Chapter 122: Chapter 122

Shen Xiuhan’s heart gave a jolt.

Wait —

This man was ready to just… kill someone?

Fortunately, Shen Xiuhan caught Luo Tangyin and Ding Qing approaching from the corner of his eye and answered quickly in a low voice.

“That won’t be necessary, Brother Xiao. A minor scuffle, nothing more.”

Luo Wancheng was still surnamed Luo.

As Ji Zhong had put it — a lesson was fine.

But killing the man… that would be impossible to clean up.

Xiao Wu listened, gave a single earnest nod, and spoke with frank sincerity.

“If you ever need help, use the Four Seas Heart-Link Disc. I won’t refuse.”

Shen Xiuhan pressed his lips together and clasped his fists with genuine warmth.

“Thank you, Brother Xiao.”

Xiao Wu shook his head with a grin and clapped his shoulder.

“No need for formalities. I don’t have many friends — but every man I’ve accepted as a brother, I treat in kind.”

As they spoke, Xiao Wen came over and greeted Shen Xiuhan with a respectful bow.

“Senior Brother Shen.”

Shen Xiuhan felt the qi-blood pulsing inside the boy and nodded with approval.

“Solid foundation. Not bad… You’ve reached Full Mastery of Blood Tempering?”

“Senior Brother has a sharp eye…”

Xiao Wen scratched his head, a bashful smile spreading across his face.

“Just entered Full Mastery. Still miles behind Senior Brother…”

They chatted briefly. Then Luo Tangyin and Ding Qing reached them.

The Luo clan’s eldest young lady truly was a stunning beauty — skin like condensed jade, brows like distant mountains, an air of cold, frosty elegance that made it hard to look her in the eye.

The instant she drew near, Ji Yao bristled with instinctive hostility, puffing out her chest and eyeing the newcomer with open suspicion.

Luo Tangyin didn’t so much as lift an eyelid. Without breaking stride, she called softly to Xiao Wu.

“Xiao-lang… let’s go. The feast is about to start.”

Xiao Wu acknowledged her and fell into step alongside Xiao Wen.

As they passed, Ding Qing paused for a heartbeat and whispered rapidly.

“Junior Brother — Luo Wancheng was placed in the Manifest Strength B group. If you draw him, watch yourself! That man is vicious — there’s nothing he wouldn’t stoop to.”

Without lingering, she hurried after the others.

Once Xiao Wu’s party had gone, Ji Xue finally let the tension leave her shoulders.

She raised a sleeve to dab the fine sweat at her temple, a chill of retrospective fear running through her.

Had Shen Xiuhan not been with them today, heaven only knew what would have happened to the two of them.

With that thought, Ji Xue bent at the knee in a formal curtsy, her waist dipping low.

“Thank you, Senior Brother, for stepping in to protect us. Without you here, Yao’er and I would have been… the consequences don’t bear thinking about.”

Ji Yao followed suit with a quick salute, her clear voice ringing.

“Thank you, Senior Brother!”

Shen Xiuhan waved it off.

“It was nothing. Simply my duty.”

By now the sun was climbing toward its zenith. From beyond the tree line, the deep roll of drums carried through — beat after beat.

Shen Xiuhan paused, glanced at the sky, and spoke.

“Time to go. The oath ceremony should be done — the bouts will be starting.”

He set off first, striding toward the open ground.

The Ji sisters fell in behind.

Wen Beng, ignored by everyone, shifted from foot to foot, face cycling through shades of mortification. In the end, he gritted his teeth, swallowed his pride, and trailed after them.

Somehow, he still found it in him to sidle up to Ji Xue, mouth running, trying to spin some face-saving excuse for his earlier retreat.

Neither girl so much as looked at him. He was left performing a solo act to an empty theater.

…

They emerged from the trees.

The mighty lake wind hit them full in the face.

Along the shores of Yunshui Lake, the crowd stretched in a black, heaving mass. The roar of noise had reached its peak.

Banners of every color snapped in the wind — crests of martial halls and clan houses stitched across their faces.

Up on the viewing platform, four rows of seats were full.

At the very front, four Transforming Strength masters sat steady as mountains, their combined presence deep and immovable as a still abyss. No one dared look too long.

The three rows behind held the great houses and power-brokers of Changyun and Changshui counties.

They murmured among themselves, sipped tea, and let their gazes drift to the fighting platforms from time to time.

At the stroke of early afternoon, three gong-strikes crashed across the grounds, shaking the air.

Wang Youjun — chief escort of Zhendong Escort Agency, a Hidden Strength expert — stood at the platform’s edge. His voice carried like a war-horn.

“The Longxiang Martial Feast officially begins!”

“First bout: Tu Shan of Changshui County’s Changfeng Martial Hall versus Yang Zhaoting of Changyun’s Yang clan, practitioner of Piercing-Step Fist. Fight!”

Two figures vaulted onto the stage.

Tu Shan opened with his Changfeng Palm Art in a dazzling display — palm-shadows whirling, assault fierce and relentless.

Yang Zhaoting stood rooted like bedrock, both feet seemingly fused to the boards.

With a plain, unadorned Piercing-Step Fist he held the gate, reading and countering every blow. Not a drop of water could have gotten through.

Twenty-odd exchanges in, Tu Shan’s sustained offensive had failed to break through. His breathing turned ragged, and a hairline crack appeared in his footwork.

Yang Zhaoting’s eyes flared. He neither dodged nor deflected — absorbing a feinted palm with a grunt — then drove a fist loaded with every ounce of his power into Tu Shan’s chest.

BANG!

Tu Shan sprayed blood skyward, his body flying off the stage. He hit the edge, struggled twice, and couldn’t rise.

Wang Youjun swept a dispassionate glance across the bloodied boards. His voice rang like hammered steel.

“First bout — Yang Zhaoting of Piercing-Step Fist, victor!”

In the next heartbeat, the watching crowd erupted in cheers. Whistles and shouts crashed in like the tide.

“Beautiful!”

“What a hit!”

“Worthy of Master Yang! That Piercing-Step Fist — steady as stone. Among Manifest Strength fighters, he’ll be hard to match!”

“Pa, I wanna learn Master Yang’s fist!”

A small boy on his father’s shoulders cried out, drawing a round of laughter.

At the platform’s edge, Wang Youjun paid no mind to the clamor.

Once the hands had mopped the blood and wrung out their cloths, he called out again.

“Silence!”

“Second bout: Xiang Yunting of Changyun’s Mei Hall versus Qi Hai of Changshui’s Black Wind Boxing Hall. Fight!”

Shen Xiuhan’s gaze sharpened with anticipation.

Third Senior Brother Xiang Yunting kept his composure and, to the cheers of the Mei Hall contingent, touched down lightly on the platform.

Qi Hai, on the other hand, climbed the steps with obvious apprehension.

He had clearly heard of Mei Hall’s reputation. His nerve was already half-gone before the first blow.

His fighting was stiff and guarded.

In barely seven or eight exchanges, Xiang Yunting spotted the opening — a long claw-strike darted out and locked around Qi Hai’s throat, force poised but undelivered.

Qi Hai went white as a sheet, both hands shooting up.

“I yield! I yield!”

“Second bout — Xiang Yunting of Changyun Mei Hall, victor!”

A smile tugged at the corner of Shen Xiuhan’s mouth. A measure of tension eased.

Xiang Yunting had tempered all four primary bones to Perfection. Sinew Tempering was not far off.

His Heavenly Dark Eagle Force was at Full Mastery. Short of a Manifest Strength Perfection fighter, few could beat him.

A strong opening. Xiang Yunting was buzzing with energy as he left the stage, laughing and joking with the other disciples.

But it wasn’t long before the laughter died.

“Eighth bout: Shen Huai of Changyun Mei Hall versus Guan Wandao, Chief of the County Yamen’s Robust Division. Fight!”

Guan Wandao lived up to his name — features hatchet-sharp, a long saber glinting cruelly in the sun.

Shen Huai was skilled with his claws.

But Guan Wandao was a genuine Sinew Tempering expert whose blade-work had long since been polished to an impenetrable wall.

He opened with a few probing feints, taking Shen Huai’s measure.

Then he stopped holding back.

Heavy saber sweeps, blade-wind screaming, drove Shen Huai stumbling backward.

Inside ten strokes, Shen Huai’s body was scored with fresh cuts.

Defiance burned in his eyes. He gritted his teeth and fought on.

Seeing Shen Huai dig in, Guan Wandao let out an angry roar. A diagonal chop blew Shen Huai’s guard wide open. In the same motion, the flat of his saber-spine cracked against Shen Huai’s Shenting point.

BANG!

Shen Huai’s mind went white. His eyes rolled back. His body sagged against the hemp ropes at the platform’s edge and slid down.

But Guan Wandao showed no intention of stopping.

He dropped his right shoulder, loaded it with force — like a bull charging a mountain — and rammed it into the chest of the already unconscious Shen Huai.

BANG!

Shen Huai sprayed blood as he was launched from the platform, struck the ground, rolled twice, and lay still. Whether he was alive or dead was impossible to tell.

Nearby, the Mei Hall disciples lost their minds. They swarmed forward, hands reaching from every direction to lift Shen Huai.

Some shouted his name in panic. Others whipped furious glares back at Guan Wandao on the stage.

The spectators let out a chorus of astonished gasps.

“What a fast blade!”

“No wonder he’s the yamen’s chief constable — with a man like that keeping order, the people can rest easy!”

“Chief Guan — impressive!”

In the distance, on the high ground.

Luo Wancheng watched the scene unfold. He beckoned a lackey close and murmured a few words.

The lackey nodded repeatedly and hurried off.

Before long, Guan Wandao was standing before Luo Wancheng.

“Third Young Master.”

Guan Wandao gripped his saber and saluted.

Luo Wancheng meant to return the gesture.

But his left wrist was swollen and throbbing. Unwilling to let anyone see, he settled for a curt nod, his gaze fixed on a distant figure.

“Chief Guan — how many of the five major sinews have you opened?”

Guan Wandao answered promptly.

“Reporting to the Third Young Master — this subordinate has opened four of the five sinews. Only the Yang Heel remains. I’m working toward the breakthrough.”

“Good.”

Luo Wancheng nodded in satisfaction, raised a hand, and pointed at the blue-robed figure in the distance. His eyes glinted with serpentine malice.

“See that kid?”

Guan Wandao followed the gesture.

He studied Shen Xiuhan — face, build, stance — committing every detail to memory. Then, carefully: “The Young Master’s meaning is…?”

Luo Wancheng’s eyes darkened with concentrated killing intent. He gave a cold grunt.

“Tomorrow, you’ll face him. The moment you get an opening, cripple him for me. No holding back. Dead or alive — I don’t care.”

Guan Wandao’s eyes narrowed.

He had served the yamen for years, and in that time had handled more than his share of the Luo family’s dirty work.

Killing and crippling were routine.

He looked at Shen Xiuhan’s face — offensively young — and let out a cold laugh.

“The Young Master can rest easy. This one looks green — probably never seen real blood. Just give me the details on his fighting style… tomorrow, if he falls under my blade, he’ll learn what the rivers and lakes truly mean.”

“Ha ha — good!”

Luo Wancheng chuckled darkly, beckoned Guan Wandao to lean in, and fed him every scrap of intelligence he’d gathered on Shen Xiuhan’s combat methods — word by word.