The rain grew heavier, pouring down from the sky in torrents, as if intent on cleansing the world.
Zhong Lingxiu lifted her eyelids and pulled out the turbid wine she had bought from the street stall. The slightly sour liquid slid down her throat, leaving a faint fragrance of rice. She gently gripped the cold sword hilt in her hand. “A life for a life—that’s only right and proper.”
Tian Boguang laughed loudly. “You think you can stop me? That’s somewhat possible. But to kill me? Might as well be a fairy tale.”
“That’s exactly what I thought,” Zhong Lingxiu said slowly, “Until just now.”
Killing Tian Boguang was still premature. Successfully blocking him was enough for now. She set that as her goal, so whenever she felt outmatched, she would retreat without guilt.
But—
Without the resolve of absolute necessity, how could she hope to kill someone whose martial arts far surpassed her own? Perhaps she should be bolder, freer—push herself and him to the limit and see what would happen.
Today was a rare chance. Some details had been overlooked, but maybe, when added together, they could tip the scales of fate.
Then she would try drawing her sword.
A surge of unprecedented excitement blossomed in Zhong Lingxiu’s heart. She leapt high, her Wan Hua Sword Technique scattering like peach blossoms in bloom. One sword struck the beam overhead, another pierced the thatched roof. Her true energy sharpened the blade’s edge, readying it for the oncoming storm.
Raindrops, swept by the wild wind, poured into the room, swirling dead branches and leaves and extinguishing the last embers of the campfire.
Linghu Chong was caught off guard by the downpour, blinking dumbfounded as he wiped rain from his face.
What was going on? Could Junior Sister Yixiu have lost her mind? She had said herself that fighting in weather like this would tear the roof off, with no shelter ahead or behind, and that it was only natural to get soaked. Even with martial skills, their inner power paled compared to Tian Boguang’s, so there was no advantage to be gained.
“Linghu Chong!” Zhong Lingxiu urged without explanation, “Aren’t you leaving yet?”
Linghu Chong gritted his teeth. Though he still didn’t understand why she was acting this way, now was not the time to ask. He had to seize the chance to escape, break the pressured acupoints restraining him, and recover as quickly as possible.
His hands and feet were bound by ropes, preventing normal movement, so he simply rolled twice on the ground to get out of sight.
Zhong Lingxiu threw a dagger, landing by his feet, then drew her sword with a backward flick to block Tian Boguang’s blade.
He snorted coldly, showing no intention of troubling Linghu Chong, focusing all his attention on her instead.
Linghu Chong immediately grabbed the dagger to cut the ropes and darted behind the crumbling statue in the temple ruins, sitting cross-legged to cultivate true energy. Tian Boguang had struck a major acupoint on his back, allowing him limited movement of limbs but disrupting his inner energy flow. Any attempt to run his internal power risked the incoming true energy mixing with his own, damaging his vital organs and causing dizziness and collapse.
He held his breath and concentrated, secretly pushing forward, while the sound of the fight grew increasingly intense around him.
Boom!
A thick lightning bolt struck down, the thunder deafening. Unconsciously, the lightning had drawn dangerously close to their position.
Linghu Chong couldn’t tell if it was dusk or nightfall. The sky was ink-black, lit only by the sharp white flashes of lightning. Torrential rain poured down, leaves swirling wildly, severely obscuring his vision.
He caught glimpses of Tian Boguang’s blade shadows, each strike faster than the last, splashing raindrops aside like thrown projectiles aimed at the rotting pillars, which collapsed with a crackling crash. His heart pounded in terror—so this lecher had always held back his true strength.
This was bad. Junior Sister Yixiu was still a novice; she was no match for him. Worried sick, Linghu Chong’s true energy faltered momentarily, his internal organs churned painfully, nearly sending him sprawling, forcing him to focus solely on pushing his blood through the meridians.
The howling wind and raging storm carried on, but the clash of their blades remained clear as ever.
Tian Boguang’s knife was as swift as the wind—each horizontal slash cutting through rainwater, sweeping arcs of water aside. Zhong Lingxiu’s sword was as light as willow branches, supple yet powerful. Rain touched the blade and bounced off, dropping crystal-clear into muddy puddles.
Linghu Chong’s eyelashes trembled as he analyzed the battle: his junior sister’s sword was slightly inferior, her strikes slowing, the sound of water splashing becoming more chaotic. Tian Boguang’s knife remained rapid, each cut faster than the last, the gust from the blade shaking tiles loose, sending them clattering down.
Thud!
He heard a dull thump and quickly looked up and around.
Zhong Lingxiu had fallen into a rotten corner of the wall, her left hand pressed against her chest. The wind carried a faint metallic rust scent.
“Junior Sister?!” He forced himself to rise despite the pain and staggered over to support her.
“I’m fine,” Zhong Lingxiu gritted her teeth. “Don’t worry about me, I can still fight.”
She was used to defense; rushing attacks often left gaps to be exploited. Like before, she had been caught off guard and slashed across the chest. But it wasn’t a big deal. The torso was a vital area, so she had stashed the iron box inside her clothes—it had played a crucial role, blocking a fatal blow.
Only a flesh wound.
Though painful, this was exactly what she wanted.
Without a master’s sword or secret martial arts manual, breaking through bottlenecks and defeating stronger opponents was only possible at life-or-death moments.
Blood flowed, sticky between her fingers, but Zhong Lingxiu felt no pain. Adrenaline numbed the sensation, helping her stand again.
Rain washed over her palms as she exhaled gently, channeling true energy through her chest to constrict broken blood vessels and speed clotting. She also checked her ribs and internal organs; slight pain between ribs suggested possible fractures, but no major organ damage. Good. No serious injury.
Zhong Lingxiu quickly calmed herself from the shock and gripped her sword again, ready to fight.
Darkness deepened, vision worsening. Tian Boguang’s knife strikes grew harder to defend against. Fortunately, she was familiar with the “Flying Sand and Whirling Stones” style; recognizing the first move gave her a rough idea of what would come next, allowing her to block just barely.
But it wasn’t enough.
Not nearly enough.
Blocking was only the first step; she had to counterattack… no, using the Hengshan Sword Technique to block then switching to Wan Hua Sword Technique to attack was too slow.
Her sword strokes couldn’t match the speed of his blade—two moves against one would never be fast enough.
Should she switch to Wan Hua Sword Technique, attacking to defend? Or stick with Hengshan Sword Technique, looking for the perfect moment to counterattack? Zhong Lingxiu hesitated only a second before her arm throbbed sharply—Tian Boguang had found her weak spot and slashed her left arm.
She sucked in a breath and forced herself to decide.
Hengshan Sword Technique. Hengshan Sword Technique. It was the skill she had practiced longest, allowing instinctive reactions, unlike Wan Hua. Also, Hengshan’s pattern was nine defenses to one attack, striking decisively at a gap.
The only question was whether she could spot that fleeting opportunity.
I can. I can do this.
I have my advantages.
Zhong Lingxiu told herself this and steadied her breath.
Rain soaked her clothes through, clinging damply to skin. The night wind blew, evaporating moisture and drawing heat from her body. Thankfully, her true energy flowed smoothly, covering her skin and repelling the chill, creating a thin white mist rising from her surface.
She was like this—and so was Tian Boguang. Both were shrouded in white mist, looking like demons or ghosts under the gloomy storm.
Their vision worsened. Zhong Lingxiu bore more small cuts, while she inadvertently wounded him twice.
A good sign—it meant the gap between them was narrowing.
The blade twisted; the heavy rain flew.
Tian Boguang landed on the collapsed temple roof ridge, his dark face showing irritation.
His martial arts and internal strength surpassed hers. Even if he couldn’t put her down quickly, escaping unscathed was no problem. For that reason, he had toyed with them these past two days. But now, the storm brought unfavorable changes.
“Flying Sand and Whirling Stones” Thirteen Moves was stolen from a second-tier expert, injuring his legs so badly he had to practice sitting for two years. Later, he found a lightness skill and trained hard until his body recovered and his footwork became swift as wind—so even first-tier masters couldn’t catch him.
With second or third-tier methods, he had nearly reached first-tier mastery, which filled him with pride. He often looked down on disciples of prestigious sects. But he wasn’t foolish—he knew his weakness: his internal energy cultivation was not as formidable as that of orthodox sects.
Among all martial arts, Shaolin and Wudang dominated, followed by the Five Mountains Sword Sects.
They had accumulated centuries of knowledge, improving generation by generation, becoming great schools.
This was a chasm ordinary people couldn’t cross. Otherwise, how could these sects have maintained their standing? Tian Boguang certainly couldn’t.
Yet the two enemies before him both came from prestigious sects. Though outnumbered, their quality was superior. Now, fighting and defending simultaneously, his true energy barely flowed, signs of exhaustion faintly showing.
So that was it—she wanted to wear me down.
Tian Boguang immediately saw through her plan and decided on a swift victory.
Zhong Lingxiu blocked with all her might. Her single-handed strength was insufficient, forcing her to retreat three steps. Yet she blinked, her eyes shining with lightness.
With this rain, both sword and blade slowed.
The Hengshan Sword Technique might be slow, but “slow and steady wins the race,” still embodying the sword’s essence. But if the fast blade slowed, was it still a fast blade? She was about to see through his flaws—just a bit more time.
“Linghu Chong!” she called out loudly. “Are you done yet? It’s getting dark.”
Linghu Chong, hidden behind the fallen statue, heard her voice and jolted. His true energy broke through the last blockage, opening his clogged acupoints. His back ached painfully, the soreness spreading from spine to nape, leaving him weak.
He forced himself up and smiled, “Done. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“I have a sword in my bundle.” Zhong Lingxiu strode across the muddy ground, moving away from the tallest tree.
Boom!
Lightning struck right behind her, felling a towering tree not far off. The huge trunk cracked under the thunder, leaves turning to dust. The air filled with the stench of burning wood.
Tian Boguang couldn’t help but glance back. This gave Linghu Chong the chance he needed. He dashed to the wall’s base and pulled out her blue cloth bundle, indeed finding a spare long sword inside. Joy filled him as he spun up onto the rooftop eaves. “Brother Tian, why bully a young girl? Why not spar with me?”
Before he finished, a white streak pierced through the air with cold light.
With his distraction, Zhong Lingxiu’s pressure dropped sharply. She wiped her face with her sleeve, brushing aside the interfering rainwater.
Thunder and lightning illuminated the desolate outskirts.
She saw Tian Boguang’s strange blade shadows—three black, one white, wavering between real and illusory. What were the black ones? Slashes, lifts, and chops—the attack was too fast, even lightning couldn’t catch up. And the white one? Wrapped around his head and back, striking defensively but hiding three variations… No, something was off.
What was the meaning of that move? Using a fast blade to attack defensively, the moves centered on bursts and sweeps, causing heavy damage, living up to the “Flying Sand and Whirling Stones” name. The wrapped moves were defensive counters. Such a move wasn’t rare, but there were too many repetitions.
Maybe… “Linghu Chong!” she leapt three steps closer, “Use You Feng Lai Yi!”
Linghu Chong didn’t understand the reason but trusted her and twisted his wrist to execute You Feng Lai Yi.
Tian Boguang recognized the move—it was the most varied sword technique in the Huashan style and very hard to counter. Seeing the two attack together, he didn’t dare underestimate them. As his blade spun behind his back, his waist twisted right, gathering power, and the blade swept out.
Clang!
It wasn’t the knife blocking You Feng Lai Yi—it was Zhong Lingxiu’s long sword pressing against the blade.
She finally saw through the fast blade.
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