That night, the waxing crescent moon hung in the sky, stars scattered sparsely.
Tian Boguang, dressed in a single robe of blue, relied on his unparalleled lightness skill to scale walls and leap across eaves, effortlessly evading the Bai family’s guards and successfully infiltrating the rear garden. It was late spring, and the garden bloomed with countless flowers vying for brilliance, adding radiance to the exquisite embroidered tower.
He paused quietly to admire the scene for a moment, then pried open the tightly closed window and slipped inside.
Outside, the maidservant was fast asleep. With a single finger, he struck her acupoint, ensuring she would remain unconscious through the night. Then he held his breath, listening carefully until he confirmed only one breath came from the inner chamber. Only then did he relax, drawing aside the curtain and reaching for the woman beneath the canopy.
Moonlight filtered through the window. Miss Bai woke in terror, spotting a tall shadow crouching before her, trembling uncontrollably. “W-Who are you?”
“Why, I’m naturally your husband.” Tian Boguang studied her face—the delicate willow eyebrows, fair skin, fragile collarbones and limbs—and smiled with satisfaction.
Miss Bai shivered again. She smelled the scent on the man’s body, looked up at his massive frame, his calloused palms, and those lecherous eyes. Suddenly, it was as if her skin was cut by a sharp thread; a chill spread from her heart, freezing her limbs.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t call for help. Tears of fear welled up in her eyes as the shadow lunged like a landslide toward her, as if she were about to be buried alive.
Her jaw was seized, rough fingers brushing her lips.
Her stomach churned violently; nausea overwhelmed her, and she retched uncontrollably. Goosebumps rose in waves along her arms; breathing became difficult.
“Dong!”
She heard drums and gongs ringing outside, dizzying her senses, making her think it was an illusion.
But then came a series of heavy bangs—“Dong dong dong,” “Klang klang klang”—like a thunderclap on a clear day, numbing her mind but stirring hope deep in her heart. Had help arrived?
Indeed.
The delicate carved window was broken open; a gleaming sword blade stabbed straight at the intruder, loosening the frozen grip in her throat.
“Help! Someone help me!” Miss Bai instinctively cried out.
Tian Boguang was both shocked and enraged.
He immediately recognized the youth from the earlier ambush—still in dark clothes and wearing a wooden mask, his swordplay agile and graceful, attacking vital points from all directions.
But this time, he wouldn’t let the guy escape so easily.
Blades flashed like a storm, forming a cage of light and shadow, each strike precise and deadly. With her skills, Zhong Lingshou couldn’t respond casually and had to employ the most practiced Hengshan Sword Technique, sealing herself in an airtight defense.
In no time, Tian Boguang laughed out loud. “I see through you, Hengshan… You’re that little nun from Hengshan!” A sneer crept into his tone, now frivolous, “Just you alone—aren’t you afraid of walking into the tiger’s den?”
Zhong Lingshou kept her mouth tightly shut, unmoved by his words, fully focused on analyzing his blade techniques.
Clang clang clang—the swordlight’s afterimages blurred before her eyes. His sword style, known as ‘Flying Sand and Rolling Stones: Thirteen Forms,’ now seemed to reveal at least four or five variations in an instant, all slanting out like a violent sandstorm, ruthless and precise, impossible to block completely.
Zhong Lingshou found no flaw to exploit, powerless to counterattack, only able to defend.
Even so, her sleeves were slashed open multiple times, faint pain seeping through her skin.
“Hah.” Tian Boguang sneered coldly, “You little nun ruined my fun. Watch me strip you bare and toss you on the city walls—let the Hengshan Sect make a name for themselves!”
Tch. Just knew you’d make a dirty joke like that. Trash is trash.
Zhong Lingshou smirked silently, her sword moves unwavering.
Hold on, holding on is victory.
Her strike this time wasn’t to achieve instant revenge—it was to save Miss Bai’s life.
Just hold steady.
Standing here meant an undefeated position.
Tian Boguang could never match her mindset.
Their fight raged on relentlessly, overturning tables and cutting down clothes racks, guiding the guards and owners, roused by the drums, straight to their location.
Torches flared into serpents of fire in the darkness as Master Bai and Madam Bai rushed out in a panic, shouting hysterically, “Thieves! Help! Save us!”
The Bai family’s street was home to wealthy officials and merchants, upper-middle-class citizens with households and businesses. Neighbors, disturbed by the firelight and noise, assumed a fire had broken out and hurried to assist. Footsteps swarmed in from all directions like New Year’s firecrackers, unsettling the thieves and scoundrels.
Tian Boguang was no exception.
He prided himself on his martial skill; facing mediocre guards, he could easily take on ten alone. But he was a flower thief, not a bloodthirsty demon. Neither from his heart nor out of practicality would he want to slay everyone here.
His thoughts raced, eyes landing on the silent little nun.
His swordlight reversed and then flicked to stab her side. As she twisted to block, he swiftly pressed a finger, intending to lock her acupoint and drag her away.
But he miscalculated two things: first, the Hengshan Sword Technique hides needles beneath softness, its defense comprehensive and harmless—forcing through it would provoke a counterattack. At the moment he tried to strike the acupoint, his right arm holding the blade was sliced open; blood quickly oozed out, sticky and staining his robe.
Tian Boguang’s expression did not change. As an old hand, he had been wounded countless times. Even if it meant taking a sword cut, today he would make this little nun pay.
He poured internal energy into his finger, pressing straight onto the side of her neck.
Normally, pressing the carotid sinus with internal energy causes instant unconsciousness. As a flower thief, Tian Boguang knew acupoint techniques well—whenever he struck, he rarely missed.
Unfortunately, it was only “rarely.”
You see, when martial artists engage in battle, their internal energy is usually focused on their weapons, which is why swords often shatter and multiple blades can be knocked aside. According to Huashan’s philosophy, this is called “controlling the sword with Qi,” with the key being “control.” Other sects follow similar principles—the crucial parts are the stance, dantian, arms, and so forth.
From a scientific standpoint, internal energy is concentrated in the muscles exerting force; only this way can one sustain prolonged, intense combat. In the original story, Linghu Chong couldn’t use internal energy and relied solely on his body to wield the Dugu Nine Swords, eventually faltering—that was why.
However…
Zhong Lingshou trained her internal energy the hard way, like carrying water in winter.
In the freezing cold, carrying heavy buckets required constant internal energy to keep warm and bear the weight. She had long been accustomed to maintaining this state for extended periods. After chasing Tian Boguang, she had no moment to stop; gradually, her body adapted to this “extraction,” with her qi constantly circulating.
And the principle of acupoint pressing is an external internal energy invading the meridians, causing numbness and paralysis; thus, acupoints struck in battle are rarely on the lower body or dantian but mostly on the empty front or back torso.
Yet Zhong Lingshou’s entire body contained internal energy—sparse and thin but present.
One and zero are worlds apart.
Tian Boguang’s fingertip touched her robe, feeling not just fabric over pulsating veins but a soft, enduring force clashing with his own internal energy. The two forces collided, shaking apart and compressing her blood flow. Her heartbeat slowed abruptly; darkness swelled before her eyes.
Frightened, Zhong Lingshou’s heart nearly stopped. She retreated rapidly, her long sword wildly slashing in muscle memory, afraid he would seize the moment.
Unexpectedly, Tian Boguang was also startled. Numbness spread from his fingertip to his elbow meridian, his tiger’s mouth faintly aching.
He inwardly panicked, thinking she had seen through his trick. He dared not attack again, focusing instead on defense.
Zhong Lingshou’s acupoint was not sealed. Though dizzy and blurry-eyed, she could still move, swiftly redirecting her internal energy to envelop the incoming force.
Pain surged through her. Cold sweat dripped down, but the shadow before her gradually faded.
The two stood locked, the noisy footsteps approaching from afar now right at the building’s entrance.
“Hmph, we’ll see.” Tian Boguang knew his plan had failed. Without lingering, he flipped out the window and fled.
Zhong Lingshou dared not be careless. Temporarily immobilized, she stood still for a long while before relaxing when the Bai family burst in.
“Heroine, are you alright?” Miss Bai’s weak limbs finally regained some strength. Supported by a maid, she knelt tearfully beside her. “I cannot forget your life-saving grace.”
Zhong Lingshou cleared her throat, her voice hoarse, “It’s nothing. Stand up.”
She removed her mask and nodded slightly to the Bai couple supporting each other. “I set fire near the stables.”
Master Bai, a capable man who had built such a household, was no fool. Grateful, he said, “Thank you, heroine! Please accept our bow.”
The two elderly fifty-somethings trembled as they knelt properly, bowing twice.
Zhong Lingshou disliked being worshipped, but the pain in her chest was sharp, forcing her to gasp coldly. She forced a smile, “It’s good you’re safe.” After a pause, she added cautiously, “I’m injured. Please prepare a quiet room for me to rest.”
“Yes, yes.” The Bai couple thanked her profusely and ordered servants at once.
Maidservants swarmed in—some to tend to the frightened Miss Bai, others to lead Zhong Lingshou to a guest room, prepare hot water, food, and medicine, attending to her thoroughly.
Zhong Lingshou stripped off her clothes and quickly checked her wounds. Besides internal injuries, there were two or three deep knife cuts, flesh torn and bloody—quite dreadful to see. Luckily, the Hengshan Sect’s Tianxiang Duanxu Gel was a miracle cure. Crushed and applied, it soon cooled the pain and staunched the bleeding.
She didn’t bother eating or drinking, immediately sitting cross-legged to circulate her healing technique.
Thank heavens, Tian Boguang had only struck an acupoint with ordinary internal energy, which was quickly dispelled by her Hengshan internal power. Now all that remained was to repair the injuries.
Internal injuries caused no bleeding but damaged her meridians, requiring rest and gradual recovery.
Unconsciously, the eastern sky showed a faint glimmer of dawn.
Day had broken.
The Bai family’s compound, four courtyards deep, was a well-known affluent household in Runing. The street noise did not penetrate inside; only the crisp voices of maidservants were heard. Parrots mimicked calls under the corridor; young maids watered flowers in the courtyard. The wind blew, tree shadows stretched their branches, rustling softly.
Zhong Lingshou opened her eyes and slowly walked to the window.
She pushed open the shutters—birdsong and floral fragrance filled the air.
Miss Bai leaned against the embroidered tower, clutching an old scroll, staring blankly. Her face showed confusion, fear, and suspicion but no sorrow, despair, or breakdown. Her chest rose and fell steadily. Her life was like this spring garden—still in full bloom.
Zhong Lingshou watched her quietly, exhaling softly.
So this is “wuxia.”
Truly exhilarating.