Chapter 127: Chapter 127
‘Isn’t that the divine-power scripture of Diaohailou’s Abyssal-Dark Peak? What’s it doing connected to the Fury-Sea School?’
Shen Xiuhan’s expression betrayed nothing, but inside, a storm was raging.
‘Could it be…’
‘That the Fury-Sea School and Diaohailou share some hidden history?’
Shen Xiuhan tamped down the shock and moved to the next entry.
【Intelligence 3: This Longxiang Martial Feast was personally designed and orchestrated by Zhendong General Wang Zhifan. From beginning to end, it has had a single purpose: to use the competition as a screen to identify the Child of Destiny of the Diaohailou Blessed Land!】
‘…The Zhendong General knows about Diaohailou!’
Shen Xiuhan’s pupils shrank. A bolt of ice shot to the crown of his skull. Cold sweat broke across his back.
‘Is this right?’
‘He doesn’t just know about Diaohailou — he’s privy to secrets as deep as the Child of Destiny! He even staged the entire feast to flush the Child of Destiny out!’
Shen Xiuhan’s heart hammered. His thoughts raced.
‘Xiao Wu came from nothing — a quarry laborer with no master. Yet in a shockingly short time, he broke through to Hidden Strength. He managed to stay hidden before, but now that he’s fighting in the open at the feast, he’s almost certainly been marked. No — he has definitely been marked.’
Shen Xiuhan’s gaze flickered, a chill settling in his chest.
‘Yesterday, Wang Xuanyang’s deliberate approach to befriend Xiao Wu was no coincidence. It was calculated.’
‘But what do they want?’
‘Xiao Wu is a Child of Destiny — heaven-favored, able to sense fortune and avoid peril. If the Wang family meant him harm, he’d feel it…’
‘Yet yesterday, Xiao Wu clearly sensed nothing. Does that mean the Wang family’s intentions aren’t hostile — just… something else?’
Shen Xiuhan couldn’t make sense of it. He drew a blank.
‘Enough.’
‘Whatever the Wang family is scheming, Xiao Wu has treated me with sincerity. I need to find a chance to warn him — quietly.’
He forced down the tremor in his chest, let out a slow breath, and turned to the final entry.
【Intelligence 4: The wager between Zhenyue Colonel Zhao Zheng and County Magistrate Luo Changming. On the surface, Zhao Zheng seeks to place his second son in the Fury-Sea School. In truth, he acts on Wang Zhifan’s secret orders to probe the deeper ties between the Luo clan and the Fury-Sea School.】
【Note: The Fury-Sea School was founded by descendants of Diaohailou’s Abyssal-Dark Peak!】
“Of course…”
With this final piece, several of Shen Xiuhan’s conjectures fell into place.
‘A colossus like Diaohailou — even after its fall, it was inevitable that bloodlines and legacies survived.’
‘The Fury-Sea School is one such remnant. As the inheritors of Abyssal-Dark Peak, their possession of the Abyssal Frost-Fiend Sea-Overturning True Scripture makes perfect sense.’
‘But Wang Zhifan… stationed on a distant frontier, yet still able to move pieces across the board here in Changyun County, laying stone after stone…’
‘The depth of this man’s strategy, the scope of his ambition — it beggars belief.’
‘His true target is, without question, the Diaohailou Blessed Land.’
Shen Xiuhan lifted his head.
His gaze crossed the platform and found Wang Zhidao’s figure on the viewing stand. He locked every thought away.
Meanwhile, on the platform above.
Jiang Qinghong’s offensive had noticeably slowed. Her speed and power were fading, and her breathing was starting to come apart.
Wang Xuanyang, by contrast, shed his earlier composure and planted both feet. His presence surged.
Dragon-Elephant Stance — Dragon-Form Fist!
Wang Xuanyang’s fists split the air, trailing the shrill cry of a dragon.
He drove forward, fists falling like thousand-jin hammers — high and low, a pincer assault — targeting Jiang Qinghong’s crown, eyes, throat, and heart in rapid succession.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
A drumroll of muffled impacts, flesh on flesh.
Jiang Qinghong clenched her silver teeth, crossed both arms before her, and weathered the storm head-on.
But Wang Xuanyang’s force was terrifying — each blow heavier than the last.
She felt her arms scream with pain, her whole body driven backward.
Seven or eight stumbling steps, and her leg gave. She dropped to one knee with a THUD. A thread of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and dripped onto the boards.
“Senior Sister!”
Below, the Mei Hall disciples cried out in unison.
Strike while the iron is hot — Wang Xuanyang’s footwork pivoted. Both hands traced a smooth half-circle before his body, force-wind spiraling in their wake.
Then his left arm swung up — muscles swelling like forged iron — the entire limb transforming into an elephant’s trunk, sweeping down toward the crown of Jiang Qinghong’s skull.
Dragon-Elephant Stance — Elephant-Form Fist!
FWOOSH!
Wind cut like a blade.
Jiang Qinghong’s face twisted. Instinct screamed at her to draw on her reserves — but her Taichong aperture was empty.
In the jaws of death, she didn’t think. She threw herself into a roll and launched off the platform’s edge.
SLAP!
The instant Jiang Qinghong cleared the boards —
Wang Xuanyang’s arm crashed into the rim where she’d knelt.
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
CRACK!
Three of the forearm-thick hemp ropes ringing the platform were severed clean through by the blow. Frayed ends burst in a shower of fiber.
The residual force continued downward, blasting a basin-sized chunk from the platform’s edge. Splinters flew in every direction, cracking against everything in range.
A heartbeat of dead silence swept the grounds.
Every eye bulged at the sight of that gaping hole. A collective, involuntary gasp.
“Wang Xuanyang — victor!”
“A fine match.”
Wang Xuanyang reined in his aura. His expression returned to its usual warmth. He offered a gracious salute to the crowd below, smoothed his robes, and descended at an unhurried pace.
The show of cultured, gentlemanly poise instantly set more than a few young ladies’ hearts aflutter on the stands above.
…
Exit one, enter the next.
Wang Xuanyang had barely won his bout when Ji Ning took the stage.
On the other side, Luo Tangyin likewise dispatched her opponent in crisp, decisive fashion.
Then the war-drums rolled, and Wang Youjun’s call rang out.
“Luo Qiance of the Changyun Luo clan versus Shen Xiuhan of Changyun Mei Hall!”
Below the platform.
Luo Qiance sat in a chair, surrounded by Luo clan retainers.
His eyes were half-closed, his manner languid — as though the roaring crowd existed in some other world.
Hearing his name, he swept the cloak from his shoulders, revealing the lean martial attire beneath, and extended his right hand.
Luo Wancheng understood at once, pressing a goose-quill saber into it.
“Brother… cripple that bastard for me.”
Luo Qiance took the saber one-handed, spared his brother a glance, and gave a faint nod.
Then, with a light tap of his toe, he floated onto the platform like a great bird alighting.
On the other side, Shen Xiuhan also turned.
Xu Chuan immediately stepped forward, presenting the austere sword-case.
Shen Xiuhan had brought the blade today precisely for a situation like this.
The moment was here.
“Junior Brother — watch his saber.” Xu Chuan’s voice was grave.
Shen Xiuhan nodded.
Blue robe, straight-backed as a pine, he gripped the case in one hand and mounted the wooden steps.
Luo Qiance watched the youth ascend, that enigmatic half-smile still playing on his lips.
Two zhang apart, they stood face to face.
In a flash —
The lakeside fell silent. Even the wind seemed to stop.