Chapter 117

Feng Yi may be a hot‑headed sort, but after the system messed with him like this, he felt utterly stifled.

He came today with great fanfare, speaking loudly with Kublai, Yelü Chucai and others, firstly to let the broad masses hear and see certain matters.

Even if he cannot immediately change their thinking, he must use these voices to spread the notion that Han people who serve the Mongols will meet no good end.

After all, resisting the Mongols is beyond his sole power; it requires all Han people to rise in revolt, not merely those in the south.

Therefore, it requires someone to take the lead and others to respond; that is the basis for accomplishing anything.

Second, he came to sow discord, repeatedly praising Kublai as equal to the emperor, spouting nonsense about a 'true dragon Son of Heaven'.

For he knows full well that the Mongols abound in talent; among the many sons of Tolui—Möngke, Hulagu, Ariq Böke, and others—not one is an ordinary nobody.

Moreover, the sons of Jochi and Chagatai are no less remarkable.

Kublai is only twenty now; although he appears to be leading the campaign against the Song, holding high rank and authority, he remains a thorn in the side and a splinter in the flesh of certain people.

If he can make those folks wary of him, the Mongols, vying for power and gain, might be provoked into civil war—perhaps even more useful than killing Kublai outright.

Because Feng Yi knows that Kublai's war against the Song has dragged on; the two earlier major offensives both ended in defeat, until Möngke died in battle, he took the throne, quelled the internal strife, and only then captured Xiangyang and wiped out the Southern Song.

Xiaoxiangzi

So he has come here, and as for whether to kill Kublai, he has not yet made a clear decision.

After all, he is no simple‑minded fool; if he wanted to kill Kublai, sneaking in at night to assassinate would be far easier—who would stand at the camp gate shouting challenges?

But he never imagined that the long‑silent system would cause him trouble.

This option of defecting to Kublai and helping him unify the world, according to his own wishes, is absolutely something he would not accept.

Yet the system's reward of 1000 achievement points is especially alluring to him.

After all, the Dragon‑Elephant Prajña Skill has thirteen levels; throughout history, tantric masters who reach the ninth level are as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns—like the Golden Wheel National Preceptor in the original storyline, who trained his whole life and attained the tenth level, something never before seen in antiquity,

The eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth levels thereafter are purely the inventor's imagination; whether they are real, no one knows.

But Feng Yi possesses the system; if he relies on achievement points to level up, perhaps he could find an answer.

Mare's milk wine

Southern Song

As for the word 'Han traitor,' Feng Yi has loathed it intensely since childhood.

At this moment, the huge benefits conflict with the steadfast ideology; making a decision, how could it be so easy?

Then Monk Zicong said, "Hero Feng, your martial arts are unrivaled under heaven; is this monk's cup of wine something you refuse to drink, or dare not drink?"

At this moment, there were over a thousand people gathered around the yuan gate, all silent as crows and sparrows; even Kublai's personal guard alone numbered a thousand, and they all stared at Feng Yi.

See whether he will accept Monk Zicong's cup of wine.

If he accepts it, that means he agrees to Kublai's recruitment.

Feng Yi's face turned pale, his eyes stared blankly, he spaced out for a moment, then suddenly let out a long sigh and laughed loudly: "I have to say, Your Highness, today you truly let me experience what it means to be in a difficult position for a strong person!"

Upon hearing this, the crowd paid no mind; from Feng Yi's unusual behavior, they also sensed that he was tempted by Kublai's recruitment.

After all, Kublai's words "I have, I can give you anything" are already the greatest honor in a person's life.

At this moment, the vastness of Mongol territory is unparalleled throughout history; to obtain Kublai's words is enough to make one famous under heaven. Those who can resist such temptation are believed to be as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns; Feng Yi is so young, exactly the age to establish merit and career, making it naturally even harder.

Kublai smiled slightly and said, "A true man should draw a strong bow and defeat strong foes; otherwise, what's the difference from rotten wood and grass? Sir, please accept this cup of wine!"

At this moment, Feng Yi truly understood why there are so many betrayals in the world—sometimes temptation is simply impossible to resist.

This thousand achievement points would be enough for him to max out the Nine Yin True Scripture and the Dragon Elephant Prajna Skill, so he hesitated.

But what if this temptation were even greater?

For instance, if it allowed him to become an immortal instantly—would his heart still hold any sense of loyalty to family and country? Feng Yi dared not think about it, nor did he want to.

Feng Yi glanced at Kublai, then shot a sideways glance at the crowd, seeing Xiaoxiangzi and others looking at him with mocking expressions, as if saying, "You're not the same as us? What's with talking about serving others?" A surge of arrogance rose in Feng Yi's heart: "I have trained my martial arts to this level—could it be that I still have to go against my own will because of the system?"

In the future, he might have me kill the woman I love, even my children—would I then have to do that? Damn it, I won't do this; even if I spend my whole life here, what of it? A person lives on a breath, a tree on its bark! Thinking of this, Feng Yi laughed heartily and said, "Your Highness's generosity cannot be refused outright."

Monk Zicong stepped forward, smiling, "Sir, you are truly a peerless talent of the age!" and handed over the wine.

Feng Yi, however, did not reach for the cup; he merely gathered his inner strength and sucked hard.

This was like a whale sucking water—the wine in the cup turned into a stream drawn into his mouth.

Kublai's brows furrowed slightly; he knew that although Feng Yi had drunk the wine, he had not taken the cup, clearly expressing his refusal of the recruitment while showing no fear.

Kublai felt even more pleased; just as he was about to phrase further persuasion, he heard Feng Yi declare loudly: "Your Highness, I firmly believe in one principle: if you owe someone something, you must repay it; but if you cannot repay, you will certainly not be human in your next life."

As he spoke, he scanned the crowd, licked his lips, his gaze settling on Kublai's face and said: "Your Highness, the mare's milk wine you offered me is pungent, sour, astringent—entering the mouth like a blade, a man's drink; then shouldn't a man do what a man does? A man who can sell his soul and principles for profit has not even a shred of righteousness; for his whole life, besides using lofty excuses to hypnotize himself into living in his own fabricated dream, such an existence is tasteless."

"I, Feng Yi, do not wish to be such a person!"

Kublai gave a bitter smile: "You won't regret it?"

Feng Yi pondered, then smiled: "Perhaps I will regret it on the day I die."

Monk Zicong coughed once and said, "Hero Feng, being able to say this shows your frankness—truly the bearing of a great man; I am deeply impressed. Please allow me to offer you another cup!" Feng Yi glanced over; Monk Zicong felt nervous, yet he still lifted the wine jug, poured another cup, and presented it to Feng Yi.

Feng Yi took it, glanced, drank it all in one go, and laughed: "Monk, in my presence your courage is so bold—may I ask your dharma name?"

Monk Zicong laughed: "Just a petty name, not worth mentioning. You have heard much and known much; seeing you today, it is indeed not false—I am truly impressed, so let me offer you another cup!"

"Fine, fine." Feng Yi said with a smile: "Since you are also versed in profound Buddhist teachings, I'll give you face—just hand it over."

Monk Zicong frowned slightly: "Take what?"

Feng Yi's eyes flashed like lightning as he shouted: "You want to poison me with wine? A few cups won't be enough!"

Before his words were finished, his right hand had already hooked out diagonally.

This move looked ordinary, without wind or thunder, yet Feng Yi lightly and deftly seized the wine jug from his hand.

Xiaoxiangzi and Yin Kexi immediately stepped in front of Kublai to shield him.

It turned out that earlier Monk Zicong had told Kublai, "Feng Yi's fame is now so great that no Mongol noble is unaware of him."

His actions before the masses and soldiers were intended to dampen Mongol morale and to sow discord.

Those sovereigns and the likes of Cao Bin, if the Empress Dowager, Mongke, and others were to learn of this, would likely bring unnecessary trouble to Kublai.

Please have Feng Yi drink the poisoned wine—to test his abilities; if he agrees to be recruited, after drinking it, the antidote will also be given to him.

If he refuses, taking his life would be as easy as turning over one's hand.

But if he doesn't drink this wine, Feng Yi is merely a coward who only talks big—what credibility could his words have?

Would it not be laughable for the Empress Dowager, Mongke, and others to believe the words of such a person?

How unexpected that Feng Yi, knowing it was poisoned wine, still picked up the flask, tipped his head back, and gulped it down, not leaving a drop.

Upon seeing this, everyone's faces changed color.

Suddenly Feng Yi laughed and said, "Not returning a favor is impolite; you invited me to drink—how could I not return the courtesy?"

Then we saw him tilt his head, and a thread of wine flew from his mouth, swift as a heavenly white rainbow, like a shooting star hurling a pellet, whooshing straight toward Zicong.

Everyone gasped; Xiao Xiangzi flickered, and in the nick of time, his palm wind shoved Zicong aside.

Feng Yi seemed to have anticipated this; he stepped forward, seized Zicong, and slapped him across the cheek, striking so hard that the man saw stars and spun half a circle.

Zicong's mouth filled with a bloody, salty taste as he spat out a mouthful of blood foam. Though he knew the other party meant ill, he never expected Feng Yi to dare slap him—being a scholar, he had never seen such vulgarity; shocked and angry, he pointed at Feng Yi and shouted, "You, you are utterly disgracing scholarship!"

Feng Yi spat and cursed, "You bald thief, I possess an Indestructible Vajra Body—if blades and spears cannot pierce me, how could mere poisoned wine harm me?"

He did this today merely to create a mythic aura for himself, so he drank the poisoned wine while wrapping it with internal energy to prevent it from dispersing, then sprayed it out; he never intended to kill Zicong, otherwise Xiao Xiangzi could not have stopped him.

After all, if the witness were killed, who would spread word of his prowess?

Feng Yi looked at Kublai and said, "Your Highness, you poisoned me today; next time I host you, I will not hold back—please understand."

Kublai's gaze was deep, as if all these changes had nothing to do with him.

Suddenly a thunderous shout rang out: "A Po Xing!"

Everyone felt the voice like a thunderclap from a clear sky, instantly making their heads buzz as if struck by a heavy object.

Suddenly a black shadow came rushing in; Feng Yi glanced over and saw it was Ni Mo Xing, who held a huge boulder in his hands—a stone weighing several hundred pounds as light as straw in his grip.

The soldiers watching this felt their hearts leap, shocked: "How can such a short, thin person have such strength?"

Suddenly Ni Mo Xing thrust both hands forward, hurling the great rock at Feng Yi, raising a fierce gale, extremely sharp.

"Shakyamuni's Elephant-Hurling Technique," Feng Yi raised his eyebrows, his sleeves fluttering, and smiled faintly: "An Indian supreme art—I have long wished to learn it."

As he spoke, his left hand hovered lightly and pressed upon the boulder; the stone spun in midair, circling around Feng Yi and rebounding toward Ni Mo Xing, leaving everyone astonished.

Originally, Ni Mo Xing prided himself on his unrivaled martial arts in India; seeing Feng Yi's formidable skill, he thought he needed a supreme art to deal with him, so he ran to the camp, lifted a boulder over three hundred pounds, and charged over.

Upon hearing the standoff between Feng Yi and Kublai, he mustered his strength and unleashed the "Shakyamuni's Elephant-Hurling Technique," a formidable skill of Indian Buddhist martial arts; Buddhist scriptures say that when Prince Shakyamuni left the city one day, a bull elephant blocked the road, the prince lifted its foot and hurled it skyward; three days later the elephant fell, striking the ground and forming a deep trench now called Elephant-Hurling Gully.

This is merely an allegory, describing the inconceivability of Buddhist Dharma.

Later Indian martial artists cultivated an external skill enabling them to hurl massive objects with great force, and thus named it after that.

At this moment Ni Mo Xing employed this divine skill to hurl the stone; the boulder spun rapidly in the air, accompanied by a fierce wind, striking Feng Yi with astonishing force.

Yet unexpectedly, Feng Yi merely gave it a light nudge, without a trace of fireworks, neutralizing the force and sending it back; this feat left everyone both shocked and admiring.

Feng Yi's internal energy is extraordinary; having practiced the Nine Yin Scripture, he employs a Daoist "Taiji force" that cycles like the Taiji diagram, endless and continuous. Releasing this force is not particularly difficult—many adept at changeable illusion arts are skilled in it; the difficulty lies in gauging the force just right.

Ni Mo Xing's stone throw—what tremendous force! Even an ordinary person with a thousand-pound strength, unfamiliar with this secret, could not wield weight as lightly as Feng Yi does.

Feng Yi, however, needs little effort; merely guiding from the side, he can make the stone circle his body and rebound.

Ni Mo Xing, angry and anxious, thought Feng Yi would surely not dare meet the throw head‑on and would have to dodge.

He then followed up, adding force upon force, expecting to beat Feng Yi to the ground—never imagining his opponent possessed such a marvelous skill.

Nevertheless, Ni Mo Xing's competitive spirit flared; heedless, he shouted, "Your martial arts are formidable!" and thrust both palms again, bang—sending the massive rock flying toward Feng Yi once more, to see who is superior.

Yet this effort left Ni Mo Xing in agony: his arms went numb, his blood surged to his head, he saw stars, his legs went weak, and he collapsed to the ground.

He was already short; now he rolled about like a ball, gurgling as he went.

"Ni Mo Brother!" Yin Kexi called, "Let me help you!" He whipped out a Golden Dragon Whip from his sleeve, which swished and wrapped around Ni Mo Xing's right leg—yet as the whip took hold, he felt a fierce force surge toward him.

Snap—the whip straightened; despite Yin Kexi's considerable skill, he was pulled off balance.

Ni Mo Xing then flipped up to stand, swaying like a drunkard, staggering, his vision swimming.

Feng Yi frowned slightly; he had sent the stone forth, expecting Ni Mo Xing's residual strength plus his own skill to combine, figuring Ni Mo Xing would surely be unable to check his momentum and would be struck dead.

Who would have thought this man could still stand? He blurted out, "Hey, short black guy, you really have something."

Indeed, Indian warriors commonly practice yoga, sleep on beds of nails, sit on blades—pain‑endurance arts; Ni Mo Xing excels at these, his bones and sinews are thick and tough as steel, truly rendering blades and spears unable to pierce him; otherwise that blow just now would have broken both his arms.

For a moment, the four top experts struck in succession, moving like the wind, each displaying his art; onlookers stared wide‑eyed.

Everyone saw the boulder spinning like flight, hovering without falling, and in an instant it flew back to Feng Yi's face.

The stout Mongol soldiers all gaped, thinking, "No wonder the prince treats them with extra favor!"

Feng Yi tilted his body slightly, concealed a palm in his sleeve, and with a bang sent the stone flying toward Kublai.

This toss carried the force of two people, intended to knock his retainers flat on their backs.

Xiao Xiangzi flickered forward, thrusting both hands with force; with a bang the stone shot off diagonally, kicking up gales along its path as the Mongol soldiers scattered.

Ni Mo Xing and Yin Kexi thought, "Uh‑oh," knowing full well that Feng Yi's stone‑pushing had just knocked them down; even if Xiao Xiangzi's skill were higher, it might not be much greater than theirs.

Indeed, Xiao Xiangzi only felt a lateral force, unable to dispel Feng Yi's divine skill; he retreated three steps, his legs went weak, and he sat down, his face as white as paper.

Feng Yi broke through the three masters, relentless, and rushed straight for Kublai.

At this moment Kublai was shielded by eight guards who surged forward together.

Feng Yi let out a great shout, like thunder on flat ground, ringing in everyone's ears; he unleashed a series of palm strikes, their force like a rushing tide, surging forward.

The eight guards' bones shattered, they flew and rolled away; the soldiers behind reached out to catch them, but felt as if a mountain were collapsing, and promptly toppled east and west.

The speed of Feng Yi's strike and the ferocity of his palm power were beyond belief.

Kublai was horrified; as the guards lunged again, he hastily retreated, while Ni Mo Xing and Yin Kexi caught their breath and charged at Feng Yi—yet Feng Yi ignored them, took a step, and lunged at Kublai.

Suddenly a shout shook the air, a fierce wind swept in; turning his head, he saw a cluster of golden light, swift as a meteor, striking at his face.

Feng Yi, attacked front and rear, dared not slack; his right palm deflected Ni Mo Xing and Yin Kexi's assault, while his left palm swept backward, the golden light struck by his force changing direction, swirling around him and whizzing back toward its source.

Then a long laugh rang out, a red shadow flashed, and a tall, thin monk drifted in; with a sweep of his wide sleeve the golden light vanished at once, and he smiled, "Brother Feng, since our last parting, your bearing remains as splendid as ever!"

Ni Mo Xing, Yin Ke Xi and the others saw Feng Yi's palm force retract; they were about to press forward when they suddenly saw the red‑clad monk reveal this move, and they were startled.

Feng Yi's martial prowess is plain for all to see; this person received that strike lightly and seemed unharmed, indicating his skill surpasses my own.

Then Feng Yi laughed and said, "National Preceptor, must you really sacrifice your life in the Central Plains?"

Ni Mo Xing and the others then realized that this was the Golden Wheel National Preceptor; they had refused to accept that he was Mongolia's foremost National Preceptor, but now they saw he truly was formidable.

Then the National Preceptor laughed and said, "Your martial skill is excellent, I sincerely admire it, but I have been sent by the current Empress Dowager to serve under King Kublai, and the principle of serving faithfully when entrusted is something you surely understand."

The Golden Wheel National Preceptor dominates Mongolia; this time he came to the Central Plains not only for his esoteric religious duties but also with great ambition to accomplish a staggering deed.

Who would have thought he would suffer a setback at Feng Yi's hands, and even worse, the Dragon Elephant Prajna skill would be divulged—a lifelong disgrace.

Moreover, that day Feng Yi killed Huo Du in his presence, and his Mongol subordinates reported it to Kublai; he naturally lost face, eager to earn merit and regain dignity, so upon hearing Feng Yi's arrival he consulted with Kublai, planning to capture and kill him once he entered the main camp, thereby winning fame under heaven.

However, Feng Yi had no intention of falling for that; seeing that Ni Mo Xing, Xiao Xiangzi, and Yin Ke Xi were all first‑rate masters of the age, he knew that if the four of them joined forces they could surely prevail, and if they killed Feng Yi they would not only wipe away their shame but also leave no one able to restrain them. Feng Yi guessed his intent and smiled faintly, saying, "Then let's see if you can protect your lord!"

Before his words finished, a green shadow flashed, and suddenly the Golden Wheel National Preceptor shouted, "Be careful!"

Before the shout faded, Xiao Xiangzi felt a fierce gust approaching; Feng Yi feigned an attack east while striking west, his words seemingly aimed at Kublai, but his strike actually went straight for Xiao Xiangzi.

Xiao Xiangzi leapt up, drew a rod resembling a mourning staff, and thrust its tip toward Feng Yi's palm.

Unexpectedly, Feng Yi swayed, Xiao Xiangzi's rod struck empty, and Feng Yi struck back with a palm to his back.

That palm was unfathomable, its force incomparable.

Xiao Xiangzi had no time to retract his rod; he met the palm with a left‑hand reverse palm, only to feel Feng Yi's force like a mountain wall pressing down, instantly blood rushed to his throat, he lurched forward and slammed with a bang into Kublai's guards, collapsing unable to rise.

But even this slight delay, with a swish, Yin Ke Xi's whip lashed toward his legs, the Golden Wheel National Preceptor smashed his back, and Ni Mo Xing, wielding an iron‑cast spirit‑snake short whip that coiled and writhed like a live serpent, struck at his abdomen.

The Golden Wheel National Preceptor, Ni Mo Xing and the others are all first‑rate masters; in combat they refuse to lower their status and rely on numbers to win.

But Feng Yi's martial skill is truly too strong; only blades flashed and yellow light blazed as the three attacked him with weapons.

Who would have expected Feng Yi to leap into the air, causing the weapons in the three men's hands to miss entirely; this move was as swift as a rabbit rising and a falcon dropping, like thunder before one can cover one's ears—utterly rapid, leaving everyone shocked and pale.

In fact, Feng Yi used his palm against Xiao Xiangzi's palm, borrowing that force to launch himself into the air.

No one anticipated he would use this move; they were astonished, and before they could recover, he had already leapt six or seven zhang.

Here at the gate, the tens of thousands of troops could not maneuver, but Kublai's thousand‑man detachment had already sealed the surroundings watertight; a soldier saw Feng Yi rushing forward and hastily thrust his spear straight at him.

Feng Yi grabbed the spear shaft with his hand, shook it hard, and flung the soldier away; however, after darting six or seven zhang, his breath was exhausted, and while airborne, even a slight disturbance would cause his momentum to plummet—so even less than a zhang away he could still leap onto a horse.

But this breath of true qi was spent, his body began to sink, and he had to borrow force to regain his breath.

At that moment the Golden Wheel National Preceptor simultaneously shot out the golden and silver wheels, striking his back and his horse, while Yin Ke Xi and Ni Mo Xing lunged at him again.

As soon as he landed, he would be surrounded by the masters, and once the myriad troops formed their formation, even with wings he could not escape.

Yet at the instant of landing, Feng Yi's spear shaft extended levelly and happened to rest on the saddle.

In a breath, with a 'po' sound, as the shaft bore force, Feng Yi drew a breath of internal energy, executed a somersault, leapt up, flickered in mid‑air, and with two swift thrusts knocked over the two Mongol soldiers beside the horse, already landing on the horse's back.

He pointed his long spear, producing two clangs that deflected the incoming golden and silver wheels, clamped his legs, and shouted, "Kublai, from now on don't let these few men leave your side!" then charged straight toward the camp gate.

At that moment, the nearby cavalry, seeing this, brandished their swords and spears and came to fight Feng Yi.

Feng Yi gave a loud shout, brandished his spear to meet them, his momentum like a tiger among sheep; although he had never studied spear technique, at his level of martial prowess all is interconnected, and that long spear seemed like lightning and thunder.

And he did not flee; he turned the horse's head and galloped straight into the Mongol formation.

The Mongol soldiers shouted like thunder and swarmed forward; Feng Yi shook his lance, spear light scattered in all directions, Mongol cavalry blood spattered wildly, and they fell from their horses one after another.

Feng Yi had only ever contended for supremacy in the jianghu, never witnessed such a battle formation; the system had also let him stew in anger, and now he was extraordinarily excited, letting out a long roar while his long spear blocked all who came before him.

Although the Golden Wheel National Preceptor and the others were strong in martial arts, Feng Yi's charge on horseback into the cavalry formation meant that everywhere were horsemen, and his ground‑based maneuvering skills were useless; they too could only pursue on horseback.

The Mongol soldiers' archery was even stronger, yet Feng Yi, having burst into the formation, could not loose arrows.

Kublai immediately issued an order to close the gate, intending to keep Feng Yi inside.

And one saw the entire Mongol camp engulfed in rolling dust and smoke.

Suddenly Feng Yi shouted loudly, "Who says Han people are inferior to Mongols!" He lifted his spear and knocked down two men, then continued his charge.

The common folk stared dumbfounded, watching the shadows to and fro, horses crisscrossing, their hearts pounding with fear; some timid women who had come to see their sons off to war were so frightened they shut their eyes, while the shrill cries pierced their ears, stabbing their hearts like blood drops. Later, when their sons went to the battlefield, they might well face this day.

Some men, however, boiled with hot blood, the Mongols having stirred up such a massive array just to deal with a single Han.

Who says Han people are inferior to Mongols? This idea has never been stronger; the northern lands have been lost for a long time, from the Jin to the Mongols, many Han have felt that foreign peoples surpass them, thinking they are inferior, born to be slaves—but now they no longer think so.

The Mongols are actually just like them! Wherever Feng Yi slew, Mongol soldiers were thrown from their horses, crying out loudly, "What can you do to me by bullying the few with the many?"

Mongol soldiers surged from all directions, yet Feng Yi continued to carve a path through slaughter, unstoppable.

Today his aim is to boost Han morale, and with the Black Silkworm Armor protecting him, a lone spear and horse charging the enemy camp is his ultimate goal.

After all, who among the common folk has ever seen a general kick down a camp? And how many would believe it!

What they believe is that they are inferior to the Jin people.

For example, the Jin have wolf‑tooth clubs, while we have only the skullcap; this saying is indeed sad, yet it also fully displays the Han's feeble weakness.

Then the Mongols who destroyed the Jin are even stronger.

They fear from the marrow, and thus do not wish to resist.

Today Feng Yi will stake himself to plant a seed of resistance in them.

Otherwise, with Feng Yi's lone strength, why would he need to make a grand show of challenging Kublai?

Yet Feng Yi charged back and forth, his blood soaking his blue robe, and he saw the Mongol soldiers surging like a tide, still relentlessly pressing forward.

Feng Yi knew this was enough; he speared one man, then headed for the gate, his spear pointing east and striking west, thrusting and smashing, in a moment sweeping down a swath of men and horses.

As he neared the gate, he saw the fence already lowered, but Feng Yi did not stop; his spear suddenly snapped into several sections, he gave a loud shout, shook his hand and threw it, the broken spear shot out, pierced the arrow rack, the wooden rack split apart with a crash, several people let out long wails and fell heavily from the watchtower.

Feng Yi, borrowing the momentum of the galloping horse, flung out both fists.

With a booming bang, the thousand‑jin barrier gave way at a push; Feng Yi leapt his horse out, then heard a shout 'Stay!' and suddenly felt his head swim and a pain in his back, nearly falling from his horse.

(End of chapter)