With a cold sneer, a chilling air of slaughter swept over the short street.
Walking through the falling snow, the youth had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Though his clothing was thin, his burly, battle-hardened physique, brimming with explosive power, was outlined all the more clearly. Baleful vigor filled his eyes, and a terrifying ferocity pressed outward.
"Tsk, tsk. Someone raised wild really is different from those of us who trained through proper channels, eh? Just look at how thick that viciousness is—"
Amid the crowd of onlookers gathered at the entrance of the short street, the peasant uncle shook his head in awe as he watched Lian Youming's receding figure. But catching a sideways glare from his master, he hurriedly tucked his neck and hunched his shoulders, giving a sheepish grin.
The old man said indifferently, "Against certain people, you have to be this ruthless. The rest of you youngsters had better watch closely too. Abiding by rules is one thing, but that doesn't mean turning into gutless cowards who shrink back when crossing hands. The world may have changed, but you must never lose your fighting spirit."
Behind the old man, the cluster of Baji Sect disciples all nodded in frantic agreement.
The peasant uncle gave a wry smile. "You can't really blame them either."
If anyone was to blame, it was Li Da.
Of course, he lacked the courage to say that aloud.
The truth was that Li Da not only possessed peerless martial skill, but also held an extraordinary status. The disciples naturally held him in both reverence and dread. After entering the sect, what they heard most was that they must never bring trouble upon the school or tarnish Li Da's name. Hearing this day in and day out, they naturally exercised restraint in everything, holding back so much that their fighting spirit had nearly vanished.
To this remark, the old man uncharacteristically offered no rebuttal.
When a person grew formidable, others might feel envy and admiration; but when someone became too formidable—boundlessly so—all it brought was suffocating pressure.
This was part of the reason Li Da had chosen to enlist in the military.
Members of the other sects and schools were also buzzing with quiet murmurs, some marveling inwardly, some watching with amused glints in their eyes, and others wearing mocking smirks, yet none spoke out loud.
This was the moment when one's spirit was stoked to its peak. Unlike what was written in popular storybooks, no one dared make a sound, nor did anyone shout cheers of approval. Disturbing the duelists or deflating their momentum would mark one as an utter fool.
Lian Youming stepped up to the square table.
The one who had just called out the formal proclamation was an elderly man wearing glasses, dressed in an old-fashioned cloth robe. In one hand he held a tobacco pipe, while the other was tucked into a handwarmer muff.
Lian Youming glanced down at the two life-and-death covenants weighed down before the old man. Pointing at the words "grudge and grievance" written upon them, he sneered, "Cross these two words out for me. The Eagle Claw Sect harbors filth and villainy, committing acts completely devoid of conscience. You think two measly words can brush all that aside so lightly? What a joke. I'm going to take their lives, and I'm going to slap the Eagle Claw Sect across the face, too."
As soon as he spoke, someone among the crowd across the table barked back in fury, "What kind of thing do you think you are? Agreeing to cross hands with you is giving you face! Don't think that just because you have the Baji Sect backing you, you're Li Da!"
Yet the moment the man finished speaking, a low, raspy voice fell like lead.
"Is Martial Uncle Li's name something you're fit to utter directly? Insolent wretch."
Hearing the voice, the crowd gathered outside the Eagle Claw Sect's compound parted to either side, clearing a path down the middle.
Lian Youming looked up and saw a man standing between the two stone lions—a burly, middle-aged man with graying temples.
The man wore a fox-fur hat and knee-high military boots tucked tight around faded blue military trousers. A mink coat was draped over his shoulders, but underneath he was bare-chested, revealing crisscrossing old scars and a physique roped with coiled sinew and muscle.
Though he rebuked his subordinate, he made no other move, standing motionless at the gateway and gazing at Lian Youming from afar.
Giving a faint glance at the furious Baji Sect disciples, the middle-aged man turned back to the youth before him and said with a hollow smile, "Little brother, it seems you have a very deep misunderstanding regarding our Eagle Claw Sect."
Lian Youming countered with a cold sneer. "You're Tan Fei?"
The burly man nodded. "Indeed, it is Tan."
Lian Youming nodded as well. "Good that it's you."
Tan Fei narrowed his eyes like a hawk or falcon, smiling faintly. "What advice do you have to impart?"
Yet in the very next instant, the smile froze on his face.
Everyone else widened their eyes as well. Lian Youming broke into a grin, then began reciting a tirade as if chanting poetry: "I fuck eight generations of your ancestors, you cur who'll sire an assless son! I fuck your whole family, you rotten bastard cursed down to your bones, foul and festering from head to foot—shielding your disciples while they swindle, kidnap, and butcher people on the train! A degenerate like you is fit to head a sect?"
The entire square fell dead silent.
Yet after that brief, stunned silence, the crowd from the Eagle Claw Sect bristled like enraged beasts and surged forward en masse.
Behind Lian Youming, the peasant uncle also led a group pushing their way forward.
Tan Fei remained expressionless. With a sweep of his arm, he halted the agitated mob, then said in a flat tone, "Matters on the train? I know nothing of that. I only know you killed two of my disciples. Debts must be paid, and blood demands blood."
Lian Youming narrowed his tiger-like eyes. "From the sound of it, could those dirty deeds on the train have been done on your orders?"
Tan Fei said coldly, "No matter how sharp your tongue is, you won't escape death. By the rules of martial circles, coming to our gate to cross hands means you're here to challenge a sect. If you want to challenge these disciples of mine, just point to whichever you choose."
Lian Youming said nonchalantly, "I'm challenging you."
Someone nearby reminded him, "Little brother, although Tan is only the Vice Sect Master, he's effectively running the Eagle Claw Sect now. If you want to challenge him, you must breach three gates—defeat three of his gatekeeping disciples—before you're qualified to step past the threshold and fight him."
Disciples of the threshold—men stationed outside the gate to meet incoming foes.
Lian Youming said mildly, "I know."
Xie Ruomei had already explained this to him earlier.
Sure enough, as soon as the words left his mouth, three grim-faced men stepped out from the Eagle Claw Sect's ranks and positioned themselves between him and Tan Fei. Standing four to five meters apart from one another, they assumed their fighting stances.
Standing atop the stone steps, Tan Fei drooped his eyelids and said coldly, "Kid, you have no lineage or sect, nor do you possess any reputation in the pugilistic world—a complete nobody. Having you breach three gates can hardly be called unfair. If you regret it now, that's fine too. Kneel and knock your head three times, and I'll reluctantly let you off."
Lian Youming cast a glance over the three men. Far from showing the slightest fear, he seemed almost disappointed. Smacking his lips over the lingering taste of liquor, he bared his teeth in a grin. "My only worry is that there aren't enough of them for me to kill."
Having said that, he turned his head and glared at the old man overseeing the proclamation. "I told you to strike those two words out. Are you deaf?"
Rage flared in the old man's eyes, but he still looked to Tan Fei.
Tan Fei nodded. "Strike them out as he pleases. The outcome won't change anyway—it's just a worthless life."
Watching the two words struck through with black ink, Lian Youming picked up the brush, dipped it in ink, and swiftly wrote his name in flourishing strokes. Then, pressing into the vermilion inkpad, he stamped his thumbprint.
The other life-and-death covenant was carried on a tray, brought past the three men one by one, before finally arriving in front of Tan Fei.
With a toss of the brush clattering to the ground, the master and his three disciples had each set down their names.
By now, three large armchairs were occupied by three individuals.
One was the old man from the Baji Sect, while the other two were a petite, middle-aged woman and a ruddy-faced elder with a silver beard.
The woman was a senior of Baguamen, and the elder a renowned veteran of the Yanzi Sect.
The three received the life-and-death covenants, and having verified the signatures, the petite woman raised her voice: "Today, challenger Lian Youming has come to duel Tan Fei and three disciples of the Eagle Claw Sect. Fists and feet have no eyes, and life and death are decreed by fate. Whichever side triumphs or falls, fellow disciples, relatives, and friends shall not use this as a pretext to stir trouble or seek reckless vengeance. Anyone who violates this shall be deemed a disgrace to our martial world, and all shall rise against them!"
Without further words, seeing that neither side raised any objection, the woman called out again: "The life-and-death covenants are sealed. Gentlemen—mind your fists!"
In an instant, the wind howled and snow swirled fiercely as the surrounding onlookers fell back, clearing an open ground.
Looking at the first man blocking his way, Lian Youming took a stride forward. As he paced, flakes of frost and snow settled thick upon his shoulders. With killing intent soaring to the heavens, he lunged forward, his figure flashing across the snow.
As wind and snow swept past, the onlookers caught a dazed glimpse: through the snowy veil, that silhouette seemed to transform into a ferocious tiger leaping from a winter forest, primed to devour its prey.
The man barring his path was a tall, lean young man in a sailor shirt, his complexion pale and cold, with narrow, blade-like eyes and a look of contempt on his face. Seeing Lian Youming's charge, he swelled his throat and tongue. Internal breath surged through his chest and abdomen like the thud of a muffled drum. Clenching his fists and raising them high, the art he displayed was unexpectedly not the Eagle Claw martial art.
Fist shadows erupted in an instant. Amid the blinding snow, extending and withdrawing in rapid succession, they seemed to multiply into a dozen fists—feints blurring into strikes, aiming at vital points with boundless lethal intent.
"Punches?"
"Remember well: the one who kills you is Song Tianxiong."
Before anyone could see clearly, the blur of fist shadows was already before Lian Youming.
Lian Youming raised his hands in an unhurried manner, seemingly unable to keep up with the shifts in his opponent's fist work. After several clashing blows, Song Tianxiong's hand clamped open like a vise, seizing Lian Youming's throat with lightning speed. Channeling force through one arm with a forward shove, Song Tianxiong drove forward with his feet, threatening to ram him straight out of the short street.
"Ah, how did he end up on the back foot the moment they engaged?"
Some onlookers watched in deep disappointment. The clash had barely started, yet the upper hand was already lost—how could he possibly fight?
The peasant uncle snapped in irritation, "Shut your damn mouth and just watch!"
Yet Lian Youming remained impassive. His breath drew in, his lips sealed, his jaw dipped slightly, and the muscles of his neck contracted inward, temporarily withstanding the finger force seeking to crush his throat and collarbone. At the same time, his body leaned straight backward with the momentum of the push.
This fall secretly carried the swaying torque of Tantui. The triumphant delight on Song Tianxiong's face vanished without a trace in an instant; his body pitched forward, his center of gravity dragged off balance.
Yet having seized the upper hand, how could he willingly let such an opportunity slip away?
A sinister light flared in Song Tianxiong's eyes. Driving internal energy through his fingers, he forced his balance steady. Sinews and bones bulged like cast iron in an Eagle Claw grip, determined to crush Lian Youming's throat and end the fight quickly.
Yet just as the croak of a toad suddenly resonated from Lian Youming's chest and abdomen, a faint ripple spread beneath his clothes, surging up to his throat where the muscles quivered in response.
Song Tianxiong suddenly felt his fingers slip; the grappling force had been deflected outward by that very ripple.
"Not good!"
In that instant, Song Tianxiong turned ashen, his eyes filled with terror.
For the Lian Youming before him had vanished.
Tapping the ground with both feet, the youth spun like a top through the snowy veil, gliding around behind his opponent. Loosely curling his left fist, he tapped Song Tianxiong's spine like a pecking chick, then withdrew his hand and strode toward the second man without looking back.
Looking back at Song Tianxiong, his body went rigid. A burst of cracking bone erupted along his straight spine, and he collapsed like a pile of mud into the snow, his eyes instantly flooding with crimson.
No sooner had the man fallen and Lian Youming taken barely two strides than the second challenger charged with a ferocious roar. A burly man wearing only a hide vest, his eyes were bloodshot and brimming with murderous intent.
"I am Song Tianxiang!"
Confident in his tremendous brute strength, the man raised both arms, fingers splayed wide, dropping into a wrestler's stance.
Lian Youming wasted no breath. With a ferocious grin, he raised his arms as well, charging straight to meet him.
Their hands collided in midair, thumbs and index fingers clamping into one another like vises. Like two bulls locking horns, they sank their weight low, squatting down to contest their raw strength in the snow.
The soles of their shoes ground against the dirt and gravel beneath, producing a grating, teeth-aching screech.
Yet Lian Youming was hardly foolish enough to waste his strength in a prolonged test of power; the real enemy still waited behind.
Just as the man ground his teeth and exerted all his might, the power surging through Lian Youming's body suddenly slacked.
Against an ordinary opponent, such a sudden release would cause them to lurch forward. But Song Tianxiang's center of gravity was as steady as Mount Tai; his body did not waver in the least. Instead, he leaned his upper torso back and snapped both arms upward, fully intending to flip Lian Youming clean into the air.
A grin pulled at the corner of Lian Youming's mouth. Riding the surging force from the other man's snap and holding his breath tight, his previously taut arms instantly swiveled and traced through the air, drawing two circles.
"What, Taiji Cloud Hands?"
Song Tianxiang's jerk and pull had originally directed force backward, but under Lian Youming's sweeping deflection, that power seemed drawn into two whirlpools. What was supposed to be a lethal strike instantly transformed into a fatal opening.
With his upper body tilted slightly back, his chest was left wide open.
As for Lian Youming, he launched into the air with the momentum, driving a knee strike squarely into Song Tianxiang's chest.
As the grip on their hands released, the youth flipped and landed on his feet.
Looking at Song Tianxiang now, his chest had caved in, blood poured from his seven apertures, and he died on the spot.
Yet before Lian Youming could even steady himself upon touching the ground, a swift shadow carved an arc with its footwork, launching an ambush from the corner of his peripheral vision.
Having witnessed two fellow disciples slaughtered where they stood, this attacker charged with ferocious desperation. Snapping both arms forward, he rammed his shoulder diagonally upward toward Lian Youming's waist and abdomen, one arm clamping around the neck and shoulder while the other seized the floating ribs.
Wrestling techniques once again.
Lian Youming's eyes widened. Keeping his breath locked tight, he used the very moment his balance was unsettled to whip his waist around. Like a black dragon turning in midair, he spun horizontally off the ground. Both hands shot forward like dragon claws, gripping the ambusher's arms, and using the rotational momentum, he dragged the entire man into the air.
"Aaagh!"
Amid the raging blizzard, a shrill, agonizing scream rang out. When the crowd strained their eyes to see, terror gripped their hearts and chills ran through their scalps.
The ambusher's arms had been ripped clean off his torso! Steam rose as blood geysered violently from the ragged stumps. The man was held aloft by Lian Youming's grip on his skull, kicking his legs in helpless desperation.
Lian Youming showed no expression. Letting the man's feet thrash against his body, he slammed him hard against the wall on one side, pressing the writhing torso along the brick as he strode toward Tan Fei standing outside the gate of the Eagle Claw Sect.
The man in his grip dragged like a tattered rag along the snow-white wall, leaving a jagged, glaring trail of scarlet that scraped loose a shower of plaster dust—
The entire street fell deathly still!
Chapter 78