The fierce wind howled. With one carriage’s distance between them—a good eight or nine zhang—Bao Daoyi’s feet moved like sudden thunder and lightning, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. Chen Fan met him without the slightest hesitation.

The crowd surged in from all around, yet for a moment no one struck—they simply formed a great encircling ring. To these followers, Bao Daoyi’s brazen decision to attack directly was also unexpected. But to have climbed to such a high position within Fang La’s court, which was built entirely on fists and feet, Bao Daoyi’s own martial skill was naturally no weak thing—in his youth he had made his considerable name through his own martial prowess. Though in recent years he’d indulged in carnal pleasures, the Daoist arts also included many methods of cultivation through such indulgence, so although he’d been absorbed in enjoying power, his martial skill hadn’t necessarily fallen behind. The way he covered several steps in an instant just now, as if compressing the very ground beneath him, was proof enough of his formidable skill. His whisk swept out, his iron palm lunged forward, fierce and matchless.

In the blink of an eye the two collided, the crowd closing in around them as the two exchanged blows in rapid succession, both speed and force astonishing. Beside them, the fourth carriage’s body shook violently from the force of their clash, its wooden wheels snapping outright, the carriage tilting as the two horses pulling it dragged it forward several more steps before it finally toppled.

Bao Daoyi’s palm and whisk techniques both followed a fierce, direct path, yet his movements were as fast as lightning—not for the sake of evasion, but to increase the destructive force even further. Whisk strikes combined with kicks, elbow strikes combined with knee strikes, his palm edges sharp as blades when he slashed—when he attacked now in his fury, it was as if his whole body had split into three heads and six arms, every strike ferociously powerful. And before him, Chen Fan let out a great roar in that same instant, unleashing everything he had, wildly striking and smashing, sweeping Bao Daoyi’s upper body into a raging tide of an assault.

A moment ago, charging through the attacks of several men, every feint he’d thrown had targeted his opponent’s lower body—but now his stance was steady, his straight punches flashing like lightning, using the “cannon-hammer” style of boxing extremely common in the martial world of this era. This style would later be found within Tai Chi, and had also given rise to fist arts like the “Three Emperors Cannon Hammer,” but at this time, it was simply a straightforward external style of boxing, its force hard and fierce, like cannon fire, like hammer blows.

Martial artists of their caliber ordinarily paid great attention to cultivating their breath; even when fighting, being able to speak and control their breathing followed a certain method. But Chen Fan’s sudden shout was no longer about breath control—within that great roar, his breathing surged like bellows, pushing his strength to the very peak of its explosive release. His cannon-hammer punches came one after another, all aimed at the vital points of Bao Daoyi’s upper body—temples, forehead, neck, throat, ribs, chest, diaphragm. Ordinarily, when striking at vital points, a person targeted at most one location—but in this brief span, Chen Fan’s attacks seemed to blanket his opponent’s entire upper body all at once, countless straight punches taking the shortest possible path, striking out and retracting, striking out and retracting, over and over and over, the air itself rumbling with the impact.

The onlookers’ eyes went wide. These countless straight punches were, in truth, only variations derived from a single simple move within the cannon-hammer style—the “punch to heaven”—but to be able to execute a single form to this degree of intensity in such a brief span was something very few could accomplish, and few could withstand it either. The force on display looked as though it could snap a stone pillar in two just by standing before it.

But Bao Daoyi’s own martial skill was genuinely formidable. Though his entire upper body was suddenly swept into the assault, his hands and feet retaliated with an equally unrelenting ferocity, his upper body constantly lunging forward and dodging back. Chen Fan’s body would tilt backward whenever the other landed a vicious blow, yet his own attacks never once slowed. This frenzied exchange of attack and defense lasted only a few breaths before Bao Daoyi suddenly bellowed, “Die—” and slammed a palm into Chen Fan’s chest. Chen Fan, showing no mercy, drove a punch straight at his temple in return, followed by a whisk strike that lashed across his chest. Bao Daoyi’s left shoulder was struck by a series of Chen Fan’s straight punches, and he kicked Chen Fan hard in return.

The whisk, along with fragments of cloth and blood, sprayed into the air. Bao Daoyi used the force of that kick to retreat more than a zhang. Chen Fan also stepped back several paces in succession. Just as the two were about to charge forward again, a figure came crashing in with a roar: “This one’s mine! I’m going to beat him to death!” and traded two blows head-on with Chen Fan.

Bao Daoyi reached up and patted the shoulder Chen Fan had struck, gritting his teeth as he stopped there. In that moment just past, he had landed three blows on Chen Fan and seemed to have suffered no loss, even gaining the upper hand—Chen Fan’s chest had been torn open and bloodied by his whisk—but in his heart, Bao Daoyi felt nothing but shock. He knew clearly that the three blows he’d landed on Chen Fan hadn’t been especially heavy—even that last kick had mainly been meant to knock Chen Fan back and create distance. But the single punch Chen Fan had landed on him now left his entire left arm nearly unable to lift, the pain cutting to the bone.

As for Chen Fan’s skill, Bao Daoyi hadn’t previously understood it very well. He knew Chen Fan was Fang Qifo’s closest disciple, and knew he was quite fierce and brave by nature, never falling behind others in taking enemy generals and seizing banners on the battlefield—and being able to trade blows back and forth with Liu Xigua naturally made him a first-rate expert. Yet though Fang Qifo had trained this disciple, he had never really put him to prominent use, which Bao Daoyi understood to be a matter of protecting and tempering him.

Being able to trade blows with Liu Xigua, having received Fang Qifo’s tutelage, of course made him a first-rate expert. But whether it was Liu Xigua or Chen Fan, both were of the younger generation, and in Bao Daoyi’s view, if he truly wanted to kill either of them, it would naturally be simple, no problem at all. Some time ago, when Chen Fan had been maintaining order within the city and beaten up quite a few of his subordinates, he had only regarded it as a junior making trouble, unwilling to lower himself to the young man’s level out of respect for the Buddha Marshal. He never imagined that this young man, whom the Buddha Marshal had cultivated and kept concealed until now, had already reached such a level of skill—if they fought fairly, he might already surpass Bao Daoyi by a notch.

The truly first-rate experts he’d brought along this time had indeed come with him, but the five or six men roughly matched to his own skill, capable of contending with Chen Fan, were all in the carriages behind. A moment ago, when he’d struck out in anger, these men hadn’t dared to intervene, lest they be accused of ganging up on a lone opponent. But the one who had suddenly attacked just now was that tall, burly, scar-covered figure known as the “Vicious Yama” Lu Tuo. Had Qin Shaoqian, second son of Qin Siyuan, been present, he would certainly have recognized him.

Back when several Liao assassins had attempted to assassinate Qin Siyuan, and the noble young lord who led them had later been rescued, the highest-skilled martial escort among them had been this very man. At the time, had Qin Shaoqian not used a scheme to force him away, both Qin Shaoqian and the young officer beside him, Xu Xiaohu, would likely have faced a difficult battle. Wanted notices concerning him had at that time been circulated across the entire country, and after Qin Siyuan’s return to prominence, the pursuit had only intensified. Having nowhere else to turn, he had come to join the rebel army—his timing somewhat late, but his own astonishing martial skill had earned him considerable regard from Bao Daoyi, though his temperament was also extremely proud and unruly. Earlier he had been stationed at Ancient Paulownia Temple, only to be raided by Chen Fan, an event he regarded as a great humiliation—which was probably why he was the only one bold enough to display this posture of snatching prey from the tiger’s mouth right in front of Bao Daoyi.

Lu Tuo was massively built, standing more than a head taller than Chen Fan, with tremendous strength—though Chen Fan too had grown considerably in raw power. Seeing this man intervene, Chen Fan merely gave a cold snort and met him head-on; in a short span, the two had already exchanged blows head-to-head several times.

“Kill him!”

“Beat this brat to death, cripple his hands and feet!”

Unlike Bao Daoyi, Lu Tuo did not have the crowd’s respect for restraint—now that the encirclement had formed, some among them began shouting. Though Lu Tuo and Chen Fan traded blows head-on, their movements and repositioning remained extremely fast, and those around them began making moves too, pretending to help. In truth, the overall situation had essentially already been decided—dozens against one, no matter how skilled Chen Fan was, what could he do? He was now surrounded, and though he was holding his own against Lu Tuo without falling behind, his skill appearing to be at its very peak, everyone knew that the momentum from earlier, when he’d nearly overwhelmed the entire crowd in that brief span, could no longer be sustained. The only question was when, exactly, this young man would fall.

Everyone knew Lu Tuo’s strength and ferocity—his body covered in scars, a veteran of countless battles. Chen Fan, at best, could only fight him to a draw, but under these circumstances, Chen Fan could only die at his hands. Nearly everyone present shared this impression, and to the large crowd of onlookers watching from a distance, the feeling was likely the same—at the very least, in terms of physical stature and strength, the disparity between the two was plain to see. The children of the Righteous Society were about to rush out, but Ning Yi had already hurried over and blocked their way.

“If you don’t want Chen Fan to die, don’t go now! This is no longer your fight…”

“Why can’t we go, we’ll fight them to the death with him! Isn’t Brother Chen Fan going to die anyway? What difference does it make if we don’t go…”

“If you go, you’re all dead for certain. If you don’t go… there might still be a chance…”

Ning Yi frowned and looked around. The Righteous Society, after all, wasn’t inclined to listen to him, and one of the youths still tried to rush out, only to have Ning Yi grab him by the throat and press him back down into his seat.

On the upper floor of another building, the group of “Youth Corps” children were also struggling over whether to go—they had already prepared their bags of lime powder and small water buckets, but Ning Yi shouted them down as well.

Ning Yi frowned, watching the fight unfold.

The situation was chaotic and changing at extraordinary speed. Ning Yi had only seen something similar once before—when Lu Hongti had assassinated Song Xian, ambushed by more than twenty elite Wulie Army soldiers. Comparatively speaking, the skill of those elite Wulie Army soldiers could never match this towering, dark-skinned man before him now, but the coordination among these martial artists here was scattered and disorganized, whereas elite soldiers within an army, in coordinating attacks with one another, could unleash truly terrifying force. Back then, Song Xian had thought he’d ambushed Lu Hongti, only to have Lu Hongti turn the tables and kill him outright against those very odds—a true case of overcoming through sheer force.

But right now, Ning Yi genuinely couldn’t see much hope either. For the moment, all he could do was watch.

At a certain corner on one side of the long street, Wenren Buer’s pair of eyes was also fixed on this battle unfolding along the street. Ning Yi had gone to find him around noon that day, asking him to come observe what might happen, to see if there was anything worth exploiting or turning into an opportunity. Watching this unfold now, he too felt somewhat caught off guard—though clearly, there was little room left to intervene at this point.

Chen Fan, suddenly attacking, had displayed formidable martial skill, and this bout of fighting had been extraordinarily fierce. Wenren Buer thought that since Ning Liheng had called him here to watch, perhaps he had some plan for creating a turning point—but looking over at Ning Yi now, it was clear he too had run out of options.

By now the fight had gone on for fifty or sixty exchanges. Chen Fan suddenly dropped low, shifting his fighting style—his footwork became agile and swift, and in an instant he circled halfway around, his body lunging forward, both hands parting a punch Lu Tuo swung at him, and he wrapped his arms around the man’s waist, suddenly shoving him back. Lu Tuo steadied himself and slammed a fist downward; Chen Fan grabbed his leg, and the two tumbled to the ground together. Rising, Lu Tuo threw a punch, but his target was already gone—when he turned his head, an extremely powerful punch had already landed heavily on his skull, sending him flying and tumbling across the ground.

The two had traded blows for a long while now, both covered head to toe in blood, but no one had expected Chen Fan to still have something held in reserve even now. Lu Tuo let out a tiger’s roar and struggled back to his feet; Chen Fan had already charged forward. After a few more exchanges, Chen Fan again brought a palm strike down on his neck, followed by a rain of punches.

Under these circumstances, that Lu Tuo still wasn’t Chen Fan’s match left the onlookers somewhat in disbelief. It was also at this moment that a spear thrust out from the crowd, slicing a gash across Chen Fan’s leg.

Chen Fan and Lu Tuo’s fight could only be described as Chen Fan being slightly at a disadvantage—if it truly played out, it would still take a long time to resolve. This intervention by the surrounding onlookers clearly hurt Lu Tuo’s pride considerably, and he let out a great roar: “No one interferes!” Chen Fan barely registered that hit as even a flesh wound; he merely gave a cold laugh, released Lu Tuo, and suddenly charged off to the side.

Instantly, chaos erupted—blades, spears, swords, and halberds all raised at once, clashing in a cacophony. Chen Fan took three hits on his body, blood spraying out, but he seized the man wielding the spear, pulled him out of the crowd, pinned him to the ground, and crushed his throat, laughing loudly through his mouth. “Hahaha, Bao Daoyi—”

Over there, Bao Daoyi waved his hand furiously: “Kill him!”

The situation grew chaotic once more. Chen Fan snatched up two weapons and tried to break through the crowd on either side—his experience surviving on the battlefield was extremely rich, but under these circumstances, it clearly counted for little anymore. Blood had begun flowing steadily from his body, and even as he dodged Lu Tuo’s pursuit, he managed to break the legs of a few men or slash open their bellies in passing.

But in the end, this was a hero’s last stand…

Watching this scene, everyone felt more or less the same thought arise in their hearts. Over there, the children had already grown restless again, beginning to prepare to rush out. It was also at this moment that someone came hurrying from one end of the long street.

More than twenty people, dressed in black, armed with blades and swords—leading them was none other than An Xifu.

“Stop!”

“An Xifu, this isn’t your business to manage!”

Almost the instant An Xifu spoke, Bao Daoyi, over there, had already pointed at him, his voice stern and severe. An Xifu, for his part, drew his sword and strode forward: “The Princess Imperial has ordered me to oversee security within the city. All of you brawling within the city—stop this at once!”

“Chen Fan is trying to assassinate this State Preceptor. Even if this reaches the Buddha Marshal himself, you still can’t protect him! An Xifu, stand down!”

“That’s a matter for after it reaches the Buddha Marshal, Master Bao. Today, with my Black Feather Guard present, this is our jurisdiction to make the arrest. Please have your men stand down!”

“Not! A! Chance!”

An Xifu stood there, jaw clenched tight. The battle continued on the other side, and in the next moment, he said, “Move in.”

“How dare you!”

Bao Daoyi shouted this, and the group of Black Feather Guards hesitated for a moment. An Xifu turned his head coldly to look back at them: “Move in!” Having said this, he charged straight forward, and more than twenty Black Feather Guards followed suit.

“Block them! Kill Chen Fan!”

Amid the slaughter and chaos, Chen Fan remained trapped in the crowd, nearly turned into a bloody figure by the fighting, while on this side, the Black Feather Guard couldn’t break through the defensive line formed by more than ten martial artists. Bao Daoyi was, after all, the Protector State Celestial Master—his subordinates had no real will to fight against him now, and An Xifu’s own martial skill was limited; he had only broken through the outer ring and had already taken two blade wounds. Ning Yi had already raised his hand, calling for a group of youths to rush over with the lime, when—at that moment, in something no one had expected—something happened before everyone’s eyes.

The fiercest fighting over there was still, in the end, the cluster surrounding Chen Fan. The coordination among these martial artists had never been particularly good to begin with, and Chen Fan, charging left and right, had thrown the whole situation into total disorder, but breaking free entirely was ultimately still not possible. His body was covered in blood, his clothes in tatters, and although he managed to dodge vital blows each time, his footwork had already grown slow and staggering. But it was precisely in this moment of greatest chaos, with everyone eager to land a casual slash on him, that two bodies suddenly flew up in front of him, blood spraying shockingly into the sky.

Fists like a tiger’s roar breaking through the wind!

“Bao—”

Chen Fan’s body lunged forward several meters, rolling, rising to his feet, blades and swords thrusting at him. His figure surged forward, knocking aside a man ahead who hadn’t reacted in time, evading a forest of attacks.

“Dao—”

No one had expected he still had this much strength left. That figure, weaving and charging through the crowd, seemed like a stroke of brushwork descending from beyond the heavens; the chaotic battlefield stretched and warped as figures were knocked aside, and he charged, at this very moment, straight into the deepest heart of the battlefield. Beside Bao Daoyi, three or four men attacked together—a sword found its way to Chen Fan’s shoulder, a hand grabbed hold of his collar, and several more pursued from behind. At this point Chen Fan was almost being pulled, dragged, and surrounded by a crowd of men all at once—but even so, he broke through the encirclement, charging straight for his target!

“—Yi!”

A single, simple punch, thrown amid this frenzied battle, straight at Bao Daoyi, whose eyes flashed with ferocious light as he swung his palm to meet it.

However brave and fierce Chen Fan had been, he was, after all, at the very end of his strength now—this punch, too, was in the end only symbolic. Bao Daoyi understood this much, and finally, fist and palm met, halting that punch in midair…

…

Bang—

A sky full of lime powder…

…

“Shhhing…”

Amid the obscured field of vision, as if drawn out infinitely long, came the sound of a blade edge sliding out of its sheath. In that instant, countless people thrust blades and spears at his sides and behind him. Chen Fan, drenched in blood, held his body’s forward posture, and opened his blood-reddened eyes. Only now did he draw, from both sides of his body, the twin blades he had held in reserve since the very start of the battle, revealing… his true fangs!