"M-Martial Aunt, what are you doing?"
From the back of the crowd, Big Head Liu—having never witnessed a spectacle like this in his life—was scared bloodless, his legs knocking together like reeds. Yet seeing Xie Ruomei beside him about to step forward without a word, he hurried to hold the young girl back.
Then, catching sight of Lian Youming's brazen, arrogant posture—chin lifted, eyes lowered in disdainful contempt of all directions—Big Head Liu swallowed hard. A sudden surge of boldness rushed through him. "How could we let a little girl like you step up to something like this? If anyone's doing it, it's gotta be me!"
With that, he twisted around and bellowed at the top of his lungs, "Kid Lian, fuck 'em up!"
This was a fellow who had shared a heated kang with him and saved his life; no matter what, he had to back him up.
Unfortunately, his nerve was still lacking. The first two words boomed with decent force, but the biting wind caught the last two, withering them into a pathetic whimper.
Yet the disciples of the Baji Sect were hardly few in number. If anyone thought they could come barging in to run wild, they were sorely mistaken.
The other disciples glared in unison, instantly taking up the cry with cold sneers and furious roars: "Fuck 'em up!"
Amidst the vast, swirling snow, the collective curse of dozens of martial artists roared in unison, shaking the roof tiles until they rattled.
Xu Tian sat calmly in the seat of honor, completely unfazed, turning a blind eye to the ruckus his disciples were making.
If martial artists lacked a vicious edge, they might as well go home and nurse babies.
Li Da was not in Cangzhou, and the Baji Sect's grandmaster and several elders were either roaming elsewhere or recuperating in Beijing. At present, Xu Tian held the highest seniority, making him the undisputed master of the house.
"Heh heh. Does Senior Brother Xu intend to use sheer numbers to bully his guests? We all came by invitation. If word spreads, it won't reflect well on you."
From behind Bai Long, an elder with a ruddy, date-red complexion and shoulder-length white hair strode out with his hands clasped behind his back.
This was none other than the master of the Huaquan Sect, Ao Fei.
Ao Fei looked to be in his early sixties and was not tall, barely reaching five-foot-six. Yet despite his short stature, his shoulders, waist, and back were horrifically broad, as though his body had been stretched horizontally. His frame was thick and sturdy to a point that bordered on inhuman. His arms, covered in thick body hair, bulged with sinew and muscle as dense as iron, each ringed with a pair of bronze hoops the size of rice bowls.
His physique resembled a massive water vat.
Such a short, squat, inhuman build looked less like a martial artist and more like an invincible juggernaut rampaging across an ancient battlefield in historical fiction.
This was the first time Lian Youming had ever seen such an abnormal build.
Normally, once a martial artist's sinews and bones opened and extended through cultivation, their height should never remain so stunted.
Taking a closer look, the man possessed enormous hands and feet, his sinews bulging across his frame. Though clearly heavy, his layered-sole cloth shoes rose and fell without a whisper. Not only were his steps soundless, but his footprints in the snow were so faint they were nearly invisible to the naked eye. The divine radiance within his bulging eyes was tightly reined in, clear proof that he had cultivated his internal martial arts to a terrifyingly profound realm.
Even more striking was the man's internal breath. Lian Youming could not detect it at all; it seemed endless, running long without a fathomable limit.
As Ao Fei spoke, his tone was gentle and unhurried, without a trace of anger on his face. Showing no cards and revealing nothing of his depth, he merely cast a faint glance at Lian Youming.
With just that single glance, a monstrous, indescribable killing intent surged across the distance. Yet in the blink of an eye it vanished, retreating as swiftly as it had struck.
The fine hairs all over Lian Youming's body stood on end, his pores clamping shut. It was not out of fear, but an instinctive physical reaction triggered by mortal danger.
His eyes narrowed into two slender blades.
Even if this man did not make a move today, they were bound to clash sooner or later. Once killing intent was ignited, it would become an unresolved knot in the heart unless settled by life and death.
A martial artist did not easily conceive murderous desire, but once stirred, few ever turned back.
The reason that killing intent had receded was simply that Wu Jiu and several senior master boxers of the Baji Sect had stepped up beside him.
Though these master boxers were still a far cry from grandmasters capable of founding their own sects, they were fully capable of branching out, running academies, and taking disciples. At the very least, they were experts who had mastered the three forces.
The Yanqing Sect camp looked poised to chime in, but right in the midst of this powder-keg standoff, a clear, placid voice cut cleanly across the grounds.
"Too much talk wastes energy. Let our hands reveal the truth."
The speaker was Gong Wu'er.
Xu Tian spoke as well. "Everyone, please take your seats."
In the wind and snow, large wooden chairs were arranged to border a circular clearing on the martial grounds. Every sect—twenty-three in total—sat in a ring, fully assembled.
With the call given, the Yanqing Sect crowd could hardly stir up more trouble and could only take their seats with sullen expressions.
Wind and snow whipped across their faces. Once everyone was seated, a ruddy-faced old man stepped forward from the assembly—the veteran master of Hong Quan, representing the southern fist that had traveled north.
Since this clash concerned the grudges and entangled vendettas of the northern martial world, having an outsider act as an impartial witness was entirely reasonable. More importantly, he possessed venerable seniority, high standing, and immense prestige.
The veteran master cleared his throat, walked to the center of the ring holding a paper inked in black and white, and read aloud in a drawn-out cadence: "On this first day of the twelfth lunar month in the gengshen year, the rising star Lian Youming seeks to resolve the grievances between the Xie clan and the various martial sects. After careful deliberation, today's contest has been arranged. Lian Youming shall undertake the street-breaking trial to breach the gauntlet, battling nine sects alone. Should he succeed, all past grudges shall vanish like smoke and mist after this battle. No sect may harass or humiliate the descendants of the Xie clan, nor harbor resentment, nor seek retribution. They shall regard them as fellow martial brethren. Words alone offer no proof, so this covenant is established, signed and sealed by the nine sects for all present to witness!"
Holding the paper, the Hong Quan master walked a full circle around the grounds after reading, offering it for public inspection.
Afterward, he brought out a bamboo cylinder and announced in a clear voice, "Will the champions chosen by each sect please step forward and show themselves."
Promptly, nine figures stepped out in response, each occupying a corner of the grounds. Some were expressionless, some sneered with disdain, and others looked on with genial smiles, while Bai Long was unmistakably among them.
The veteran boxer held up the cylinder. "The order of the gauntlet shall be determined by drawing lots. The nine bamboo tallies in this cylinder bear individual marks. Who goes first and who goes last shall be left to the will of Heaven."
After the cylinder completed a circuit, each of the nine fighters held a bamboo tally in hand.
"Heh heh. Kid, you're a dead man!"
A sudden cold laugh rang out. Among the nine fighters, a young man with broad shoulders, an expansive back, and long ape-like arms hanging loose slowly revealed the marking on his tally. A traditional character written in vermilion ink met everyone's eyes.
"One!"
"That's one of the direct disciples of the Dasheng Sect, a pupil of Master Wei Boyuan: the Little Ape King, Zhuang Cheng," Wu Jiu said from outside the ring, his voice neither loud nor soft, meant as much for the disciples beside him as it was for Lian Youming.
The youth wore a sleeveless fur vest, with a buzz cut, round eyes, and a sharp, simian face. With a rolling flick of his eyeballs, he locked his gaze directly onto Lian Youming. Striding forward, he naturally dropped his shoulders, suspended his elbows, bent his knees, and lowered his hips, transforming as if by magic into a snarling monkey.
His training was indeed the monkey stance, and he had captured its ferocious, vicious spirit, interwoven with the methods of Pigua Quan.
Lian Youming took one glance and walked expressionlessly into the center of the ring.
The direct disciple of Great Sage Fist uttered not a single word. Twisting his waist, he crossed his legs and dropped into a low crouch, scratching his ears and clawing his head while blinking ceaselessly. High-pitched squeaks and frantic screeches spilled from his mouth, mad and unhinged, yet murderous intent quietly surged within his eyes.
"The life-and-death covenants are here. Gentlemen, proceed as you wish!"
The Hong Quan master made a welcoming gesture, pointing toward a table at the edge of the clearing where ten covenants were laid out side by side.
The moment his voice fell, Zhuang Cheng sank his weight and sprang upward, soaring more than three feet straight into the air. Flipping mid-descent, he touched down, threw himself into a rolling maneuver, popped up, and bounded toward the table with a sweeping stride. In the blink of an eye, he had surged over five or six meters through a sequence of lunges and rolls.
A terrifyingly agile footwork technique.
The spectating martial artists murmured in shock at the sight, their faces showing visible surprise.
Lian Youming simply walked over in a measured, standard pace and wrote his name on the same covenant.
The instant both brushes were set down, an ape-like arm silently ripped through the air, whipping across from Lian Youming's flank in a vicious attempt to hook an ear and gouge an eye. The blow came savage and blindingly swift, the power behind the fist tearing the snowy wind to shreds with a shrill whistle like an arrow loosed from a bow.
Lian Youming tilted his head to evade, preparing to counterattack, only for Zhuang Cheng to flash a sinister grin. Loosening the five fingers of his clenched fist, he hurled a handful of sand directly into Lian Youming's face.
Blinded by the windborne grit, Lian Youming seemed to suffer a painful setback. Caught entirely off guard, he let out a muffled grunt and quickly threw up his right arm to shield his face, lowering his brow and head while retreating step after step in apparent panic.
"Hey! Why's he pulling cheap tricks right from the start?"
Big Head Liu, already watching with a thumping heart, nearly burst into curses out of sheer fury and panic.
Wu Jiu's expression darkened. "Shut your mouth. This is a life-and-death duel, not playing house. It tests your fighting methods and matches your cunning. Once a life-and-death covenant is set, it doesn't end until someone dies. Watch closely."
Big Head Liu twitched his mouth and muttered, "Then from now on, I'm hanging a pouch around my waist. Before I throw a punch, I'll chuck a handful of quicklime, or maybe chili powder, or ground pepper..."
Yet seeing Xie Ruomei trembling from nervous dread beside him, he lost the heart to keep talking. He fixed his eyes on the two men in the clearing, pea-sized beads of sweat breaking out across his forehead.
Having forced Lian Youming into a clumsy retreat with that dirty trick, Zhuang Cheng naturally had no intention of letting such an exquisite opening slip. Flashing a cold smirk dripping with murderous intent, he bounded and circled on nimble feet, coiling power into both fists. In a single flash, he whipped around to Lian Youming's flank, curling the fingers of both hands inward as he struck high and low—the upper fist smashing toward the temple, the lower darting for the vulnerable armpit.
Lian Youming bent his arm to protect his head, rolling across the ground as if sensing the fierce wind from the side.
Zhuang Cheng was not disappointed; he was thrilled. Pressing forward with lightning-fast steps, he waited for the instant Lian Youming righted his torso, planted his feet firmly behind him, and unleashed the full force coiled in his arms. Veins and sinews clamped tight across his limbs as his ape-like arms whipped like two steel rods, thrusting fists and snapping elbows inward in a twin-peaks-piercing-the-ears maneuver aimed straight at the head before him.
"Die for me!"
A bloodthirsty grin and savage words seemed frozen in the howling wind and snow.
With freezing air buffeting their faces and snow swirling violently, the hearts of the Baji disciples leapt into their throats; none dared draw a single breath.
What was this?
A single misstep, and the entire game was lost.
Yet in the next heartbeat, their wide, staring eyes twitched, their lips trembling as if beholding an utterly unimaginable scene. The tea bowls in their hands nearly slipped to the ground.
Zhuang Cheng's lethal strike had struck empty air.
Amidst the churning snow, Lian Youming seemed to have been waiting for this exact moment all along. His upper body contracted slightly, balling up tight, while the arm that had been shielding his face looped backward in a reverse grappling maneuver, snapping shut around Zhuang Cheng's right ankle.
Looking closely, his face held nothing but a dark, wild grin of triumph—there was not the slightest trace of grit-blinded helplessness in his eyes.
Throwing sand to blind an opponent was an old, stale trick to him.
The instant he seized the ankle, Lian Youming channeled his force into a violent yank. Zhuang Cheng's center of gravity shifted abruptly, his upper body falling backward as his striking fists were forced upward, harmlessly missing their mark.
The man's footwork was frighteningly agile, and Lian Youming had no desire to waste unnecessary effort. Seeing the fellow attempt such a blinding trick and strike first, he had simply played along to sell a deliberate opening.
With his grip locked, Lian Youming's entire right arm visibly swelled, thick with surging power. Bracing against the frozen ground with his left hand, a ferocious scowl surfaced on his features, his brows arched in fury. Yet surprisingly, he did not rush to stand. Instead, he spun like a top through the snowy curtain, whipping Zhuang Cheng's entire body horizontally into midair and tearing his feet clean off the ground.
Feeling the astonishing, colossal force clamping onto his ankle, the Little Ape King Zhuang Cheng was filled with dread. Yet his reactions were remarkably swift. Curling inward to protect his head and chest, he whipped his free foot across in a kick toward Lian Youming's wrist.
*Smack!*
A sharp report like an exploding firecracker blasted through the air.
Lian Youming's right fingers sprang loose from the impact, yet the vicious intent on his face only deepened. Letting out a low, cold sneer at his airborne adversary, he gave his numbed wrist a flick and sprang forward with thunderous speed. His hands half-curled in empty grips, his waist and abdomen contracting as his center sank. Like a giant serpent sprouting limbs, he sprinted low to the ground, lunging forward to intercept the falling figure.
The instant that stance unfolded, the tea bowl in the hand of Huaquan King Ao Fei shattered with a loud crack. The expressions of everyone watching transformed instantly, their faces pale with shock as gasps erupted all around.
The color drained entirely from Zhuang Cheng's face. The joy of slipping the grapple vanished in an instant, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks.
"Wait, wrestling techniques?!"
Lian Youming's tiger-like eyes widened, a savage grin spreading across his face. "Let's see you bounce around now!"
As the words fell, wind and snow whipped into his collar, and two massive hands capable of holding up the heavens shot forward in unison—
Chapter 88