Chapter 123: Chapter 123

On the other side, beneath the platform.

Shen Xiuhan shouldered through the crowd to Shen Huai’s side.

Shen Huai’s shirtfront was soaked crimson. Blood-foam bubbled continuously from his mouth. His face was the color of old parchment. He couldn’t speak.

Every Mei Hall disciple wore a look of deep concern.

Jiang Qinghong knelt with a furrowed brow, produced a heart-protecting pill, and pressed it between Shen Huai’s lips to stabilize him.

In the next breath, two figures appeared before them — Mei Shuangfeng and Ji Shuying, landing as though from thin air.

Without a word, Mei Shuangfeng dropped to one knee, pressed two fingers together, and struck a rapid sequence of major acupoints across Shen Huai’s chest.

The penetrating force sealed the points. Shen Huai’s ragged breathing steadied at once, and the bleeding slowed.

“Four ribs broken. Sternum cracked.”

Mei Shuangfeng straightened, her expression easing slightly. A note of relief entered her voice.

“Fortunately, no organ damage. A dose of the hall’s great pill plus an external bone-setting salve, and two or three months of bed rest will have him back on his feet.”

Around her, the disciples who had been holding their breath let it go in a collective rush.

Jiang Qinghong called two outer-court disciples over and had them carry Shen Huai back to the hall.

Satisfied that Shen Huai was out of danger, Shen Xiuhan took his leave.

They were acquaintances more than close friends, but the bond of fellow disciples was real enough.

Behind him, Mei Shuangfeng and Ji Shuying watched his retreating figure.

“Shuang-jun…”

Ji Shuying dropped her voice, disbelief still coloring her tone.

“You’re saying that method… truly uses the Mei Mountain mental cultivation as its base, yet carves an entirely new path — one that leads straight to Astral Strength?”

“Correct.”

Mei Shuangfeng gave a slow nod.

“I’ve turned it over in my mind for days. I cannot be mistaken. The vision of that Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art — its ambition, the subtlety of its force-circulation — far surpasses the Mei Mountain transmission.”

“Then where does it come from…?”

“Don’t ask.”

Mei Shuangfeng raised a hand.

“A martial artist’s fortunes are his own. If Xiuhan won’t say, he has his reasons. As his elders, we needn’t dig. If he wants to tell me, he will.”

Ji Shuying fell silent, then nodded, letting the matter rest.

After a pause, she changed the subject entirely, her tone turning serious.

“Shuang-jun — what are your chances of breaking through to Refine Qi?”

Transforming Strength comprised three refinements: refine qi, refine essence, refine spirit.

To refine qi was to convert the force stored in the nine Hidden Strength apertures into qi.

Like mist, like cloud — gathered and released at will.

The transformation in combat power was nothing short of a rebirth.

Mei Shuangfeng was quiet for a moment.

“Give me a month to regulate my breathing… sixty percent, I’d say.”

“Sixty percent…”

Ji Shuying’s brow creased. Then her hand slipped into her sleeve and drew out a small porcelain vial. She held it out.

“This is…?”

Mei Shuangfeng blinked, her gaze falling on the vial.

Ji Shuying took a deep breath, enunciating every word.

“A Five-Primes Qi-Refining Pill.”

Mei Shuangfeng’s pupils shrank. Astonishment flickered through her eyes.

“The Transforming Strength secret pill from the Five-Primes Sect… in the imperial capital Linzi?”

“The very one.”

Ji Shuying nodded, her gaze sincere and open.

“This pill was a featured lot at the Linzi Treasure Auction ten-odd days ago. The Five-Primes Sect offered a single vial. It was won by Qiu Shengjun, the Suppression-South General of the Autumn-Kill Army. Our trading house purchased one pill from her at a premium.”

“I’m still a year or two from Hidden Strength Perfection myself. The pill would sit idle with me — better it goes to you first.”

Mei Shuangfeng held her gaze. Her expression gradually softened. She didn’t waste time on false modesty. She accepted the vial and tucked it into her robe.

“Good. With this pill… eighty percent. I’d say eighty percent.”

…

The last of the evening light.

The dying sun bled crimson across the vast surface of Yunshui Lake.

Shen Xiuhan stood at the platform’s edge, committing the fighting styles of several strong Manifest Strength contenders to memory. Then he turned to leave.

As for the Hidden Strength bracket… he had only glanced that way twice.

Because one man had already seized all the attention.

Xiao Wu.

On the feast’s opening day, he had fought with earth-shaking ferocity.

Two consecutive Hidden Strength opponents — both fighters of some repute — and he had crushed them both.

When word spread that Xiao Wu had risen from the lowest rung of the outer city — a quarry laborer — to where he stood today…

The entire lakeside erupted.

Spectators marveled without end.

Even the son of the Zhendong General — Wang Xuanyang — had been upstaged.

Shen Xiuhan caught a glimpse of the aftermath as he left.

Wang Xuanyang, far from jealous at being overshadowed, had personally gone to befriend Xiao Wu — offering to book an entire restaurant for a night of drinking.

Xiao Wu, generous and easy-going by nature, accepted without hesitation.

Shen Xiuhan had no time to linger. He went home, conserved his energy, and waited for tomorrow’s bouts.

The night passed without incident.

Day forty-one since Chenjian Wu’s Ninth Chief Tu Xiaotian lost his eyes.

Early afternoon. The gongs and drums of the fighting ring thundered again.

Shen Xiuhan’s bracket number was near the front. His name was called almost at once.

“Group Thirteen, second bout: Mei Hall disciple Shen Xiuhan versus Liu Shan of Changyun’s Huichun Hall. Fight!”

The moment the announcement rang out, the Mei Hall contingent on the hillside erupted.

“It’s Senior Brother Shen!”

“Senior Brother Shen’s up!”

“Junior Brother — show them what Mei Hall is made of!”

Xu Chuan had the loudest voice of all, hands cupped around his mouth, face beet-red from shouting.

The Huichun Hall side gave as good as they got, their men bellowing in chorus.

“Liu the guard — crush him!”

“Show that kid what our Huichun Hall Iron Sand Palm can do!”

Amid the dueling cheers, Shen Xiuhan walked onto the platform with measured steps.

Across from him, a man built like an iron tower vaulted up.

Broad-backed and bear-waisted, bare above the waist, every inch padded with slabs of muscle. Arms as thick as thighs. A tuft of black hair on his chest. He looked for all the world like a black bear reared onto its hind legs.

THUD!

His landing shook the full-zhang-high platform. The boards groaned. Even the apricot-yellow banners at the four corners swayed.

Liu Shan gave a satisfied HEH, clearly pleased with the effect. He sized up Shen Xiuhan’s lean frame, and a dismissive glint entered his eye. He offered a perfunctory fist-salute.

“Huichun Hall — Liu Shan!”

“Mei Hall — Shen Xiuhan.”

Wang Youjun, seeing both sides salute, called out flatly. “Fight!”

BOOM!

The instant the word fell —

Shen Xiuhan’s foot slammed down. His figure blurred into a blue afterimage, launched from the spot like an arrow off the string.

Fast.

Terrifyingly fast.

Liu Shan’s leer hadn’t even faded before his pupils contracted to pinpoints.

All he saw was a fist, expanding in his vision at impossible speed.

Nowhere to dodge.

BANG!

A muffled, meaty impact — like a hammer hitting wet clay.

Liu Shan’s broad face warped. His nose crunched sideways. Several bloodied white teeth shot from his mouth, pattering onto the boards.

Blood poured from nostrils and lips alike.

Shen Xiuhan’s expression was cold, unruffled.

He had deliberately held back seventy percent of his force.

At fifty percent, Liu Shan would already be unconscious on the floor.

Seeing Liu Shan reel, feet stumbling, Shen Xiuhan shifted from fist to open palm. Both hands cupped upward as though lifting a massive cauldron, ten fingers locking beneath Liu Shan’s jaw on either side. He heaved.

Liu Shan’s two-hundred-jin bulk left the ground like a blade of grass.

Thirty-Six Paths of Sky-Collapsing Legs — Rising Dragon Kick!

Shen Xiuhan kicked from a standing start.

His right leg rose like a dragon lifting its head. Calf snapped straight, instep locked tight — and the kick landed flush on Liu Shan’s midsection.

BANG!

Liu Shan… went airborne.

He traced an arc through the sky, sailing clean over the packed crowd below. Under hundreds of stunned gazes, he flew dozens of zhang —

SPLASH!

— and crashed into the muddy shallows, sending a great fan of muck into the air.

SHUNK!

He sprayed blood, face-up, and raised his head with effort to stare at the youth standing on the platform — hands clasped behind his back, blue robe unmarked. The arrogance was gone from his eyes. Only the echo of terror remained.

He had felt it clearly — a savage, overpowering force that, the instant it connected, had been pulled back.

Had it not been… his organs would have burst. He’d be dead.

Liu Shan clutched his chest, coughing out broken words.

“Th… thank you… for the mercy…”

Shen Xiuhan turned away in silence. No reply.

Behind him, Wang Youjun’s iron voice rang out.

“Mei Hall — Shen Xiuhan, victor!”