lingering obsession from that battle against Liu Dabiao years ago, had gradually come to enlightenment through it, laying the foundation for his current swordsmanship style. But this strike just now clearly carried a different meaning altogether.

In a single stroke, there was the intent of rolling clouds in motion, the blade holding back force like the rolling tide of the sea—this particular power and intent within the blade was, unmistakably, the very signature technique of the Hegemon Blade from years past, known as “Slashing Through Cloud-Wrapped Mountains.”

Tie Tianying, like himself, had been one of the principal participants in the encirclement and killing of Liu Dabiao back in the day; that he might have come to enlightenment through his battle with an opponent, imitating the man’s style, wasn’t in itself so strange. But over all these years, he had never once ranked outside the top five on the Hegemon Blade’s list of ultimate killing techniques from the southern lands.

—Where had he learned this particular technique?

In the rush of the moment, a possibility occurred to him, one that felt both plausible and absurd at once.

Had the people of the Zuo family, who had studied the Hegemon Blade in the southwest, taught it to Tie Tianying?

That was certainly possible—but what would Liu Xigua think of that?

Such thoughts, however, mattered little in the face of what was happening before him. In only a brief flurry of exchanges, Tie Tianying’s blade moved like a rolling tide, like a great river—fierce and yet fluid at once. Seeing that he could not overwhelm the man in a single clash, and that the trick he had been counting on didn’t seem all that reliable, Fan Zhong was about to signal a full withdrawal for everyone.

Amid the swirling dust, someone suddenly bellowed, “Who are you—”

And within that shout, someone else seemed to say, “Go on, get in there.”

The next instant, blood bloomed outward like an explosion.

……

The turning point occurred at a distance of more than a zhang to Fan Zhong’s right.

The one who had appeared there, meaning to charge at Tie Tianying, was a knife-wielder surnamed Hu, nicknamed “Blade of the Vast Sea.” At this moment, everyone else was closing in on Tie Tianying with concentrated force; Tie Tianying’s technique “Slashing Through Cloud-Wrapped Mountains” had lunged toward the monk Tunyun, and in that same instant had also put some distance between himself and this man.

The blade-wielder’s feet drove forward, having charged out less than half a zhang, when a warning sense suddenly rose at the back of his neck, and he shouted back over his shoulder, “Who are you—”

A figure at that moment was following, shadow-like, close behind him to one side and slightly behind, its face wrapped in that grotesque floral cloth, its gaze sinister, fixed intently on Tie Tianying’s figure not far off. It was as though it were his own shadow-spirit, seemingly ready to charge in the same direction with him.

“Blade of the Vast Sea” could hardly have anticipated a figure suddenly appearing behind him; caught off guard, he tried to pull back his slash, and his eyes met the other’s for a fleeting instant.

His footing slowed, and the other’s gaze seemed to grow even more furious.

“—Go on, get in there.”

He gave him a shove.

The blade-wielder stumbled forward, and in the next instant, entered the range of Tie Tianying’s blade-sense.

“Slashing Through Cloud-Wrapped Mountains” had not yet spent its momentum and had, in fact, arrived at exactly the right position to transition into a new strike; Tie Tianying’s body flickered like a mirage, and following that same slash, he brought the blade sweeping fully back around toward this side!

The blade-wielder surnamed Hu hadn’t even had time to react before one of his hands was already severed; the nine-ring great blade, borrowing the recoil force from clashing hard against the monk Tunyun, split open his entire chest with brutal force at exactly the right distance and angle—in an instant, bone shattered and flesh flew, blood exploding outward like blossoming flowers, splattering a horrifying spray across the scene. This was, perhaps, a perfect strike even Tie Tianying himself would have struggled to achieve in practice, brought to fruition perfectly with the other man’s body used as bait!

“Blade of the Vast Sea” had, in that instant, already become a corpse.

But even after that corpse had burst open, it was still being driven forward—

The blade’s edge, blood trailing behind it, surged skyward at his back.

Tie Tianying gave a great cry, “Waah—” and swept the blade in his hand into a dense, savage net of steel; the aftershock of his slash burst again and again against the corpse of “Blade of the Vast Sea,” and from the side of that corpse, a pair of bloodthirsty twin blades lunged out from low ground, using the body of the underworld fighter as cover, and in an instant unleashed a storm of vicious blade-flashes, striking straight at Tie Tianying’s center, seeking to break through!

The ferocity and violence of those twin blades’ slashes, in that instant, seemed even more brutal and fierce than the orthodox Hegemon Blade in Tie Tianying’s own hand.

Blood also suddenly bloomed across the old man’s body.

A furious roar shook the four directions.

“Tie Tianying—”

“I’ll kill your entire family————————”

……

Fan Zhong and Tunyun seized the opportunity and charged in together.