The forces of the jianghu and the government had already spread an interlocking net, locking fast the land of several counties around.
Shortly after Wang Chong and his companions set out, intelligence from the local gangs kept arriving: people had been clashing with "White Chrysanthemum" one after another. Some had even fallen at the lecher's hands, and two more had been wounded—only none of them belonged to the Chrysanthemum-Killing Alliance; they were government constables.
Hearing the messenger announce himself as a Qinghe Gang man, Wang Chong—thinking of the two escort masters of the Flying Tiger Escort Agency—couldn't help asking a few more questions. The Qinghe man made no attempt to hide anything; asked about the robbed convoy, he answered with perfect brazenness, his every word dripping with contempt for the Flying Tiger Escort Agency.
Qin Han had been listening nearby, and he couldn't help laughing. "Brother Wang Chong, do you have some old tie with the Flying Tiger Escort Agency? If so, I'll simply have the Qinghe Gang return the convoy's goods."
The Qinghe messenger's face changed on the spot, but he dared not cross so great a personage as Qin Han. After all, Qin Han was a full fifth-rank Zhechong Commandant of the Left Martial Guard—handling a petty local gang would be as easy and casual as pinching a toad dead.
Wang Chong, remembering that the two escort masters had schemed to have him killed in their place, laughed hurriedly. "Not close, not close at all. It's only that Zhang Xingzhou of the Flying Tiger Escort Agency, taking me for a greenhorn who'd never roamed the jianghu, tried to trick me into serving as blade fodder—and he wanted to trick the immortal maidens of Qingcheng into pulling chestnuts out of the fire for him besides. But his talk was riddled with falsehoods, and the Qingcheng heroines couldn't be bothered to argue with him. With their hands full rescuing the Lotus Immortal Nan Xinlan and Tie Mingzhu, they truly had no time to spare, so they politely declined."
Qin Han gave an "Oh" and asked no more about it. The Qinghe Gang man, however, took it to heart and hurried away.
Half a shichen later, an old man caught up with Wang Chong's party, bringing a gift for every one of them—each thoughtfully chosen, and no two alike. Wang Chong received five hundred guan in flying notes; for Sun Mingke there was a long sword, plainly the work of a famous master and worth no small sum; Qin Han was given a piece of jewelry; and everyone else received gifts just as varied.
Qin Han took his gift and handed it straight to Wang Chong, laughing. "Our Qin household has no use for jewelry of this grade. You're bound to be hard pressed for money on this trip to Chang'an, Brother Wang Chong. Sell it and buy yourself some proper gear."
Wang Chong didn't stand on ceremony with him either. He accepted the gift in high spirits.
Two days into the journey, word came that "White Chrysanthemum" had been cornered on a small hill, besieged by several dozen constables, with seven or eight Chrysanthemum-Killing Alliance brothers on the spot. Everyone's spirits rose at once, and they quickened their pace.
The next afternoon they had already reached the hill where White Chrysanthemum was besieged. Over a hundred people crowded the foot of the slope, most dressed as constables, armed with steel forks bristling with iron tines, sabers and chains at their waists, some even toting iron plates—yet not one of them dared go up the hill.
Seeing a good number of wounded men among them, Wang Chong asked a few questions and roughly sized up White Chrysanthemum's martial arts. He thought to himself, "This White Chrysanthemum specializes in the Diamond Prajna Palm. His martial arts must be of the second or third rank—about Qin Han's equal. This time he's a dead man."
Lu Zongfeng was the most anxious of all. He had put up the silver and the house, and he dreaded that the credit would slip out of his hands in the end, so he urged the party up the hill again and again.
Seeing Sun Mingke itching for a try, Wang Chong didn't stop him. He only left Qin Han below to keep from drawing attention, and took a dozen-odd Chrysanthemum-Killing Alliance brothers to steal up the slope. Near the summit he saw an enormous boulder jutting out—and then heard a voice, accented and halting, shout: "Central Plains pups, you win by numbers, is it? If you've got the guts, come fight me, Lord Tiemole, man to man!"
Sun Mingke couldn't help saying, "Sister Li really is something—this man truly is from the Western Regions, no man of our Central Plains."
"Brother Wang Chong, let me go up and kill this thief!" Before Wang Chong could open his mouth, Lu Zongfeng said hurriedly, "I'll take the lead." Wang Chong laughed. "Let me go first! I ought to sound out this lecher's quality for you brothers. I'll tie him down first, then all you brothers rush him together."
Wang Chong had taken the money; he could hardly sit back and do nothing at all. Besides, for all Lu Zongfeng's talk, he showed no intention of charging ahead—clearly he judged his own skills wanting and prized his hide. He wanted the credit, not to gamble his life.
Wang Chong gave Sun Mingke a meaningful glance and, unleashing the Riding Clouds and Treading Wind lightness skill of the Wudang lineage, floated straight up. Wind roared overhead as boulders came crashing down one after another. His body swaying, he walked the danger as though it were level ground, slipping past every stone, and in the blink of an eye he had surged up close. A giant palm, whistling with wind, chopped down at his head; the folding fan flew from his sleeve and took the blow head-on. Riding the shock of the clash, he flipped over and vaulted onto the great boulder.
Sun Mingke followed right behind, and Lu Zongfeng and the rest, seeing it, all scrambled up in turn—only to find Wang Chong locked in a furious, red-hot battle with a Western Regions giant.
Wang Chong delivered several moves in succession, thinking, "This fellow's martial arts are no common thing either—but he's still far inferior to Qian Luo Yi, Monk Xuan Gang, or little brother Sun Mingke."
"The palm art he uses has real cunning to it. Every strike carries five or six layers of hidden force: stop the first, a second comes; stop the second, a third; stop the third, and two or three more follow behind. No wonder Divine Constable Li said that when the Diamond Prajna Palm of the Qingshan Sect of the Western Regions is cultivated to its utmost depths, a single palm strike can hold thirteen layers of force—fiercely hard and ruthless to the extreme. This man hasn't trained the art to its height. If he could push out two or three more layers of palm force, I'm afraid I'd be no match for him."
Lu Zongfeng clambered onto the boulder and cursed at the top of his voice: "Western Regions thief! How dare you run wild in the Central Plains!?"
The giant roared back: "We are good men of the eighteen grassland tribes, come to the Central Plains for a little fun to shake off our boredom. What's playing with a few Central Plains girls, eh? You've no idea how eagerly your Central Plains sluts throw themselves at good men of our grasslands..."
Lu Zongfeng exploded into open cursing; the giant retorted insult for insult, his palm wind whooshing all the while—he split his attention two ways and showed not the least strain.
Sun Mingke watched for a while and thought, "Brother Wang Chong isn't using his real skill at all—only six or seven tenths of it. He means to set the stage for Lu Zongfeng's moment of glory."
After several dozen exchanges with the man, Wang Chong knew where things stood. Suddenly, in one move—Wind-Cloud Racing Dawn to Dusk—he struck at the Western giant's face. The Wind-Cloud Hundred Styles had three great killing moves, and three mysterious moves besides; Wind-Cloud Racing Dawn to Dusk was one of the three mysterious moves, the most unpredictable in its changes and the fastest move in the entire Wind-Cloud Hundred Styles. The giant hurriedly steeled himself and sent out a slow, deliberate palm. The Diamond Prajna Palm force of the Qingshan Sect of the Western Regions was truly no common thing: the moment it left his hand, it carried the sound of wind and thunder.
Sun Mingke had crossed hands with Wang Chong no fewer than a hundred times; the moment he saw him launch this move, he thought, "This Western barbarian is finished."
Sure enough, at the instant fan and palm collided, Wang Chong fed in a sticky, clinging force. The giant, caught off guard, was dragged into a contest of internal force. He drove his palm force again and again, yet could not shake Wang Chong loose, and terror seized his heart. Lu Zongfeng, a scion of a great family after all, saw at once that this was his best chance: he drew the long sword at his waist and stabbed it in through the man's back, running the Western Regions giant through the heart on the spot.
Feeling the enemy's palm force collapse, Wang Chong—fearing the man might yet lash out—summoned the Pure Yang Art and blasted him until his five viscera split apart, leaving him no chance at all for a dying counterstroke.
...The Western Regions giant: I'm the second senior disciple of the Qingshan Sect—how can I be worth a mere five thousand guan...
...Lu Zongfeng: So satisfying...
Chapter 42