"Rat-tat-tat-tat!"
In a flash, bullets poured from the barrel.
Spent shell casings clattered to the ground amid dazzling flashes of muzzle fire.
A bloody hue clouded Lian Youming's pupils. He could see the man clearly now, recognizing the faintly familiar face.
This mysterious master was indeed the renegade of the Xingyi Sect.
At almost the exact same instant, the youth saw Lian Youming's face, yet showed no trace of recognition. It was as if, once his killing intent was stoked, his mind harbored nothing else; with every rise and fall of his strikes, blood had to be drawn.
In the blink of an eye, a sinister malice welled in the youth's eyes, and his killing intent flared even hotter. His hands shifted techniques in rapid succession, twisting, clawing, and grappling, until Lian Youming's vision was overwhelmed by a flurry of claw shadows, making it impossible to tell what was real from what was feigned.
Even more chilling was that, behind the blinding blur of claws, the youth used his shifting leaps and bounds to weave unpredictably from left to right, bounding up and pouncing down, kicking off the walls to propel himself. Like a ghost, he evaded the incoming barrage of bullets.
Fast.
He was far too fast.
Lian Youming's eyes went wide, his index finger clamped down hard on the trigger. He was aiming squarely at the man's chest, yet every bullet fired missed in an uncanny fashion, discharging uselessly against the stone wall and kicking up a spray of sparks behind the attacker.
It was as if the man possessed clairvoyance, anticipating the exact trajectory of every round.
Sweat beaded across Lian Youming's forehead. Only when the man drew closer, his face fully illuminated by the muzzle flashes, did Lian Youming realize with horror that the youth had been staring fixedly at his right hand holding the gun.
No.
More precisely, he had been watching the wrist of his right hand.
Lian Youming's thoughts raced, and he understood immediately. Every time he shifted his aim, his wrist moved first. Could this man be anticipating the muzzle's path from those subtle twitches?
From the moment the thought formed to when he redirected his barrel was merely an instant, yet his opponent could observe and react ahead of time.
Forcing down the shock in his chest, Lian Youming gave his wrist a slight flick to the right as if testing the theory. It was a miniscule motion, practically imperceptible to an ordinary observer. Yet at that tiny, almost negligible movement, the moment the thought arose, the youth had already reacted, slipping to the side just as a bullet grazed past.
Across a distance of just a few paces, from afar it looked as though the submachine gun's bullets were chasing the youth.
Yet they missed by mere inches every time.
Lian Youming also noticed that the closer the two drew, the more effortless the youth seemed. When they had been farther apart, the youth had actually been grazed by bullets several times in close calls.
Here he came.
It all happened in a flash.
Lian Youming's thoughts were like lightning, rising and falling in the blink of an eye. Yet before him, a right hand forged like hardened steel was already piercing through the streaking muzzle fire, carrying boundless killing intent as it clamped down toward the crown of his skull.
Dammit.
After that brief moment of terror, a surge of fierce fury welled up within Lian Youming.
*He wants to yank me out like a roadside weed?*
*Click!*
Right then, the spitting tongue of flame abruptly died.
He was out of ammunition.
Gritting his teeth, the veins and bones bulging on his tense hands, Lian Youming glared at the hideous, sinister face flickering in the dim light. Clamping down on the Type 56, he thrust the bayonet forward toward that massive hand without hesitation.
Thrusting the bayonet, Lian Youming braced his legs to steady his footing while raising the buttstock, poised to smash it home.
Who would have guessed that midway through the thrust, the space before him suddenly emptied? The figure twisted his torso as if shifting through thin air, slipping to the side. The youth's great hand clenched quietly, turning from claw to fist, and came crashing down from midair.
Lian Youming's heart skipped a beat. Twisting his upper body, he only had time to wrench the rifle back across his chest to block.
Immediately following came...
*Bang!*
Shadows crossed, the flash flared, and an explosive crack tore into Lian Youming's ears.
Instantly feeling weightless, he was sent flying backward. The Type 56 in his grip snapped in half at the center, scattering fragments everywhere.
The youth gave a cold, sinister grin. The right fist he had just hurled transformed back into an eagle claw to press the attack. Sprinting forward with fierce strides, he clearly intended to butcher Lian Youming on the spot.
Yet as his killing intent surged, a slender, fair hand swept across the air to intercept, sweeping upward with a single arm to pull the youth's lethal strike before herself.
Gong Wu'er's expression remained as calm as before, though a streak of fresh blood stained the pale corner of her mouth.
As for Lian Youming, he tumbled and rolled five or six paces away, covered in dirt. Without a sound, he remained sprawled on the ground.
After a long while, having swallowed down a mouthful of rebellious blood with immense difficulty, he caught his breath. He first glanced at the two figures locked in combat, then looked over at Qin Yuhu lying not far away.
Feeling Qin Yuhu's faint, shallow breathing, the tight knot in Lian Youming's chest loosened considerably.
At least he was alive.
Yet by the flickering light, he could see that Qin Yuhu's injuries were far more horrific than imagined. The lower half of his right arm below the elbow was gone, leaving jagged, pale bone exposed.
Only now did an indescribable, massive agony surge through Lian Youming's body as a delayed shock, turning his entire face bright red and sending tremors through his limbs.
Under the dancing, leaping flames, the two figures were already locked in a breathtaking, life-and-death clash.
Gong Wu'er held the fingers of both hands tightly pressed together in the shape of an ox tongue. Her footwork appeared leisurely, yet each step rose barely an inch from the ground before gliding forward. Her movements were light, utterly soundless, darting between light and shadow like a swimming dragon.
Watching intently, Lian Youming's gaze swept over the two palms of this Gong family descendant. Her palms were curled slightly inward, appearing calm and gentle. Yet as she pushed and maneuvered her palms, visible ripples churned under her high-collared sweater. Wherever the ripples passed, sinews and bones tightened, revealing an extraordinarily wondrous flow of muscle and internal family methods.
The devilish youth, on the other hand, was frenzied and sinister. Both of his hands were curled into hollow fists, and his breath tore from his throat like the roar of a bull. Facing that pair of soundless flesh palms, he chose the most direct and blunt response.
Using offense as defense.
The youth's arms punched out and snapped back in straight lines. As they extended and retracted, whether from the sharp fist wind piercing the air or the shaking of his garments, they produced a rapid succession of shrieks like arrows leaving a bowstring.
It was astonishing.
Lian Youming's eyes narrowed slightly. In his vision, the man's body tightened and relaxed like an archer notching an arrow. His spine surged; his body was a great bow, and his clenched fists were the arrows. A single retraction and release was the drawing and loosing of the bowstring.
Fist shadows flew about, entirely unlike the street brawls Lian Youming had seen among ruffians. In ordinary fights, people always swung their arms wide to strike. But this man bent his arms and raised his elbows only as high as his armpits to reach full power, and when he threw a punch, it drove forward like an arrow piercing the heart.
Overbearing, chaotic.
Fist wind split the air, cloth cracked, and the flurry of strikes came like a howling tempest, blindingly fast.
Ordinary people would struggle to generate any power from such tight movements, yet this man was unstoppable, forging ahead with unyielding momentum.
Along with his tyrannical fist momentum, the youth's footwork was equally strange. In attack, he took only half-steps, yet his pace was remarkably swift, matching the frenzy of his two fists.
Gong Wu'er, meanwhile, relied on nimble, evasive footwork to circle left and right, continuously deflecting that peerlessly fierce fist force with her bare palms. Rather than meeting him head-on, she used the edges of her palms to parry, lift, press, or slap, guiding the two fists aside.
Yet Lian Youming held little hope for her victory.
She was clearly already injured, likely having suffered a severe setback earlier in their battle, though it was unclear whether her opponent was wounded as well.
As for Qin Yuhu, even though they had carried firearms, their role in this slaughter had probably been negligible.
The reason was simple: Qin Yuhu had no understanding of the methods used by these extraordinary persons. Furthermore, trapped in such a dark, confined environment where they knew nothing and could see nothing, some had likely lost their lives in an instant before they could even react.
The first corpse at the entrance was probably a lookout stationed outside who had rushed in after hearing the commotion below, only to perish just as senselessly as the others before him.
Among them, perhaps only Qin Yuhu had managed to react in time, paying the price of a severed arm and severe injury.
That he was still alive was probably thanks to Gong Wu'er stepping in.
Lian Youming's gaze shifted to the submachine gun lying by Qin Yuhu's side.
Just as his thoughts raced, searching for a way to eliminate this threat, the situation in the chamber shifted.
"Let's see you block this!"
With a mad roar of laughter, the sallow-faced youth shifted his fist technique once more. His tattered Zhongshan suit billowed outward, and the sharp, overbearing fist shadows suddenly steadied in midair. Raising his right fist, his entire right arm swelled as thick as a python, pulling the sleeve taut as he brought it crashing down upon Gong Wu'er.
The fist force struck like cannon fire.
Its momentum was like a thunderclap.
Lian Youming's eyelids twitched violently. A dull, eerie vibration hummed in his ears, throwing his breathing into disarray.
"Hmm?"
Gong Wu'er actually caught it.
Her single palm coiled like an agile serpent, instantly wrapping around the youth's wrist. Wrapping and entangling with her palm, she contained that extraordinary fist.
Meeting fist with palm.
Yet the moment that punch landed, the devilish youth raised his left hand, delivering another identical blow.
Incomparably tyrannical, supremely fierce and hard.
Gong Wu'er's fair cheeks grew paler still. Without a word, she sank her stance slightly and met it with her right palm.
When fist and palm collided, nothing seemed amiss between them on the surface, yet their clothes billowed frantically, and the bluestone beneath their feet fractured with a loud rumble, as if struck by a massive weight.
Fist against palm, Gong Wu'er's shoulders shook, and a visible trickle of crimson ran down from the corner of her mouth.
"Good! Impressive indeed!"
The youth gave a sinister laugh, shifting both fists into palms to press against Gong Wu'er's. Stepping forward continuously, he channeled force through his palms amid wild laughter, forcing her back step by step.
Seeing this, Lian Youming was about to pick up the submachine gun from the ground, but as the youth strode forward, Lian Youming's eyes narrowed. On the back of the youth's clothing, he caught sight of the faint imprint of a palm.
In a split second, he made a life-or-death choice. The left hand reaching halfway out fell back to his side. Lian Youming drew a deep breath, marshaling what little strength he had left.
With a low grunt, his cheeks slowly puffed out as he drew in air.
Pressing the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he swallowed the breath down through his throat, gulping it straight into his belly.
Instantly, a warm current seemed to flood through his chest and abdomen, stimulating his numb limbs.
"Die!"
Xue Hen's face twisted with malice, the veins on the back of his hands bulging and pulsing outward.
Gong Wu'er could no longer hold out. Her body swayed, seemingly at the end of her rope.
Just as Gong Wu'er was cornered with nowhere left to retreat, a sound other than their own suddenly broke out in the dead, hollow chamber.
*Croak, croak!*
Two faint, yet spine-chilling croaks of a toad abruptly sounded at this critical juncture.
The wild laughter on Xue Hen's face froze, turning even more ferocious, because the croaks had come from directly behind him.
A figure rose from the earth like a black dragon rolling over. Raising his right arm and closing the distance in rapid strides, Lian Youming smashed it down with all his might.
Lian Youming's eyes nearly split at the corners. Spurred by intense killing intent, the fists of the Old Man Who Guards the Mountain inexplicably surfaced in his mind. Clenching the five fingers of his right hand, he formed a fist like a hammer. Quietly summoning his silk-reeling force, his entire right arm instantly snapped taut, crashing down upon the youth's back—striking squarely upon that palm print.
*Whack!*
As the blow landed, Lian Youming saw the fabric on the man's back twist in a spiral, as though wrung and torn by an invisible force.
*Ugh!*
In Gong Wu'er's eyes, Xue Hen's Adam's apple bobbed, and his sallow, bronze, thunder-god-like face flushed with an abnormal crimson tide, as if he were straining to hold something back.
The tide had turned, and with this golden opportunity before her, how could she let it slip?
Tongue bursting like spring thunder, she cried out fiercely, "Die!"
As the shout struck his ears, Xue Hen knitted his brows, and a burst of scalding vapor shot from between his lips and teeth, trailing an arrow of blood.
His eyes were bloodshot. Whether from shock, fury, sorrow, or delight, his expression was bizarre and feral. With a raspy, strange laugh, he gasped, "Taiji hammer? Silk-reeling force! Hahaha, splendid!"
Blood soaked his collar.
As Xue Hen's breath broke, Gong Wu'er felt the force pressing against her palms recede like an ebbing tide. Seizing the moment, she stepped forward instead of retreating. Lunging forward with slightly bent knees, her two bare palms drove straight in, thrusting upward like the White Ape Presents Fruit to catch Xue Hen beneath the chin.
With a muffled grunt, Xue Hen's head snapped back. Flipping backward, he was sent flying through the air, yet his eyes fixed with a predatory glint upon Lian Youming, who had tumbled to the side.
He wanted a clear look at this person.
At that moment, their gazes met. Xue Hen finally recognized the youth he had crossed paths with once before. A rare, strange look flickered in his eyes, filled with both shock and curiosity, deeply peculiar.
Who could have thought that in just a few months, this youth had obtained the true teachings of the Taiji School and could even launch a sneak attack to such devastating effect?
It was certainly impossible for Lian Youming to have wounded him outright, but that punch had caused his suppressed injuries to erupt instantly. With a formidable foe like Gong Wu'er at his side, it had completely turned the tide of battle.
"Good!"
The hoarse voice sounded like praise, yet also like a sigh—a lament over the unpredictability of life, so beyond imagination, shifting like wind and clouds to bring vastly different destinies crashing into one another.
Lian Youming had no intention of giving him a moment's respite. The instant the blow landed, he rolled to the side and scooped up the submachine gun from the ground.
Watching Xue Hen's retreating form, Lian Youming dropped to his side and pulled the trigger almost instantly.
"Rat-tat-tat-tat!"
Gunfire erupted once more.
Yet unexpectedly, using the momentum of his fall, Xue Hen pushed off with both hands, tumbling and rolling as swiftly as a startled hare, slipping around the corner of the entrance under the hail of bullets.
Seeing this, Lian Youming slowly lowered the muzzle.
This man was simply too formidable.
After what seemed like careful deliberation, Lian Youming called out softly, "Leave your name."
Knowing his chance of victory was gone, Xue Hen had intended to flee immediately. But upon hearing the youthful voice behind him, his steps halted abruptly. His cheek twitched; neither laughing nor furious, he replied in a rather calm tone, yet one that seemed to suppress heavenly thunder and earthly fire beneath the surface: "Xue Hen!"
As the word *Hen* left his lips, it sounded like the shriek of a vengeful ghost.
"Heheh... Hahaha... Interesting... fascinating... Good!"
In the next instant, the man let out a string of wild laughs like a jackal, then strode away.
In this era, the times had changed. Martial artists were rarely seen, and true teachings were few. Yet fortunately, it was still thrilling, still filled with people singing passionate anthems, still possessing successors, and never lacking foes or rivals.
The predecessors remained, and the newcomers had arrived.
The jianghu was not distant, and the martial path was never lonely!
Chapter 19