Chapter 121: Chapter 121
“You’re asking for it!”
Before the words had fully landed —
Shen Xiuhan erupted forward. His right leg shot out like a spear from its rack, trailing a low, vicious whistle, driving straight for Luo Wancheng’s face.
Thirty-Six Paths of Sky-Collapsing Legs — Piercing-Spear Leg!
FWOOSH!
The kick came like an irresistible force, leg-wind kicking up a spray of dirt.
Luo Wancheng’s pupils shrank. Too slow to dodge, he could only throw both arms across his chest in a desperate guard.
Coiled Silk, Gentle Cloud Hand!
This Luo clan heirloom was a superior art specializing in seizing, grappling, locking, pinching, and tearing — a method built on cunning, yielding force. Its one weakness: it was never meant for head-on blocking.
BANG!
Leg met arms.
A muffled, meaty impact — like a sledgehammer hitting worn leather.
Luo Wancheng felt as though a charging horse had slammed into both arms. A torrent of overwhelming force crashed through him like a landslide.
Searing pain, shot through with numbing cold, bored into his marrow — spreading from forearm to shoulder blade, then flooding into heart and lungs.
STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!
Luo Wancheng staggered back, each step punching a divot in the earth. He stamped down hard to anchor his base, chest heaving with roiling qi-blood.
‘What terrifying leg-power!’
Luo Wancheng sucked in a breath, his eyes narrowing to viper-slits as they locked onto the youth before him. Alarms screamed in his head, but his mouth roared defiance.
“Who the hell are you? How dare you meddle in Luo clan business!”
At the same time —
Shen Xiuhan had already ridden the recoil to glide back, landing like a roc spreading its wings between the two girls.
He answered without inflection.
“A nobody. Stopping you… is simply my duty.”
“Good… good, good…”
Luo Wancheng laughed in fury, a dangerous glint surfacing in his eyes.
“Don’t know your own place, do you? Today I’ll make a cripple of you!”
BOOM!
The words were still in the air.
The ground beneath Luo Wancheng detonated. Two footprints sank three inches deep. He launched himself forward like a tiger pouncing on prey.
His left hand curled — index finger hooked inward, thumb pressed to the palm, the remaining four fingers pressed flat like a blade’s edge, tips leading.
Tendons in his arm locked tight, force channeled to the fingertips. From inside his sleeve came the sharp POP of compressed air bursting.
A venomous hand-blade — a viper’s tongue, fast and vicious — sliced for the pulse-point at the side of Shen Xiuhan’s throat.
Shen Xiuhan’s gaze turned cold. He didn’t retreat — he advanced.
Both legs sank into a deep crouch, qi-blood flooding his feet. The great dragon of his spine undulated, vertebrae popping in a chain of detonations — PAP PAP PAP — like bamboo joints splitting.
He rocketed off the ground, both legs transformed into precision steel whips, lashing down from the air in a storm of overlapping afterimages.
PAP PAP PAP!
In barely three breaths —
Force-wind buffeted the grove. The crash of fist and foot rang in rapid-fire bursts.
They exchanged eight moves in succession.
Every collision kicked up a gust that shook the surrounding saplings and sent leaves whirling.
But Shen Xiuhan was clearly the stronger.
Cultivation, technique, experience — he outclassed Luo Wancheng across the board.
Luo Wancheng felt his chest tighten, qi-blood churning, throat tasting sweet. He was driven back again and again.
Face mottled with fury, he bellowed, tendons and sinew knotting across both arms. He abandoned finesse, balled his hands into fists, and hurled himself forward in a suicidal counter-charge.
Shen Xiuhan snorted coldly.
This Luo Wancheng was Sinew Tempering, same as him — but his real combat ability was leagues apart.
Never mind the body-hardening art, the movement skill, the Void-Gazing Eye, the sword gleam — his full deck of hidden cards.
With bare fists and feet alone, Shen Xiuhan could suppress him with ease.
He retracted the kick, shifted to a claw mid-air, five iron-hook fingers curling with a razor screech as they tore downward.
Heavenly Vulture Twisting-Wind Hand!
FWOOSH!
Fist met claw.
Shen Xiuhan’s five fingers snaked inward, coiling into his palm with eerie fluidity.
Then, with the knuckle-ridge of his fingers, he tapped — lightly — against Luo Wancheng’s wrist joint.
SNAP… CRACK!
A crisp sound rang out.
“AGHH!”
Luo Wancheng’s wrist exploded in agony. He shrieked, horror flooding his eyes, and tumbled backward in a graceless retreat.
SWISH!
He dropped to one knee, plowing a deep furrow in the dirt before skidding to a halt.
His left wrist spasmed uncontrollably.
Fingers wouldn’t open. Wouldn’t close.
Luo Wancheng clenched his teeth, hid the hand in his sleeve, and cold sweat the size of beans rolled down his brow.
But he couldn’t be bothered to wipe it away. His frightened stare was locked on the blue-robed youth.
‘He…’
‘He held back just now?’
‘Otherwise, my left hand would already be ruined!’
Shock and fear aside —
A tidal wave of disbelief crashed through Luo Wancheng’s mind.
‘But… how is this possible?’
‘I’m direct-line Luo — raised on medicinal baths since childhood. My Coiled Silk, Gentle Cloud Hand and Jade-Shattering Fist are both well into Initial Mastery. My cultivation has reached Sinew Tempering with the Surge Vessel open!’
‘This kid is so young. His technique looks similar to the Heavenly Dark Eagle Force from the inner-city Mei Hall…’
‘That’s it — I’ve heard the Ji clan recruited a Mei Hall disciple. This must be him. But since when could the Heavenly Dark Eagle Force pack this kind of punch?’
Luo Wancheng ground his teeth. Jealousy surged, and killing intent seeped through unbidden.
‘It doesn’t matter. This one cannot be left alive!’
‘When the family moves against the Ji clan’s trading houses and shipping fleet, this little bastard will become a mortal threat!’
‘I need to find an opportunity — kill him during the feast!’
He was still turning the thought when footsteps sounded behind him.
Then a woman’s voice, tinged with mild puzzlement.
“Junior Brother Shen… what’s going on here?”
Luo Wancheng, skittish as a startled bird, whipped his head around, eyes wary.
Shen Xiuhan looked up as well.
At the bend of a nearby path, four figures had appeared at some point.
And Shen Xiuhan recognized all four.
In the lead — bold-featured and bright-eyed — was Xiao Wu, a long saber at his hip, martial attire crisp. Gallant as ever.
At his side walked his younger brother, Xiao Wen.
The other two were Luo Tangyin and Ding Qing.
Luo Tangyin wore a flowing gown, white silk sash at her waist, hair cascading like a waterfall. Her beauty was cold and ethereal — a fairy stepped from a painting.
Ding Qing was dressed in a narrow-sleeved martial outfit, a cowhide whip coiled at her waist. Clean. Efficient.
It was she who had spoken.
Ding Qing had been puzzled at first. But taking in the carpet of crushed leaves, the gouged earth, and the taut, blade-drawn atmosphere, she sensed trouble at once.
She glanced instinctively at Luo Tangyin.
Luo Tangyin said nothing.
Her lovely eyes paused on the hand Luo Wancheng was hiding in his sleeve.
Then they moved past him and settled on Shen Xiuhan. A flicker of barely visible surprise crossed their depths.
After a beat, her red lips parted. Her voice was cool as a spring.
“Third Brother — what is this?”
Luo Wancheng shook out his numb left arm, forced a show of nonchalance, and grunted.
“It’s nothing, Elder Sister. Just a friendly ‘sparring match.'”
He turned, fixed Shen Xiuhan with a venomous glare — sharp as a blade — then flung his long sleeve and stalked off.
“Let’s go!”
His lackeys scrambled to surround him, and the pack disappeared into the trees.
Once they were gone, Xiao Wu stepped forward.
His brow creased. He leaned close to Shen Xiuhan and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Brother Shen, that one has a heart as narrow as a ditch. He holds every grudge. He’ll come for you… Would you like me to kill him for you?”