Who would have thought that two people who had been bitter enemies moments ago would now join hands against a common foe?
Lian Youming had not expected it.
Xie Laosan had expected it even less.
"This man is a Shaolin outcast, taught by an eminent Shaolin monk who fled overseas. Not only has he mastered the Shaolin Five-Element Fist, but he also acquired a method for the Iron Shirt, reaching great mastery of overt force. Watch out."
Hearing Xie Laosan's words, Lian Youming's eyes flickered. "Overt force?"
Xie Laosan grinned. "What, the Old Man Who Guards the Mountain never taught you how to tell Jianghu masters apart? I told you earlier to follow me, and now you're dumbfounded, eh?"
Lian Youming did not respond. Regarding the paths these martial artists walked, Yan Lingyun had also mentioned a few things: there were three methods of training.
Namely, overt force, hidden force, and neutralizing force.
These three training methods had no fixed order, nor were they rankings of cultivation realms. As for which was stronger or weaker, it depended on the depth of what one had achieved.
It came back to the old saying: victory and defeat were never decided with words, much less deduced merely by looking.
Some were full of cunning schemes, some possessed tyrannical physiques, some suffered from declining, depleted vitality, while others were sinister, deceitful, and unscrupulous. Once a life-or-death battle began, those who adhered to rules like Xue Hen and Gong Wu'er were few and far between. Timing, calculation, surroundings, adaptability, and even other external factors could all prove pivotal in determining victory or defeat.
Though that Bai Yuan had possessed impressive skill, hadn't he still capsized in a ditch?
In short—the old and weak, the young and stout, women and children, Daoists and Buddhist monks—people came and went across this Jianghu, but who was superior to whom could only be known after a fight.
And the Old Man Who Guards the Mountain had said that "silk-reeling force" was a method for training neutralizing force.
At the time, Lian Youming had thought it sounded simple, but in practice, it proved difficult.
During this time, he had come to understand many principles of boxing. In the eyes of martial artists, the human body was born rigid and clumsy; its sinews, bones, flesh, and hundred limbs were all shackles binding oneself. Just as an ordinary person went from toddling steps to sprinting and leaping, from clumsiness to agility, every step was a process of breaking shackles and transforming awkwardness into dexterity.
And this process reached its peak when one grew into a young adult, for at that time vitality was abundant and sinews and bones were robust.
Yet once past that peak, as the marks of aging gradually emerged, it was like the sun sinking into the west. The skeleton and frame grew duller day by day, and the shackles reappeared like an enclosing cage, until one became sluggish in movement and could barely walk.
What martial artists sought was to use kung fu to extend this process of transforming awkwardness into dexterity, aiming to thoroughly smash the cage imprisoning themselves or delay the decline of their vitality.
Therefore, most martial artists began laying their foundations the moment their physical frames matured, simply because the shackles were at their weakest then.
As for what this shackle truly was, by Lian Youming's current understanding, it consisted of one physiological pass after another, encompassing many things.
Speaking of ordinary people, there were the spaces between bones, the shifts between sinew and muscle. Though the body's joints could move, they were constrained by various angles and bound by the tug of muscle and tendon. Strongmen, though burly with robust sinews and sturdy bones, were clumsy in their movements. Dancers, supple of limb, could pull off postures ordinary people could never manage, yet they lacked power.
Yet these were all on the surface, visible to the eye.
In unseen places, within the body, Lian Youming could already feel his force rising from his spine, only to decay rapidly by the time it reached his hands. That, presumably, was internal force being blocked by passes.
Furthermore, the strength of vitality, the circulation of internal breath, the transformation of blood and marrow, the strengthening of sinews and bones—all of it existed to break through these passes and shatter the shackles once and for all.
Thus, to Lian Youming's mind, it was precisely because the human body possessed these various passes that the three training methods had come to be.
As for the depth of mastery in these methods, it depended on how many passes one had broken through.
If all the passes were cleared, force could permeate the entire body, uniting the three treasures—essence, qi, and spirit—into one, achieving true accomplishment.
Returning to the matter at hand, Lian Youming pulled his thoughts back. His feet shifted into place, forming a pincer formation with Xie Laosan and pinning Lei Hu between them.
Illuminated by the firelight, Lei Hu's face looked savage. His unkempt hair fell over his shoulders like a golden-red lion's mane, while his hands were black and hard as iron, encrusted with calluses. He gave off an invisible, terrifying baleful aura, resembling a human-shaped beast.
"Hmph, then I'll just send you both on your way together!"
The moment the words left his mouth, Lei Hu stamped one foot, twisted his waist, and lunged like a pouncing leopard. His body bowed taut like an archer's bow as he raised his right arm and struck first, driving his fist straight toward Lian Youming.
Fast!
Not only was this man massive, his movements were not slow in the least. Perhaps fearing they would attack together, he had preemptively seized the initiative.
Seeing that terrifying face rapidly close in, Lian Youming's heart skipped a beat. Without a second thought, he held his knife horizontally across his front.
Bang!
As the punch's force slammed down, an explosive crack rang out. The steel knife in Lian Youming's hand shattered inch by inch into countless fragments.
Good heavens.
Yet Lian Youming's face betrayed little panic. Releasing the hilt, he retreated, while the unmistakable croak of a toad resonated crisply from within his chest and abdomen.
Meeting Lei Hu's ugly scowl, Lian Youming's left hand hanging at his side subtly curved, the palm hollowing out as he formed a hammer-like fist.
Although the Old Man Who Guards the Mountain had never taught Lian Youming this Taiji hammer, he had somehow brought it out in a moment of desperation back in the dark chamber. Though it had only been an awkward imitation, he had unexpectedly discovered that if the Coiling Silk Hand drove force in a spiral, retracting inward with sudden containment, it yielded an extraordinary penetrating power.
Today was the perfect chance to test it.
Xie Laosan circled around Lei Hu's rear, waiting for an opportunity. To his surprise, Lei Hu suddenly rode the recoil, abandoned Lian Youming, and lunged toward him instead.
"Old bastard, die for me!"
With a furious roar, Lei Hu threw a punch. Power coursed through his single arm with wild, overbearing fury, his thick, swollen right arm resembling a writhing python driving forward a massive fist. The whistling wind of the punch was shrill and ear-piercing.
Yet a figure followed close behind like a maggot on bone, stepping swiftly in to intercept.
Lian Youming looked solemn, his eyes gleaming bright with a trace of excitement. His left hand darted forward, lightly resting against Lei Hu's fist. Opening the five fingers of his palm, kneading and pressing in one motion, he actually wrapped around the enemy's attack with spiral force and drew it before himself.
He knew full well he couldn't match Xie Laosan on offense, but on defense, he might just hold out for a few exchanges.
And this move had been copied from the stance Gong Wu'er had used to intercept Xue Hen.
Since he had no formal master anyway, he learned whatever he saw—as long as it worked.
"Good lad!"
Feeling the pressure abruptly ease, Xie Laosan let out a long whistle. Sharp and high-pitched like an eagle crying in the ninth heaven, his eagle claws struck repeatedly, hooking into four or five vital areas on Lei Hu: throat, heart, armpits, and waist.
His strikes were fast as lightning, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next.
Yet seamless as it looked, it made Lian Youming's eyelids twitch wildly.
What was this?
Was the old bastard putting on an act?
For every strike Xie Laosan landed and every snap of his finger-force, he only pressed a shallow dimple into Lei Hu's flesh, leaving a faint white mark. He had not even broken the skin. Even against fatal points like the throat, his attacks failed to produce any effect.
Looking at Lei Hu, the man's Adam's apple merely bobbed, and the muscles throughout his entire body sprang to life, coiling taut as solid rock. Sinews swelled out from beneath his flesh like earthworms; his vitality raged like fire, his bones popped and cracked, and his aura surged with boundless savagery.
A sneer crossed Lei Hu's face as he glared at Lian Youming. "You want to block me?!"
As he spoke, a barrage of fists hammered toward Lian Youming's chest like wild mallets, the wind of his strikes popping through the air.
Lian Youming held his breath, having no room to think of anything else. Facing the oncoming storm of fists, he let out a muffled grunt and swung his own fists to meet them head-on.
Xie Laosan changed tactics. Seeing that his opponent's vital points could not be pierced, he dropped low, his claws repeatedly grabbing and seizing along Lei Hu's right leg. Driving straight upward, he reached toward the junction between Lei Hu's thighs, his fingers surging with vitality, hard as iron, sinews and bones clearly outlined.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
...
Under the flurry of fist shadows, blood instantly splattered, the dull impacts thundering like heavy drums.
From this clash alone, Lian Youming realized he had misunderstood Xie Laosan.
These fists were practically cast of bronze and forged of iron, and they carried thrusting, piercing forces like spearheads, battering him relentlessly like a torrential storm.
In the blink of an eye, the two had traded seven or eight blows. Lian Youming felt a burning heat in his chest and abdomen, his vitality roiling as if ready to surge backward up his throat, while both of his fists were battered and bloody.
And what of Xie Laosan?
One of his hands had actually been trapped between Lei Hu's thighs. Just as his other hand prepared to strike, Lei Hu twisted his legs, shifting position while neutralizing the attack.
Things looked bad, Lian Youming thought. Could the old ghost Xie have held back his strength, hoping the two of them would cripple each other so he could scavenge the spoils?
Cough, cough...
In that brief struggle, the violent shock to his breath caused a jet of blood to shoot from his nostrils.
Just as defeat seemed imminent, Lian Youming's tiger-like eyes flew wide open, as if witnessing something completely inconceivable.
Behind Lei Hu, a short, thin figure leapt up as swiftly and silently as a specter, his face sinister and vicious, his eyes brimming with murderous intent.
It was Xie Laosan.
Hadn't the man been pinned?
Before anyone could react, Xie Laosan hooked the five fingers of his left hand and clawed across Lei Hu's face like lightning.
Looking closely, Lei Hu's face had twisted in agony. A claw mark tore straight across his visage, blood streaming rapidly down his cheek. His left eye stared wide, but his right eye had been gouged blind.
And Xie Laosan had only one arm left.
He had actually severed his own arm.
Lei Hu froze in stunned disbelief for an instant, and then—
"Aaargh!"
A heart-wrenching shriek tore through the night sky.
Having struck home, Xie Laosan did not retreat; instead, he pressed forward. Cackling weirdly, he pounced onto Lei Hu's shoulder, looped his left leg around the man's neck, and thrust his remaining hand forward once more.
The leg coiled around the neck; the claw aimed for the other eye.
Another lethal strike unleashed.
Chapter 30