"Good!"
Below, the crowd erupted into another thunderous cheer.
From a purely visual standpoint, Zhou Bai’s entrance had been far more striking than Li Yan’s.
Taming monkeys, teasing dogs, climbing poles, and walking tightropes—the common folk had seen travelling performers do all those things at temple fairs.
Scaling walls and leaping over eaves, however, was a rare treat. Zhou Bai had left a trail of claw marks gouged into the thick wooden planks in his wake, leaving the spectators clucking in wonder.
Of course, laymen looked for spectacle while masters looked for skill.
Only true martial artists understood just how astounding Li Yan’s lower-body foundation had been in that brief display.
Naturally, that was only an interlude.
The crowd’s attention quickly shifted to the ring itself.
Watching a spectacle had its own conventions.
Take an execution ground, for instance. If a prisoner said not a word before losing his head, it might send a chill down people's spines at best, but afterward, everyone would find it dull. If the condemned instead hollered curses on his way to the block—cursing the imperial court, cursing corrupt officials, cursing the dog emperor—and then belted out a tune declaring he would be a fine hero again eighteen years later, that made for a show worth watching.
And watching a ring match meant enjoying the pre-fight exchange of insults.
Much like modern bouts, bringing two bitter rivals face-to-face to butt heads built up the atmosphere.
Thus, the onlookers held their breath, eyes wide, waiting to see how the two would trade barbs—or better yet, whether they might mimic an opera scene and sing a few lines.
Yet the stage offered them disappointment.
Li Yan and Zhou Bai merely measured each other, exchanging cold glares without uttering a word.
Having stepped onto a life-and-death stage, there was nothing left to say.
In Zhou Bai’s eyes, his opponent was merely an ignorant country boy riding on his father’s lingering name, trying to shake down the Zhou family to make a reputation for himself.
Li Yan, meanwhile, knew this knot with the Zhou family could never be untied.
Setting aside their earlier grudges, his father’s death was directly tied to Zhou Pan. Even if Zhou Pan was not the killer, he was privy to the truth.
As the two eyed each other, both sought openings.
They were seasoned practitioners. Though young, they had trained bitterly since childhood and knew the human body intimately, capable of spotting whether an opponent had recently suffered severe injuries from subtle physical traits.
A martial artist’s body was as precious as gold.
It required training, sparring, and nurturing. One misstep could end their journey for good, unless they charted an unorthodox path and developed some ruthless specialty, like the One-Armed Saber.
A life-and-death match left no room for polite restraint.
The moment an injury was discovered, one had to strike at it without mercy.
Seeing nothing amiss, Zhou Bai could not be bothered to wait any longer. Cupping his fist with a faint gesture, he asked coldly, "I hear you’re skilled in Red Fist?"
"Come on, let’s cross hands. Let’s see how much courage you really have, daring to come to Xianyang and challenge my Zhou family!"
The moment those words were spoken, Zhou Peide, chief among the Eight Great Vajras, underwent a sudden change of expression and slammed his hand onto the table. "Nonsense!"
At that moment, everyone understood Zhou Bai’s intention.
The Zhou family’s Monkey Fist was originally a child fist under the Red Fist system. Zhou Pan had simply studied Tongbei Monkey Fist, blending the strengths of both styles to make a name for himself.
As the parent art, Red Fist was naturally something he had mastered deeply.
Yet youthful arrogance drove Zhou Bai to discard his greatest advantage, intending to suppress Li Yan with Red Fist alone.
This completely departed from their original plan.
A flicker of fury crossed Yuan Qu’s eyes, but he forced it down and smiled. "Senior Brother, do not be vexed. Zhou Bai has poured plenty of blood and sweat into Red Fist. With his talent, defeating this boy will be effortless."
"This is a life-and-death match! Has he gone mad chasing fame?"
Still fuming, Zhou Peide snapped, "When we get back, he’s going into confinement! And you—stop dragging him into gang business. Stay away from Zhou Bai!"
Zhou Peide thought exceptionally highly of himself. Though nominally fellow disciples with Yuan Qu and Zheng Heibei, he looked down on them from the bottom of his heart, viewing them as mere subordinates of the Zhou family.
In his anger, his words turned harsh and reckless.
"Yes, Senior Brother speaks the truth."
Yuan Qu bowed promptly with hands clasped, hiding the venom in his eyes.
Up on the platform, Zhou Bai had already seized the initiative.
The ten-meter-wide ring was not large. Zhou Bai drove off the balls of his feet, twisting his frame to close the distance. His left palm flickered in a feint while his right hand jabbed straight for Li Yan’s face.
White Tiger Washes Its Face—a move born from Red Fist's Six Harmonies Spear.
The arm darted like spear blossoms, a blur of motion meant to catch an opponent unawares and strike directly at the eyes and the fatal point between the brows.
This was Red Fist: martial arts drawn from the battlefield, where every move drew blood.
Better to master one deadly technique than dabble in a hundred.
Pushed to its peak, this move exploded like thunderous spear flourishes; foes could not react in time before their vision blurred and their lives ended.
Li Yan, however, was already prepared.
Without dodging, he brought his left arm up to parry, intercepting Zhou Bai’s limb. Shifting his shoulders and twisting his torso, he drew on the power of his waist and abdomen, driving his right fist down like a sledgehammer toward the Baihui point atop Zhou Bai’s head.
The opening technique of Red Fist: Block and Cleave Hammer!
It looked like a wild swing, yet it held the center while exploiting the center, parrying and striking in one breath. Had it landed, that single punch would have shattered Zhou Bai's skull and scattered his brains.
Opposite him, Zhou Bai had sparred with numerous instructors since childhood. More experienced than Li Yan, he gave a slight lean, shifting his shoulders and twisting his body as he raised both arms. Crossing his fists into an x-block, he snapped his grip shut and locked onto Li Yan’s right wrist with a hook hand.
"Well done!"
Watching from the tavern in the distance, Zhou Peide’s expression eased at once.
Red Fist techniques came from the battlefield, where the hook hand held immense importance.
During close-quarters fighting, a master needed only a slight tug to throw an adversary off balance, leaving them ripe for the kill.
The hook hand operated on the exact same principle.
Once locked on, countless subsequent variations could dispatch an enemy in a single blow.
Sure enough, the instant Zhou Bai caught Li Yan’s wrist, he unleashed a vicious, groin-seeking sweep.
Li Yan’s reflexes were blistering. He snapped a side kick back, directly knocking Zhou Bai's shin aside.
Yet the moment their limbs met, Li Yan realized something was wrong.
Zhou Bai’s kick lacked power—it was merely a feint.
When Li Yan lifted his leg to counter, he was left standing on one foot, his center of gravity unsteady.
Capitalizing on the opening, Zhou Bai leaned to the side, bent low, and hooked his arms behind Li Yan’s right knee, crossing his hands before tearing upward with sudden, explosive force.
Sword-Carrying Leg!
This brutal technique shattered an enemy's balance and threw them down, setting up an immediate killing strike.
Back then, Zhang Shitong had been guarding against this very maneuver when Li Yan’s Flower Hidden Beneath Leaves sent him flying.
Without exception, Li Yan tipped backward and fell.
Zhou Bai’s follow-up was instantaneous. A roundhouse whip kick lashed out, timed to perfection—it would strike the temple just as Li Yan’s head was about to hit the boards.
In this moment of peril, Li Yan’s extraordinary fundamentals shone through.
Twisting his waist violently in midair, he evaded the whip kick while locking his legs around Zhou Bai’s torso in a scissor hold.
Because he generated force halfway through his fall, he could not hoist Zhou Bai aloft and hurl him away as he had done at the Zhang Martial Arts School.
Yet within Red Fist, there was a specialized ground-fighting countermethod: the Nine Rolls and Eighteen Falls.
Using Zhou Bai’s waist for leverage, Li Yan planted his left hand against the boards and executed a horizontal Rabbit Kicks the Eagle, slamming his foot into Zhou Bai’s leg.
Zhou Bai was seasoned in sparring, but perhaps because his strict upbringing had drilled forms into him too rigidly, his adaptability proved somewhat stiff.
Failing to react to Li Yan’s maneuver in time, Zhou Bai was kicked clean off balance.
Li Yan pushed off with his left hand, and the moment his feet touched down, he coiled his legs and sprang forward like a tiger pouncing on its prey.
This technique was known as Forcefully Pushing Mount Tai.
Li Yan locked his arms around Zhou Bai’s waist, drove forward several paces, and tackled him to the floor, swinging a leg over to pin him by the midsection.
His fists hammered down like a continuous volley of cannon fire, cracking with violent speed.
Worse still, the platform was narrow; Li Yan’s charge had driven Zhou Bai right to the edge, leaving his upper chest hanging out over empty air, where he could not bring his core to bear.
Facing this barrage of cannon fists, Zhou Bai covered his head desperately. Even so, several blows slipped through, making his vision swim with stars and sending sprays of blood from his nose.
Li Yan showed no mercy.
In a barrage like this, a single clean strike to a vital point would snap Zhou Bai's neck.
Forced onto the defensive in the blink of an eye, Zhou Bai felt fear rising within him, but far greater was his fury.
He had intended to humiliate the boy using Red Fist, never imagining that Li Yan, younger than he was, wielded moves so seasoned and ruthless, shaming him before the assembled crowd.
Martial artists inherently carried a streak of savagery.
Training in Monkey Fist had imbued Zhou Bai with an even fiercer wildness.
Driven mad by rage and pain, he threw caution to the winds. Clamping onto Li Yan’s clothing, he twisted his body and rolled, dragging them both clean off the platform.
A collective gasp rose from the watching crowd.
That entire flurry of attacks had involved almost no maneuvering—it had been a clash of raw bone and meat, fast as flashes of light, leaving their eyes reeling.
None had expected such a turn of events so quickly.
Falling from a platform over three zhang high, wouldn't they break half the bones in their bodies?
Naturally, the jianghu wanderers in the crowd were unconcerned.
Practitioners trained from childhood, and tumbling to bleed off impact was a basic skill. Falling from three zhang—even five zhang—they could roll out of it and stand up unharmed.
Some seasoned masters even dared to leap from city walls.
What knitted the wanderers' brows was the rule of the ring: falling from the platform meant defeat. Would this contest truly end in a draw?
Yet what followed took them completely by surprise.
As Zhou Bai plummeted, he contracted his body, assuming a monkey posture, and dug his claws into the wooden side, clinging fast against the vertical wall of the ring.
Li Yan’s claw techniques were inferior, but he had his own ways.
With a snap of his left arm, he punched through the wooden siding, gripping the splintered gap to arrest his fall. Glancing over at Zhou Bai, a cold sneer curved his lips.
"What now? Back up there to fight?"
"Back up, my ass!"
With a furious roar, Zhou Bai sprang forward, lunging straight for him like a wild ape…
Chapter 46