Footsteps fell in rapid succession; blade flashes whipped past in a furious torrent, like a sudden squall.
Facing the dense web of frigid gleams and cold shadows before him, Lian Youming drew his breath sharply downward. Yet it did not sink all the way to the bottom. Instead, the breath filled his lungs and settled into his abdomen—what sank was the qi elixir condensed by the Toad Fishing Skill. It was as though a swimming fish had been hooked from his throat and reeled down into his belly, seemingly sunk yet not quite, suspended without halting, oscillating continually up and down to stimulate his entire body and bring forth a peculiar surge of force.
This Toad Fishing Skill was an internal "elixir art," its true essence lying in that single word: "fish." It meant hooking a breath, neither sinking nor expelling it, keeping it alive. When the breath lived, the body lived; when the body lived, the force lived; only then could the fists and feet truly come alive.
"Croak, croak..."
Two sudden croaks rose from Lian Youming's throat, crisp and subtle like the rush of a mountain spring, carrying an eerie penetrating force.
Under the overhead light, the taut muscles across his body seemed to swell in an instant. His short hair bristled like halberds, his brows raised and eyes glared, and the red mole between his brows burned blood-red as an aura of baleful ferocity surged around him.
Hearing that croak, Eighth Master shuddered in his seat, the look behind his aviator sunglasses shifting immediately.
First the Taiji hammer technique, and now this Toad Fishing Skill. The veins on the back of his hand tightened, and his gaze drifted toward the mustachioed man in the skullcap leaning against the carriage's wooden door behind him.
To walk the Jianghu, what mattered most alongside capability was sharp eyes. With keen discernment, one not only knew when to advance or retreat, but could also save one's own life at crucial moments.
If this kid truly belonged to the Taiji School, this was going to be trouble.
In that brief span, two swift blades slashed and shaved, skimming close to Lian Youming's hands and feet.
The pair wielding them were a man and a woman, attacking high and low. One held a knife in the left hand, the other in the right, the hilts wrapped tightly with several coils of cloth cord. Their bladework was rapid and sinister, coming in at vicious, tricky angles—never chopping or hacking, but solely aiming to sever tendons.
Nor did they carry only knives. In one hand was a blade, and in the other an Emei piercer. The piercers spun rapidly; if he blocked the blades, the piercers would plunge straight into his heart and lungs; if he tried to seize the piercers, the blades would slash in again. It was a relentless web of lethal traps.
A coordinated assault stance.
Just as Lian Youming prepared to parry, two more figures leaped over the seat backs and lunged at him. One unleashed a fierce flurry of kicks that whipped around like a venomous dragon, layers of leg shadows unfurling as gale-force gusts swept through, instantly swirling the drifting cotton batting and snowflakes together. The other shook his arms violently upon landing, stepped forward with bent knees, stamped heavily on the floor to draw power, and drove an elbow strike straight toward his flank.
"Baji?"
Surrounded on all sides, Lian Youming showed no hint of panic; instead, a touch of surprise stirred within him.
True to seasoned Jianghu wanderers, these people really had some tricks up their sleeves. Such coordinated siege tactics left their target no breathing room whatsoever.
Amid the flashing blades and crisscrossing fists and kicks, Lian Youming neither dodged nor retreated. Raising a hand, he let the cold wind at his back carry a handful of bean powder straight into the eyes of the man and woman.
"Ah!"
The two had charged forward with overwhelming momentum, their blade-screens tight enough to repel water, certain they were about to succeed. Never had they expected Lian Youming to pull such a dirty trick. Their expressions morphed in terror, and as stinging pain seared their eyes, they reflexively squinted and lowered their brows.
Through their blurred vision, they sensed the burly figure before them had not moved an inch. Overjoyed, they brought their blades slashing downward toward Lian Youming's chest.
Lian Youming did not move, nor did he dodge; he did not even raise an arm to block. Planting his feet firmly, he drew his breath inward. The shirt over his chest seemed to puff out as though stuffed with cotton, faintly rippling like water, while his blazing eyes remained fixed on the incoming blades. He actually intended to test them against his bare body.
He wanted to see what he was capable of now.
In the blink of an eye, the blade light fell.
"Ah!"
Both blade wielders cried out in shock. When the twin blades struck Lian Youming's chest, they glanced off as if slipping on ice, the force diverted away by that rippling layer.
Even so, where the edges scraped across, a long slit opened in Lian Youming's shirt, leaving a shallow bloody cut on the flesh beneath. Yet in the next instant, the cut snapped tightly shut.
This was not healing, but the inward tightening of his musculature, constantly knitting together as one.
With Golden Bell Shield turning his muscles into a shield and Toad Fishing Skill's internal breath counteracting external force, though he had not mastered either to absolute perfection, their synergy produced an astounding complementary effect. Furthermore, having consumed that fierce tiger, his aura grew mightier by the day, and his muscles and bones had undergone a world-shaking transformation, rendering him far more formidable than before.
Glancing down at the trace of blood on his chest, he curled his lips in slight dissatisfaction. Then both fists drove forward like heavy hammers, crashing with momentum like a collapsing mountain. Twisting his wrists, he slammed his fists into their abdomens, sending a fierce, domineering force drilling directly into their livers and kidneys.
"Hard external conditioning?!"
The pair's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets, but it was already too late. With a dull thud, both the man and the woman went stiff. Losing control of their bladders, their eyes stretched wide in agony, unable to utter even a scream. Their faces turned the color of pig liver as they slowly crumpled to their knees.
Their collapse immediately obstructed part of the other thugs' assault, though someone soon dragged them backward.
"Humph!"
Having succeeded in one strike, Lian Youming did not even look at the furious flurry of kicks to his left. He raised his left hand across his chest to protect his head, using a half-guard to block the layered shadows of legs.
Meanwhile, his right hand caught the other assailant's elbow. His fingers gave a gentle kneading twist before whipping back, but halfway through the retraction, his open palm shifted into a fist and struck the funny bone of the man's elbow. The fierce, overbearing elbow thrust instantly lost seventy percent of its power, ramming in like a child falling into an adult's embrace.
With cold eyes, Lian Youming slipped to the side and drove a fist into the man's cheek.
The man's face was still frozen in terrified shock as his head snapped sideways. A mouthful of broken teeth and bloody mist spewed into the freezing wind with a wet spray. Like a drunkard, he slumped forward with half his face caved in, plunging headfirst into the gap between the seats, motionless.
Almost simultaneously, two footprints appeared on Lian Youming's chest. With two dull thuds, he was struck by the vicious flurry of kicks, his frame wobbling as he stepped backward.
The kicker was a cross-eyed man with a crooked neck and a cocked head. Seeing his blow land, he sought to press the advantage, using his hands like feet as he vaulted along the seat backs. Suspending his body horizontally in midair, his legs whipped through the air with nimble agility, sweeping toward Lian Youming's face.
"Die, die, die! So what if you're a tough customer from the Taiji School? Kid, falling to my legs is the blessing of three lifetimes!"
Smelling the foul stench of feet rushing toward his face, Lian Youming's expression turned thoroughly disgusted. The web between his left thumb and index finger opened and closed like a pair of pincers, intending to rely on his superior physique to overpower and trap the man. Yet the cross-eyed thug was prepared; his feet swept and jabbed in rapid succession, targeting wrists and grazing fingers with surprising force.
"Chuojiao?"
Yet Lian Youming only gave ground by half a step. Lowering his gaze, he shook his right arm, the muscles along it swelling outward as he unleashed the hammer technique once more, smashing down brutally against the incoming leg shadow.
Fist clashed against foot. In the instant of impact, a sickening crunch came from the cross-eyed man's right leg. It looked as though it had shortened by several inches, and his scrawny frame was sent hurtling, hanging straight over the open window frame.
"Hiss... aaagh..."
Before the man could catch his breath, Lian Youming charged forward wearing a grim, ferocious snarl, driving a fist toward his chest. "Get off!"
Seeing that fatal fist hurtling toward him, the cross-eyed thug swallowed his screams as terror seized his very soul. Curling his body in frantic haste, he actually threw himself out of the train.
Yet right at that moment, two figures suddenly lunged in through the window from outside. Rolling upon landing, they clamped onto Lian Youming's legs in a grappling lock, their hands slithering upward like venomous snakes straight toward his groin.
It turned out some of them had already clung to the outside of the train, biding their time.
Not only were there assailants on his flanks, but someone was behind him as well.
A silhouette seemed to drop from the train roof and hurried in through the carriage doorway, thrusting forward with a pointed knife.
Strokes rose and fell; in an instant, the band of thieves in the car seemed to form a killing formation. Chaos reigned, with every trick and weapon brought to bear.
Meanwhile, another hand slipped toward Lian Youming's luggage.
The one attacking from behind was the little old woman, while the one reaching for the bags was One-Ear.
Chaos.
A crush of bodies.
Lian Youming's gaze flicked around. The narrow train car seemed packed to bursting.
There were people in front, people behind, people to the left and right—intense killing intent pressed in from all directions.
The moment his legs were bound, Lian Youming's pupils constricted. Two more thugs sprang forward, aiming to lock his shoulders, gripping steel claw-hooks that glinted coldly right before his eyes.
Not only were there grapplers, but from the far end of the carriage, two flashes of blade light flew straight toward his chest—throwing knives.
A motley crew indeed.
Facing such perilous straits, Lian Youming furrowed his thick brows, the hair on the nape of his neck standing on end as if sensing immense danger.
Yet he could not retreat; the old woman was already closing in behind him, knife poised to strike.
At this critical juncture of life and death, Lian Youming's expression remained utterly calm. Grabbing the overcoat draped over the seat back beside him with one hand, he snapped his wrist. The green coat unfurled like a green cloud with a loud flap, knocking aside the two flying daggers, cutting off the thugs' line of sight, and blocking the two men trying to clamp his shoulders.
In that momentary breathing room, Lian Youming formed phoenix-eye fists with both hands. Snapping them out like arrows, he tapped the crowns of the two men clinging to his legs with lightning speed, broke free of their grip, and leaped upward, dodging the old woman's blade from behind by a hair's breadth.
The freezing wind howled, blowing frost and snow inside as the overcoat drifted down to the floor.
"Ah, help me!"
Having missed her stab, the old woman felt her scalp go numb. Lian Youming had vaulted atop a seat back, crouching there with eyes full of ferocity. He looked like a grotesque, cackling ape biding its time, already raising its hand.
"You mongrels actually have a few tricks, don't you?"
The moment the words left his mouth, his right fingers splayed wide. Like a palm that could blanket the heavens, it slammed down onto the old woman's withered, bark-like face. With a jerk of his arm, he lifted her bodily and hurled her forcefully toward the thugs rushing to attack again.
His domineering, fierce power tore through them like dead wood. Before the old woman even hit the ground, her body twisted unnaturally; five or six men bowled over like tumbling gourds, bones fractured and tendons torn, coughing blood as they staggered back in terror.
All these clashes seemed complex and prolonged, but barely five or six minutes had passed. Moves rose and fell, and the victor was already decided.
Gazing at the numerous figures sprawled on the floor, the band of thugs no longer possessed their earlier imposing momentum. They stared at one another, horror plastered across their faces.
In the corner, Yan Tao was stunned speechless. Looking at the bodies on the floor and then at the figure moving through the carriage with sweeping, devastating strikes, she felt as dazed as if caught in a dream.
Without a moment's hesitation, Lian Youming grabbed the luggage rack with his left hand, shrinking his frame like a monkey. Mimicking the monkey form of the Xingyi Sect, his arms hung and reached, leaping and swinging along the luggage rack like a monkey bounding through branches, pouncing toward the rear.
With his sinews toughened and physical strength vastly augmented, though he was not as nimble as true Xingyi monkey-form specialists, his formidable physique allowed him to rise, drop, and maneuver with blistering speed.
Just as One-Ear laid hands on the luggage, an eerie cackle suddenly erupted overhead. He reflexively glanced up, only to see a massive hand clawing down at his face. Before he could react, a sharp agony tore through his right eye—it had been gouged out blind. He opened his mouth to scream, but a foot slammed into the pit of his stomach, knocking him flat on his back.
Having dealt with him, Lian Youming flipped and landed. Yet he did not stop. Sneering, he flung another handful of bean powder into the swirling gusts of cold air.
The remaining four thugs made to attack, but bean powder blinded them as wind and snow lashed their faces. By the time they forced their eyes open, they were stunned to find the space before them empty.
In the next second, a towering figure descended as if from the heavens. Amid a chorus of horrified cries, his left hand struck with piercing punches, expanding from targeted points across their bodies, while his right palm slapped and pressed, unleashing bursts of internal force.
In just a few breaths, the crowded rear half of the car was cleared, leaving a heap of limp bodies on the floor.
Yet suddenly, Lian Youming's expression shifted. Behind the fallen thugs, a figure exhaled scalding breath, a low grunt like a bull's bellow rumbling in his throat. Thrusting both elbows upward like arrows released from a bow, the attacker charged straight through the wind and snow.
A Baji practitioner?
Lian Youming's eyes narrowed, his pupils shrinking. He wanted to parry, but it was already too late.
The timing of the strike was impeccable—right in the gap when Lian Youming's breath was shifting and his internal force was transitioning.
Crisp, decisive, stamping the floor like thunder.
So fast!
From the moment he heard the bull-like roar to the attacker reaching him was merely an instant.
"Eighth Master?"
The bandit chief was actually a hidden internal martial artist.
Looking at the face rushing toward him, Lian Youming felt a sharp pain in his chest, his feet scraping the floor as he slid backward.
Eighth Master still wore his aviator sunglasses, triangular eyes glinting with dangerous chill from behind the lenses. Several small black moles dotted his gaunt face, the skin pulled tight like bowstrings.
Seeing blood spill from the corner of Lian Youming's mouth, Eighth Master gave a mocking smile. "Kid, you're still too green. Sticking your neck out for others without knowing the depth of the waters is a fatal mistake in battle. Not to mention you have to worry about those three burdens behind you... Thinking you can play the hero at your age, not knowing that in this world, heroes die youngest. So what if you're from the Taiji School? You think I'm a pushover?"
Steadying himself, Lian Youming bared two rows of bloodstained teeth, brushed off his chest, and chuckled strangely. "Did you learn that Baji of yours from your master's wife?"
Eighth Master's face turned icy. "Stubborn to the death. Today, I'll teach you a lesson."
Just as they were about to clash, someone squeezed into the carriage.
"Eighth Master, the attendant is coming!"
In an instant, Eighth Master and Lian Youming both narrowed their eyes and sat down across the aisle from each other, as though nothing had happened.
Soon, several other thugs hurried over, deftly dragging the people sprawled across the floor out of the train, closing the doors and windows, and even wiping away the bloodstains.
The attendant arrived quickly, yawning as he pushed his way through carriage after carriage. But when he reached the final car, his brows knit tightly. Sniffing the strange stench in the air, his eyes naturally landed on the grandmother and granddaughter.
"Why does it reek so bad here? You two, the elder and the kid—where are your tickets?"
Slipping his overcoat back on, Lian Youming said softly, "I'll cover their fares."
The unkempt girl had been at a loss, but hearing this, her tense frame relaxed at once.
The attendant wanted to say more, but hearing the old woman's racking coughs, he hurriedly took the fare money Lian Youming handed over and walked away in disgust.
Only after the man turned and walked away did Lian Youming sit back down.
Beside him, Eighth Master leisurely took off his sunglasses, set them aside, and rolled up his sleeves as well.
Chapter 58