The Contest Begins at the Waterside Pavilion
The afternoon breeze was warm, and the lake shone a faint blue-green.
Outside the waterside pavilion on the eastern side of Juyi Isle, willow branches brushed the water and flower shadows drifted across the ripples. What had originally been a flower-lined causeway where the younger guests might sit, laugh, and enjoy the view had now, almost of its own accord, opened into a ring of empty space as the crowd drew back. The moment Qin Yaozong, young master of the Four Seas Gang, spoke, the scattered sons of great houses, young heirs of gangs and escort houses, and disciples of famous sects all began drifting this way in groups, as though the wind itself were gathering them in.
He had called it "a little extra excitement," but everyone understood the truth.
Once the contest began, what people would be measuring would not be technique alone, but the people themselves.
Who had courage.
Who could hold the ground.
Who could carve out a name on Juyi Isle before Qin Gang's fiftieth birthday feast had even begun.
Seeing how thoroughly the mood had been stirred, Qin Yaozong's smile widened. He lifted a hand toward the open space and said, "If we are to add a little excitement, then there should at least be some rules. Today we keep it to the younger generation. Anyone with the interest may step forward and test his skill. Touches count, but no one is to push things too far. No one is to invoke the name of his elders to bully others. And if anyone can win three bouts in a row, Qin Yaozong will personally drink a cup with him. Tomorrow, at my father's birthday feast, I will ask him to honor that man with another cup besides."
It was perfectly said.
Until then, it had been no more than spectacle. But with those few sentences, Qin Yaozong had turned it into something else entirely—stakes, pride, prestige, all at once. For a young fighter, to hear Qin Yaozong himself say, before Qin Gang's fiftieth birthday, that he was worth honoring with a drink was no light thing.
At once, several pairs of eyes in the crowd lit up.
Jiang Hui'er had already been itching to jump in. The moment she heard this, her spirits rose even higher. With a single step she vaulted over the railing, and as she landed she tossed her wine jug backward in one motion. Hu Xiaosheng caught it neatly behind her.
"Enough talk!" she shouted, rolling up her sleeves and planting her hands on her hips. "Jiang Hui'er of the Beggars' Sect claims the first bout! Anyone who thinks otherwise, come down here!"
She stood there with not the slightest trace of maidenly grace, more like a hot-blooded dockside youth ready to fight over the right of way. Yet it was precisely that wild, untamed air that set the place alight. No sooner had she finished speaking than a young man in black stepped forward from the crowd.
He was powerfully built, broad of shoulder and back, with thick, calloused hands—the kind of body tempered by years on the escort roads.
"Shi Zhenchuan of the Longwei Escort Agency," he said. "Miss Jiang, your guidance, please."
Jiang Hui'er gave him a once-over from head to foot and flashed a grin. "Good. I'll warm up with you first."
She sprang forward at once.
There was nothing delicate about that leap. She came on like a wildcat darting through the brush—fierce, fast, and entirely unrestrained. Shi Zhenchuan had intended to set himself first and stop her head-on, but Jiang Hui'er did not care in the least for such formalities. She came in with elbow, shoulder, and knee all at once, slamming into him hard enough to drive him back two steps.
Cheers broke out immediately from the sidelines.
Behind a tree, Feng Feiyun watched with delight. "That girl fights," he said under his breath, "like she's on the docks brawling over a carrying pole."
Fang Yingjie's eyes were shining. "Can she win?" he asked eagerly.
Arms folded, Feng Feiyun lounged there and said, "Shi Zhenchuan puts too much stock in his stance. His footing is solid enough, but he turns too slowly. Against someone like Jiang Hui'er, who doesn't care whether you think the fight is proper, he's already lost nearly a third of the fight."
Sure enough, after little more than a dozen exchanges, Jiang Hui'er seized the opening created by the man's overly upright style, rammed a shoulder into his center, then hooked at his knee with a sweeping leg and drove him all the way to the edge of the ring.
Shi Zhenchuan flushed with embarrassment and tried to rally himself for a last counterattack. But Jiang Hui'er drove a straight elbow into him, cutting off his breath and leaving him no choice but to smile bitterly and concede.
Jiang Hui'er threw back her head and laughed. Then she lifted her chin at the crowd. "Who's next?"
At that shout, the heat around the pavilion rose another notch.
The second to step forward was Han Zhulang of the Dongting Gang.
He was wiry and quick, with light footwork and long, fine fingers—the sort of man who clearly specialized in close-quarters grappling on the water. From the start, he refused to meet Jiang Hui'er head-on. He circled her constantly, slipping in to seize at her wrist one moment and twist at her elbow the next, like a fish impossible to grasp.
Jiang Hui'er had fought freely and cleanly in the first bout; now she suddenly found herself frustrated on every side. Her punches, elbows, and knees kept missing, and her temper rose with each failed strike. Han Zhulang knew exactly what sort of person she was. Seeing her impatience, he stayed close and kept tangling with her, intent on wearing down her fire.
More than twenty exchanges had passed when Jiang Hui'er abruptly stopped chasing him and barked, "Why do you keep dodging?"
Han Zhulang smiled and moved in again.
At that instant, Jiang Hui'er threw her shoulder forward with explosive force.
There was no finesse in it at all. It was the kind of desperate collision one saw in a street brawl. Caught off guard, Han Zhulang took the blow square in the chest and felt the air drive from his lungs. Jiang Hui'er flipped at once, trapped both his wrists, and slammed a knee down with him as the two of them hit the ground together.
"Well?" she demanded, kneeling on his waist with enormous satisfaction. "Do you yield?"
Han Zhulang struggled twice, then gave up with a rueful smile. "I yield."
Two fights, two victories. The Beggars' Sect side erupted in cheers, and Jiang Hui'er herself grew even more fired up. Standing there in the middle of the ring, hands on hips, she looked as though she meant to curse every young fighter on Juyi Isle into coming down to face her one by one.
Hu Xiaosheng shook his head with a smile. "This is bad," he said. "That girl's about to get far too pleased with herself."
And, sure enough, the third person to step forward was no ordinary heir of some gang.
It was Gu Qingfeng, a Wudang lay disciple.
He was a proper-looking young man in his early twenties, a sword on his back but empty hands before him. Pale cloud patterns were embroidered at the hem of his robe, and even the way he moved was more disciplined than the two before him.
"Gu Qingfeng of the Wudang lay disciples," he said. "Miss Jiang, your guidance, please."
The moment she heard the word Wudang, Jiang Hui'er let out a snort. "Good. I'll start with one of you people who love putting on airs."
She rushed him at once. Gu Qingfeng, however, refused to meet force with force. Instead he unfolded Wudang's Soft Cloud Palm, slow and measured. When she came in fiercely, he guided her aside with a light touch. When she pressed in fast, he yielded half a step and let her force slide away. Jiang Hui'er had won her first two bouts on sheer wild momentum; now that she had run headlong into a current of silk-wrapped steel, three or four parts of her usual strength were neutralized at once.
After twenty exchanges, frustration was already building in her. The more impatient she became, the steadier Gu Qingfeng grew. When she finally drove a punch straight down the center, Gu Qingfeng opened and closed his palms, drawing on Wudang's Silk-Twining Cloud Hand to lead her arm off line. Then, with a turn of the fingers, he struck the numbing nerve at the bend of her elbow.
Jiang Hui'er felt her whole arm go dead. She sprang back at once, eyes wide.
Gu Qingfeng folded his hands in salute. "My thanks."
Jiang Hui'er glared at him for a long moment, then snorted. "You're slipperier than an eel."
With that she stepped back from the ring, still plainly unconvinced.
Behind the tree, Feng Feiyun chuckled. "A wild style works fine against another wild style. Against a man like this, all proper softness and hidden strength, she was bound to come off worse."
The Stakes Rise
Once Gu Qingfeng had defeated Jiang Hui'er, the mood in the ring changed.
Lei Zhennan, junior head escort of the Zhenyuan Escort Agency, stepped out at once.
He was shrewder than Shi Zhenchuan and practiced Wind-Severing Elbow together with Zhenyuan's Three-Layer Step. He attacked the center and fought for rhythm. The moment the fight began, he drove in with three advancing steps, elbow and fist crossing one after another, trying to smash through Gu Qingfeng's yielding force before it could gather.
Gu Qingfeng, however, remained unhurried. Soft Cloud Palm combined with Wudang footwork let him touch and withdraw, tangle and dissolve, peeling away Lei Zhennan's pounding momentum little by little. After thirty exchanges, Lei Zhennan's breathing had begun to rise and his footwork was no longer as tight as before. At that moment, Gu Qingfeng stepped in and moved both palms together, outwardly slow but inwardly swift. He brushed aside the line of the elbow and then gave a short push.
Lei Zhennan felt his chest seize and staggered back three steps. He had lost.
"So Wudang's lay disciples really do have some substance," someone muttered at the sidelines.
With two victories to his name, Gu Qingfeng had brought a measure of face to Wudang. But that face had not yet settled when someone from the Kongtong side let out a cold little laugh.
The man was Shao Fang.
He was lean, sharp-eyed, and sword-bearing, and until now had stood in the crowd in perfect silence. Yet that single faint laugh drew every eye around him.
Gu Qingfeng turned to look. "Brother Shao seems to have an opinion?"
Shao Fang stepped out slowly, expression unchanged. "No opinion worth mentioning. I only want to see how long Wudang's soft palm can remain soft."
There was edge in the words already.
Gu Qingfeng frowned slightly, but in the end only saluted. "Please."
Shao Fang's sword came out like the wind.
He practiced Kongtong's Chasing Wind Sword. The instant he began, he launched thirteen linked strikes—fast, harsh, and relentless, like a mountain gale in one's face. Gu Qingfeng had been able to remain steady in his earlier bouts because his opponents were either too rigid or too wild, allowing him to deflect their force. But Shao Fang's quick sword was built around one principle above all: seize the initiative first. Before the blade even arrived, its sharpness was already there.
Gu Qingfeng retreated three steps in succession, barely managing to turn aside the first few strikes with his cloud hands. At the ninth strike, however, Shao Fang's feet shifted and the blade came sweeping up on the diagonal—a variation from Kongtong's Flying Sand and Rolling Stone. Gu Qingfeng saw only a flash of cold steel before the edge slit half an inch through his sleeve.
In the next instant, the sword point had stopped three inches from his chest.
Gu Qingfeng stood silent for a moment, then saluted and conceded.
The Wudang side fell quiet at once.
Shao Fang showed no particular pride. He merely said coolly, "Who's next?"
Ying Beichen, young hall master of Seven Stars Hall, stepped forward.
His art centered on Seven Stars Step and the Shaking Light Hand—swift feet, swift hands, a style of clever angles and quick changes. But Shao Fang's sword was simply too fast. No matter how nimble Ying Beichen's footwork was, he was driven all over the ring. After twenty-odd exchanges, Shao Fang's sword pressed horizontally and forced him back again and again until he had no choice but to concede.
Next came Sha Tonghe, young master of the Three Rivers Gang.
His arms were thick and powerful, and his boxing style was all brute force, every strike like a slab of stone swung to crush a man. But Shao Fang was least troubled by that sort of direct, heavy-handed approach. If your punch was heavy, his sword was faster. If your step was rooted, his sword cut straight into the point where your movement had not yet recovered. Within little more than a dozen exchanges, Sha Tonghe was already in disarray. In the end, one slap of the flat of Shao Fang's sword against his wrist nearly sent even his weapon flying from his hand, and he could only smile bitterly and retreat.
Kongtong had won three straight.
By now, the truly weighty figures among the younger generation were no longer content merely to watch.
"Shao Fang's sword is so fast."
"The others before him couldn't even hold out."
"The level here just keeps climbing."
Qin Yaozong was watching with growing excitement, light sharpening in his eyes. By now, the heirs of gangs, escort agencies, and Wudang lay disciples had all become the opening acts. The time had come for the heirs of the great sects to steady the field.
Sure enough, someone from the Kunlun side stepped forward.
He was tall, lean, and dark-skinned, with high brow bones and a longsword at his waist. Standing there, he looked like a banner planted on a windswept frontier pass.
"Qi Lianzhou of Kunlun."
That was all. After giving Shao Fang the briefest salute, he said no more.
Shao Fang's eyes narrowed. For the first time, the trace of disdain in him faded.
The moment this bout began, the waterside pavilion grew noticeably quieter.
Qi Lianzhou practiced Kunlun's Desert Longwind Sword. Its path was broad, its momentum long, its force deeply rooted—the exact opposite of Shao Fang's quick and ruthless style. Shao Fang had dominated the earlier bouts with speed alone; now he had run straight into mountain wind. However fast his sword, it could not crush that one long, steady current of strength in Qi Lianzhou's body.
Twenty exchanges. Thirty. Forty.
The faster Shao Fang fought, the steadier Qi Lianzhou became. At the fortieth exchange, Qi Lianzhou's sword suddenly swept out long and full—the move called Longwind at Yumen Pass. Shao Fang raised his sword to block and felt a violent shock in his palm, enough to numb the tiger's mouth between thumb and forefinger. Before he could change again, Qi Lianzhou's feet shifted and he had already come around to Shao Fang's flank. He did not truly thrust. Instead he simply tapped the other man's wrist lightly with the flat of his sword.
Shao Fang's face changed. His sword nearly flew from his hand.
Qi Lianzhou withdrew and saluted. "My thanks."
This victory carried real weight.
It was not merely that Qi Lianzhou had beaten Shao Fang. It was that he had broken the whole momentum that had built through the earlier rounds.
Standing at the railing, Qin Yaozong swept his gaze slowly over the younger generation and said, "Now that Brother Qi of Kunlun has reached this point, which house still has someone willing to step down?"
At that question, every eye turned almost instinctively toward the few who truly mattered.
From Flying Snow Manor, Shangguan Lü did not move his teacup, and Zhuge Hui's smile did not change.
From Mount Hua, Zheng Chong stood at some distance with his brows faintly knit.
Farther behind him, Xuanyuan Xi stood beneath the corridor in a pale blue robe that caught the lake-light. He was so calm he might have been listening to the wind. At his waist hung the black Heaven-Radiance Sword, its sheath dark and ancient, revealing not the slightest glint of sharpness and yet carrying a depth like still black water.
Watching from afar, Xi Qian felt something inside her chest tighten.
She knew it was almost time for Brother Xi to step forward.
Sure enough, standing in the ring, Qi Lianzhou turned his gaze toward the Mount Hua side.
"Young Master Xuanyuan of Mount Hua," he said slowly. "I have heard your name for a long time. Will you step forward and test your skill?"
The words were neither light nor heavy, but they drew the breath of the whole pavilion upward in one motion.
Mount Hua's Clear Edge
Zheng Chong's brows moved slightly. He had meant to say something first, but the words reached his lips and went no farther.
At this point, if Mount Hua still refused to answer, it would no longer look like Mount Hua.
Xuanyuan Xi lifted his eyes and glanced first toward Zheng Chong. The moment Zheng Chong met his gaze, he understood that the decision had already been made. He could only give the faintest nod.
Only then did Xuanyuan Xi walk slowly down the corridor steps.
His pace was neither fast nor slow, like a mountain man crossing a stone path, or a Daoist disciple descending temple steps. But the moment he entered the ring, the atmosphere around the waterside pavilion, which still held traces of lively excitement, somehow quieted without anyone quite noticing when it happened.
It was not because he radiated sharpness.
On the contrary, it was because the calm in him was so steady that the longer one looked, the less lightly one dared take him.
Standing beneath the flower gate, Qin Xin found herself looking at him twice as well.
The night before, she had only heard his name. This was the first time she had really looked at him.
He was not like those young gallants who deliberately flaunted their edge. Neither was he cold and piercing like her cousin. He possessed a kind of stillness one rarely saw. And the quieter he seemed, the harder it was to see to the bottom of him.
Qi Lianzhou saluted. "Please."
Xuanyuan Xi returned the courtesy. "Please."
Qi Lianzhou's sword came out at once in the grand, open style of Kunlun.
The sword rose level, and the force arrived before the blade itself.
Xuanyuan Xi, however, did not draw his sword.
His right palm turned, and he began with Five Peaks Palm of Mount Hua.
At first glance it seemed plain enough, yet hidden inside it was the rhythm of rising and falling peaks. When the palm sank, it seemed like Cloud Terrace Peak descending overhead. When Qi Lianzhou's sword shifted slightly aside, the palm path changed as well, suddenly growing light and circling, like the turning of Lotus Flower Peak amid cloud and mist. Two palms flowed into one another and, in that exchange alone, caught and bound half an inch of Kunlun's longwind sword force.
Qi Lianzhou felt a shock in his heart. At once his sword changed, rising from below to cut at the opening beneath Xuanyuan Xi's elbow.
Xuanyuan Xi's feet shifted. He had already unfolded Step-Cloud Stair from Mount Hua's movement arts. His figure floated half a foot away, and the sword passed harmlessly by. In the very next instant his left palm drew aside, and his right fist shot out from beneath his ribs.
Blazing Force Fist.
The punch had not yet arrived, but its sheer yang force was already pressing against the face. Qi Lianzhou raised his sword horizontally to block, only to hear a dull boom as the blade shuddered in his hands and his entire arm went numb.
A hush of indrawn breath passed around the pavilion.
"He's taking Kunlun's sword barehanded and still forcing him back?"
"So Mount Hua's young master truly is no ordinary one."
Qi Lianzhou steadied his breathing and raised the sword again, striking five times in succession, every stroke aimed down the centerline. Xuanyuan Xi still did not rush or fluster. First the Facing Sun Peak and Jade Maiden Peak lines of Five Peaks Palm unfolded one after the other—one upright, one subtle—intercepting all five strikes. Then, at the height of Qi Lianzhou's sword momentum, Xuanyuan Xi's palms suddenly softened and turned into Soft Cloud Palm. With just one light touch, he led the edge of the sword half a line off course.
That half-line was enough.
Xuanyuan Xi followed at once with the Landing Wild Geese Peak line, three linked palms in swift succession, driving Qi Lianzhou back seven full steps. By the time the other man had just stabilized himself, Xuanyuan Xi's palm had already stopped three inches before his shoulder.
Qi Lianzhou withdrew his sword. His expression remained calm, but there was now a new seriousness in his eyes. "Mount Hua's arts are exceptional. I concede."
The edge of the ring fell quiet for an instant, then cheers broke like a wave.
"Excellent palm work!"
"He hasn't even drawn his sword!"
"This is Mount Hua indeed!"
Standing behind a tree, Xi Qian felt her face grow a little warm as she listened to the cries around her. She herself was standing as inconspicuously as possible, and yet the joy in her heart felt as though it had already been seen through by everyone.
Qin Xin, too, found herself looking at Xuanyuan Xi twice more. The trace of idle curiosity that had been in her eyes before was fading now, replaced by something more deliberate.
No sooner had Qi Lianzhou withdrawn than another young fighter from Kunlun stepped forward.
His name was Ling Hanfeng, another strong figure among Kunlun's younger generation. Unlike Qi Lianzhou, he worked in a style that alternated between palm and sword, his palm hiding sword intent and his sword concealing palm force, his changes subtler and more intricate.
"Ling Hanfeng of Kunlun," he said. "Your guidance, please."
Xuanyuan Xi saluted once again. "Please."
The difference was evident at once.
Qi Lianzhou's sword had been grand and upright; Ling Hanfeng's was much finer and trickier. He began with palm before sword, the palm seizing the center while the sword cut at openings. At times the sword edge had not yet arrived, yet the palm force had already sealed the way of retreat.
For the first ten-odd exchanges, Xuanyuan Xi could no longer press forward step by step as he had before. Ling Hanfeng's palm-and-sword coordination was too tight, forcing him at last to bring his movement arts fully into play.
Mount Hua's movement skills opened one after another—first Step-Cloud Stair, then Crane Shadow Turning on the Slant. His figure drifted left and right, and in that constant shifting all of Ling Hanfeng's attacks fell just outside striking distance. When Ling Hanfeng finally brought down a heavy palm, Xuanyuan Xi answered with Soft Cloud Palm, leading the force aside; then Blazing Force Fist crashed in from the opposite angle.
Ling Hanfeng raised his hands in haste to meet it, only to discover that the other's fist force was heavy and blazing with yang strength, while the softness of the earlier palm had not yet dispersed. It was as though hardness and softness had arrived together. His breathing seized at once. In the next ten exchanges, the Jade Maiden Peak and Lotus Flower Peak lines of Five Peaks Palm rose and fell in succession, now light, now circling, until Ling Hanfeng's rhythm came apart. In the end, a plain, direct Facing Sun Peak palm forced him to retreat of his own accord.
Two victories over Kunlun.
At that point, the expressions of the younger generation at the sidelines all changed.
Qi Lianzhou and Ling Hanfeng were no ordinary opponents. For Xuanyuan Xi to defeat them one after another, and still without drawing his sword, no longer meant merely that he "could fight." It meant he had begun to command the field.
Young Master Sha Wanli of the Red Sand Gang could no longer restrain himself and jumped directly into the ring.
"Sha Wanli of the Red Sand Gang," he shouted. "Let me see Mount Hua's palm arts!"
Sha Wanli was a rough-and-ready fighter. His palms were rough and red from hard training, and buried within his palm work were low, dirty kicks and knee-sweeps that went after the lower body. Against a conventional disciple of an orthodox sect, such a style could often throw a man into disorder.
Unfortunately for him, Xuanyuan Xi was least likely of all to be thrown into disorder.
If you were ruthless, he was steady. If you were chaotic, he remained upright. Five Peaks Palm pressed down from above and held the frame of the fight. Step-Cloud Stair crossed with Wandering Immortal Path to shift his position again and again, causing Sha Wanli's vicious low attacks to miss completely. And when Sha Wanli's breathing began to rise and impatience took over, Xuanyuan Xi pushed out with the heavy, sinking line of Cloud Terrace Peak and drove both his palms aside at once, forcing him back five steps until he collided with the railing.
Sha Wanli's face turned alternately green and white. In the end, he could only fold his hands and concede.
After that, another strong Wudang lay disciple came out.
His name was Song Hanzhen. Slightly older than Gu Qingfeng, he practiced Two Principles Soft Palm together with Taiyi footwork, a style built around sticking, tangling, dissolving, and turning. The instant he entered, he did not fight for initiative. He only circled Xuanyuan Xi slowly, clearly intending first to probe the depth of his opponent.
But the more he probed, the more he realized something was wrong.
Once Xuanyuan Xi's Five Peaks Palm spread out, it gave him very few chances to truly get attached to it. When Song Hanzhen finally succeeded in sticking to Xuanyuan Xi's arm and tried to use soft force to work open a path little by little, Xuanyuan Xi's fist suddenly moved. Blazing Force Fist crashed forward in all its upright force and shattered the softness in Song Hanzhen's palm.
Song Hanzhen changed his footwork three times in succession, yet still could not dissolve the straightforward power of that punch. In the end, he had no choice but to retreat and concede.
After that, even the Emei side could no longer hold back.
The one who stepped out was Su Qinglan, the heir of Emei's Sect Leader.
She was eighteen or nineteen, dressed in plain pale green, a sword at her waist and an extremely calm expression on her face. The moment she stepped forward, all the delicacy of Emei's lighter sword traditions unfolded before everyone's eyes. Her slender sword moved like flying petals, like water pierced through, like slanting wind and fine rain. It made more than one person draw breath in appreciation.
Up until now, Xuanyuan Xi had mostly pressed others with fist and palm. Now, facing such a light and agile sword art, greater subtlety and circling finesse appeared in his own palm work—more of Jade Maiden Peak and Lotus Flower Peak. His palms drifted like cloud, now seen, now unseen. Su Qinglan's sword was beautiful to look at, but whenever it fell before him, it seemed always to be obscured by a strip of mountain cloud. After more than twenty exchanges, her sword force rose at last into the Emei move Flying Petals Enter the Water, where the real cut lay hidden inside the false one. But Xuanyuan Xi had already stepped aside. His right palm slanted out and drew her sword off course, while his left palm had already stopped three inches before her shoulder.
Su Qinglan sheathed her sword and smiled faintly. "Mount Hua's palm arts truly are exceptional."
No sooner had she withdrawn than a young monk from the Shaolin side stepped forward.
His Dharma name was Chengyue. Broad-backed and thick-shouldered, he moved with the rooted steadiness of a man trained in hard external arts. He carried no weapon. He only placed his palms together in greeting and took his stance.
This bout was the heaviest, and the most revealing of real skill.
Shaolin fist and palm arts place great weight on fundamentals. The moment Chengyue began, it was with Arhat Fist and Prajna Palm. Every step he took seemed nailed into bluestone. His punches and palms contained no flourish, yet carried the rooted heaviness of an old tree gripping the earth. Against him, Xuanyuan Xi no longer pressed forward with attack alone. Palm, fist, and step began to interweave—Five Peaks Palm holding the structure, Blazing Force Fist breaking open gaps, Soft Cloud Palm dissolving the after-force behind the blows.
The two of them exchanged more than thirty moves. The sound of fist and palm colliding landed one after another, heavy enough to make the hearts of the onlookers sink with each impact. At last, when Chengyue drove in with one great palm, Xuanyuan Xi's foot shifted and Wandering Immortal Path slipped aside by half a step, giving way within inches. He turned and sent back a Lotus Flower Peak palm that landed at the side of the monk's elbow.
Chengyue's arm went numb and his palm force broke apart instantly.
He retreated two steps and placed his palms together. "Amitabha. Donor Xuanyuan's skill is excellent."
By now, no one at the edge of the pavilion dared underestimate Mount Hua's young master any longer.
The Young Overlord Tests His Edge
Kunlun's twin talents, the young master of the Red Sand Gang, a Wudang expert, the heir of Emei's Sect Leader, and a young Shaolin monk—all had fallen beneath Xuanyuan Xi's palms. More importantly still, from beginning to end, he still had not drawn his sword.
Qin Yaozong watched with eyes blazing. Competitive fire and admiration rose inside him together. He had never been the sort who could sit still for long. Earlier, his position had forced him to restrain himself. But now, after seeing the field pushed higher and higher by Xuanyuan Xi alone, how could he still sit?
He strode down the stone steps at once.
"Young Master Xuanyuan."
The moment he spoke, every gaze in the place turned once more.
"The men before this were all capable enough, but in the end they were still guests. If you have fought your way this far and I, as host, still do not come down, then it would be hard to justify."
The words instantly brought a new kind of heat into the ring.
At last, the young master of the host house himself was stepping in.
Xuanyuan Xi raised his eyes to Qin Yaozong and saluted lightly. "Your guidance, please, Young Master Qin."
Qin Yaozong laughed aloud, shook out his sleeves, and stepped into the ring.
Though he carried no weapon today, the moment he settled his stance, everyone felt the difference. If the earlier men had been merely heirs of sects and gangs, this Young Overlord carried the lordly force of Taihu's open waters in his very body. The moment his shoulders sank and his palms opened, it felt as though a great spear had been laid across the river itself.
Behind the tree, Feng Feiyun's eyes lit up. "Good," he said softly. "At last this one's bringing out the real thing."
The Qin family's arts had always centered on fist, palm, and spear.
Its fists included Overlord Fist That Overturns Rivers, fierce and direct. Its palms included Sea-Turning Stone-Splitting Palm and Wave-Breaking River-Swallowing Palm, broad and layered, their force rising and crashing like the tides. And its true killing art was River-Cutting Spear Across the Waters, a spear whose horizontal sweep seemed able to sever the river itself. Though Qin Yaozong had entered barehanded, the moment he raised his hands, the intent of the spear was already present in them.
He stepped in sharply, the edge of his palm driving toward Xuanyuan Xi's chest. The palm had not yet arrived, but the force had already locked the river in place—Long Bridge Locking the River, a stance from River-Cutting Spear now turned into a palm strike.
Xuanyuan Xi's gaze sharpened. He met it head-on with the Facing Sun Peak line of Five Peaks Palm.
When the palms collided, the impact came with a dull boom. Both men's sleeves snapped backward at once.
Qin Yaozong's first palm had not yet fully ended when Overlord Fist That Overturns Rivers followed it at once. That style relied on one punch pressing into the next, wave after wave against the shore. Xuanyuan Xi did not retreat. He met it directly with Blazing Force Fist.
Boom.
The wind of the collision spread outward, enough to stir even the hems of the nearest onlookers' robes.
This was a true head-on clash.
Qin Yaozong fought with mounting excitement. Shoulder and elbow moved together, fist and palm alternating without pause. Sea-Turning Stone-Splitting Palm came down heavy as waves; Overlord Fist came in hard as thunder. At times a slant in the palm path would reveal the straight thrust, crashing break, rising lift, and downward press of the spear hidden within it. Though he held no weapon, it felt as though an invisible great spear remained in his hands throughout.
Against the earlier opponents, Xuanyuan Xi had still been able to fight with relative ease. Now, facing Qin Yaozong, he too had to settle fully into the fight.
Even so, what he used beneath him was still only Mount Hua's own movement skills—Soaring Cloud Leap, Step-Cloud Stair, Wandering Immortal Path. Their changes were already mature, yet he had still not drawn upon the deeper interplay of yin and yang.
Five Peaks Palm unfolded in layer after layer. Cloud Terrace Peak was steady. Facing Sun Peak was upright. Landing Wild Geese Peak was swift. Jade Maiden Peak was subtle. Lotus Flower Peak circled back. Peak after peak rose into motion and met the overwhelming surge of Qin Yaozong's tide-like force head-on.
More than twenty exchanges passed before Qin Yaozong gave a great shout and sent out Wave-Breaking River-Swallowing Palm in a chain, one strike heavier than the last, until even the sound of the wind in the ring seemed to change.
Watching from the side, Xi Qian felt her heart tighten and could not help clutching at her sleeve.
But Feng Feiyun gave a low laugh beside her. "Don't panic. Your Brother Xi hasn't lost his composure yet."
And indeed, though Xuanyuan Xi gave ground by two steps, his form never scattered in the least. At the height of Qin Yaozong's palm force, Xuanyuan Xi suddenly led the first wave of force slightly aside with a light guiding motion. At once Blazing Force Fist crashed in from the flank, striking precisely at the weakest point along the edge of Qin Yaozong's palm.
Qin Yaozong felt a blast of hard yang force slam into him, and the momentum of his palm faltered. Before he could change, Soft Cloud Palm had already settled onto his wrist, gently sending the remaining force away. Then the Landing Wild Geese Peak line suddenly rose swift and sharp, three palms in half a breath.
Qin Yaozong barely managed to take the first two. The third he could no longer receive. He had no choice but to retreat half a step and break off on his own.
He lowered his head, looked at his slightly numb right palm, and suddenly burst out laughing.
"Excellent!" he said. "I lose by half a move."
That admission cost him nothing. If anything, it made him seem all the more forthright.
Cheers rose once again around the pavilion.
When Qin Yaozong had finished laughing, the sharpness in his eyes had already turned completely into admiration. He turned deliberately and raised his voice for all to hear.
"You have all seen it! Young Master Xuanyuan of Mount Hua has subdued the best among you one after another, and when he reached me, he still did not falter. In looks, in martial skill, in cultivation, in bearing—"
At this point his gaze swept, seemingly by chance, toward Flying Snow Manor, and the smile on his lips deepened.
"—I would say that even compared with the young marquis of the Bai family in the north, he would not necessarily come off worse!"
The instant those words left his mouth, the atmosphere around the pavilion tightened at once.
From the Flying Snow Manor side, Shangguan Lü did not stir in his snow-white robe. He only set down his teacup with quiet care. Zhuge Hui still held his painting brush, but the smile at his lips thinned slightly, as though in resignation—or perhaps as though he had expected exactly this.
Qin Xin stood by the flower gate. Until now she had been only half watching the excitement and half following her own thoughts, but at those words, the willow branch between her fingers twisted unconsciously, leaving a fine mark in the bark.
The light in her eyes gradually gave way to anxiety.
Feng Feiyun took it all in, slowly spat out the grass stem that had been in his mouth, and laughed softly.
"Good," he murmured.
"At last, things are heating up where they should."
Poetic Coda
By the waterside pavilion, spring winds stirred bright spray;
Young fists and palms first tested the roads of the world.
The Beggars' Sect seized the opening momentum of the field,
Then Kunlun rose and pressed the crowd into fresh surprise.
Mount Hua never drew the sword at its waist,
Yet Taihu had already startled the tea in every cup.
Most of all, it was one line from the Young Overlord
That turned half the isle's gaze toward the Bai family.
(End of Chapter Eight)