Chapter 132: First Victory

Both had already stepped onto the fighting platform, and the referee was also a martial arts master. He glanced left and right at the two competitors, nodded, then stepped back. Bai Lang and Ma Cangfeng were about three meters apart. Bai Lang stared at the person before him, gauging his martial prowess—but there wasn't much; Bai Lang didn't think he posed any threat. "The match begins!" With the referee's command, a glint of cold light had already reached him.

"This sword strike is incredibly fast!" Bai Lang exclaimed, raising his hand and slapping out. The slap was just as swift, like a cat swiping with its claws, but Ma Cangfeng's sword‑retrieval speed was even faster, leaving only a fleeting electric afterimage in the air; this Wudang swordsman had already withdrawn his sword, shifted position, and thrust again. "Isn't Wudang swordplay supposed to be soft and water‑like, penetrating everywhere? Or the endless linking of yin and yang? How did this fierce sword technique come about?"

Bai Lang twitched his cheek, his palms turning into claws as he unleashed a series of grabs, relying on his Thirteen Tai Bao Golden Bell Shield training, hoping to first seize that man's sword. The Wudang sect apparently had acquired such lightness skill at some point—though Bai Lang, no matter which life he'd lived, seemed never to have witnessed Wudang martial arts……Wasn't this just knowledge gleaned from wuxia novels? Who said Wudang only had the Cloud‑Ladder Leap, that straight‑up‑and‑down elevator divine skill?

Actually, Wudang's soft skill is what truly flows like wind and water, following the momentum to turn, thus forming this kind of lightness skill. After a few grabs, Bai Lang still couldn't get hold of the sword, "Each move doesn't need to be aged; the smooth reversal actually carries the spirit of Wudang's yin‑yang rotation." He thought. By now the two martial artists had exchanged more than ten moves without any contact; Bai Lang's true qi remained within his body, so he could only rely on his sixth sense to sense the opponent's possible next change.

"In terms of moves, even the former head of Huashan would fall short. But when it comes to sword intent and sword qi, this one simply cannot be matched!" Bai Lang also lamented the changing times; those subtle, refined advances in swordsmanship truly surpassed what came before.

The spectators roared like a mountain‑shout and sea‑tide—this world's platform fights could never be as quiet as listening to classical music; on the contrary, the noisier the better. So a martial artist's platform bout, to the audience below, is hardly different from a theater. The aesthetic of human strength and slaughter has always been the same. Those with true insight gather in the Water Pavilion; their commentary on the fight makes sense, for instance, in judging the current situation of both sides.

"It looks like the one named Bai Lang has the upper hand," said a middle‑aged man with a deep, resonant voice, and others nodded, "His strength is vast and mighty—that Wudang kid simply can't break through……He must be training in an external hardening art." At that moment a girl's giggling laughter rang out; she was a very pretty older sister, "Bai Lang… hahaha Bai Lang, sharing the same name as that Great Ming Junior Guardian—could it be that he's also practicing the same Thirteen Tai Bao Golden Bell Shield? hahahaha."

At this point Bai Lang snorted coldly, decided not to waste time, and launched an attack. His body sank slightly, as if curling into a ball, then in the next instant his frame elongated, bringing with it a gust of bloody, fishy wind. Even in the wind a faint tiger's roar could be heard. The watching martial artists' faces changed: "Form‑fist! Tiger Form—has he already entered the hall?", "Not just that!"

Meanwhile, the spectators on the other three sides all leaned back, while the front rows simply rolled backward—had it not been for the police maintaining order and the pre‑arranged spacing, a trampling incident would have likely occurred. As Bai Lang lunged forward, the wind he kicked up pressed directly against Ma Cangfeng; the Wudang practitioner's Lightness Skill could not borrow the gust, and the opponent before him seemed to turn into a ferocious tiger, a huge tiger filling his entire vision as it lunged.

Ma Cangfeng also changed his sword posture, beginning to draw circles. The sword light condensed, a hissing sound on the blade, and instantly specks of circular ripple spread out like rain on West Lake, completely enveloping him. This was Ma Cangfeng's signature Wudang sword technique.

Bai Lang, accompanied by the bloody wind, ignored that sword‑lake‑like stance and reached out, tearing.

Ma Cangfeng's sword stance instantly fell apart; the original circular sword pattern shattered at once, and the sword in his hand was seized by Bai Lang. The sharp blade could not cut Bai Lang's palm—instead, the sword was firmly gripped by his fingers. Ma Cangfeng looked at Bai Lang's face, that bearded, disheveled visage breaking into a grin of triumph, "External hardening art?!" Ma Cangfeng only managed to utter those words before a tremendous force slammed in, and he could no longer hold onto his sword……

His palm ached—likely the sword hilt had been ground raw by the force, and his chest and abdomen felt as if struck by a great hammer; a huge force launched him high into the air, slamming him into the water beyond the platform. "It's fine, this isn't pure strength; at most he'll have some bruising—the force mainly served to throw him out of the ring." Bai Lang said to calm the referee and others. The sword he'd held in his left hand was finally tossed to the ground by Bai Lang, and he watched as Ma Cangfeng's head emerged from the West Lake water, baring his teeth in a grimace, then chuckled.

In a single move—after Bai Lang truly launched his attack, Ma Cangfeng lost. His sword was taken and he was blown away; Bai Lang felt this fully demonstrated Ma Cangfeng's inadequacy in combat: "It's obvious he lacks experience; after I seized his sword he had no reaction—if he truly had enough experience he should have immediately dropped the sword and defended himself with fist‑and‑palm techniques or counterattacked, instead of freezing."

As for that, the spectators in the Water Pavilion thought the same, especially since Ma Cangfeng's senior elders were among them; they estimated he'd be given a good workout by his elders when he returned. The beauty who had spoken earlier, now a bit dazed, covered her mouth and said, "Really? Is it external hardening martial arts? Is it the Thirteen Tai Bao Golden Bell Shield?" She was quite excited, and the masters present shook their heads and nodded, "Not necessarily—after all, the genuine Thirteen Tai Bao Golden Bell Shield has been lost, but this is undoubtedly a rare external hardening art of the present age."

Being able to blunt the edge of blades and swords, this is indeed a top‑tier product among external hardening arts—these days quite a few people train in such arts, but to reach the point where one can seize a blade bare‑handed without a scratch is rare. In the military and police forces, many train in external hardening, and there should be experts like this among them.

The referee had already announced Bai Lang's victory; at this stage it was a single‑elimination tournament, so Ma Cangfeng was out for the year…. He trudged to the platform, utterly dispirited, picked up his sword. His Han clothing was soaked through, his hair disheveled—he certainly looked a sorry sight.