Chapter 46: Words, Fists, a Great Tree

Heavy armor braced against the wind, a long blade dragged behind.

Deputy Zhou charged forward with raw, masculine force—each step sank deep into the earth, leaving indented prints whether on fallen leaves, soil, or broken stones.

The counterforce from his feet propelled him forward five or six meters each time, body and armor alike hurtling forward.

Yet such a vast stride was no leaping motion—it was a relentless, uninterrupted sprint.

It was as if his entire body were gliding at high speed through a violent wind.

But Zhong Jinqiu had failed to intercept Director Xu just now—and yet he could intercept this man.

From the diagonal opposite, a narrow blade’s flash darted like wild willow branches whipped by storm.

Deputy Zhou swung his great blade, its fan-like shadow slicing into that cluster of flickering knife-light.

In an instant, multiple high-frequency clashes merged into a single sustained tone.

Zhong Jinqiu’s blade tip trembled like a wildflower in a gale, striking the great blade’s shaft four or five times in a single breath.

Deputy Zhou felt his grip suddenly falter—he retracted his arm and thrust the blade forward again.

A blade over five feet long, when thrust straight, would naturally have the advantage.

Zhong Jinqiu was indeed forced back by this strike—but from the other side, a shadow slithered like a venomous snake along the ground, its blade slicing straight for Deputy Zhou’s calf.

Deputy Zhou lifted his leg slightly, blocking the cut with his iron boot, then stomped down hard, bringing his great blade down with it.

Old Yu rolled away in utter disarray, barely escaping the blow.

One slight forward lean from Deputy Zhou, a sweep of his long arm—and his second strike would cleave Old Yu in two.

But Zhong Jinqiu’s figure flashed in again, his narrow, elongated blade like a silent, gleaming silver spike aimed straight at Deputy Zhou’s eyeball.

Zhong and Yu now fought in perfect tandem.

Deputy Zhou could no longer press forward—he could only retreat while fighting.

Yet his heavy armor was no ordinary gear; as long as he angled just slightly to avoid exposing its seams, those two narrow blades could only spark against his surface.

Zhong and Yu’s assault was so relentless—attacking from above and below, left and right—that they only forced him back three or four steps.

Moreover, the two of them increasingly felt they were facing a crossbow being drawn taut.

At any moment, Deputy Zhou might fully adapt, find his opening, and unleash a cataclysmic strike to shatter this encirclement.

All three fought with mounting tension.

Deep in the forest, Director Xu had halted.

He saw the thick needle embedded in the emissary’s occiput.

“You… are Chu Tianshu?!”

Xu Youjiang’s brow ridge lifted, his nostrils flared like a bull drawing breath—his speech slowed, deliberate, as if weighing him.

“Good lad. For martial artists, how great our achievements are depends on how great the men we kill are.”

“When I was your age, I only killed nameless fist-fighting rebels, and under my adoptive father’s command, I raided the homes of a few insolent minor officials.”

“Not like you!”

The more he spoke, the smoother it flowed—he even grew reflective.

“At your age, you’ve already killed an emissary sent from the capital. Your future is boundless. If I were your age, I’d bow to you as elder brother.”

Chu Tianshu stared at him, rotated his wrist, and smiled: “Your adoptive father was already killed by your own men. If I were your adoptive brother, I’d likely die even faster—I’m not so foolish.”

“Too bad. Even if you won’t be my brother, you’re dying today.”

Director Xu’s gaze shifted. “You’ve killed so many ninjas, defeated Meng Daizong, charged full-speed, poured every ounce of strength—each kill must cost you as much as running two miles up a mountain path.”

“And you still have to protect the Grand Commander behind you!”

Xu Youjiang suddenly raised his voice: “Grand Commander, I see your complexion—your poison hasn’t fully cleared. And that flute in your hand… looks extraordinary.”

“You’ve fooled so many of my men with tricks—can you still play another tune on it now?”

Cai Shanjun merely smiled at him, his expression hinting at quiet contemplation.

As if he weren’t looking at a man come to kill him, but at a flaw in a painting he’d spent half his life crafting, pondering how to revise it.

That gaze, that expression—it was unnervingly vivid.

Even Xu Youjiang, a brute who knew nothing of painting, could clearly sense how the man viewed him as a mere canvas.

Instantly, rage surged in his chest, his face darkened.

If the man had uttered even half a word—even a grunt—he could have seized the opening.

But silence. Just that expression…

Xu Youjiang’s fury surged to his scalp—he felt his skin itch and burn.

He snapped back to awareness, withdrew his peripheral gaze, and fixed his eyes solely on Chu Tianshu.

That Cai bastard was infuriating!

He’d intended to undermine these men, crush their morale.

But the more he stared at that Cai bastard, the more he feared he’d lose his own composure first.

Chu Tianshu was smiling too—but his smile wasn’t nearly as provoking.

“How many of your own men have you killed?”

Chu Tianshu raised his right hand, adjusted his collar. “Your uniform has some tears too.”

“From bullets? Or shrapnel from explosives?”

Xu Youjiang’s military coat indeed bore tears, revealing glimpses of dark gold beneath.

He must have worn some kind of soft armor underneath.

On the battlefield, when forced to choose, he’d let his armored areas absorb the shrapnel from grenades, avoiding other parts.

“In that storm of bullets and explosions, how often did your martial instinct flicker—like rain pounding a bronze gong?”

Chu Tianshu looked genuinely curious. “Your lightning-fast instinct and reflexes spared you any visible injury.”

“But have you noticed your brain temperature is far higher than usual?”

Xu Youjiang fought to maintain his calm, hiding every crack.

But his eyelid twitched uncontrollably.

Because the man had struck the truth.

“You fought through gunfire, sprinted here—while I waited, rested. Your age, I’d guess, is roughly double mine.”

Chu Tianshu smiled. “Who’s expended more? Who’ll recover faster?”

Director Xu’s fist slowly clenched.

His fingers curled inward, digging into his palm—each knuckle swelled as it tensed, the gaps between fingers squeezed shut.

Veins bulged across his hands, thick black hairs dense on the backs of his fingers.

His hands no longer looked like fists—they resembled two dense, heavy lumps of iron.

Xu Youjiang primarily trained the “Weituo Horizontal Iron Body Art.” This hard skill had an illustrious origin.

During the late Qing, a prince burned the Southern Shaolin Temple, seized its secret manual for the “Golden Bell Cover and Iron Shirt,” then combined it with the powerful herbal strengthening methods passed down from Dorgon and Ao Bai, creating this art, stored in the imperial martial archives.

Though nominally a single martial art, it was divided into two sections.

The first section emphasized fist techniques; mastery brought one to the “Dragon Coiling Around the Body” state.

The second section involved heavy herbal baths; mastery brought one to the “Guanyin Bone” state.

In his youth, Xu Youjiang trained relentlessly, achieving “Dragon Coiling Around the Body.” In recent years, he practiced daily, sending men far and wide to procure expensive herbs, bringing the second section to six or seven-tenths completion.

Had he not spent these years recruiting soldiers, expanding his power, and indulging in numerous concubines—diverting his focus—he might have fully completed the second section by now.

Now, thinking of it, a pang of regret struck him.

What good were women? Just bones and flesh—everyone had them, utterly boring.

Why had he ever lost control?

Had he resisted, he’d have completed this art fully—and today’s odds would be far better.

“You think your exhaustion is less, your recovery faster?”

Xu Youjiang forced down his inner agitation, smiled like a bared crocodile.

“Then wait a while longer. Too bad my deputy is impatient—I wonder if your two companions can hold out until then?”

Chu Tianshu’s breath grew still, long, and deep. His smile faded, but his expression grew even calmer.

“Once the stone is launched, the catapult itself becomes most vulnerable.”

Chu Tianshu still spoke plainly: “Deputy Zhou seeks his moment to strike—but when he does, will he shatter the encirclement… or be pierced through his opening?”

At the dock, two hundred soldiers had been slaughtered by Xu and Zhou—morale shattered, men leaping into the water to flee.

Ninjas lay dead in the woods; the emissary’s skull pierced by needles.

At this moment, in this place:

Xu Youjiang’s only ally was Deputy Zhou.

If the fight with Deputy Zhou dragged on until its decisive moment—and if Deputy Zhou lost—Xu Youjiang would be surrounded.

Did he truly trust his deputy that much?

He did not.

At this point, Xu Youjiang actually smiled.

“Very well. Let’s wait and see…”

The final word was swallowed by the wind.

Xu Youjiang sidestepped three meters and slammed his fist into a tree.

Their lengthy exchange bought him time to recover strength—and revealed the threat he sensed.

If one of them rushed to strike first, their movement would be larger—and more likely to expose an opening.

Since attacking first was now unavoidable, he might as well make his movements as massive, as crude, and as ferocious as possible!!

His fist, like a massive iron lump, slammed forward; a tree trunk the width of a bowl instantly shifted out of alignment and shattered apart.

The fractured surface revealed dense, resilient wood fibers, saturated with moisture, torn and snapped in an instant, leaving jagged, uneven splinters.

Before the upper half of the tree could begin to fall, Xu Youjiang seized the trunk, extended his front arm fully, and pressed it down onto the wood.

A tree over four meters long, its crown thick with wild, tangled branches.

In an instant, every leaf and branch on the crown was ripped backward by the rushing air, countless leaves shredded and exploded outward.

The shadow of the crown was large enough to cover an entire car.

Accelerating violently, it crashed straight toward Chu Tianshu!

What kind of momentum was this? How staggering was the obstruction to vision?!

Does the one who strikes first have an opening?

As long as the weapon is large and heavy enough, even if there is an opening, in that instant it will be crushed into seeming nonexistence!

(End of Chapter)