Chapter 16: Resentment Spilled Over West Lake

Chapter 16: Resentment Spilled Over West Lake

Early on the fifteenth, Gu Fengchen and Qing’er entered Hangzhou city. Hangzhou was a place of ancient prosperity, filled with smoky streets lined with willows, mist-shrouded pavilions, and orchid terraces, its beautiful scenery too numerous to count. Even breathing in, one could smell the scent of rouge. Yet it differed from the glamorous and dissipated Jinling; along the Qinhuai River, one’s eyes met seductive flirtations and heavy, rich fragrances, enough to make one melt within. Hangzhou, however, felt much fresher and lighter, leaving one intoxicated by its charm without drunkenness.

Upon reaching West Lake, their spirits soared beyond the worldly as if transported to a fairyland. Clear ripples swayed lightly, the Broken Bridge slanted across the water, blossoms fluttered chasing people, and willows along the dike trailed like ribbons reflected in the water.

Gu Fengchen gazed for a long time, finally letting out a sigh. He thought silently to himself: Were it not for accidentally re-entering the Jianghu (Martial World) from his reclusive life in a solitary village, how would he ever witness such breathtaking beauty?

The two stabled their horses at an inn. Gu Fengchen bought a set of clothes and changed, then they boarded a boat rowing towards the Mid-Lake Pavilion. West Lake wasn’t large, and the Mid-Lake Pavilion could even be seen from afar. Now, however, there were only a few tourists on it—no grand gathering. Gu Fengchen’s heart sank. Could the Hero Convention be over, or had it relocated?

As he wondered, a clamour arose from the distant Solitary Hill, sounding like a large crowd was there. Qing’er pointed it out to the boatman, instructing him to head toward Solitary Hill. Turning to Gu Fengchen, she said: “Since it’s a Hero Convention, the Mid-Lake Pavilion is too small. How could it hold everyone? I bet they’re definitely on Solitary Hill.”

Gu Fengchen thought she was right. The little boat drifted steadily, approaching Solitary Hill. As soon as it docked, the pair heard loud quarrelling. Gu Fengchen paused, thinking the voices sounded familiar—could it be them…

The two turned along a small path and climbed a gentle slope. Below them, they saw a large, flattened clearing. Around it, seated or standing, were four to five hundred people, dressed diversely and representing various sects. The two largest factions occupied east and west.

The eastern side was led by three figures seated on grand chairs: Twin Dragon Fort’s Fort Master Du Qianlong and Long Xielan, alongside Golden Eagle Gate’s Gate Master Wan Chongshan. Behind them were about a hundred disciples and followers from affiliated sects and freelance warriors.

On the western side stood only one chair, occupied naturally by the Leader of the Red Lotus Sect, Ling Ling. Behind her stood Mortal King Gui Qulai, Marquis of Phantom Shadow Xue Wuhen, Marquis of Gliding Radiance Tie Furong, and Marquis of Mist Ascension Shen Rou. Zhou Cuo and Shende Taoist hadn’t come along, likely staying behind at Mount Huang.

Behind these figures stood some seventy to eighty people, some in Red Lotus Sect attire, others from subordinated sects.

The key figures on both sides refused to even glance at each other, as if placing no regard on their opponents. Only their subordinates glared fiercely, eyes locked like fighting cocks.

In the clearing’s center stood a man and a woman now—the Yin-Yang Twin Immortals—hurling insults back and forth at the assembly. Gu Fengchen naturally recognized them. Red Yang Immortal looked triumphant. White Yin Immortal stood with hands on hips, pointing and shouting at someone: “What did you just say! Daring to tell us to roll down the hill! Why don’t you roll?”

Someone in the crowd yelled: “I’m a human. Naturally I wouldn’t roll.”

White Yin Immortal fumed: “You’re human, then I’m not?”

The man retorted: “How would I know if you are? Look in a mirror.”

White Yin Immortal snapped: “Then lend me one!”

The man sneered: “I’m no woman. Why would I carry a mirror? Go roll to the lakeshore and look!”

Red Yang Immortal interjected brightly: “Hmph! This lad has some eye after all!”

White Yin Immortal rounded on him, roaring: “What! They’re insulting us!”

Red Yang Immortal mused: “He said we’re not human… he’s right! We’re already immortals. Immortals aren’t human, naturally.”

Shouts erupted from the crowd: “True! You are immortals!”

“You two holy immortals descending to earth—what a feast for our eyes…”

“Of course you’re immortals! One’s the God of Ill Omen, the other’s the Immortal of House Cleaning…”

The first man laughed loudly: “What immortals? Looks more like a white-furred rat spirit to me, just missing the tail…” The crowd burst into raucous laughter.

White Yin Immortal’s gaze sharpened. Suddenly, with a flick of her hand, she shot out a thread of water. Glittering translucent in the sunlight and utterly pure, it flew arrow-swift straight into the man’s open mouth.

The man was still laughing: “Haha… ah!” Suddenly he felt a cool wetness slide down his throat—like rainwater falling. He glanced up; the sun blazed down, not a cloud in the sky. Where’d the rain come from? As he pondered this, a companion beside him shrieked: “Y-your face…!”

The man touched his face but felt nothing different. “Say what…?”

He only got those words out before he clutched his throat, gave a strangled cry, leaped half a foot into the air—then crashed down motionless. His face had turned paper-white, as if dusted with lime powder. Not just his skin, even his hair, eyebrows, and beard had all turned a ghostly grey-white.

White Yin Immortal chuckled coldly: “Now who’s the white-furred rat spirit?”

Her opponents recoiled en masse at this display of lethal poison skill, backing far away from the corpse, fearing toxic fumes might drift their way. The raucous jeering ceased abruptly.

Red Yang Immortal remained utterly pleased: “Like I said! We two are immortals! We’re here for just one thing: the Earth Evasion Armor. Why? Well, our ascension to the ranks of immortals was long ago. We want to visit the Netherworld and check the Book of Life and Death! Wearing that armor will make it much easier. Anyone want their year of death looked up? Just write it on a slip and pass it along! Come on now, step right up…”

No one could tell if he was genuinely insane or just pretending. Silence hung for a moment.

Suddenly, a deep voice spoke from the side: “If you two wish to go to the Underworld, no Earth Evasion Armor is needed. Let me advise you.”

Red Yang Immortal was intrigued: “What method? Tell us!”

A figure from the direction of the Four Great Clans raised their hand and flung a broadsword. It spun straight and fiercely at first, but midway its trajectory dipped sharply. With a thunk, it buried itself point-down in the earth, hilt quivering, blade flashing reflected sunlight.

This display of Internal Energy control was indeed impressive. Gu Fengchen could see it—the thrower had focused Internal Energy into the tip, causing the blade to flex crescent-like mid-flight, hence the sharp downward plunge. Using a flexible blade like this lent itself to the trick more than a rigid sword might have allowed. While opportunistic, it still showed formidable skill.

As the blade struck earth, cheers rose from three sides—only the Red Lotus Sect faction remained silent.

Red Yang Immortal bent and plucked the blade from the ground. The thrower called out: “You two just sweep that blade across your necks! That’ll get you to the Underworld to see Yama in a snap. As for the Book of Life and Death? No need to consult it. It’s already written crystal clear—today’s your death date.”

Some sweated for the speaker, fearing the poison-water trick and a fate like the “rat spirit”. Others, though, thought this daring taunt meant he must have countermeasures against their toxins.

Though simple, Red Yang Immortal wasn’t stupid. He laughed heartily: “Haha!” Then, actually swung the blade against his own neck—tink, tink—not even scratching it. Frowning in mock disappointment: “This blade’s not sharp! Here, take it back. Fetch me a sharper one!” He tossed the blade back towards its owner.

Seeing its unremarkable flight speed, the onlookers felt convinced: these two relied solely on poison; their martial skills were mediocre at best.

The thrower was skilled himself. As the blade spun back, he calmly reached out to catch it.

However—his hand hadn’t even brushed the hilt when someone beside him flicked out a white cloth. It whipped through the air, coiled around the spinning hilt—and with a sharp yank whipped it sideways. Thwack! The blade embedded itself high up in the trunk of a distant tree.

The one who shook out the white handkerchief was Zhuge Xianyun’s son, the leader of the younger generation in the martial world, Zhuge Ren.

He stood side by side with Nangong Yue, not taking a seat. With Du Qianlong and the other two present, he was a generation younger and naturally couldn’t claim equal footing with them. So he stood quietly behind them along with Nangong Yue.

Recognizing him, the one who had flung the sword gave a slight start. “Young Master,” he said, “why stop me from catching it?”

Zhuge Ren smiled and pointed at the tree where the blade had struck. “Brother Wu, see for yourself.” Everyone followed his gesture and saw that though embedded in the tree, the blade seemed normal at first glance. Only now was it apparent that the trunk around it was slowly turning yellow.

A series of faint crackling sounds rang out as a large patch of bark suddenly fell away, revealing the wood beneath. The exposed wood had lost every trace of green, transformed into dead grey ash as though scorched by wildfire.

It turned out the Red Yang Immortal had coated the blade with poison before flinging it. Had his opponent touched it, they would have died instantly. How he managed to apply the poison unseen by the gathered crowd remained a mystery. Without Zhuge Ren’s sharp intuition, noticing the imperceptibly dulled glint of the blade and intervening, this Brother Wu would have become a corpse.

Seeing the lethality of the poison – clearly meant to kill him – the man surnamed Wu first froze in shock, then fury boiled up within him, and he surged forward to fight. Zhuge Ren raised a hand, stopping him, and murmured, “Don’t act rashly. Be cautious—it might be a trap.”

Puzzled, Brother Wu asked, “What trap?” Zhuge Ren replied, “The one behind all this hasn’t shown themselves yet. Who knows what scheme is afoot? For now, we observe quietly.” Brother Wu nodded vigorously. “You’re right, Young Master. I was too reckless.”

While these two whispered, the rest of the heroes watched in silence. Seeing the sheer deadliness of the Yin-Yang Twin Immortals’ poison and their brazen posturing in the center, yet knowing nothing of their origins, everyone felt an unsettling strangeness about them. Thus, no one else ventured to speak.

Observing how their simple display had cowed the assembled heroes, the Twin Immortals swelled with pride. The Red Yang Immortal called out loudly, “I ask once more—which of you is the true host? Step forward immediately and tell us where the Earth Evasion Armor is.”

Hearing this, Gu Fengchen realized it wasn’t the first time the question had been asked.

Suddenly, a voice answered from outside the crowd, “Truly want to see the host? Knowing might make you regret it.” The White Yin Immortal retorted sharply, “Regret what? Show yourself now and let’s see you—”

Then came the sound of silk and bamboo strings. The crowd to the south parted as the heroes automatically made way. Two rows of Colorful-Robed Maidens approached to the music, each holding bamboo poles of varying thickness. A ripple of bewildered murmurs spread—no one understood why these maidens were carrying bamboo.

Smiling, the maidens cleared paths through the onlookers, then began driving the bamboo poles into the ground. Swiftly, they pulled out vines and wove them through the poles as if crafting oversized baskets. The steady clatter of bamboo striking bamboo echoed—bang, clatter, thump. Within the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, a simple two-storied bamboo tower stood assembled, fully ten feet tall, its peak wide enough for a single person to sit.

The tower’s railings were draped with fresh flowers, and a brocaded cushion adorned its seat, presenting a vibrant, handsome spectacle.

Only then was a small palanquin brought forward. Two bearers halted it before the tower, and the one in front gently lifted the curtain. A woman emerged. She was clad entirely in white, like snow. A white gossamer veil obscured her face, leaving only a faint outline visible. Exiting the palanquin, she seemed to move without visible motion—as if a celestial transcending mortals in broad daylight—silently rising ten feet into the air before alighting effortlessly upon the cushioned seat at the tower’s apex.

Every eye was riveted on her. Though Gu Fengchen couldn’t see her face clearly, her figure and attire betrayed her identity: Lady Xueyi. So, it’s her stirring up trouble, he thought.

Lady Xueyi had never truly emerged into prominence within the Jianghu, her fame was faint. In truth, as Ling Yufeng’s wife, even members of the Red Lotus Sect knew nothing of her background. They only knew she was the adopted daughter of Qin Tangguan. Beyond that, her origins remained sealed, a mystery even to those close to her. How much more obscure then, to the wider Jianghu? Wan Chongshan of the Four Great Clans, a man long-versed in the martial world who’d seen countless faces, had never laid eyes on her either.

The gathered crowd saw her pristine white robes, her dramatic entrance—it marked her as a person of profound status. Her effortless levitation spoke of exceptional lightness kung fu. Many forgot to applaud, merely staring dumbfounded. Though her face remained hidden, this very secrecy invited imaginations to paint her as peerlessly beautiful. For a moment, the chatter of hundreds subsided into absolute silence.

The heroes held their breath, awestruck by her entrance. All, that is, save for two: the Yin-Yang Twin Immortals. Having suffered a significant defeat by her hands atop Mount Huang, their expressions turned dark upon recognizing Lady Xueyi. Thankfully, their faces were already exaggerated and bizarre, so the shift went largely unnoticed.

Looking down from her height, Lady Xueyi addressed the Twin Immortals with a smile. “Was I mistaken?”

The White Yin Immortal knew her prowess. Her mastery of poison exceeded their own, and her martial arts were unfathomably strange. Their aggressive front collapsed instantly.

Their original plan had been to return to the Valley of Ten Thousand Flowers to practice their poison arts. Mid-journey, they’d seen the notice. Unaware Lady Xueyi was behind it, they developed their own designs. Seizing a few Jianghu folk for interrogation, they finally learned the Earth Evasion Armor was a treasure guarded by the Red Lotus Sect. Though details of its power remained obscure, they reasoned it was armour—something worn to repel weapons. If they seized it, perhaps it would shield them from Lady Xueyi’s Cold Iron Fish. As for poison… they would risk mutual destruction to finally kill her and settle a grudge decades in the making.

Thus, they rushed to West Lake. Arriving, they found many had preceded them. Long absent from the Jianghu, the Twin Immortals convinced themselves their poison arts stood second only to Lady Xueyi’s and were thus all but invincible. They openly shouted and challenged the gathering’s master to show themselves. Gu Fengchen’s arrival coincided with heated verbal exchanges.

The moment they recognized Lady Xueyi, their bravado crumbled. With the heroes watching, however, they needed to save face. The White Yin Immortal forced a cold laugh. “Very well. Let’s see what she has to say.” He walked over to the poisoned giant’s corpse, flung it aside, and the two sat down on the vacated spot. Heroes seated nearby quietly rose and retreated several paces, leaving an empty circle several yards wide around the Twin Immortals.

The scene fell utterly silent. Hundreds of eyes remained fixed on Lady Xueyi, awaiting her words. She swept her gaze across the assembled heroes, gave a slight, seemingly satisfied nod, and spoke: “Recently, I presumed greatly, broadcasting a summons, arranging this gathering at West Lake. Believing myself humble and insignificant, I anticipated scant attendance of truly esteemed figures. Yet, observing now, such luminaries grace this hall! This insignificant woman is overwhelmingly honored, deeply pleased.”

A black-robed scholar rose, fanning himself. “No need for formalities, Miss. Why we’re all here is no secret. Time wears on, better get straight to the point.” His words drew nods and echoes of agreement.

Lady Xueyi responded, “Your point is well-taken, Mister Tan. Yet, as the host of this Heroes’ Gathering, a measure of courtesy remains customary.” The scholar was indeed Tan Sheng. While somewhat renowned in the Jianghu, Lady Xueyi was unknown to him. Hearing her name him instantly gave him a flicker of pride. “Your words carry truth, Miss. Allow me then to speak the rest on your behalf and save time.” He turned, cupping a fist to all present. “Honored guests journeyed far. Yet with hundreds converging on Solitary Hill, even a thousand vats of fine wine and a hundred tables lavish with food would surely vanish! So, simply: no wine, no feast. Accept my apologies for poor hospitality. Bloodshed? Killing? Drawing blades in deadly struggle? Your own business entirely—no compulsion from me. Only this request: when you depart, kindly sweep the ground clean. Lest we stain Solitary Hill’s beauty, turning Solitary Hill into ‘Bone Hill,’ West Lake into ‘Blood Lake.’ Then future generations find Solitary Hill unfit for poems, or West Lake unfit for paintings! Wouldn’t that be our gross failing?”

Uproarious laughter met his words.

Tan Sheng swelled with pleasure. Turning back to Lady Xueyi, he asked, “Did my words suit your taste, Miss?”

Lady Xueyi offered a faint smile. “Well spoken. The beginning courtesies, the ending truth.” Another wave of laughter rolled through the crowd. Tan Sheng pressed, “Yet we remain ignorant of your fair name. When questions arise later, we need to address you. Simply ‘Miss’ won’t do—dozens of misses here. ‘Celestial Miss’ might single you out… though then all dozens present might answer in chorus!”

Before he finished, the heroes erupted again in good-natured mirth. Everyone thought: That Tan Sheng, his martial skills may not be top-tier, but his tongue is slick. Must attract plenty of women. Odd he came alone today—not a single companion in sight?

Lady Xueyi naturally wouldn’t reveal her real name. Hearing this, she gave a faint smile and said, “This humble woman’s name is scarcely worth mentioning. If all of you noble ones insist on addressing me, you may call me… Yingniang.”

Hearing this, Ling Ling’s eyes turned icy. She understood Lady Xueyi’s meaning. “Yingniang” naturally signified “Wife of Ying Tian’ao”. Clearly, Lady Xueyi only acknowledged herself as Ying Tian’ao’s wife and did not admit to having once been her father’s spouse.

However, Ling Ling had cultivated a calm and composed temperament since childhood. Though angered, no one could tell. She neither raised her voice nor questioned. She simply continued sitting quietly on her chair, listening intently.

At this moment, it was absolutely vital not to offend Lady Xueyi. Ling Ling understood Lady Xueyi’s intent perfectly: she did not want the Red Lotus Sect to easily obtain the Earth Evasion Armor. If Ling Ling spoke disrespectfully now and provoked the other’s anger, the consequences would be unthinkably worse.

Tan Sheng, meanwhile, continued speaking: “As Yingniang stated in her announcement, a great treasure is present here, to be claimed by the capable. Thus, these four to five hundred heroes have traveled far and wide to see the truth of it. Since words have been spoken and courtesies observed, should it not be time to reveal the treasure and allow us all to lay eyes upon it?”

Many in the crowd chimed in: “Well said! Show us the treasure first!” “Even when selling goods, you must first show the customer clearly before bargaining can begin…”

Lady Xueyi smiled and shook her head. “This treasure is a heavy artifact, not to be revealed lightly. Yet, for you heroes who have journeyed such a distance to arrive, it would indeed be deceptive if you were to leave without even a glimpse. Very well, I shall display the treasure. All of you, observe…” As she spoke, she raised her hand and pointed. The crowd followed her gesture, looking towards a large rock not far away where three Colorful-Robed Maidens stood. Two of them held a box jointly. Seeing Lady Xueyi point, they opened the box, retrieved something from within, and unfurled it.

It was indeed a suit of armor. Strangely, there were four pointed protrusions at both shoulders and both hips, shaped like spear points. One Colorful-Robed Maiden donned the armor effortlessly, as if it were not heavy at all. Once she was fully suited, the third Colorful-Robed Maiden suddenly leveled her long spear and thrust fiercely at the armored Maiden.

She stabbed several times in succession, but could not penetrate. The Maiden then set aside the spear, drew a sharp blade, and chopped several times at the armor, yet still failed to inflict even the slightest damage.

Lady Xueyi inquired, “Have you all seen clearly?” Tan Sheng fanned himself, saying, “Indeed, it is a treasure. But one wonders if it can withstand the heavy impact of fists and palms.”

This question struck at the heart of the matter. Everyone knew that while many masters in the Jianghu wielded weapons, the masters who relied solely on fists and feet ranked even higher. Against such masters, ordinary armor offered no protection; their force could penetrate right through, severely damaging the internal organs. Tan Sheng’s question was precisely what everyone wanted to know.

Lady Xueyi signaled to the Colorful-Robed Maidens again. The armored Maiden then lay down horizontally upon the large rock. The crowd was puzzled about what she intended, until the other two Maidens lifted a large stone from nearby, estimated to weigh two or three hundred Jin. They moved the stone over the prone Maiden’s chest and abdomen, hoisted it above their heads, and simultaneously released it.

Some among the assembled heroes cried out. Such a heavy stone falling onto anyone, even a large man trained in hard-body techniques, would likely break bones, cause relentless vomiting of blood, not to mention a seemingly delicate young girl lying there.

Amid the crowd’s gasps, the stone plummeted with a thud onto the Colorful-Robed Maiden. Then it rolled harmlessly away. The Colorful-Robed Maiden stood up again, completely unharmed!

The impact of a several hundred Jin boulder falling from height was fully comparable to the strongest full-force strike unleashed by a master possessing formidable Internal Energy. That the armored maiden remained unscathed proved the armor possessed the power to scatter and redirect force.

A ripple of admiration ran through the heroes. They finally understood that this Treasure Armor truly had extraordinary properties, utterly distinct from ordinary armor.

Having completed their demonstration, the three Colorful-Robed Maidens bowed to Lady Xueyi, retrieved the Treasure Armor, and retreated.

The heroes thought to themselves that it seemed this “Yingniang” had spoken truthfully. Possessing such an armor would confer immense advantages. Even shedding blood or risking one’s life for it might be worthwhile.

Thus, each person secretly rolled up their sleeves and prepared themselves, ready to step into the arena for the fight even before Tan Sheng could speak.

Before Tang Sheng could respond, another person called out, “Young Lady Yingniang, today hundreds have come, yet the Treasure Armor is only one piece. Though it is said the capable shall obtain it, how shall capability be measured?”

Yet another man shouted, “Isn’t that simple? If you, sir, step into the arena and nobody else dares to follow, then you are capable. If someone else dares to step in, the two of you face off. The loser leaves, the winner continues to defend against the next challenger.”

Yingniang shook her head. “That would become a battle of attrition. The last person to step forward gains a massive advantage. That is extremely unfair.” Tan Sheng asked, “Then what method could possibly be fair and reasonable?” Yingniang replied, “This humble woman has a suggestion. Let everyone hear it. If it doesn’t meet with approval, all of you noble ones can propose your own.”

Tan Sheng said, “Excellent. Speak then. Presumably, the young lady’s idea is bound to be both ingenious and fair.”

Yingniang smiled. “Ingenious I dare not claim, as for fair… well, barely passable.” With that, she beckoned behind her. A rumbling sound accompanied the sight of eight Colorful-Robed Maidens pushing a cart into the clearing. The heroes saw the cart was seven to eight feet tall and draped in white cloth, vaguely resembling a human figure. They were utterly puzzled, wondering what trick she was playing.

The eight Colorful-Robed Maidens pushed the cart to the center of the arena. Together they acted, pulling away the white cloth to reveal the object on the cart: an iron man. The Maidens pushed the iron man off the cart. Strangely, as soon as it hit the ground, it immediately stood itself upright again, just like a tumbler.

The heroes found this amusing. Clearly, this iron man was hollow, with heavy weights added to its base. Therefore, if it leaned, it automatically righted itself. Everyone understood this principle, so it wasn’t surprising. They wondered why this iron man had been brought here.

Yingniang seemed disinclined to speak further. She signaled for one of the Colorful-Robed Maidens to explain on her behalf. The maiden stepped into the center and began to speak. Her diction was clear, and her explanation was remarkably logical, her voice like pleasant music to the listeners: “Noble heroes, this humble maiden speaks on behalf of our lady. To ensure the fairness of the contest, anyone wishing to participate must first test against this iron man. Defeat the iron man, and you will be eligible to enter the main contest. Afterwards, the eligible contestants will compete amongst themselves to determine ownership of the treasure. If you cannot overcome the iron man, you may only watch from the sidelines. The iron man is powered by a Mechanism Spring and possesses seventy-two different change patterns. Each pattern comprises three moves. For fairness, the iron man changes to a different sequence of moves for each new challenger, preventing any advantage for later entrants. As long as you can withstand three moves from the iron man, you qualify. However, there is one condition we must make clear beforehand: during the match, you cannot retreat. Because merely moving outside the reach of the iron man’s limbs renders it powerless. This contest is about true skill, not lightness kung fu. Therefore, any contestant who withdraws beyond three feet around the iron man will be considered defeated. Have I explained clearly?”

Tan Sheng asked, “Just withstand three moves, and it counts as victory? We don’t actually have to knock the iron man down?”

The Colorful-Robed Maiden replied, “That is correct.”

Tan Sheng chuckled. “Very well then. Truly fair and reasonable. I suspect no one present objects?”

The heroes concurred: “This method is good.” “Interesting, interesting…”

Yingniang said, “Those present today include leaders of the Four Great Clans and the Red Lotus Sect. Both sides represent the pillars of the Jianghu. Therefore, I wish to show courtesy: each side may directly nominate three individuals to enter the contest without having to face the iron man. How does that sound?”

Hearing this, the crowd voiced no objections. Everyone had seen the figures sent by the Four Great Clans; Wan Chongshan and Du Qianlong were undoubtedly the top fighters present, practically unrivaled in the gathering. Though some skilled individuals secretly harbored resentment, the prestige of the Four Great Clans was too immense, and they possessed no comparable force to challenge them. Thus, they could only swallow their discontent, not daring to voice it aloud. As for the Red Lotus Sect members, long before they retreated to the borderlands, their names had resonated throughout the Jianghu (Martial World). Having secretly regrouped and trained for over a decade, their martial skills had surely surpassed their former levels. Passing this Iron Man Barrier shouldn’t pose much difficulty for them.

Seeing the assembled heroes had no objections, Yingniang waved her hand. The Colorful-Robed Maiden walked behind the iron figure, reached out, and gave the handle on its back a couple of twists. Turning to the crowd, she smiled and said, “The contest may begin now. Which hero would like to go first?”

As soon as the words fell, two men leapt forward. One wielded a single broadsword, the other an iron whip. Both had understood the rules earlier and were eager to try. Hearing the Colorful-Robed Maiden’s signal, they readied themselves. They exchanged glances, and the man with the broadsword called out, “I’ll go.”

So the man strode up to the iron figure, cocked his head to look at it, and asked the Colorful-Robed Maiden behind it, “Do I get to attack it first?” The maiden replied, “Brave sir, you may attack the iron figure. You merely need to withstand three of its moves.” The man asked, “Then why isn’t it moving?” The maiden chuckled, “Young master needs to be careful. The moment my hand lets go, the iron figure will move. Alright, begin…”

With that, the Colorful-Robed Maiden released her grip and swiftly retreated over ten feet away. The instant her hand left the handle, the iron figure came to life. An iron fist whistled as it swung towards him from the side.

Seeing the ferocious force behind this punch, and uncertain how much power it held, the broadsword-wielding man feared using his blade edge to block would likely damage it. Instead, he flipped his weapon, meeting the iron arm head-on with the back of the blade.

A deafening CLANG crashed through the air. The man felt the bones of his five fingers jarred to the point of loosening; he could no longer maintain his grip on the broadsword. Whoosh! The blade was flung from his hand, flying straight back towards his face. Had he blocked with the sharp edge, the weapon might simply have spun towards him – less disastrous. But precisely because he treasured his sword, he now faced a brutal fate: his face was about to pay the price.

The broadsword arced through the air, aimed right at the man’s face. Splatter! Blood sprayed. The blade edge bit into the man’s cheek. A sharp cry of pain escaped him as he stumbled back several steps and collapsed onto the ground.

The iron figure’s mechanism had been triggered. Having scored a hit, it didn’t halt. It threw out two more punches before finally settling back into stillness. The man whose face had just met his own blade clutched his wound, burning crimson with embarrassment. He had rushed to be first onto the field, yet hadn’t even managed to block a single punch from the iron figure. The shame was scalding. Though, even if he weren’t flushed with humiliation, his face was already covered in crimson blood, so the onlookers couldn’t discern his mortification anyway.

As the injured man withdrew from the field, the man wielding the iron whip flinched. Yet, inwardly, he also felt a flicker of relief. Had he gone first, he suspected his own whip might have met the same fate of being smashed away. No one could have predicted the sheer force within the iron figure. Now that someone had tested the waters, he had a clearer gauge of its strength.

The Colorful-Robed Maiden twisted the handle on the iron figure’s back a couple more times, smiling at the whip-wielder. “This gentleman needs to be cautious now.” The man holding the iron whip nodded. He stepped in front of the iron figure, gripping his weapon firmly with both hands to prevent it from being knocked away. He gave the maiden a nod, signaling he was ready to begin. The maiden released her grip, and the iron figure lurched back into motion.

This time, the offensive was different from the previous bout. The iron figure launched a flying kick. The whip-wielder swung his arm in a full circle, bringing his weapon down squarely on the iron leg. He intended for this blow to either topple the figure or shear off its metal limb. Instead, a tremendous metallic CLANG rang out. The iron figure seemed entirely undamaged; it was the man’s whip that was violently flung upward. Fortunately, his two-handed grip just managed to hold onto it, preventing it from flying away entirely. However, when he looked down, he saw its length was visibly bent.

Though he hadn’t lost his weapon, there was no dodging the iron figure’s follow-up strike. An iron fist shot forward like lightning, landing square on the whip-wielder’s chest. A sickening CRACKLE echoed. The man was hurled back several steps, collapsing to the ground. He immediately began spitting blood, clutching his chest, unable to rise. It appeared several ribs had likely shattered.

This sight stunned the entire gathering.

When the heroes first laid eyes on the iron figure, no particular dread had gripped them. Many had heard of the Shaolin Temple’s Eighteen Bronze Men Array; this metal automaton before them seemed likely a pale imitation. But witnessing two consecutive and utter defeats made them realize: Yingniang’s seemingly generous condition was, in fact, incredibly difficult to meet. Where the Shaolin Bronze Array could be navigated or bypassed, there was no requirement to block blows directly, this iron figure was different. Retreat wasn’t an option, evasion wasn’t allowed – straying out of its attack range meant instant failure. Anyone who could triumph under these conditions, let withstand three moves, would truly be a master.

Therefore, after these two failures, many among the heroes who had initially contemplated stepping forward quickly shelved the idea. They secretly assessed that their own martial prowess likely wasn’t significantly greater than that of the previous two challengers. A single defeat here would bring immense public humiliation. Far better to play spectator first, observing how others might fare against it, allowing themselves time to prepare.

Consequently, out of the hundreds gathered, barely a dozen or so individuals still entertained the thought of attempting the challenge.

Concealed on the slope, Qing’er and Gu Fengchen had been intently watching the proceedings below, so this entire sequence unfolded clearly before their eyes. Qing’er whispered softly, “Hey, that iron figure seems pretty tough to handle. How are you planning to get past this barrier later?” Gu Fengchen offered a faint smile. “This barrier isn’t actually that difficult. I’m confident I can withstand three of its moves.” Qing’er countered, “His iron whip was bent. Are your arms harder than iron?” Gu Fengchen chuckled. “Naturally, they’re not as hard as iron. But the rules don’t specify that I must block it with my hands, do they?” Qing’er was puzzled. “Then what will you use to deflect it?” Gu Fengchen motioned for her to speak softer. “You’ll see once I step onto the field shortly. Right now, my concern is something else.”

Seeing his troubled expression, Qing’er asked, “What is it?”

Gu Fengchen replied, “Circumstances force me to compete for the treasure; it’s not by wish. Therefore, I don’t want the Red Lotus Sect members to recognize me. Do you have a way to alter my appearance?” Qing’er frowned. “Disguise techniques? I don’t know any.” Gu Fengchen pressed, “Is there no other method?”

Qing’er thought for a moment, then suddenly giggled, pfft. “Alright, here’s an idea. You wear this item, and I guarantee even your closest kin wouldn’t recognize you.” Saying this, she pulled a piece of red cloth from her waist. “Put it over your head. See if it suits you.”

Gu Fengchen didn’t understand at first. He started to pull it over his head, then suddenly grasped the implication and chuckled softly. “You’re saying I should marry…” Qing’er nearly doubled over laughing, forced to stifle her guffaws, finding the effort supremely painful. Gu Fengchen tossed the red cloth back to her. “Do you have any other color?”

Qing’er managed to stop laughing. She retrieved a cloth wrapper, a dull silvery gray, and handed it over. Gu Fengchen took it and pulled it over his head; it easily covered his head and face. He made some markings, then used his fingers to bore three holes – two for eyes, one for his nose.

Once he had the bag securely in place, Qing’er wrinkled her brow. “Utterly terrifying… but definitely secure. No one could possibly recognize you now.”

They finished their makeshift disguise and turned their attention back to the field. Although around a dozen contenders seemed poised, each was deep in thought, frowning as they privately strategized how to combat the iron figure. For now, no one stepped forward. Just then, a hearty laugh rang out, and a man walked into the central arena. Everyone looked: it was Zhuge Ren.

Seeing it was he, the Colorful-Robed Maiden paused briefly. “Young Hero Zhuge,” she said, “my mistress mentioned just now that members of the Four Great Clans need not pass this hurdle – the Three Great Clans shall have three places directly reserved. You are…” Zhuge Ren smiled. “Our hostess’s kind intention is naturally appreciated. The Four Great Clans boast many talents. This time, my three esteemed martial uncles grace us with their presence, so these three places naturally should go to them. As a junior, I have no claim to such a privilege. Therefore, I also wish to test myself. Even if I prove inadequate, at the very least I might help those who come after me assess the strength required.”

The implication of his words was crystal clear: First, as a member of the younger generation, he declined the reserved spots upfront, thereby securing places for the three strongest members of his group. Second, as a leading figure among the Jianghu’s new generation, he felt duty-bound to set an example – to lead by example. Even if he failed, it would offer others room to retreat gracefully. They could then reasonably say, If even Young Hero Zhuge couldn’t pass, how could we possibly succeed? thus preserving collective dignity.

Therefore, hearing his words, the assembled heroes nodded silently in approval. They felt the actions of the Zhuge Family indeed displayed exceptional character. Had he hung back, waiting to observe others’ struggles and discern the trick before stepping in to triumph, it would likely have aroused contempt rather than admiration.

Most of the heroes thought this way, leading a good number to voice their approval with calls of “Well said!” or simply “Good!”

Hearing this, the Colorful-Robed Maiden dared not refuse. She simply said, “In that case, Young Hero Zhuge, please be cautious.” Zhuge Ren, empty-handed, stood before the iron figure. He smiled and nodded once, signaling his readiness. The maiden released the handle, and the automaton began its attack.

Everyone held their breath watching, most of them breaking into a cold sweat for Young Hero Zhuge’s sake. Previously, two men armed with weapons hadn’t managed to withstand three moves; how could this bare-handed young gentleman possibly block them now?

But Zhuge Ren remained unruffled, his face perpetually wearing a faint smile. Yet in his heart, he was exceptionally cautious. He had practiced his father’s style since childhood—never flamboyant, always low-key—but his internal energy foundation was profoundly deep. Appearing before these martial heroes now, he dared not be the slightest bit careless.

The Iron Man altered his move again. Swinging his iron arm, he shaped his palm into a blade, executing the technique known as “Forcefully Splitting Mount Hua,” striking downward with ferocious force. The iron arm sliced through the air with a whistling sound, like a hammer swinging down. Zhuge Ren had long prepared a counter. He raised both hands skyward to meet the strike head-on.

Among the crowd, some inwardly gasped in dread, all thinking: The previous man resisted with an iron whip and still lost. How can your mere hands be harder than that iron arm!

They saw the Iron Man deliver his “Forcefully Splitting Mount Hua” blow. Midway, his palm met Zhuge Ren’s hands. Everyone expected to hear the sickening crunch of Zhuge Ren’s bones. Instead, there was… silence. The iron limb met the flesh palms like a hammer striking a pit of mud. At first, it descended, but then it slowly stopped descending, stiffening and halting completely.

Zhuge Ren had actually caught the Iron Man’s thunderously powerful strike with his bare hands.

Many in the crowd watched wide-eyed, seemingly unable to believe what they were witnessing; they even forgot to cheer.

In truth, Zhuge Ren’s move was fraught with peril. Though it appeared as one simple gesture, he employed three distinct techniques simultaneously: the raised hands against the sky utilized the Great Stone Tablet Tumble, but at the moment just before contact with the iron palm, he instantly shifted his stance to the Coiling Silk Hands. Simultaneously, he applied internal energy—both pushing and pulling back—using the method of the Small Circle. These three arts should be fundamentally incompatible for concurrent use. Yet Zhuge Ren displayed exceptional skill, weaving them together with incredible finesse, each transition executed perfectly. Thus, the Iron Man’s immensely powerful strike was like a massive smith’s hammer slamming into cotton, utterly ineffective.

Witnessing this from behind, Wan Chongshan and Du Qianlong exchanged a glance, both conveying deep appreciation in their eyes.

Though Zhuge Ren blocked the palm strike, the Iron Man remained in motion. As the palm strike ended, his left fist snapped out like lightning, driving straight towards Zhuge Ren’s chest. Unconcerned with guarding himself, the Iron Man used only aggressive moves, shifting between them with blinding speed. In the briefest instant, the punch arrived at Zhuge Ren’s breastbone.

The crowd’s brief expression of relief twisted instantly back into alarm. They feared this punch was heavier than the palm strike and that Zhuge Ren might be seriously injured. After all, his hands were still raised, holding aloft the Iron Man’s right palm, leaving him no reserve strength to parry this sudden punch.

Reality aligned with their fear. The iron fist drove unimpeded into Zhuge Ren’s chest, sinking in nearly an inch deep!

A wave of shocked cries rippled through the crowd; many involuntarily leapt to their feet.

However, Zhuge Ren let out an exhalation that was… a laugh. A laugh resonant and robust, utterly devoid of any sign of injury.

For as that iron fist approached, Zhuge Ren hadn’t dodged. He hadn’t blocked. He had greeted it directly with his chest the moment before the iron fist touched his robe, Zhuge Ren suddenly took a deep, sharp breath. His entire chest violently retracted inward!

An ordinary person might contract their abdomen, but collapsing their whole chest including the ribcage is almost unthinkable. Protected by ribs, bones cannot simply be sucked into the belly. But Zhuge Ren’s “shrink” truly pulled his entire rib structure inward by an inch.

This extraordinary skill was rarely seen in the Jianghu. It was the Zhuge Family’s secret heritage: the Cave-in Bone Technique. Thus, while the Iron Man’s fist seemed to plunge into his chest, it only pressed against his robe, leaving skin and flesh unharmed.

The Iron Man’s attack having landed empty, he immediately unleashed his third move. Withdrawing both arms, he struck out simultaneously with clenched fists, aiming a powerful pincer blow at Zhuge Ren’s sides. Zhuge Ren responded with the flying stream of his family’s unique art: the “Flying Flow Palm”. His left palm guided the Iron Man’s right fist, his right palm guided the Iron Man’s left fist. Like reeling threads, he redirected the force, sweeping his hands inward.

DANG! A deafening metallic clang rang out! The Iron Man’s two fists collided violently with each other, sparks flying from the impact.

Looking back at Zhuge Ren, he stood smiling placidly where he was.

Though described slowly, these three moves transpired with lightning speed—finished in the blink of an eye. After delivering the final strike, the Iron Man simply stood immobile. Only then did the thunderous applause of the crowd erupt like a storm.

Though merely three moves, Zhuge Ren had separately applied several different martial arts and inner energy techniques, each executed with deep insight and profound mastery. His wealth of combat experience was indeed immensely admirable. One could say this man achieving leadership among the younger generation of the Jianghu wasn’t solely due to his father’s standing.

The Colorful-Robed Maiden stepped forward and fawningly said, “Young Hero Zhuge lives up to his reputation indeed, passing through this test with apparent ease. You are the first to qualify; please take the seat of honor.” As she spoke, a maidservant immediately behind her brought out a large chair placed to one side of the Bamboo Tower, inviting him to be seated.

Zhuge Ren returned the Colorful-Robed Maiden a smile, then respectfully clasped his hands towards Lady Xueyi before proudly taking his seat.

His victory immediately ignited the competitive drive among the gathered heroes. Among today’s attendees were many skilled masters. Initially hesitant, they hadn’t dared to step up, unsure how to overcome the Iron Man. But after witnessing Zhuge Ren counter those moves, the path to victory became clear. One after another, they now came forward to challenge.

For a time, the arena resounded with continuous clashes: THUD! CRASH! BANG! Roughly over twenty people stepped up to try. Yet barely seven or eight managed to pass successfully. The others either lacked sufficient skill or panicked in the heat of the moment, violating the rules and exiting with regret.

Gu Fengchen observed the field gradually emptying and said to Qing’er, “Enjoy the show here. I should step in.” Qing’er urged, “Be careful.” Gu Fengchen smiled, then slipped away to another spot before finally revealing himself, striding steadily into the arena.

People suddenly noticed him approaching from behind. He wore fresh clothes but had a green cloth covering his head, revealing only his nose and eyes. The appearance was quite odd, yet no one paid it undue mind. This was the Treasure Hunt Heroes’ Meeting. Many among the gathered heroes preferred not to reveal their true faces. For if one were to seize the treasure and be identified, it could invite countless future troubles—to say nothing of the Red Lotus Sect and the Four Great Clans, who among these dared to provoke them? It was far smarter to alter one’s appearance, remaining unrecognized and thus much safer.

Thus, many heroes had disguised themselves beforehand; not even close friends or family could easily recognize them. Seeing Gu Fengchen dressed this way, everyone naturally thought nothing of it.

At that moment, only one person remained actively sparring with the Iron Man. He had already blocked two moves. Unexpectedly, the Iron Man’s subsequent maneuver grew increasingly bizarre. His final move saw him lunge headfirst like a ram! Caught off guard, the challenger was headbutted squarely on the nose. Blood instantly streamed down his face as he reeled dizzily. By the time the Iron Man reset to a standstill, the man had already collapsed unconscious on the ground.

Two Colorful Robed Maidens hurried forward, dragging the injured man aside to administer aid. Evidently, Lady Xueyi had planned quite thoroughly; anyone injured immediately received treatment.

With no one currently in the arena, Gu Fengchen prepared to step forward. Then, two figures flashed into the field, getting ahead of him and cutting him off. They were the Yin-Yang Twin Immortals.

Initially, they had feared Lady Xueyi would participate. Her entry would have dashed their hopes entirely. But when the Colorful-Robed Maiden clarified the rules—stating that only guests would fight amongst themselves, without Lady Xueyi joining—their spirits revived.

The Yin-Yang Twin Immortals’ martial arts weren’t particularly exceptional. So, they’d quietly observed from the rear. Finally feeling they’d discerned the pattern and devised a counter-strategy, they chose this moment to leap out.

“`

Gu Fengchen took a step back at the sight, refusing to engage him.

The colorfully dressed girl saw the two approaching and asked with a smile, “Might you be hoping to go together?” Red Yang Immortal declared, “When we two fight, we’ve always fought together these past decades.” The colorfully dressed girl replied, “Not today. Rules are rules, or else everyone’s rhythm is thrown off, and the defeated heroes will have complaints.”

White Yin Immortal said, “Together we fight. If you refuse, we won’t leave, and your Treasure Hunt Heroes’ Meeting won’t happen.”

The colorfully dressed girl looked up at Lady Xueyi, who gave a faint smile and said, “You two are rather ungrateful. My girl’s suggestion clearly meant well for you.”

Red Yang Immortal retorted, “How so? Explain.”

Lady Xueyi responded, “Facing the iron automaton isn’t about numbers. More people actually hinder rather than help; one person can act more freely. Don’t heed my words? Fine, try. But know this chance is your only one. Lose, and don’t dare cry foul.”

Red Yang Immortal seemed swayed, lowering his head in silence. White Yin Immortal, stubborn and contrarian, scoffed, “Two heads, two strengths! Crowds are trouble? Nonsense! I refuse to believe it!” Grabbing Red Yang Immortal’s arm, he snapped, “Quit daydreaming! Stand by me!”

The Twin Immortals stood shoulder to shoulder, assumed their stances, and waited.

With Lady Xueyi’s nod, the colorfully dressed girl twisted the handle twice and laughed, “Brace yourselves now…”

Suddenly, the iron automaton swept its hand diagonally at White Yin Immortal’s temple. Following their plan, White Yin Immortal didn’t block. Instead, he spun sharply into the automaton’s guard and seized its arm, actually clinging to it like a limpet.

The automaton struck again. Swiftly, its arm snapped back, curling against its body and trapping White Yin Immortal in the bend of its elbow. Simultaneously, its other hand stabbed forward like a dagger. What ingenious craftsman had designed such flexible mechanisms—instantly shifting tactics the moment its arm was seized?

Could Red Yang Immortal stand idly by? No. He leapt instantly, grappling the automaton’s other metal arm and clinging to it just the same.

Now it was settled. Each automaton arm held one Immortal, like an adult clutching two toddlers. Though the Twin Immortals were immobilized and at a clear disadvantage, the automaton fared little better. Its arms, occupied, could launch no further attacks.

This was precisely the Twin Immortals’ strategy. Not truly sentient, the automaton couldn’t improvise. Hold its arms, prevent its deadliest moves. Ugly? Perhaps. But victory by any means.

Their poisons useless against metal, the plan stood—a desperate ploy for a fluke win.

Witnessing this, the previously defeated men inwardly cursed their own stupidity. Had they known two could fight as one! Such unnecessary humiliation!

Even as they grumbled, the scene shifted again.

With two men weighing down its arms, perhaps some internal spring mechanism strained. The automaton’s arms sagged. The Twin Immortals sank with the movement—utterly unprepared for the next maneuver, one impossible for a real human.

It swung its arms backwards.

A real human arm burdened might sway forward or back, but with little force—especially backward, constrained by the shoulder joint. The automaton’s joint-free shoulders allowed free, powerful rotation.

Its backward swing was devastating. The figures clinging to its arms were flung violently behind it. Gripping only metal, the Twin Immortals were powerless against the force. Hurtling backward together, a sharp crack! echoed as the starkly contrasting heads collided.

The sharp, crisp sound sent a shiver through all who heard it. Many thought: Was that the sound of two raw eggs smashing? Those old ghosts must have braincases split wide!

Defying expectations, the Twin Immortals, though concussed and dizzy, only lost their grip. They were hurled clear of the combat circle.

Scrambling to their feet, they stared at each other, bodies swaying gently as the dizziness lingered. Pain erupted instantly—splitting headaches. Hands flew to their foreheads, finding huge, bleeding lumps already swelling.

Enraged beyond endurance, Red Yang Immortal shrieked and charged back. Pounding the automaton wildly, he rocked it back and forth with a cacophony of ping-pang strikes. It refused to topple, merely resettling into its starting posture with stern indifference, unyielding against the old man’s rage.

White Yin Immortal knew they stood no chance. Her martial prowess wasn’t enough, and with Lady Xueyi there, poison offered no advantage. Another bitter defeat. Expression thunderous, she silently grabbed Red Yang Immortal and dragged him away. Red Yang Immortal cursed and raged as he was pulled, “Damned scrap heap! Fighting dirty! Let me go! I’ll take it apart, I will…”

His furious shouts dwindled into the distance… until a distinct plop! echoed—as if he’d been tossed into water—at last silencing the stream of abuse.

The gathered heroes watched the ridiculous show unfold, ears filled with the racket of crack!, shrieks, ping-pang!, and plop!, an uproar like firecrackers on New Year’s Eve. They couldn’t help but exchange amused smiles. This ridiculous old pair? Not quite foolish, not quite dull-witted. They possessed a sly kind of cunning, misapplied time and again. No word seemed to fit them perfectly. All secretly lamented—they’d all regretted not having studied more.

With the Twin Immortals gone, relative peace returned. Gu Fengchen stepped forward calmly. He didn’t speak, merely positioned himself before the iron automaton and stood waiting, hands at his sides.

The colorfully dressed girl asked, “This gentleman also seeks to challenge?” Gu Fengchen nodded, silent. Knowing that those in the Jianghu often held eccentric customs, and seeing his face veiled—a sign of concealed identity—and hearing no reply, she twisted the iron automaton’s handle twice and released it.

The automaton struck anew.

Gu Fengchen had observed its patterns well. Feet planted parallel, slightly wider than shoulder-width, he stood rooted to the ground like a nail. The automaton’s first move differed again: a swift, low punch hurtled towards Gu Fengchen’s abdomen. A downward strike? Rare in human boxing, making it even harder to anticipate. Powered by its long reach, the punch arrived with crushing speed.

Seeing the iron fist strike, Gu Fengchen remained expressionless and also punched out with his left fist. He didn’t aim directly at the iron fist but instead struck at the joint of the iron man’s arm. Since the iron man was crafted to resemble a real person, with joints at the elbows, knees, and neck, Gu Fengchen deliberately targeted that spot.

Indeed, this proved effective. Before the iron man’s fist could reach Gu Fengchen, Gu Fengchen’s fist had already hit its elbow joint. The joint was connected internally by mechanism springs and gears, making it the weakest point. As a result, the iron man’s metal arm was forced downward, and its punching fist narrowly missed Gu Fengchen’s clothes by just a hair’s breadth.

After the iron man finished its first move, it immediately launched a second attack: its right palm chopped like a knife toward Gu Fengchen’s left rib. Gu Fengchen still employed the earlier method, forming his own palm like a knife and striking the arm joint. The iron man’s arm absorbed the force and immediately recoiled, causing the chop to miss completely.

Having twice interrupted its attacks mid-path, the iron man seemed angered. For its final move, it abruptly clapped both hands together, shaping them like a blade, and slashed downward at Gu Fengchen’s head. It was as if each hand independently executed a powerful mountain-splitting strike.

This time, there was no chance for tricks. With the iron arms smashing down from above, even if Gu Fengchen punched both arms’ joints, the blow would still land. Naturally, Gu Fengchen realized this. Seeing the iron man unleash such a vicious move, it suddenly stirred his pride, and he thought to himself: Let me confront it head-on and see whether your mechanism spring is superior or my Heaven-Defying Divine Art is mightier.

With that resolve, he let out a furious roar, flipped both palms upward, and met the attack head-on.

Since he wore cloth covers, his roar wasn’t loud but muffled. Yet his hand skills weren’t muffled at all. Following the roar, the iron palms and his flesh palms collided solidly.

There came a series of cracking and grinding sounds: Gu Fengchen’s sheer force knocked the iron man’s arms upward. Originally, the mechanism springs inside were pressing downward, but encountering such immense upward force—even though the springs were steel—they couldn’t withstand it. After a few odd noises, the iron man’s arms lost control, spun up and down several times, then finally hung limply at its sides, swaying incessantly.

Needless to say, the iron man’s arms were completely wrecked.

Cries of shock rippled through the crowd. All the heroes were visibly moved, and even Wan Chongshan and Du Qianlong looked on with blazing eyes. If earlier Zhuge Ren had won by cleverness and adaptability, Gu Fengchen’s move was pure strength over the enemy, with not a hint of trickery. Such power likely left everyone present feeling incapable of matching it.

As a result, Gu Fengchen became extremely conspicuous. The colourful-dressed girl was stunned for a long moment before finally saying, “This sir… you… please sit.” Immediately, someone brought a chair and invited him to sit. After Gu Fengchen had seated himself, the colourful-dressed girl glanced at Lady Xueyi since the iron man was ruined. Lady Xueyi nodded slightly and softly waved her jade-like hand.

The colourful-dressed girl signaled her companions to push the iron man away. Smiling at the crowd of heroes, she said, “The situation is clear now. The ultimate owner of the treasure will emerge from the three representatives of the Four Great Clans, the three from the Red Lotus Sect, and the ten seated below the Bamboo Tower…” Before she could finish, Zhuge Ren stood up and said, “That’s wrong. It’s the nine below the Bamboo Tower.” The colourful-dressed girl paused. “Young Hero Zhuge, you mean…”

Zhuge Ren replied, “I was merely throwing out a pebble to attract jade. With my esteemed uncles present here, how can I dare to compete? I withdraw now to avoid any claims that the Four Great Clans bully others with our influence.” With those words, he left his seat and returned to his original standing spot.

Nangong Yue exchanged a glance with him and gave a slight nod, implying that it was well done. The colourful-dressed girl saw his point: with figures like Wan Chongshan present, the Four Great Clans’ side didn’t need Zhuge Ren’s participation, and Zhuge Ren’s act was also meant to subdue his own brilliance politely before his elders.

Long Xielan said to Zhuge Ren, “Nephew, your martial skills surpass mine; you should have counted for one.” Zhuge Ren offered an apologetic smile. “Not at all, uncle. With your unparalleled wit and divine adaptability, it’s your time to shine in such events.” Long Xielan smiled and said nothing more.

The colourful-dressed girl continued, “Since Young Hero Zhuge has withdrawn, do the nine below the Bamboo Tower have any opinions?”

From the nine, a middle-aged beggar stood up, rasping his voice, “I have a query. Is it proper to ask?” The colourful-dressed girl smiled. “On lone mountain, speakers are blameless.” The beggar said, “Today’s guests are dominated by the Four Great Clans and the Red Lotus Sect, so the host favors them by allowing each to send three members. But we scattered folk from the wilds, with no power or status, are each alone here. When the contest begins, if we solitary individuals wish to seize the treasure, must we defeat all three from the Four Great Clans and all three from the Red Lotus Sect for it to count?”

His underlying meaning was crystal clear: for him to win against the Four Great Clans, he’d have to defeat three opponents, while they’d only need to beat him once. Where was the fairness in that?

Before the colourful-dressed girl could respond, Wan Chongshan said sternly, “That won’t be necessary. If you defeat any one of my three, it counts as a victory against the Four Great Clans. Moreover, during the match, you may freely choose your opponent. This way, no one can accuse the Four Great Clans of using our strength to bully others.” After speaking, he glanced toward the Red Lotus Sect side.

Ling Ling remained silent, but Tie Furong behind her let out a cold laugh. “The Red Lotus Sect is the same. Beyond that, we’ll concede the first three moves to anyone from the nine below the Bamboo Tower when they step up.” Both sides opposed each other sharply, refusing to back down.

Seeing both express their terms, the colourful-dressed girl took over and said, “Perfect. I’ve calculated that if both the Four Great Clans and the Red Lotus Sect send only one per match, plus the nine below the Bamboo Tower, that makes eleven. For paired fights, one would be left out unfairly, skipping a battle. To fix that, I’ll select one replacement from the audience. Any objections?”

Hearing this, everyone thought this replacement had an advantage by skipping the iron man trial. But momentarily, no one volunteered, as the heroes knew their own limits. Ignoring the Four Great Clans and Red Lotus Sect, just that masked stranger who’d destroyed the iron man in one move was beyond them; stepping forward would only invite humiliation.

After a brief pause, Tan Sheng emerged from the crowd. Swinging his fan, he walked toward the Bamboo Tower, smiled at the colourful-dressed girl, and said, “Since everyone seems unsure, I’ll play the hero. But I warn upfront: I came for the spectacle. My skills are laughable. Joining now is just to fill the number and start the bouts quickly. If any hero floors me within three moves, don’t laugh.”

The crowd chuckled. Tan Sheng asked the colourful-dressed girl, “With all slots filled, how will we match up? Named picks or lottery?” The colourful-dressed girl smiled. “Avoid a lottery to prevent cheating accusations. Since all participants are experts, choose your own opponents. Declining a challenge counts as loss. One rule: fresh fighters can’t challenge someone already depleted by a match, ensuring fairness.”

Tan Sheng said, “Excellent, excellent. By this rule, the first choice for all experts would surely be me.” He laughed, sat in a chair, and calmly waited for a challenger.

Yet his words dissuaded others from picking him, since choosing him implied cowardice and fearing tougher opponents. Thus, no one came forward despite Tan Sheng’s eagerness to fight.

Heroes silently smiled to themselves, thinking: Though candid, this man isn’t entirely without guile. With no one challenging Tan Sheng, things didn’t stall long. A man in a blue robe stood from one of the ten seats beneath the Bamboo Tower, walked over to another, and cupped his hands. “Dear brother, I witnessed your technique earlier in clearing the trial. Extremely impressive. I beg for a lesson or two.”

The challenged was a middle-aged drunkard, constantly tipping a gourd to his mouth for a swig. Hearing the challenge, he opened his blurry eyes and suddenly shot out two cold gleams from them. “I knew it was you. Fine, we’ll settle old grudges and new ones together.”

After saying this, the two men stood apart and locked gazes with cold intensity.

The other heroes thought: It seemed these two must have had some past grievance. This duel was a fitting way to settle it. Among the crowd, someone recognized the man in blue; his name was Xu Shao, a renowned fighter from the Jing-Chu region known as “Star Plucker Hand,” a testament to his exceptional skills. As for the drunkard, no one knew him or what conflict he might have had with Xu Shao. Yet earlier, the man had passed the Iron Sentinel Gate—no small feat.

Without formalities, the two stepped forward and clashed.

Gu Fengchen watched intently. Xu Shao indeed fought with exquisite technique, his hands moving in a dazzling display of endless variations. Shifting effortlessly between finger strikes, palm thrusts, fists, and claws, he blended them with profound skill. Sometimes a palm strike would shift to finger techniques mid-motion, only to solidify into a fist upon extension—countless transformations within a single move.

As for the drunkard, he defended with one hand entirely while steadfastly gripping his wine gourd with the other, never letting go even for a moment, as if it were his very life. Remarkably, he even managed to sneak drinks during brief respites after blocking attacks, clearly holding back his full prowess.

Xu Shao’s expression soured as the fight wore on; his attacks became increasingly vicious and desperate. Finally overwhelmed by the one-handed defense, the drunkard suddenly let out a hearty laugh and waved the wine gourd mockingly towards Xu Shao. Believing it was a throw, Xu Shao crossed his palms defensively, bracing for impact. To his fury, the drunkard merely brought the gourd back to his lips for another sip.

Snickers erupted from the assembled crowd. Enraged, Xu Shao intensified his assault, his strikes growing wilder, more furious, and unnervingly bizarre.

Amidst the flurry of combat, a wet slap echoed. Xu Shao’s onslaught had become too swift; the drunkard, finding his right hand locked out of defensive position, could only thrust the gourd forward with his left. Slap! Xu Shao’s strike landed squarely on the vessel.

The other heroes expected the gourd to shatter instantly.

To their astonishment, it remained perfectly intact. Instead, the liquor inside was violently expelled through the spout, splashing directly onto Xu Shao’s face.

Xu Shao frowned. The solid impact confirmed the gourd was likely cast iron, hence unbreakable. Unfazed by the splash, he pressed his attack, launching a swift Yuan-Yang Leg kick.

The drunkard didn’t evade this time. He stood smirking slyly as the kick approached—while the liquor splashed over Xu Shao’s face.

Suddenly, the liquid burned his skin like boiling water. Xu Shao screamed in agony, his kick faltering midway. The drunkard snorted coldly and unleashed a kick of his own, sending Xu Shao flying out of the circle.

Xu Shao crashed heavily to the ground, hands clamped to his face, shrieking and writhing incessantly. Reputation is paramount among the Jianghu; seasoned fighters would rather die than cry out in pain. Xu Shao was known for his toughness—the sheer agony suggested the liquid in that gourd was exceptionally potent poison.

The crowd was baffled. If the liquor was so deadly, why had the drunkard consumed it with no ill effects? Yet Xu Shao, merely splashed, seemed near death.

The Rainbow-Skirt Maiden ordered men to help. Xu Shao had already fainted. When they pulled his hands away, they flinched. His face was horrifically blistered and peeling, flesh raw and nearly exposing bone—agony no one could endure.

Gu Fengchen frowned inwardly. Could that gourd contain Green Vitriol?

Green Vitriol was a corrosive substance used in Taoist alchemy. Gu Fengchen had heard of it during his time at Shaolin Temple, owing to the close ties between Shaolin and Wudang. Wudang Taoists visiting Shaolin would sometimes discuss such things. He knew it was devastatingly potent; a skin contact inflicted far worse burns than fire itself. Xu Shao’s wounds looked exactly like that.

But he wrestled with doubt: If it really was Green Vitriol, how could the drunkard drink it? Even iron teeth would melt.

While Gu Fengchen remained puzzled, the Red Lotus Sect unraveled the trick. Although their leader, the Shende Taoist, wasn’t present, the sect had likely shared such knowledge. Xue Wuhen sneered coldly, “The wretch is bluffing. I’m sure he hasn’t drunk a drop—it’s all an act.”

Beside him, Shen Rou added, “The Marquis of Phantom Shadow is right. That gourd doesn’t even have a spout. Its opening is sealed. He only pantomimed drinking during the fight – not a single drop escaped. Xu Shao’s palm strike sealed his own fate.”

Tie Furong nodded. “Exactly. His strike either broke the seal, or more likely, the drunkard let it break. From their earlier interaction, they clearly knew each other. Back then, perhaps the drunkard didn’t resort to such dirty tricks. Xu Shao, unaware, walked right into it.”

Their discussion was hushed, inaudible to most. But Gu Fengchen, perceiving it with his deep cultivation, suddenly understood.

The first duel was over. By the rules, no one else could challenge the victorious “drunkard,” who sat back down with a defiant air—though he never pretended to raise the gourd again.

Three more duels followed, each producing a victor as the defeated withdrew. Now, only representatives of the Four Great Clans, the Red Lotus Sect, Gu Fengchen, and Tan Sheng remained unchallenged.

Tan Sheng glanced around the thinning field of contenders and rose, his smile returning. “My earlier comments seem to have made everyone reluctant to challenge me. But I can’t hide forever. Now that the numbers have thinned, I crave more excitement.” He clasped his fist at Gu Fengchen. “Brother… what say we step into the ring?”

Gu Fengchen held a favorable regard for Tan Sheng. He stood and returned the salute. “As you wish.” Tan Sheng snapped his folding fan closed. “Your Divine Kung Fu is astonishing. If I fall within three moves, know it is due to your prowess, not my weakness.”

Someone in the crowd yelled, “Just fight! Quit playing the coward!”

Tan Sheng remained unruffled, his smile fixed. Gu Fengchen, however, disliked the persistent scorn directed at Tan Sheng. “Very well!” he declared, stepping forward with a punch.

Mindful of the Red Lotus Sect observers and the risk to his concealed identity, he deliberately avoided his Shaolin style. Instead, he used the Wudang Changquan (Long Fist). The close relationship between Wudang and Shaolin schools meant their disciples often exchanged techniques—many Shaolin monks knew Wudang Long Fist, and many Wudang Taoists practiced Shaolin boxing. Its familiarity in the Jianghu offered camouflage.

Tan Sheng, seeing the straightforward attack, commented cheerfully, “Oh? Wudang boxing,” extending his folding fan to intercept the fist. Though it was an iron-ribbed fan, Gu Fengchen knew he could shatter it with one blow. But that would swiftly defeat the likable Tan Sheng and bring him further ridicule. Refusing to do so, Gu Fengchen shifted his feet, gracefully evading the fan’s tip.

The two clashed back and forth, exchanging over ten moves. Gu Fengchen thought to himself that he had no time to linger; soon a formidable opponent would arrive, demanding much of his energy. He had already shown restraint for over ten exchanges, doing his utmost to be gracious.

At this thought, Gu Fengchen suddenly added force to his punch and drove straight toward the centerline. Tan Sheng failed to detect much power and simply blocked with one palm. Gu Fengchen used only forty percent of his strength, but Tan Sheng could not hold it back; his fist pressed against Tan Sheng’s palm and struck his chest. Just as Tan Sheng sensed the danger, Gu Fengchen channeled his Internal Energy and knocked him flying several feet.

Tan Sheng’s stance was sturdy, so he slid back without falling. Gu Fengchen clasped his hands respectfully. “Tan Sheng, I acknowledge your skill.” Tan Sheng, though not highly skilled in martial arts, was extremely knowledgeable. He realized Gu Fengchen had not used full effort, leaving him ample face, so he returned the gesture with a smile. “You indeed have excellent skill. I am no match. However, I have another high mastery rarely seen in the world: wine tasting. May you accompany me in the future?”

Gu Fengchen said, “Naturally, I will accompany you. Until next time.”

Tan Sheng laughed heartily, withdrew, and sat aside to watch, composed and truly unfazed by victory or defeat—no easy feat to achieve.

Now, only the Four Great Clans and the Red Lotus Sect remained unmatched. A colorfully dressed girl spoke. “The master once said that for the Four Great Clans and the Red Lotus Sect, all three members may emerge. If challenged by others, one can represent. But now, you two sides shall each send one person to begin a three-bout contest to decide victory. What are your thoughts?”

Her words were clear: outsiders avoided challenging these powers due to lacking confidence, so it was wiser for them to fight each other over three rounds. Whichever side won two bouts would be victorious, and the loser would withdraw.

Ling Ling nodded slightly, indicating agreement, and from the other side, Long Xielan said, “It is settled.” She then glanced at Wan Chongshan and her husband, asking who should go first.

Long Xielan was a woman and naturally could not start first; that would invite Jianghu mockery about the Four Great Clans lacking men and relying on a woman at the front. Du Qianlong announced, “I will go, Brother Wan, observe for me.”

Wan Chongshan nodded without speaking. Their friendship was deep, and they knew each other’s martial skills intimately. Based on their earlier plan, if the Red Lotus Sect sent three people, the young Cult Leader might not fight. Aside from him, it would be Mortal King Gui Qulai and Xue Wuhen, plus one of Tie Furong or Shen Rou—both women likely avoided taking the vanguard. Thus, Wan Chongshan and Du Qianlong would face Gui Qulai and Xue Wuhen. Regarding Xue Wuhen, they had encountered him before at Jianxian Manor; his lightness skills were exceptional, but his true ability was less renowned than his agility. So, if they bested Gui Qulai, victory was assured. Du Qianlong’s Internal Energy was profound, rivaling Gui Qulai’s.

With Du Qianlong’s entrance, the gathering instantly fell silent, and all the heroes perked up, eyes wide for the spectacle.

No wonder the heroes focused so intently; since fighting Ling Yufeng fourteen years prior, Du Qianlong rarely fought. Many in the Jianghu knew him by reputation but had never witnessed his skills firsthand, making today a rare chance to avoid wasted effort.

On his side, Du Qianlong stepped forward, while the Red Lotus Sect had strategized. As this was the first bout, it mattered greatly. Ling Ling glanced at the Mortal King; Gui Qulai gave a slight nod and walked out slowly.

Long Xielan smiled faintly, exchanging a look with Wan Chongshan, both finding it matched their predictions.

This was the first formal confrontation since the Red Lotus Sect retreated to the borders fourteen years ago. The outcome was no longer about an individual but linked to the morale and prestige of each side, so none could afford to take it lightly.

For a moment, the room was deathly still, with only breathing sounds audible.

Du Qianlong and Gui Qulai stood seven feet apart, eyes locked. Neither was talkative, and no words were needed as they nodded to each other, clasped hands in respect, then stepped forward in attack. Gui Qulai expected Du Qianlong to lead, so struck first with a palm strike.

The heroes too saw Gui Qulai fight for the first time. His fame resounded through the Jianghu, but he was elusive and rarely recognized. At that palm strike, many froze in awe, and someone shouted, “Thunder Palm art!”

This palm technique belonged to the Tian Shan Mountains school’s martial arts, originally fifty-four moves created by its past master He Tianlei. But after internal conflicts, the Tian Shan Mountains branch declined, and thirty-six moves were lost, leaving only twenty-two with dwindling power due to incomplete sequences. Gui Qulai’s strike seemed like one of the lost moves. Heroes who had studied at the Tian Shan Mountains observed it resembled Thunder Palm art they never learned, so guessed the art was lost there but preserved in the Red Lotus Sect.

As he sent it out, a faint wind-and-thunder sound emerged. Others’ palm strikes often rustled sleeves, but though Gui Qulai wore loose robes, no wind noise came from the fabric; the thunder-like sound came straight from his palm, proving authentic “Thunder Palm art.”

Despite long residing in Liaodong, far from the Tian Shan Mountains, Du Qianlong knew this technique well and did not take it lightly. Planting his feet like nails, his left palm swept like a coiling dragon’s tail, and his right roared like an angry dragon, using his family’s secret skill, “Dragon Howl Palm.”

The palms collided with a “whump,” their howls and thunder mingling into a bizarre, ear-piercing noise. Many heroes winced, ears aching with discomfort.

When their palms met, both bodies shuddered. They instantly retracted and exchanged new moves. That initial strike was a power test, using no full force, but after one exchange, each recognized the other’s formidable Internal Energy. Du Qianlong’s Internal Energy surged like ocean tides, vast and roaring, while Gui Qulai’s gathered tightly, less immense but resilient and tough to overpower.

From the second move onward, they fought all-out without holding back. Du Qianlong, highly skilled, maximized his Dragon Howl Palm’s intricacies—palm wind roared through the air as his strikes darted like living dragons; sometimes a palm thrust twisted mid-path, hard to predict. Yet as they fought over ten moves, Gui Qulai shifted through eight distinct palm arts. Each strike, though recognizable by style and origin, perfectly countered Du Qianlong’s techniques, awing spectators.

Their exchanges reached thirty moves as Du Qianlong nearly finished his Dragon Howl Palm sequence. But Gui Qulai’s endless variations seemed as though he alone grasped all the world’s palm methods. Du Qianlong slowly grew annoyed: Was he flaunting erudition? Time to test my own technique!

With that, Du Qianlong swiftly withdrew his hands and reassumed stance. This palm style lost the Dragon Howl’s bold flair, like a sky dragon plunged deep beneath the waves, surface calm as all force hid within. His movements now slowed significantly.

Despite the slowness, Gui Qulai felt Du Qianlong transform into a mountain; each strike pushed forward like a peak’s mass, steady and unstoppable in momentum.

This was Du Qianlong’s signature mastery, “Submerged Dragon Palm,” entirely focused on “submergence”—simple in form and seemingly easy to defend against, but its energy surged like deep-sea currents: swirling, overwhelming, able to concentrate or diffuse for colossal impact, powered purely by his strong Internal Energy.

Facing such strength, Gui Qulai abandoned clever counters and switched to his exclusive art, “Why Not Return Palm,” matching the slowness and stability. Each palm strike flowed deliberately, pace to pace, rivaling Du Qianlong’s move for move.

Gui Qulai’s technique was uniquely his own, never seen in the Jianghu, as few could force him to use it. Only meeting Du Qianlong, a grandmaster of Internal Energy and palm arts, drew it out. The name “Why Not Return” derived from Tao Yuanming’s prose “Returning Home”—Gui Qulai, widely read, deeply admired the recluse poet, thus embracing the piece’s essence in his combat.

“Returning Home” praised detachment, freedom, and transcendence, so each of Gui Qulai’s strokes captured that spirit: they seemed impulsive, starting and stopping arbitrarily without martial principles, yet holding profound secrets outsiders missed.

Occasionally, Gui Qulai thrust a palm where two inches more would land a blow, yet he retracted instead. To observers, a chance disappeared—until his next move revealed it perfectly timed to avoid Du Qianlong’s strike hitting his vitals.

The two appeared to be using slow movements against slowness, preserving their strength while waiting for the opponent to tire, yet a difference existed—in their footwork.

Du Qianlong scarcely shifted his feet, standing as firmly as a green pine rooted deep in a mountain crevice, steady and unyielding. Gui Qulai, however, was constantly in motion. His steps were like those of a drunken man: one moment he swayed east, the next he stumbled west. Sometimes his movements flowed freely as running water; other times, they mired like thick sludge, impossible to predict. Truly, he was “nimbly traversing gullies, yet stumbling awkwardly over hills.” Even without considering his palm techniques, this footwork alone could establish a distinct martial school.

Gu Fengchen watched the duel from the sidelines, his mind restless. Part of him hoped the Four Great Clans would emerge victorious. That way, he wouldn’t have to face the Red Lotus Sect himself and avoid an awkward confrontation. As for the Four Great Clans, while he didn’t dislike them, he held no particular fondness either. If forced to fight them, he could exert his full strength without reservation.

By now, the two combatants had exchanged fifty or sixty moves, growing increasingly cautious with each strike. Their motions, already deliberate, became even more sluggish, as if they intentionally slowed their palm speeds, dismantling each technique to counter its essence. Yet, those standing closer could feel a tangible pressure emanating—a force born of their internal energy. No visible disturbances appeared within the duel circle; not a single blade of grass bowed or broke. Yet some spectators found their robes beginning to flutter violently.

Gu Fengchen felt puzzled. When he first encountered Gui Qulai, the man’s bizarre skill had rendered him helpless. So why, in this critical juncture demanding immense internal energy, did Gui Qulai refrain from using it? Could it be that Du Qianlong possessed a way to counteract Gui Qulai’s “Reciprocal Courtesy” kung fu?

His deduction was sharp. Over a decade earlier, before the Red Lotus Sect retreated beyond the pass, Gui Qulai had gained fame for his “Reciprocal Courtesy” technique. Although he employed it sparingly, such a formidable skill couldn’t escape the notice of an enemy like the Four Great Clans. Moreover, the Clans had long harbored intentions to destroy the Red Lotus Sect and had painstakingly studied the martial arts of its key figures. Gui Qulai’s unorthodox method, though extraordinary, was an offshoot, not belonging to the orthodox path. The leaders of the Four Great Clans had eventually devised a counter: advance with flickering pulses of internal energy, weaving attacks with sideways, encircling force. The core principle was to avoid concentrating one’s internal energy at a single point when striking. This prevented Gui Qulai from gathering the force he contacted. Then, a surge of relentless power could exploit the moment before his energy transformation was complete. Later, somehow, Gui Qulai learned of this countermeasure and, through grueling determination, forged himself a new divine kung fu. As for his “Reciprocal Courtesy” skill, he didn’t abandon it entirely but became wary. Against masters of the Four Great Clans, he refrained from using it.

Though Gu Fengchen lacked this specific knowledge, an inkling of it stirred within him.

In the dueling circle, the two men moved slower still, closing the distance until a mere sliver separated them. Their four arms now lacked any room to retract. Suddenly, they roared simultaneously, palms slamming together with finality, their bodies locking motionless.

Every onlooker was astute. Seeing this, they understood the duel had shifted from technique to a battle of raw internal energy. Here, there was no room for feint or trick. Victory favored sheer power—decided by years of accumulated cultivation.

Du Qianlong had spent decades rigorously honing his internal energy. In the bitter cold of Liaodong, where drops of water froze mid-air, he maintained his nightly training without fail. His body had thus been tempered to iron-hardness. As for Gui Qulai, though lean in frame, he was a rare genius of the Jianghu who had endured years of harsh cultivation on the Tian Shan Mountains. His internal energy flowed deep and enduring, seemingly boundless. While not as explosively potent as Gu Fengchen’s was in desperate moments, it was nearly its equal. Thus, as their palms met, both channeled their full force, daring not an ounce of slack.

Watching them, the crowd grew increasingly anxious, sweat beading on some foreheads.

Despite being over fifty, Du Qianlong’s internal energy hadn’t diminished. He now summoned its entirety, surging it through his palms against Gui Qulai like a physical tidal wave. Gui Qulai knew his strength lay in endurance. Rather than attack, he focused on defending his meridians. He stood firm as a great reef unmoved by towering waves.

For the duration it took to drink a cup of tea, their palms remained locked, locked in a stalemate.

Impatience gnawed at Gu Fengchen. How long will this contest drag on? he thought. I don’t have time to wait idly! I must seize that Treasure Armor and deliver it to the Ghost-Faced Man within the stipulated timeframe to save Hua Yuehen and the others. These two seemed possessed of formidable stamina; who knew how long they might duel.

Just then, both Du Qianlong and Gui Qulai bellowed in unison, thrusting their palms forward one last time before springing back. The onlookers exchanged bewildered glances—who had won? “Our internal energies are matched,” Du Qianlong declared solemnly. “At this point, victory cannot be decided quickly. Draining ourselves further is pointless. Let us adopt a different method.”

Gui Qulai nodded silently and gestured: Name your terms.

Du Qianlong reached back. A family retainer stepped forward reverently, presenting a thick iron staff, its diameter matching a man’s forearm. Two golden dragons coiled around its length, depicted with such lifelike ferocity they seemed poised to soar. Some in the Jianghu knew this as the Qiulong Staff (Water-Fire Prison-Dragon Staff), Du Qianlong’s unique weapon. He rarely wielded it, having used it only once in his battle against Ling Yufeng fourteen years prior. Bringing it out now signaled the supreme regard he held for Gui Qulai.

Seeing the weapon drawn, Gui Qulai understood. Moving deliberately, he uncoiled his own weapon, “Bielai Wuyang” (Farewell Unharmed), from his waist, resting it in his palm.

The introduction of weapons electrified the atmosphere. Spectators instinctively edged back several paces, wary of stray strikes—especially the threat of Gui Qulai’s flying mace. Should it fly their way, none dared claim they could withstand it.

Gu Fengchen, having witnessed Gui Qulai’s weapon before, knew its deadliness firsthand. Yet Du Qianlong’s Qiulong Staff was also a rare marvel among the Jianghu’s exotic arms. Facing each other, the outcome was utterly unpredictable.

Du Qianlong took the Qiulong Staff, gave it a resounding shua, and leveled it across his chest. Suddenly, the staff emitted a prolonged, resonating dragon’s roar, as if the two encircling beasts had sprung alive. This single display was intimidation incarnate—for the roar stemmed not from the staff itself, but from Du Qianlong vibrating it with his internal energy. The recoiled dragons were hollow; energizing them caused turbulent airflow that produced the sound—a testament to the profound depth of his power.

The spectators erupted into thunderous cheers.

Gui Qulai remained utterly unmoved. He slowly rotated his weapon. The iron-clawed head spun faster and faster, its revolutions accelerating to a blur. Yet, unnervingly, not a whisper of wind or whir escaped it.

Gu Fengchen startled inwardly. When Gui Qulai had spun it against him, the shriek had been deafening enough to rouse sleeping birds. Yet now, there was no sound at all. Gui Qulai’s internal energy, he thought, is truly, deeply enigmatic.

Standing eight feet apart, one held his staff guardedly as if rooted to Mount Tai, the other spun his silent mace like pent-up waters threatening to burst a heavenly river’s dam. The sheer might, the overwhelming presence, caused lesser warriors to shrink with inadequacy.

The crowd pressed further back, compelled by an intangible pressure they dared not challenge.

The two warriors stood locked in focus for a long while, neither initiating attack. Murmurs of puzzlement rustled through the gathered heroes.

Gu Fengchen saw the true dynamics clearly. Based on their stances, Du Qianlong absolutely could not attack first. His staff’s advantage lay in close combat; he needed Gui Qulai to commit, to throw the mace, opening an opportunity to close the distance. For Du Qianlong to lose patience and strike prematurely, using his inferior ranged attack against his opponent’s strength, would be folly—a basic principle evident to a veteran like Du Qianlong. Even if he intended to attack, he would wait—wait for the moment Gui Qulai’s endurance wavered. That iron mace head weighed over ten jin; whirling it incessantly must consume significant energy.

But why wouldn’t Gui Qulai attack?

Had he failed to spot Du Qianlong’s weakness? Or lacked sufficient confidence?

Only Gui Qulai himself could know.

The mace spun with ever-increasing fury. Though silent, its passage began snapping the spring grasses beneath. They were severed by soundless currents of force.

At the start, no one paid any attention to this. But as time passed, more and more broken grass littered the ground, some of it even sent spiraling into the air, dancing along with the flying hammer.

Now, everyone paid close attention. Observing Gui Qulai, they realized not only was his strength not diminishing, it seemed to be increasing. In truth, though his flying hammer was heavy, the effort was mainly in the initial swing. Once spinning in the air, only a light nudge with a finger was needed to maintain its motion, requiring little strength at all—a point the onlookers hadn’t considered.

As broken grass and leaves continuously whipped upwards, Gui Qulai’s figure was nearly hidden within the circling ring of debris. A bizarre spectacle unfolded before everyone’s eyes: his weapon resembled a dancing black dragon about to unleash rain, trailing misty vapors. It seemed only a peal of thunder and a flash of lightning were needed before it would unleash a torrential downpour.

Yet, the thunder and lightning never came.

Gu Fengchen suddenly understood. Gui Qulai refrained from attacking precisely to create this scene. He now held the absolute initiative, and those swirling grass blades were merely the prelude to the thunder.

The very moment this thought struck Gu Fengchen, Gui Qulai let out a heart-stopping, piercing shriek. With a whoosh, a gale roared as if thunder descended, and the flying hammer was unleashed.

Gu Fengchen had guessed correctly. Just moments before, Gui Qulai abruptly channeled his Internal Energy. The countless swirling fragments of grass suddenly seemed to sprout eyes, all hurtling towards Du Qianlong. Though these grass stems and shredded leaves were inherently fragile, propelled by Gui Qulai’s Internal Energy, they were as deadly as flying knives or throwing stars. To disregard them would lead to him being shredded to ribbons.

But far more lethal than these leaves was Gui Qulai’s “Bielai Wuyang.” Being struck by this would be far more terrifying than being consumed by heavenly thunder.

Instantly, thousands of sickly green blades of grass poured down on Du Qianlong like a torrential storm. Behind this curtain of vegetation, the flying hammer, like a black dragon, surged forth with earth-shattering momentum, its force inexorable.

The scale of this strike was overwhelming. The very moment it was unleashed, heaven and earth seemed to dim.

The assembled warriors turned ashen, each thinking the same thing: thank heavens it wasn’t me facing this man right now.

Thus, almost every gaze simultaneously shifted towards Du Qianlong. Many worried for him: with just a Qiulong Staff no more than three feet long, could he really withstand this mountain-toppling blow?

Du Qianlong at this moment showed no change in expression, no shift in posture. Not even the cold gleam in his eyes flickered. This composure alone was exceedingly rare in the Jianghu (Martial World). To him, what flew towards him wasn’t a life-ending weapon, but something as gentle and benign as a wisp of fresh breeze, a ray of sunlight.

But a flying hammer was still a flying hammer, no breeze or sunlight. And in Gui Qulai’s hand, it had seemingly become a living dragon, still writhing in mid-air, clearly holding residual power. Du Qianlong was also a master among masters. He instantly understood: the swirling grass was merely the vanguard of an army. If he refrained from meeting it head-on and dodged sideways, the flying hammer pursuing him would strike true. No matter where he dodged, he’d find it near impossible to escape the hammer’s range. Gui Qulai’s strike appeared full-force, yet concealed a deadly follow-up. It seemed pure force, yet hidden within that force was yielding flexibility—incredibly hard to parry.

Though described at length, the actual events transpired in the blink of an eye—faster than one could blink twice—the swirling grass blades were already upon Du Qianlong.

Wind howled, thunder rumbled, heaven and earth lost their color.

Yet, within this chaotic, sand-whirling, grass-scattering gloom laden with killing intent, a clear, bright dragon’s roar suddenly pierced the air.

This dragon’s roar emanated from Du Qianlong’s water-fire Qiulong Staff.

The very instant the roar sounded, Du Qianlong made his move.

His Qiulong Staff thrust straight out, like a defiant golden dragon charging against wind and rain, plunging straight into the endless curtain of vegetation.

The curtain of grass fell like a giant net, and Du Qianlong’s Qiulong Staff sought to pierce it. And he succeeded.

Grass blades were ultimately not made of metal. Du Qianlung stabbed his Qiulong Staff spear-like into the ‘grass net’, then gently vibrated it. Surrounding the staff’s body, the dragon’s roar intensified. A surge of energy spiraled outwards from the staff, spinning faster and growing larger, until with a BOOM, the sky was entirely cleared of swirling debris.

The viewers’ sight also cleared. They saw countless bits of grass dust falling upon them. Some reached out and caught a few blades, but the instant they touched skin, the blades disintegrated like charred ash.

Under the clash of Internal Energy between two such masters, even solid granite would have shattered to dust—let alone mere blades of grass.

With his unique skill “Dragon Whirl Energy,” Du Qianlong had shattered the storm of grass. But what followed was the flying hammer, like a black dragon—this was the truly fatal strike.

Sunlight stabbed through the air. Against this blinding light, a black dragon whistled as it descended. Facing it, the Qiulong Staff stood like a golden dragon, coiled and ready, claws bared.

What would be the outcome when two dragons clashed?

In the space of a blink, the two weapons were about to collide.

Throughout this, Du Qianlong’s Qiulong Staff had been tracing circles in the air. The energy humming from it grew louder. The two golden dragons coiled around the staff seemed to come alive. At the precise moment the flying hammer arrived, Du Qianlong let out a fierce shout. He channeled his strength, applying ninety percent of his Internal Energy. With a resonant BOOOOM, the Qiulong Staff shuddered violently. The circles it traced grew extremely swift—so fast the eye could no longer perceive how rapidly it spun.

Suddenly, the entire staff transformed into a conical pocket. The mouth of this pocket was the swirling circle traced by the staff’s head, while its base anchored at Du Qianlong’s wrist.

The rapidly descending hammerhead landed perfectly, dead center, into this pocket.

Abruptly, a cacophony of metallic clashes rang out—like dense rain pounding on lotus leaves—countless impacts as the staff body collided with the flying hammer, a sound grating on the nerves and making ears ache.

Gui Qulai’s hammer, after countless clashes, finally lacked the strength to advance even an inch further and was ensnared within the pocket formed by the Qiulong Staff.

Du Qianlong had actually used his staff’s shaft to neutralize this immensely powerful hammer blow, truly achieving the realm of mastering vigor with simplicity and overcoming hardness with softness.

The onlookers were almost stunned. None had expected Du Qianlong to possess such quick adaptability and profound Internal Energy. Though their exchange lasted only a brief instant, both had employed incredibly advanced skills. Gui Qulai’s attack had been bizarre and ruthless, while Du Qianlong’s defense was utterly clean and decisive.

The crowd gaped in awe at this display of offense and defense, so astonished that not a single cheer escaped their lips.

But the battle within the arena was far from over.

Having thwarted the flying hammer strike, Du Qianlong naturally couldn’t allow his opponent to calmly withdraw his weapon and attack again. This round was his turn to seize the initiative. With the hammerhead now under his control, the situation was favorable to him.

Suddenly, he flicked the Qiulong Staff upward. The hammerhead soared into the air. Simultaneously, Du Qianlong darted forward like a beast, wielding the Qiulong Staff like a Dagger, thrusting it straight at Gui Qulai’s heart.

Now that the flying hammer had been sent skyward, it was utterly impossible for Gui Qulai to retrieve it for another attack. If he didn’t retrieve the weapon, fighting one-handed, he could never withstand Du Qianlong’s strike. Yet if he used both hands to defend, he would be forced to abandon his weapon. Even if Du Qianlong failed to wound him then, all he needed to do was withdraw, and with Gui Qulai weaponless, victory would be Du Qianlong’s.

At this point, there was no need to fight to the death. A single successful move would decide the outcome. Both being masters, they valued their dignity too much to resort to vulgar excuses or denial.

Defending, Du Qianlong had been implacable as a mountain ridge, unmovable by nine oxen. Yet this advance was swift as a fox, betraying not a hint of age. Truly, he was as calm as a maiden in stillness and as swift as a fleeing hare in motion.

The Qiulong Staff arrived instantly. Its tip was tapered like a cone, and the golden dragon fangs on its sides enhanced its lethality. If struck, not only would internal organs suffer severe injury, but the dragon fangs would also cause severe bleeding – a devastating internal and external wound. In his youth, Du Qianlong had once felled an opponent in a duel by merely grazing him with the Qiulong Staff. The external wound was minor, no more than an inch long, but the force of Du Qianlong’s Internal Energy expelled nearly half of the man’s blood, killing him instantly.

Gui Qulai’s predicament was scarcely better. Under Du Qianlong’s swift, wind-and-fire assault, could he possibly escape unscathed? And even if he did, how could he reverse his impending defeat?

Gu Fengchen glanced toward the Red Lotus Sect. Ling Ling remained seated steadily, her expression devoid of worry, seemingly utterly certain beyond doubt, as if she had already foreseen Gui Qulai winning this round.

Looking back at Gui Qulai in the arena, his face remained equally unwavering, as though he had calculated the attack in advance. Watching the staff tip thrust towards him, he ignored it entirely! Instead, with a backward flick of his hand, he yanked the airborne hammerhead back down.

Gui Qulai’s yank wasn’t a simple recall of his hammer. It was deliberate: the hammerhead didn’t fly back to his hand; instead, it shot diagonally downward, smashing toward the center of Du Qianlong’s back.

At the same time, Gui Qulai extended his empty left hand to grab the oncoming Qiulong Staff.

Thus, Du Qianlong suddenly found himself attacked front and back. The flying hammer whistled through the air behind him, potent and forceful, while Gui Qulai attempted to seize his staff with a single hand. If Gui Qulai succeeded in immobilizing the staff, Du Qianlong would be defenseless against the plummeting hammer. Even if he couldn’t fully grasp it, he could still impede its movement for a crucial instant – the barest blink of an eye might be enough for the falling hammer to strike true.

Du Qianlong now faced only two choices: either leap sideways, abandoning his own attack to evade the hammer, or forge ahead stubbornly and pierce through Gui Qulai’s grasp before the hammer landed, inflicting serious injury.

This latter choice, however, meant wagering his own life on the bet that Gui Qulai’s one hand wouldn’t be enough to halt his staff.

Dodge? Or gamble?

Du Qianlong had only a split second to choose. The hammer falling behind him wouldn’t wait.

The crowd held its collective breath. These two great masters had already pushed their confrontation to the very brink of death; this was far beyond a mere contest of skill. At this juncture, it seemed only by withdrawing could Du Qianlong preserve himself. Persisting with such risk invited unimaginable consequences.

Yet, defying all expectations, Du Qianlong chose the gamble.

Listening to the wind whistling past the descending hammer, he gauged it was now less than eight or nine feet from his back. Though his Qiulong Staff wasn’t as swift as the plummeting hammer, its tip was poised to touch Gui Qulai’s chest. Therefore, he disregarded the threat behind him and thrust the Qiulong Staff straight forward.

The outcome was clear: either he wounded Gui Qulai, or he himself was crushed by the hammer. Some spectators gasped audibly.

Still, Gui Qulai remained impassive. He seemed to have foreseen that Du Qianlong wouldn’t dodge. His fingers flashed like wind towards the thrusting staff tip, confidently poised to arrest its momentum.

The staff was a streaking star; the hammer, a clap of thunder. Life, death, victory, defeat – everything hung on a hair’s breadth.

Just as the tip of Du Qianlong’s staff was about to touch Gui Qulai’s palm, the situation changed abruptly once more.

This time, the change came from Du Qianlong.

The flying hammer behind him was now barely five feet away. Suddenly, the Qiulong Staff, thrusting directly ahead, abruptly dropped out of mid-air.

It hadn’t been knocked from Du Qianlong’s grip. Almost no one in the world could knock the Qiulong Staff from Du Qianlong. It fell because Du Qianlong deliberately released it.

Precisely as Gui Qulai’s fingers were about to clutch the staff tip, Du Qianlong opened his grip. The Qiulong Staff plummeted downward. This move utterly defied Gui Qulai’s expectations. He had no idea why Du Qianlong would let go.

The Qiulong Staff, though released, did not fall, because Du Qianlong’s other hand had snatched it like lightning.

No one knew why Du Qianlong played such a juvenile trick in such a critical situation. However, the subsequent movements proved Du Qianlong was far from boring.

With one hand clutching the Qiulong Staff, he simultaneously twisted his body sideways, creating an opening.

At that moment, something shot through that opening.

It was the meteor hammer—Gui Qulai’s “Bielai Wuyang” (Carefree Reunion).

He had retrieved the meteor hammer intending to strike Du Qianlong, but as Du Qianlong suddenly shifted aside, the blow was diverted straight back towards Gui Qulai himself. Du Qianlong’s timing was impeccable; he dodged just as the hammer flew in.

Though merely a simple dodge, its execution was so skillful and seemingly effortless that, in the entire Jianghu (Martial World), no more than three people could have achieved such a feat.

Du Qianlong still had an ace up his sleeve. Evading the hammer, he allowed it to pass him. Simultaneously, his other hand, holding the Qiulong Staff, swung it powerfully, sweeping towards Gui Qulai’s lower back.

Thus, the situation reversed instantly. Du Qianlong, previously trapped between two threats, became the one pinning Gui Qulai. Laughably, the imminent danger to Gui Qulai was his own weapon.

The reversal happened too quickly for almost anyone to process. The thoughts of the assembled onlookers couldn’t keep pace with the moves of the two combatants. Consequently, there were no cheers, not even so much as an audible gasp.

Gu Fengchen perceived everything clearly. The clash between these two pinnacle experts was filled with bizarre, deadly moves. He understood them as they unfolded, yet reasoned that such adaptability stemmed solely from years of bloody experience. Though his own Internal Energy was profound, his reactive skill and technical variation still paled in comparison. Thinking this, his gaze involuntarily drifted towards Qing’er.

Qing’er remained engrossed in her doll, seemingly oblivious to the battle.

Gu Fengchen only glanced briefly before snapping his attention back. Gui Qulai’s situation had become utterly desperate. His own meteor hammer howled towards his chest, while Du Qianlong’s staff swept towards his flank! How could he possibly block or evade both?

Two muffled thuds, echoing like the sound of beating rotten leather, sounded out. Then, the figures abruptly separated. Golden light flashed under the sun as Du Qianlong’s Qiulong Staff flew from his grasp, landing far away in the grass, its metallic sheen reflecting the sunlight brilliantly.

For a moment, the crowd couldn’t determine the victor. They saw the two men standing opposite each other, both faces grim. Slowly, Gui Qulai began reeling in his chain; the soft, rattling sound only deepened the deathly silence that enveloped the arena.

Experts like Gu Fengchen witnessed the flurry of changes in that split second clearly. Facing his own weapon turned against him, Gui Qulai unexpectedly did not dodge. He let the hammer strike squarely on his chest.

This was not suicide, but the prelude to an extraordinarily clever counterattack.

Most had forgotten that Gui Qulai’s famed martial art was his bizarre Internal Energy, known as “Lishang Wanglai” (Reciprocation). Gu Fengchen had experienced its power back at Yu Bridge. Du Qianlong naturally knew of it too, but since both had drawn weapons, he likely assumed Gui Qulai wouldn’t resort to this unorthodox skill mid-melee.

Yet, at this critical juncture, Gui Qulai employed precisely this technique. He absorbed the hammer’s immense force onto his chest, simultaneously channeling his unique Internal Energy to divert the impact into his already tensed left arm – the same arm reaching out for the Qiulong Staff moments before. Now, as if propelled by torrential water, the arm snapped back at lightning speed, meeting Du Qianlong’s flank-strike with the staff.

The force of the meteor hammer was colossal. Gui Qulai transferred it intact into his arm, making his limb strike as hard as a mountain-splitting sledgehammer against the Qiulong Staff.

Du Qianlong never anticipated this move. Consequently, his sweeping strike hadn’t been delivered with full power—only about seventy percent. He deemed this sufficient to break Gui Qulai’s spine or severely damage internal organs. Top-tier fighters measure their force meticulously; using the least effort for maximum effect. As a master among masters, Du Qianlong certainly possessed such precision. Seventy percent should have been ample.

But against all expectations, his Qiulong Staff slammed not into vulnerable flesh, but against an arm empowered by Gui Qulai’s redirected force. Under the colossal collision of these two powers, Du Qianlong lost control of his staff. It was violently wrenched from his hand and sent flying into the grass.

Thus, Gui Qulai retained his weapon, while Du Qianlong stood disarmed—a dramatic shift in advantage. This exchange concluded the first round of their duel.

Slowly reeling in his chain, Gui Qulai spoke coolly, “Fort-Master Du, I acknowledge your concession.”

In a duel of masters, one move could settle the outcome. Du Qianlong could only blame his own rashness. Without argument, he stated, “You won.”

He turned and walked back to his seat, seemingly indifferent to the lost Qiulong Staff. Only after he sat down did his servant scurry to retrieve it from the grass.

The colorfully-dressed girl announced cheerfully, “For the first bout, victory goes to the Red Lotus Sect.”

Gui Qulai returned to his sect’s side. Ling Ling gave him a slight nod of approval. Before he could speak, Shen Rou, beside him, whispered softly, “The injury to your arm… is it manageable?”

Gui Qulai frowned, “Who’s injured?”

Shen Rou’s voice was barely audible, “Your arm bone was fractured. But it’s alright. Go take the internal medicine first; I’ll bandage it for you later.” Knowing he couldn’t fool her sharp eyes, Gui Qulai nodded almost imperceptibly. He retreated among the sect members and quickly swallowed a packet of restorative medicine.

Indeed, he had relied on immense power to dislodge Du Qianlong’s Qiulong Staff, but his flesh and bone could ultimately not withstand the force against Du Qianlong’s metal weapon. Though victorious, his arm bone had fractured. The triumph relied on him masking the excruciating pain and feigning nonchalance, successfully deceiving Du Qianlong. Had the deception failed and the duel continued, Gui Qulai would certainly have lost.

Meanwhile, after Du Qianlong returned to his seat, Wan Chongshan, Zhuge Ren, and Nangong Yue approached to offer words. Chagrined, Du Qianlong gave a rueful smile, “A momentary lapse, and he tricked me. The next two bouts depend entirely on you now.”

Long Xielan beside him smiled gracefully, “Worry not. I’ll take the second bout and ensure we regain ground. Besides… you weren’t truly defeated.”

Du Qianlong said, “Having lost grip of his weapon, how could he avoid defeat?”

Long Xielan responded, “Your weapon flew from your hand, but what of him? That Mortal King must have at least suffered a broken arm bone.” Du Qianlong was taken aback for a moment, then suddenly declared, “Exactly! The Lady is quite right. Had I pressed the attack then, victory would certainly have been mine.” Long Xielan shook her head. “Even if you had charged, he wouldn’t have exchanged blows. A simple step back and a word of concession would have sealed his win. For everyone witnessed your weapon slip free, yet none saw his bone break.”

Wan Chongshan sneered coldly. “Indeed. This is the bitter pill swallowed silently. Brother Du, this round, seemingly lost, actually brought you immense gain. From now on, Gui Qulai’s left arm will be a critical vulnerability.”

Thus consoled, Du Qianlong finally let go of the vexation from moments ago.

Setting aside this discussion, the Colorful-Robed Maiden, observing the first round concluded and only five remaining beneath the Bamboo Tower, spoke: “The next round, the second, shall proceed as the first. All may issue challenges freely. Should any decline to accept, it counts as forfeit. However, this time, the unengaged masters from the Red Lotus Sect and the Four Great Clans are forbidden from challenging those beneath the bamboo tower. Those beneath have already fought one bout. For fresh fighters to challenge them now would be unjust.”

Having said this, she withdrew. The second round commenced.

Gu Fengchen had just finished a bout. Tan Sheng was so far beneath him that he hadn’t exerted any true strength. Now, he thought urgently: This round-by-round combat could drag on endlessly!

His purpose was different from others—he had come to save people and wished to waste no time. Seeing the Colorful-Robed Maiden step back, he was the first to rise. He walked up to the drunkard who had poisoned with wine. Without a word, he crooked a finger at him—a gesture of utter contempt.

Seeing Gu Fengchen approach for a challenge, the drunkard felt uneasy within. The internal energy Gu Fengchen displayed against the iron man was indeed extraordinary. Yet, the drunkard was deeply arrogant and certainly couldn’t show cowardice now. So, with a boisterous laugh, he stood and entered the arena.

Gu Fengchen had chosen this opponent for a reason. Trained in Shaolin, his martial path was righteous and honorable, and he held the deepest contempt for those who struck from shadows. This drunkard, skulking about with his concealed devices and such vicious Hidden Weapons, had sparked his ire. Hence the challenge.

The two stood facing each other. Hundreds of eyes from the assembled heroes focused upon them.

Gu Fengchen had won easily in the last round. Most knew Tan Sheng’s martial skills were mediocre, meaning Gu Fengchen had surely held back his true capabilities. Now, facing this drunkard whose skills and Hidden Weapons were notoriously sinister, a fierce battle was certain.

The drunkard still wore the deathly idle air, but he had stopped bringing the gourd’s mouth to his lips to drink. Gu Fengchen had already deduced his earlier actions were mere posturing; the contents of that gourd were undrinkable.

Gu Fengchen had no mind to waste time with him. With the faintest clasp of his fists in greeting, he threw a punch straight at the drunkard.

It was an exceptionally ordinary punch—the “Emperor’s Fist,” a foundational technique taught to all newcomers in the Jianghu (Martial World). Nearly every martial artist knew it. Seeing this, the drunkard choked back a silent laugh, thinking: Though this man possesses deep Internal Energy, his fighting techniques are far too crude.

With this thought, the drunkard abruptly raised his gourd, blocking his face, while simultaneously stumbling sideways to his right. His body spun halfway around, effortlessly dodging the punch and landing him behind Gu Fengchen—an extremely nimble footwork display.

As this move unfolded, a voice rang out from the onlookers: “Ah! Excellent ‘Drunken Eight Immortals’!” But another countered immediately: “That’s not Drunken Eight Immortals, clearly it’s the Lesser Drunken Eight Immortals.”

Gu Fengchen was unaware. Centuries ago, after the Drunken Eight Immortals style had been passed down, another master innovated a new set: the Lesser Drunken Eight Immortals. Using this art, he founded a sect named the Lesser Drunken Immortals Gate. Though small in membership, all its disciples were masters. Yet, just over two decades past, the sect dwindled until it finally vanished from the Jianghu (Martial World).

This was common knowledge in the martial world. The move just executed—”Imperial Uncle Cao, Raising a Toast to the Moon Amidst Flowers”—was unmistakably the Lesser Drunken Immortals Gate’s skill. Some mistakenly called it Drunken Eight Immortals because both arts shared a common origin, hence the swift correction by the discerning.

Gu Fengchen cared nothing for Great or Lesser Drunken Immortals. He just wanted to knock some sense (or nonsense) into this drunkard’s head. He twisted his body and threw another punch.

The drunkard’s movements were exceedingly agile, dodging three punches in succession. Gu Fengchen’s mind stirred; he realized the man’s footwork was flexible, and continuing like this would likely drain his strength in vain. Drawing a deep breath, he activated his Heaven-Defying Divine Art. Suddenly, his arms circled, executing the move “Twin Winds Pierce the Ears,” hammering towards the drunkard’s head.

The strike was fierce. The drunkard sought to evade again. Experienced in combat, he was determined to gauge the depths of Gu Fengchen’s skills before launching his attack. Hence, he deflected move after move, refusing direct confrontation. Seeing this blow aimed at his vital center, he still bent low, attempting to slip beneath Gu Fengchen’s fists.

But the moment he crouched, he sensed disaster.

Gu Fengchen’s fists targeted his head, but the force surging beneath his blows felt like two walls of bronze and iron, blocking his flank. Upon contact, the air seemed to thicken. Breathing became difficult, labored. It felt as if his very skin might be flayed away.

Such terrifying Internal Energy! Only now did true alarm flood the drunkard.

Unable to break through this energetic pressure to left or right, he could only dart forward or leap back. Darting forward meant suicide—Gu Fengchen blocked the path. That left only leaping backward.

The drunkard reacted with astonishing speed. As the force of Gu Fengchen’s punch bore down, he jerked his head abruptly backwards, propelling his entire body straight backwards like a stone flung through the air.

The maneuver bore an aura of effortless grace. Another approving cry rose from the onlookers: “Marvelous! ‘Han Xiangzi, Snow Piled at Blue Pass Blocks the Steed’!”

Yet how could outsiders know? While the move seemed effortless, the drunkard’s inner turmoil was anything but. He resorted to it solely out of desperation, seeking only self-preservation.

It must be said, the drunkard’s movements were quick, his evasion swift. But Gu Fengchen was determined to vanquish his foe decisively to proceed quickly to the next bout. He held nothing back. His foot followed instantly, shadowing his target like a phantom.

The drunkard shot backwards nearly nine feet. Before he could solidify his stance, Gu Fengchen was upon him again. Again, the move: “Twin Winds Pierce the Ears.” Identical to the last, the two streams of Internal Energy walled off the drunkard’s flanks. To forge through would slow him significantly, and Gu Fengchen’s fist could strike him dead in that moment.

The same two moves, with identical effect. The drunkard seethed inwardly, helpless. He dared not contest Gu Fengchen’s Internal Energy head-on. In sheer desperation, he jerked his head back once more, propelling his body backward in the same evasive maneuver.

At this moment, the skilled observers among the bystanders could see that although the drunkard’s movements appeared even more effortless this time, they could not be deceived. Indeed, someone loudly exclaimed, “Ha! Another Han Xiangzi stance! The steed halting in the snowy pass at Lan…”

The shout echoed the previous one precisely, only this time the tail end was drawn out long, clearly a deliberate mock cheer, like the jeers heard in the opera house. The gathered heroes erupted in laughter the moment they heard it.

Though the drunkard heard it, he had no time to respond. He retreated quickly, but Gu Fengchen pursued with equal swiftness. The moment his feet touched the ground, Gu Fengchen was upon him again, attacking his temples with the same “Twin Winds Piercing the Ears” move.

Having been toyed with three times in a row, the drunkard finally lost all forbearance. A chill glinted in his eyes, and he thought darkly: You bring this upon yourself; old man isn’t heartless! Having made this decision, he raised his gourd in front of him, channeled energy to his palm, and sent a surge of inner force through the vessel. The liquid inside violently churned, and with a splash, a stream of clear, watery substance shot straight for Gu Fengchen’s face.

Gu Fengchen was mid-strike with both fists extended, his center left entirely exposed. His chest, abdomen, throat, and face were all vulnerable points. The drunkard’s counterattack exploited this opening perfectly. That toxic brew was exceptionally potent, and the onlookers broke out in a cold sweat for Gu Fengchen. Someone involuntarily cried out, “Watch the win…”

Of course, Gu Fengchen knew he couldn’t let the wine touch him. His repeated use of the same move, like a cat toying with a mouse, was precisely to provoke this reaction, to force the drunkard into firing the poison wine himself. He did not know if the gourd held deadly mechanisms; foolishly striking it directly could have unpredictable consequences.

Seeing the cold glint in the drunkard’s eyes now, he knew an attack was imminent. As anticipated, the drunkard took the bait; a stream of deadly wine surged towards his face.

Gu Fengchen was naturally prepared. He had long held a mighty breath within his chest. Seeing the poisonous stream shoot forth, he abruptly opened his mouth and released a long exhalation.

This breath solidified like a tangible wall, forcefully halting the stream of poison wine mid-air. The venomous liquid whirled and surged helplessly in the air, unable to advance even an inch.

This bizarre spectacle was something the assembled heroes had never witnessed before; none felt their journey wasted. Their horizons had been broadened.

The drunkard was also profoundly shocked. Although he knew Gu Fengchen possessed profound internal strength, the degree it had reached was beyond his imagination. He could only silently pour more strength into the gourd, channeling his inner energy continuously, hoping to breach Gu Fengchen’s air current.

His thinking was clear: no matter how strong Gu Fengchen’s inner force was, this expelled breath must eventually falter. At that moment, with a final push, he could still defeat his opponent. Thus, sustaining this deadlock was undoubtedly extremely advantageous to him.

Gu Fengchen was well aware of this! Seeing the toxic wine inch forward half an inch under the opponent’s renewed pressure, a cold sneer echoed within his mind. In truth, he had only utilized thirty percent of his inner strength in that breath. His goal was precisely to lure his opponent into a stalemate. As long as the drunkard didn’t withdraw, victory was assured.

Ever since cultivating the Heaven-Defying Divine Art, Gu Fengchen often felt his inner energies surging through him, as vast and continuous as the great rivers. Sometimes, after evening practice, he felt his internal strength had increased further still, leaving even himself awestruck and slightly apprehensive. Everything had its limit. Could his internal strength truly grow boundlessly? If so, he wouldn’t need anyone else to finish him; his own inner force would tear him apart.

He didn’t know that the foundation of the Heaven-Defying Divine Art lay in unlocking a person’s latent potential, which, once tapped, transformed into Internal Energy circulating through the meridians. Though the human body’s latent potential was immense, it wasn’t without end. For instance, no matter how great anyone’s potential, none could shatter a mountain peak with a single punch. Gu Fengchen was no exception. The more he practiced the Art, the more latent potential converted to Internal Energy. When all latent potential had been fully unearthed, the growth in internal energy would cease. Unaware of this truth, he therefore dared not practice it further out of fear.

Now, seeing his opponent determined to prolong the contest, Gu Fengchen knew the hook was set. He secretly channeled his inner force and suddenly intensified that half-expelled breath manifold.

Instantly, it was like a gentle breeze transforming into a raging hurricane without warning. The drunkard, still basking in his supposed advantage, was caught completely off guard by the abrupt change. The stream of poison wine broke free of his energy control and shot back towards him.

He paled in terror, rapidly channeling his Internal Energy in defense, yet how could he possibly resist? Gu Fengchen had now unleashed ninety percent of his power. This breath truly could burst a bull’s hide. Against such immense Inner Force, the drunkard’s strength was laughable, like a mantis trying to stop a chariot or an ant shaking a tree.

Utterly powerless to resist, the drunkard tried to dodge. Yet he was pinned by the force radiating from Gu Fengchen’s arms, frozen in place. He could only watch helplessly as the stream of poisoned wine splashed onto his face.

A shrill, inhuman scream tore through the air. The drunkard clutched his face, writhing on the ground, his gourd cast aside. His appearance mirrored Xu Shao’s, but the sounds he made were no longer human, sending a chill down everyone’s spine.

Gu Fengchen shook his head with a cold sneer, thinking: You played with fire and met your fate. You cannot blame me. Even if I let you go unharmed today, some master would eventually deal with you just as I have, another day. Having thought this, he picked up the gourd that had been tossed aside. Giving it a light shake, he felt half the poisoned wine still remained within. Walking over to a tree, he tilted the gourd and poured the poisonous contents out.

Sure enough, as the toxic brew touched the bark, a sizzling sound erupted. The entire patch of bark immediately withered and decayed. It was evidently sulfuric acid.

Such a foul substance naturally could not remain in the world. Gu Fengchen poured out every last drop of the sulfuric acid. Then, with a powerful swing of his arm, he hurled the empty wine gourd. It flew with a sharp whistle, arcing through the air a full sixty to seventy meters before finally plunging into the distant lake with a resounding thud.

Looking back at the drunkard on the ground, he now lay still, no longer struggling. It was unclear if he was dead or merely unconscious. Two Colorful-Robed Maidens stepped forward, covered his face with cloth, and dragged him away like a dead dog.

Having won this bout, aside from opponents from the Four Great Clans and the Red Lotus Sect, three others remained untested. These three shared the common hope that someone else would lose first, sparing them a fight. Therefore, none took the initiative to challenge. Gu Fengchen had no patience for such delays. Seeing no challengers step forward, he simply approached one man directly, ready to fight his third match in a row.

Seeing this, a Colorful-Robed Maiden stepped forward as if to intervene: “Esteemed Hero, you’ve already fought twice. It would be best to rest a while first.” Fearing his real voice might be recognized, Gu Fengchen responded in a disguised rasp, “Old man detests waiting like a damn fool! That last fight cost me nothing. Let the next begin!”

The challenged man knew he could not avoid it. He had to rise and prepare for battle.

This man specialized in the Bagua Palm. Though exceptionally proficient and nearly flawless, against Gu Fengchen’s overwhelming Internal Energy, even strengths became weaknesses. Simply put, Gu Fengchen used brute force to subdue skill—a strong force can overcome ten skills. No matter how ingenious the opponent’s moves or how complex his transitions, Gu Fengchen simply struck out with a single palm. Each blow shattered the opponent’s sequences into incoherence.

In fewer than ten moves, Gu Fengchen secured another victory.

Thus compelled, the remaining two men had no choice but to fight. Amidst a flurry of clashes and collisions (pīng pāng), the winner was finally determined.

By the time the duels concluded, only Gu Fengchen and one other man remained victorious from the ten initial contenders. Meanwhile, the representatives of the Four Great Clans and the Red Lotus Sect were preparing for their second round of combat. This was truly the center of attention.

Ling Ling glanced back towards Xue Wuhen, implying he should enter the arena next. Unexpectedly, Ling Ling gave a slight shake of her head. Xue Wuhen paused, perplexed. “Cult Leader, your meaning…” Ling Ling smiled. “If you took this second match, Xuelang, it would be like a ferocious tiger swatting at lice.” “What do you mean by that?” Xue Wuhen inquired. Ling Ling explained, “Among the three opponents, Wan Chongshan boasts the deepest cultivation, yet he absolutely will not enter the arena for the second match. I believe the second challenger will certainly be Long Xielan. Though her martial skills aren’t exceptionally high, she possesses extraordinary cunning and unmatched ingenuity. If you fought her, firstly, it would be a strong man against a weak woman – even victory wouldn’t look good. Secondly, Long Xielan would definitely avoid a straightforward test of martial prowess. She would likely resort to some bizarre tactic. As a man, you would feel compelled to accept, putting you entirely on the defensive and undermining your combat style. Therefore, for this second match… let Sister Shen take the field instead.”

Shen Rou nodded. “I think the same way.” After saying that, she took a step to go out of line.

Ling Ling furrowed her brows and urged again. “Long Xielan’s hidden weapon is also well-known. Elder sister, going onto the field, you must be cautious. Winning or losing is secondary, just don’t get injured.”

Shen Rou was touched in her heart. She bowed respectfully and said. “Thank you, Cult Leader, for your concern. I will do my best.”

Her graceful entrance onto the field caused a stir of discussion. Originally, Shen Rou rarely walked in the Jianghu (Martial World), so most of the heroes did not know her. Among the Four Great Clans, only a few leaders had met her but had never fought her directly. They only knew she was called the Red Lotus Strategist. As for her kung fu, no one had any idea.

The Red Lotus Sect sent out a female fighter, so the Four Great Clans naturally did not want to be outdone. Long Xielan smiled at Wan Chongshan. “I’ll go this time. We must win this round back. The next match will rely entirely on you, dear brother.”

Wan Chongshan knew that her intelligence far surpassed his own, giving him about a seventy percent chance of winning this round. Looking at the remaining experts in the Red Lotus Sect, besides Xue Wuhen, there was Ling Ling. Xue Wuhen had already been encountered at Jianxian Manor (Hall of Meeting the Virtuous), and his real skills weren’t that impressive. As for the Leader of the Red Lotus Sect, a young girl with little ability? Thus, he felt very confident. As long as this round was won back, he was sure to win the next match and wash away the shame from that day at Mount Huang’s Lotus Peak.

Thinking this, he smiled and nodded. “Ma’am, just win against her. I will definitely win the next match.”

Long Xielan stood up and slowly walked into the field.

Seeing her enter the field, the heroes stirred again.

Long Xielan’s status was undoubtedly extremely noble, not only because she was the mistress of Twin Dragon Fort. According to legend, her family background was also remarkable—she was the granddaughter of the martial arts leader Long Xiaohai seventy years ago. But she had never admitted it, probably unwilling to inherit her family’s prestige, wanting to build her own reputation. In fact, she succeeded. Previously called the Female Zhuge of Jianghu (Martial World), within ten years of marrying Du Qianlong, she managed Twin Dragon Fort to great prosperity, finally ranking among the Four Great Clans. Du Qianlong focused solely on martial arts and rarely dealt with worldly matters, so the true master of Twin Dragon Fort was Long Xielan. By then, Twin Dragon Fort’s power reached its zenith, becoming the potential leader of the Four Great Clans. If not for Zhuge Xianyun’s immense reputation in the Jianghu (Martial World), which was always praised, Twin Dragon Fort would have already become the top clan.

When she entered the field, the heroes were all excited. Everyone knew Long Xielan’s intelligence was unmatched, but no one had seen her kung fu firsthand. Seeing her fight now was truly rare. So they all held their breath and waited eagerly.

The two women walked to the center of the field, looked at each other, and simultaneously performed a respectful bow. Long Xielan spoke first. “Sister Shen Rou, many years no see. How have you been?” Shen Rou also smiled. “Thank you for asking, Madam Du. I’m getting by.”

Hearing this, everyone felt a shock, secretly wondering if these two had met before and whether they had fought.

Long Xielan then continued. “Over the past ten or so years, Sister Shen Rou has lived in seclusion at the frontier. You must have sharpened your sword to be even keener.” Shen Rou laughed. “Madam Du, it seems you haven’t let your own whetstone rest either. That skill with the Golden Pin of Perdition is said to be sublime. Even a deity would have to be reincarnated before matching it.” Long Xielan said. “Sister Shen Rou, you flatter me. I have no such ability. My minor fame is just inflated by friends in Jianghu (Martial World), truly not worth a laugh. It can’t compare to yours, Sister Shen, earned entirely with real skill.”

The two women chattered back and forth, all reminiscing. The crowd was confused but dared not interrupt. After all, Long Xielan’s status was imposing, and interrupting her casually would be extremely rude, so they had to be patient and listen on.

Shen Rou said. “This time, our sect returns to our homeland. We informed you all beforehand, but only with a red letter. It’s somewhat impolite. Madam Du, I hope you don’t mind.” Long Xielan replied. “Not at all. At the meeting in Jianxian Manor (Hall of Meeting the Virtuous), your sect’s Mr. Xue went alone and showed exceptional courage. This shows your sect is well-prepared. Returning to the Central Plains this time must be with foresight and extraordinary ambition.” Shen Rou agreed. “Of course. As they say, although the world is vast, Jianghu (Martial World) is small. Enemies or friends will always meet one day. Today’s gathering must be destined.”

Long Xielan said. “But this is someone else’s territory. You and I are both guests here. Drawing weapons here doesn’t suit our temperaments and also loses face. We women aren’t like men. We value gentleness and focus on skills like sewing. We mustn’t fight like common shrews. What do you think, sister?”

Shen Rou nodded. “Madam Du speaks rightly. Today’s martial competition isn’t necessarily about using weapons. We should maintain our dignity and not let others laugh. We must think carefully about how to compete.”

Long Xielan looked at the newly built Bamboo Tower, her eyes brightening as she smiled. “I saw those young ladies earlier did a good job. That Bamboo Tower is quite unique. Why don’t we trouble them again to set up Plum Blossom Piles here? Then we can go up and compete?”

Shen Rou nodded. “A great idea. But I don’t know if the host will agree.” After speaking, both turned to look at Lady Xueyi.

Lady Xueyi said. “Your request isn’t excessive at all. How could I refuse?” She waved her hand below, and a dozen or so Colorful-Robed Maidens entered carrying bamboo again.

The leading Colorful-Robed Maiden asked with a smile. “How should we place the piles for you?”

Long Xielan said to Shen Rou. “The idea was mine. As for how the piles are set, you decide, Sister Shen Rou, to prevent others from saying I have an advantage.”

Shen Rou nodded. “Then I won’t stand on ceremony.”

Hearing they would compete on Plum Blossom Piles, the heroes became interested. Everyone in Jianghu (Martial World) knows about Plum Blossom Piles! Walking them is practically a must-learn skill for martial artists. Plum Blossom Piles vary—some in groups of seven, six, or five. The largest set has forty-nine piles. Typically made of tree stumps as thick as a bowl’s rim, some experts used bamboo poles as thin as fingers with sharpened tips. Walking them was extremely difficult. A slip could pierce through feet or cause a fall, impaling the heart.

What kind of Plum Blossom Piles would these two heroic women be competing on?

Shen Rou directed several Colorful-Robed Maidens, placing one pile here, another there. The bamboo used was as thick as arms. Although not sharpened at the ends, it wouldn’t be easy to walk.

The Colorful-Robed Maidens worked swiftly, like butterflies through flowers. In no time, they set up a Plum Blossom Piles formation. Everyone clearly counted twenty-two piles. Seeing this, the crowd exchanged puzzled looks, many showing confusion.

Naturally, the piles were just bamboo piles. Nothing unusual. What was strange was the layout. It wasn’t arranged as a plum blossom shape but as three rings, nested within each other. The outer ring had nine bamboo piles, the middle ring seven, and the inner ring five. At the center stood one pile as thick as a calf and two zhang tall. The rings were spaced three chi apart. Such Plum Blossom Piles were seen for the first time by everyone.

Watching the Colorful-Robed Maidens finish installing the piles and withdraw, Long Xielan smiled and asked Shen Rou. “Sister Shen Rou, how do we walk this set of Plum Blossom Piles?”

Shen Rou expected this question and shared her planned competition method. “In the three rings, pick one bamboo pile each in the outer two rings to hang a scabbard. I have a wooden sword we can stick into the thicker central pile. We start from the outer ring, snatch the scabbards, go to the inner ring, pull out the wooden sword, and sheathe it. That counts as a win. What do you think?”

This was a novel way. Long Xielan smiled and nodded. She then asked. “Any conditions?” Shen Rou answered. “Conditions? No using weapons, no falling off the piles, no breaking or tilting the bamboo piles—otherwise, you lose. You must grab both scabbards or destroy one before going for the wooden sword. And don’t touch the wooden sword with your hands—only use the scabbard. Otherwise, it’s a loss. How about that?”

Long Xielan nodded. “Very well, this method is quite novel. I’ll hang the scabbards.” With that, she turned and called towards her camp, “Which brother carries a sword? Lend me your scabbard.” Immediately, two guests respectfully presented two scabbards. Long Xielan took them and instructed someone to select bamboo poles from the outer two circles of bamboo piles, hanging the scabbards respectively.

Once she had secured the scabbards, Shen Rou also drew a Wooden Sword about a foot long from her sleeve. With a flick of her finger, the sword flew towards the central bamboo pole. With a crack, it pierced straight through the bamboo, embedding itself to the hilt.

The crowd erupted in cheers. The wooden sword, lacking the sharpness of steel, would ordinarily cause the bamboo to fracture into segments upon impact. Yet Shen Rou’s thrown Wooden Sword had sliced through as cleanly as it were tofu, leaving not a single crack. This feat, while not displaying overwhelming power, showcased her impeccable control and the purity of her Internal Energy.

With both the Wooden Sword and the scabbards properly placed, the two women took positions on opposite sides of the outer circle. Exchanging a glance and a nod, they suddenly leaped simultaneously, landing steadily on the bamboo piles.

Their target now was the first scabbard. Each stood three piles away from the bamboo pole holding the scabbard. Seizing the initiative would grant significant advantage; even if the second scabbard proved unattainable, it could be kicked out of the circle, depriving the opponent altogether.

This contest became a thrilling trial demanding intelligence and courage, unfolding in an unprecedented style.

Both moved across the Plum Blossom Piles with fleeting steps, never lingering even half an instant. Their footing remained supremely stable. Each took just three steps to arrive before the pile holding the scabbard.

The scabbard was within reach, yet neither made a move. Both knew attempting to grab it would expose an opening, granting the opponent an opening. Even if seizing the scabbard was the goal, a more balanced tactic was essential.

Long Xielan’s mind proved quicker. Standing balanced on one foot on a pile, she stretched her other foot out, toes hooking towards the scabbard. This allowed her to probe for the scabbard and test Shen Rou’s reaction, without committing too far forward.

As expected, her foot moved, Shen Rou reacted instantly. She also extended her foot. Their statures nearly identical, leg lengths similar. Long Xielan moved first, almost reaching the scabbard when Shen Rou’s foot arrived – not for the scabbard, however. Her toe shot out like an acupoint prod directly towards Long Xielan’s kneecap.

A solid strike would mean either a fall from the piles or serious tendon injury. Forced to react, Long Xielan abandoned the scabbard. Her shin bent, her foot snapping back with lightning speed towards Shen Rou’s knee pit.

Long Xielan’s counters were incredibly swift. Shen Rou dared not be careless and retracted her leg. Their limbs met mid-air.

Thud thud! The crisp sounds echoed as their legs exchanged blows in a blistering flurry. To the watching heroes, it was like twin butterflies dancing chaotically atop the Plum Blossom Piles, too fast for the eye to discern distinct moves.

After several exchanges, both realized this stalemate benefited neither. Whoever got the scabbard first required a different approach. Thinking alike, they pulled back suddenly, shifting tactics.

Shen Rou bent her entire body backward, arched like an iron bridge, her feet firmly anchored on two piles. Her hands and upper torso lowered at an impossible angle as she snatched for the scabbard with her hands.

Long Xielan wasn’t about to yield. She pulled off an astounding feat herself, twisting sideways to balance her waist across another bamboo pile, freeing both hands to counter Shen Rou. Four hands became a blur, exchanging dozens of blows in the blink of an eye.

As the dazzled onlookers tried to follow the whirlwind of motion, a sharp cry split the air. A figure flashed, and the scabbard arced upwards – plucked by a hand.

The one gripping the scabbard was Shen Rou.

The first move was hers.

Earlier in the skirmish, Shen Rou had unleashed a swift “Twin Swallows Skimming Ears,” fingers slicing towards Long Xielan’s head. Long Xielan raised both palms to block outward. This played right into Shen Rou’s plan. As their palms met, a seemingly equal contest, Long Xielan sensed peril. She abruptly recalled: Shen Rou possessed a unique skill, the “Softened Finger Force.”

Recognition came too late. Shen Rou’s palm bent wildly backward, fingers arcing past her own wrist – a bizarre, unsettling contortion. And with that motion, her fingernails cleanly sliced the cord suspending the scabbard, which plummeted downward.

Shen Rou had anticipated this outcome. Her free foot flashed out, kicking the falling scabbard high into the air. Simultaneously, she leaped from her stance, cleanly catching it mid-flight. Balanced on two feet, her leap was far quicker than Long Xielan, still partially anchored by her waist on the bamboo pile.

The sequence sparkled like raindrops on new lotus leaves – intricate and dazzling, yet each move discernible. Truly one of the Jianghu’s (Martial World’s) finest spectacles in recent years.

Shen Rou held the lead with one scabbard secured. Long Xielan reacted without pause. In that breath of a moment, she also sprang upwards. But she didn’t lunge at Shen Rou. Instead, she landed within the middle circle of Plum Blossom Piles.

Her goal was obviously the second scabbard.

Shen Rou instantly understood. As Long Xielan landed on the central piles, Shen Rou vaulted after her. Even before her feet found purchase on the piles, the scabbard in her hand was already thrusting like an “Immortal Pointing the Way,” jabbing straight at Long Xielan’s spine.

Long Xielan reached the bamboo pole holding the second scabbard, but before her hand could snatch it, the whistling wind at her back warned of imminent attack. Without halting, she stepped across the pile. Shen Rou, seizing the chase, pressed close on her heels. This inner circle had only seven piles, creating a much tighter space. Any slight opening would let Long Xielan stoop and grab the scabbard. Yet Shen Rou shadowed her relentlessly, granting her no chance to bend.

They circled the tight cluster of piles several times, whirling like figures on a spinning top. Shen Rou seemed poised to strike, constantly narrowing the gap to a mere half foot, yet Long Xielan proved elusive, unable to easily shake her pursuer.

The two women spun faster and faster. Their steps on the bamboo piles were as light as dragonflies skimming water, touching down only to leap away instantly; elegant as celestial beings treading waves, leaving no ripple.

Pursued like this is unsustainable, Long Xielan thought urgently. We must take a risk to regain the initiative. With that resolution, she halted abruptly and spun around to face Shen Rou.

To stop dead from such blinding speed, atop the precarious Plum Blossom Piles, required impossible calmness and control – weight carried as if it were nothing, balance perfect. Fewer than five warriors in the Jianghu could master such a feat. And Long Xielan was one of them.

Turning around, Long Xielan found herself staring right at the thrusting scabbard. Shen Rou clearly hadn’t anticipated such a risky maneuver. The distance was too close for her to change her stance, nor did she need to. The scabbard continued its direct thrust, targeting Long Xielan’s front instead of her back.

The two were incredibly close. Almost the instant Long Xielan halted and spun around, the scabbard was upon her.

Long Xielan had already devised her counter before her steps ceased. The moment her body faced her opponent, she brought her hands together with a sharp clap, firmly trapping the scabbard between her palms.

This move appeared simple, yet it demanded superior skill in perception and hand strength, leaving no margin for error. Had she been a fraction off, she couldn’t have secured the scabbard. A blow to the chest would have inevitably followed, sending her tumbling from the Plum Blossom Piles.

Knowing Long Xielan’s formidable palm techniques, Shen Rou realized she held little advantage in a contest of brute force. She pulled back sharply to retrieve her scabbard. Long Xielan, however, maintained her iron grip, refusing to yield. Finding the scabbard unmovable, Shen Rou had a sudden flash of inspiration. She vigorously thrust it forward twice. Though it didn’t budge, she sensed the opposing force increasing. Abruptly, she released her hold, letting go of the scabbard. In one fluid motion, she crouched down and snatched the second scabbard hanging from one of the inner posts.

With the new scabbard in hand, Shen Rou wasted no time. She leapt into the inner ring, using the scabbard to strike the central, taller bamboo post standing in the middle.

This tactic of surrendering her weapon had been exquisitely calculated. While she had essentially given her scabbard to Long Xielan, the latter remained preoccupied, gripping the scabbard’s tip so tightly she couldn’t deploy it effectively. With Shen Rou now positioned ahead of her, a single strike to dislodge the wooden sword, followed by catching it in this new scabbard, would secure her victory.

By all accounts, the initiative was firmly hers.

Winning this bout would force the Four Great Clans to withdraw from the treasure hunt tournament. The Red Lotus Sect’s sacred relic, lost for years, would finally return home.

Yet, Shen Rou felt no particular elation. After all, the match wasn’t over. Only its final step remained, but she knew this step wouldn’t be easy. Long Xielan, close at her back, would undoubtedly unleash a storm of counterattacks.

Her intuition proved correct. The moment Long Xielan felt Shen Rou relax her hold on the scabbard, she understood her adversary’s intentions. A cold laugh echoed in Long Xielan’s mind. So naive! Did she think I’d stand idle like a wooden dummy?

Reacting with lightning speed, Long Xielan didn’t even shift her stance. Gripping the trapped scabbard with both hands, she stepped forward powerfully, driving the sheath tip-first towards Shen Rou’s back.

In an instant, their positions reversed: Long Xielan was now the one thrusting behind Shen Rou.

Shen Rou could have mirrored Long Xielan’s earlier tactic, swiftly circling to evade. But she rejected that path; her resolve to win this bout was unshakeable. Continuing her course, she struck the central bamboo post with one hand gripping the scabbard while raising her other hand behind her, using the Softened Finger Force to intercept the incoming scabbard.

It was, after all, only a scabbard, lacking any blade. Shen Rou had full confidence that her technique could coil around the sheath, delaying it just long enough for her to dislodge the Wooden Sword and catch it with her scabbard.

Long Xielan’s thrust was fierce, but Shen Rou’s Softened Finger Force was equally uncanny. Her five fingers moved like agile serpents. Upon contact, they transformed into liquid suppleness, effortlessly coiling around Long Xielan’s scabbard.

Simultaneously, a sharp thunk resounded as Shen Rou’s scabbard slammed against the bamboo post bearing the Wooden Sword.

Under the impact of this subtle, penetrating internal energy, the thick bamboo post remained steady as an oak, not so much as vibrating. Yet, the Wooden Sword perched upon it was launched into the air, tumbling downwards.

Beneath its trajectory waited Shen Rou’s empty scabbard.

Everything seemed set for Shen Rou’s victory. With Long Xielan’s attack entangled behind her, all she needed to do was capture the falling Wooden Sword within her scabbard.

But Long Xielan, true to her formidable reputation as a “female tactician,” adapted with astonishing speed. Channeling her Internal Energy, she induced a soft crack. The scabbard she held split cleanly in two. Shen Rou’s Softened Finger Force, designed to grip the entire scabbard, couldn’t anticipate this division. Before she could adjust her technique, Long Xielan had deftly retracted half the now-broken scabbard from her grasp.

The moment she freed the piece, Long Xielan flicked it upwards with two fingers. Whoosh! The splintered scabbard shot skyward, striking the falling Wooden Sword squarely and batting it back up over ten feet high.

Shen Rou’s scabbard clasped only emptiness. She had no time for frustration – her figure surged upwards towards the ascending sword. Simultaneously, Long Xielan leapt after her. Her own scabbard destroyed, she absolutely could not afford to let Shen Rou capture the blade. Empty-handed now, she opted to use both hands aggressively.

Mid-air, their hands clashed three times in rapid succession. The Wooden Sword dropped once more. Shen Rou lunged her scabbard to intercept it, only for Long Xielan to deliver a sharp palm strike, knocking Shen Rou’s hand aside and displacing the scabbard. Seeing the blade fall beyond reach, Shen Rou could only kick it back upwards with her toe.

They landed separately on the Plum Blossom Piles as the Wooden Sword still spun through the air.

The situation shifted again. Though weaponless, Long Xielan now held the advantage. Despite possessing the scabbard, Shen Rou would struggle to seize the sword while simultaneously defending against Long Xielan’s interference. But the descending blade offered little time for deliberation; it was plummeting towards them once more.

This marked the sword’s third descent. Determination hardened in Shen Rou’s heart. This time, she would secure it, even if it cost her injury. She launched herself upwards again.

Predictably, Long Xielan met her ascent, determined to block her path to the prize. This time, Long Xielan struck out with both palms wide open, aiming squarely for Shen Rou’s shoulders. Shen Rou gripped her scabbard with her right hand, leaving only her left hand free for defense. Making a clean catch seemed as difficult as scaling the heavens. Yet, resolve burning within her, Shen Rou reached out her left hand. Instead of directly catching the sword, she directed her Softened Finger Force towards Long Xielan’s right palm, which targeted her right shoulder – the hand holding the crucial scabbard. A hit there would doom her chance to retrieve the sword. She deliberately left herself open to Long Xielan’s left palm aimed at her left shoulder. She was prepared to trade that blow for the victory blow.

Their movements were blindingly fast. In the space of a blink, Shen Rou’s left hand successfully ensnared Long Xielan’s left palm. Simultaneously, Long Xielan’s right palm was mere inches from making contact with Shen Rou’s left shoulder.

But then, Shen Rou perceived something shocking: Long Xielan’s palms were exerting virtually no force.

This move completely blindsided Shen Rou.

Her Softened Finger Force was a renowned martial art technique in the Jianghu. Ancient poetry spoke to its principle: “How could a hundred-times reforged steel transform into suppleness wrapped around a finger?” Though Shen Rou’s method wasn’t literally forged from such steel, its technique shared the philosophy: the harder and more forceful the opponent’s attack, the greater effect the Softened Finger Force would have. In one of Shen Rou’s rare prior engagements, she had faced “Mighty God” Wu Yuan. Towering and wielding fists like sledgehammers, Wu Yuan was said to have pulverized a stone tablet over a foot thick with a single blow. Yet in their duel, he found both his powerful fists utterly entrapped by Shen Rou’s seemingly delicate, tender hands. For three grueling hours, he struggled in vain to break free, exhausting himself to the point of vomiting blood, his knuckles shattered and his Internal Energy grievously depleted.

Emperor of Earth Qin Tangguan once described Shen Rou’s hands this way: once they ensnare a person, it’s like being trapped in quicksand—the more you struggle, the deeper you sink; the more rigid you resist, the faster you sink. He would rather be coiled by a giant python than be ensnared by such a pair of hands. This alone testified to the dreadfulness of Shen Rou’s hands.

Yet at this moment, the palm strike Long Xielan sent forth carried no strength at all, as gentle as a spring breeze carrying willow catkins. What exactly was her aim? Had she, like that man of immense strength Wu Yuan, exhausted all her energy?

Impossible.

In a typical life-and-death duel, launching such a feeble strike would be suicidal. An enemy sensing no force in a palm would immediately seize or snap it. However, Long Xielan’s opponent was Shen Rou, and Shen Rou was employing the extremely bizarre Softened Finger Force. Thus, the situation differed greatly.

Shen Rou’s Softened Finger Force was solely meant to entangle the opponent, devoid of rigid power that could shatter bones. If someone struggled violently upon being ensnared, Shen Rou would transform that external force to injure them—essentially, the trapped person broke their own bones with their brute strength, as Wu Yuan had done. It wasn’t caused by Shen Rou herself.

Yet currently, Long Xielan’s palm held no force whatsoever. The moment Shen Rou’s five fingers wrapped around Long Xielan’s hand, she felt no resistance—it was like grasping a dead loach; the harder you squeezed, the more it slipped out between your fingers. This scenario was identical, except Long Xielan’s hand wasn’t sliding down, but sliding upward.

Shen Rou was greatly startled. She knew something was wrong, but the change was too swift. Long Xielan’s forearm slid past her Softened Finger Force in an instant, shooting straight toward her face. It was only then that Long Xielan summoned her Internal Energy and extended two fingers—executing the “Two Dragons Snatch the Pearl” technique—thrusting directly at Shen Rou’s eyes.

When others used this technique, they usually first shattered the opponent’s defense with brute force before making the finger thrust. Long Xielan did the exact opposite: she used no force initially to dissolve the opposing Softened Finger Force, before suddenly channeling power for the killing blow.

Consequently, Shen Rou could no longer attend to both matters—nor was it possible. To smoothly sheath her wooden sword required her eyes; she couldn’t close them and rely on blind luck. If Long Xielan had attacked her eyes from the outset, Shen Rou would have neutralized it by other means before catching the sword. But now, it was too late.

In this critical juncture, Shen Rou’s only option was to protect her eyes first. She violently jerked her head backward and performed a backward somersault, spinning her body full circle atop the Plum Blossom Piles before landing firmly, barely evading the strike.

But before Shen Rou’s body fully settled, she felt her hand suddenly lighten—the scabbard had been swiftly snatched by Long Xielan. Long Xielan then lifted it upward, catching the wooden sword with practiced ease and sheathing it perfectly.

This skirmish happened with the swiftness of a crouching hare taking flight or a hawk swooping down for its prey—twists and turns defying belief. Both warriors pushed their mental acuity and adaptability to the absolute limit, their maneuvers so intricate they seemed almost superhuman.

Only after the two women had stood steady back on the Plum Blossom Piles for a long while did the surrounding heroes erupt into thunderous applause. Everyone had witnessed the fight clearly, yet still struggled to fully comprehend it. Every move seemed pregnant with profound purpose and lethal follow-up, but trying to analyze one moment risked forgetting the next. So, they gave up trying and simply cheered.

Many harbored the same thought: witnessing such a duel in one’s lifetime rendered all their years traversing the Jianghu worthwhile.

Shen Rou had naturally lost, but her expression remained impassive. She understood perfectly well that her opponent’s victory involved a huge gamble: betting that after her palm thrusts, Shen Rou would rely on Softened Finger Force to counter. Had Shen Rou changed tactics, she could have shattered Long Xielan’s wrist and won instead.

This revealed that not only was Long Xielan exceptionally cunning—her audacity was immense too.

But even though she won, Long Xielan felt little joy. She knew she had acted out of necessity, gambling on a conviction. Had Shen Rou not used the Softened Finger Force, Long Xielan would have been injured while suffering a humiliating defeat.

Happily, she had gambled correctly.

She had won the gamble.

Despite winning this round, Long Xielan felt extremely drained. She couldn’t help feeling profound concern for the future. The Red Lotus Sect had strategists like Shen Rou; facing enemies hereafter would demand extreme caution without the slightest lapse.

She and Shen Rou had met once before without fighting. Both were much younger then. Recalling that time, Long Xielan felt Shen Rou hadn’t possessed such profound guile back then. Who could have foreseen that over a dozen fleeting years, she had transformed so completely? The thought filled Long Xielan with worry.

Shen Rou didn’t dwell on any of this. She had lost and accepted it plainly, her expression unchanging as she stated simply, “This round, you win.”

Long Xielan replied, “Sister Shen merely went easy on me. There’s nothing to boast about.” Having said this, she drew out the wooden sword and tossed it back to Shen Rou.

Both women leaped down from the Plum Blossom Piles and returned to their respective groups simultaneously.

The Four Great Clans’ contingent was electrified. Even Wan Chongshan applauded and cheered, “What superb skill, Madam! That should take the Red Lotus Sect’s arrogance down a notch.”

Du Qianlong was overjoyed: “The Twin Dragon Fort lives up to its name—where one dragon fails, the other prevails. For this last match, Brother Wan, we watch you.” He expressed no resentment over Long Xielan outshining him; their bond was deep, their affection so profound they were truly like one person.

Wan Chongshan declared, “For the final duel, I suspect the Red Lotus Sect will either dispatch Xue Wuhen or send their Cult Leader that arrogant girl herself. Regardless of who it is, I, Wan, possess full confidence in securing a victory.”