Chapter 125: Chapter 125
“Die!”
Guan Wandao’s eyes blazed with killing intent. The long saber howled like a banshee, rising like a mountain range bearing down — a cleaving overhead strike aimed straight at Shen Xiuhan’s skull.
The blade hadn’t arrived.
The force-wind was already there — a freezing edge scouring his face.
Shen Xiuhan’s forehead-hair whipped backward. The skin of his cheeks stung.
Startled Swan, Roaming Dragon!
Shen Xiuhan lowered his gaze, feet sliding as though on oiled glass. Half a step back — unhurried, unflustered — and the devastating blow sailed past.
One strike, one miss. Guan Wandao wasn’t surprised.
Riding the saber’s downward momentum, he roared, wrist turning. The blade came alive — a butterfly darting through flowers.
Steel flashed.
Cleave, hack, slash, sweep — over a dozen cuts in the space of a breath.
The Eighteen Paths of Life-Reaping Mad Saber excelled at close-quarters butchery. The style was huge and unrelenting — wave after wave, each stroke faster than the last, each one more vicious.
But Guan Wandao had another trick from the Luo family.
Yin-Returning Finger!
A method built for treachery.
Even as the blade slashed from one angle, his left hand struck from another — two fingers pressed flat like a blade — jabbing for Shen Xiuhan’s eyes and throat. Fast, vicious, lethal.
“Decent moves — pity the man using them isn’t up to the task.”
Shen Xiuhan’s gaze went sub-zero. His back arched, the great dragon of his spine rearing. The Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art cycled at full power. His sleeves ballooned as though stuffed with storm-wind.
And his hands —
Qi-blood flooded in. Five fingers curled into talons. The tendons on the backs of his hands stood out like tiny blue-green serpents. His palms flushed to a dark, bruised blue — demonic claws incarnate.
Heavenly Vulture Twisting-Wind Hand!
Guan Wandao caught sight of those blue-black talons ripping through the air toward him. His eye-corners twitched. A chill shot through his heart.
He growled, both hands tightening on the hilt. He abandoned his cut, shifted to a two-handed push — blade outward — driving at Shen Xiuhan’s arms, trying to force distance.
But in the very next instant, Guan Wandao’s face went white.
Shen Xiuhan’s right hand twisted at an impossible angle, slipping past the blade’s edge. Five fingers tapped the flat of the saber-back — lightly.
CLANG!
Guan Wandao — man and saber alike — felt as though he’d blundered into a sucking whirlpool.
That seemingly ferocious eagle-claw concealed a hidden undercurrent of yielding force, bleeding away every ounce of his saber’s power.
“TCH!”
Guan Wandao’s eyes bulged. He tried to wrench the saber free for another cut.
But a cold smile had already tugged at the corner of Shen Xiuhan’s mouth.
His left arm bent and turned, as though the bone inside had dissolved — a long snake sliding along the flat of the blade, ignoring the edge entirely, slicing straight for Guan Wandao’s exposed ribs.
“No!”
Guan Wandao’s soul nearly fled his body. Every hair stood on end.
He hauled the saber back in a frantic cross-guard at his side. At the same time, his left hand balled into a fist-seal and hammered at Shen Xiuhan’s Tiantu point in a desperate counterstrike.
Mockery flashed through Shen Xiuhan’s eyes.
“Too late.”
Below the stage, the common spectators hadn’t caught the subtleties. They saw only a blinding tangle of blade-light and claw-shadow, thrilling to the bone, and roared their approval.
But the experienced fighters in the crowd had read the exchange clearly — and their faces changed.
“It’s over!”
On the hillside, Luo Wancheng shot to his feet, face draining of color.
Beside him, a young man who bore a passing resemblance sighed, shook his head, and walked down the slope.
Up on the viewing platform —
“Good! Not bad at all!”
Zhao Zheng laughed, cutting a sidelong glance at Luo Changming.
The County Magistrate’s face was blank. He lifted his teacup and sipped, thoughts unreadable.
In the row behind, Ji Shuying leaned toward Mei Shuangfeng and murmured.
“Little Six is going to win… That claw-work carries a shadow of your own style.”
Mei Shuangfeng gave a faint nod. Her face showed nothing — but the hand she had been clenching inside her sleeve slowly, quietly, uncurled.
On the platform.
Shen Xiuhan’s five fingers formed a claw.
Light as a dragonfly alighting on water, they touched Guan Wandao’s ribs — and withdrew in the same breath.
SNAP!
A crisp pop, and force drove straight through the body.
Guan Wandao froze as though struck by lightning. His entire frame locked up.
The ribs on one side screamed with numb, bloating agony. Half his body went dead. His eyes blew wide — pupils scattering for an instant.
Between masters, a single instant decided life and death.
That one heartbeat of hesitation was enough for Shen Xiuhan to kill Guan Wandao three times over.
But he didn’t go for a killing blow.
Instead, his left hand curled into a claw, sweeping upward — locking around the elbow joint of Guan Wandao’s saber-arm.
Guan Wandao’s face went paper-white. Something like understanding — and raw terror — surged through his eyes. A scream tore from his throat.
“Wait — I surren—”
Shen Xiuhan didn’t waste a syllable. A flicker of steel-cold resolve crossed his gaze. Without the slightest hesitation, he wrenched backward.
CRACK!
“AGHHHHHH!!”
A blood-curdling snap and a shriek of agony.
Guan Wandao’s right arm was bent backward at the elbow — folded the wrong way. Bone-white shards of the joint punched through skin. Blood sprayed on the wind.
His saber hit the boards with a CLATTER.
In the next heartbeat —
Shen Xiuhan’s leg uncoiled, the great sinew booming like a loosed spring.
Thirty-Six Paths of Sky-Collapsing Legs — Thousand-Army Kick!
BANG!
A sweeping kick of devastating weight — dead-center on the ribs.
CRACK. CRACK!
A string of muffled pops — ribs snapping like dry sticks.
Guan Wandao didn’t even have time to scream. He sprayed blood and flew from the platform.
His right side had visibly caved in. Blood-foam bubbled from his mouth. His limbs twitched twice, and then he was still.
“Mei Hall — Shen Xiuhan, victor!”
BOOM!
Wang Youjun’s call detonated the crowd.
“Well struck!”
“What magnificent claw-work!”
“Justice at last! What a relief — what a goddamn relief!”
Countless spectators punched the air and cheered.
The Mei Hall disciples were beside themselves with pride.
On stage, Shen Xiuhan let out a slow breath and walked down, expressionless. He was immediately engulfed by the Mei Hall contingent, voices clamoring congratulations from every direction.
Eldest Senior Sister Jiang Qinghong had her own bouts today and couldn’t be spared.
Zuo Guangshu had departed for Bixia Mountain Estate the day before and wasn’t present.
Today’s group leader was Xu Chuan.
He had lost in the previous round to a female disciple of the Han clan.
Xiang Yunting had fallen to a Manifest Strength veteran from Changshui County.
Come to think of it…
Shen Xiuhan suddenly realized something.
The Bai family — among the Five Great Families — had sent no one to this feast.
None of the Bai clan’s three famed young masters — Bai Jing, Bai Xiu’an, Bai Fufeng — were anywhere to be seen.
He asked Xiang Yunting, who shook his head.
“Word around the city is that the Bai family’s three young masters are so gifted they don’t need the feast to break through to Hidden Strength…”
Gifted?
A blade of cold light passed through Shen Xiuhan’s eyes and vanished. He thought grimly:
‘Those beasts — gorging on human lives until they’ve hallucinated their own greatness. They think they’re freaks of nature like the Child of Destiny… Wait.’
‘The Child of Destiny!’
A bolt of inspiration struck, and a plan began to crystallize.
But before the thought could take shape, he sensed eyes on him.
‘Hm? Who?’
Shen Xiuhan’s brow twitched. He scanned left and right — and immediately spotted a figure standing several zhang away.
A young man in brocade, perhaps in his early twenties.
His features bore a seven-tenths resemblance to Luo Wancheng, but were sharper, more commanding — a natural air of imperious authority about his brow and eyes.
Hands clasped behind his back, the hint of a smile at his lips, his gaze reached across the crowd and settled squarely on Shen Xiuhan.
Xiang Yunting, at Shen Xiuhan’s side, caught sight of the man. His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to a wary murmur.
“That’s Luo Qiance.”
“His cultivation has reached Manifest Strength Perfection — all five major sinews fully opened. He’s half a step from Hidden Strength.”
“Not only has he mastered the Luo family’s ancestral arts, he’s also been accepted as a disciple of the great Southern Sea sect — the Fury-Sea School. His true depth is impossible to gauge.”
Xiang Yunting swallowed.
“Since the feast began, no one has lasted more than five moves against him.”
Shen Xiuhan regarded the young man in silence.
Through the pull of their opposing martial presences, one thing was perfectly clear —
This man had come for him.