Chapter 97

This sudden turn of events happened abruptly, and everyone was greatly startled.

It turned out that a middle-aged Tibetan monk wearing a cassock and a gold crown leapt out—none other than Darba, the senior brother of Huo Du.

Huo Du is the favored disciple of the Golden Wheel National Preceptor, having already mastered the essentials of the Mongolian Vajra Sect's martial arts; in the original storyline he exchanged nearly a thousand moves with Zhu Zi Liu, the strongest disciple of the Great Master Yideng.

Although Zhu Zi Liu's martial prowess falls short of Qiu Chuji and Ma Yu, it already surpasses Wang Chuyi and Hao Datong, showing that Huo Du's internal strength is profound and far from ordinary. His skill with the folding fan also counts as one of the martial world's absolute techniques; in wielding it for strikes and thrusts, he wins with a light, graceful elegance.

Feng Yi's internal energy is already at its peak; even if the Golden Wheel National Preceptor himself were to appear, he could not match him. Moreover, by displaying the unparalleled top-tier lightness skill of the Ancient Tomb Sect, with just a raise of hand and lift of foot, he makes Huo Du seem like a child being toyed with, spinning him around.

Onlookers witnessing this scene could only stare dumbstruck, even confirming it among themselves; however, Darba, standing nearby, could no longer bear to watch. He let out a loud shout, stepped forward quickly, and with a casual motion reached under his large red cassock, where a golden light flashed, and he lunged straight at Feng Yi.

Guo Fu watched as Feng Yi beat Huo Du brutally; though she found his manner coarse, she also felt she had vented her own spite. Suddenly seeing Darba's weapon slash toward Feng Yi, her heart jolted and she cried, 'Watch out!'

Feng Yi, however, turned his head and gave Guo Fu a faint smile.

But Guo Fu, seeing his expressionless, ugly face, turned her head away, not daring to look at him.

Darba was born with divine strength, but his nature is blunt and straightforward; precisely for that reason he could not master superior internal arts, instead learning a formidable external hard skill. In the original storyline he exchanged blows with the Great Master Yideng's top disciple, the fisherman-recluse of Diancang, his moves resplendent and his momentum grand, leaving onlookers in awe.

This time, wary of Feng Yi's martial skill and resenting his bullying of his junior brother, he unleashed this strike; even before his weapon arrived, his internal energy surged forth, whipping up a gust of wind on the flat ground.

This is Darba's supreme secret art, the 'Unsurpassed Great Strength Pestle Method.'

Huo Du let out a shout, his body spinning like a top on the spot; with his right palm and left sleeve he stirred up a fierce wind, the concealed iron palm in his sleeve shooting straight at Feng Yi's forehead—this too is his signature technique, the 'Wild Wind Thunderbolt Skill.'

Huo Du is arrogant and overconfident, but now he knows he is no match for Feng Yi; secretly he reflects that today he has been so humiliated, his reputation will be ruined—what talk of showing off in the Central Plains? Seeing his senior brother enter the fray, he not only disregards any agreement to fight one-on-one, his right palm is a feint while the concealed iron palm in his left sleeve is real, intending to smash Feng Yi's brains out.

Feng Yi gave a cold smile, neither dodging nor evading, standing still; he waited until Darba's weapon came within a foot of him, then, as if lifted by the opponent's gust, he turned weightless like a paper figure, gliding toward Huo Du without touching the ground, and with a casual reach seized Huo Du's left sleeve—an ordinary-looking grab that had already caught the sleeve.

With a clang, Darba's golden pestle came crashing down, sending dust and dirt flying; a three-foot-long crack appeared in the ground. Seeing that he was tall and thin, everyone was astonished at his astonishing divine strength and could not help but gasp.

'What a fellow!' Feng Yi also couldn't help exclaiming. Huo Du, having his sleeve grabbed, felt a sudden surge rush in; he hurriedly exerted force to resist, but at the moment his old strength was spent and new strength not yet arisen, Feng Yi flicked the sleeve aside, not only blocking Huo Du's view but also striking his right shoulder.

This stance comes from the inscriptions of Chongyang; it is precisely the method to break the Ancient Tomb Sect's technique of using soft objects to emit firm force. Feng Yi's deep internal energy, when displayed, is no less powerful than heavy palms and heavy fists.

Huo Du felt his whole body shudder violently, staggered back several steps, and fell sitting down; his eyes stared fixedly at Feng Yi, then his whole body trembled and he spat out a mouthful of blood, collapsing to the ground with a face as white as paper. He felt his right shoulder to chest as if half caved in from a blow, clenched his teeth, and managed not to cry out.

All this happened in the blink of an eye. Darba, who had always been on good terms with Huo Du, saw him vomit blood and collapse, his eyes reddening; he swayed, let out an angry roar, and shouted, 'Take him away!' Gripping the pestle's handle with both hands, he swept it horizontally toward Feng Yi's waist.

Among the Mongol warriors there were also experts, who hurriedly leapt forward to help. Darba spoke in Mongolian, which Feng Yi did not understand at all; he only heard gibberish, but seeing the two lunge forward, he guessed they meant to attack together. A surge of resentment rose in his brow, and he let out a long laugh: 'If you bully the few with the many, then don't blame me!'

He slightly raised his palm, and with two soft thuds, two people spat blood and flew out. These two were driven by his divine power, unable to control themselves, flying several zhang, and with two loud bangs they collided with two others.

All four had their bones and tendons broken, blood oozing from their eyes, ears, mouth, and nose; their five viscera had been shattered by his shock.

Feng Yi shook off the two, but Darba swung his pestle forward, trailing a golden light; unexpectedly, Feng Yi turned his body, moved sideways more than a zhang, dodged the pestle's force, raised his hand, and another two people spurted blood wildly—clearly they were not alive.

The Mongol warriors, filled with shock and anger, all shouted in unison and rushed forward together.

Feng Yi let out a long laugh, spread his hands, striking with palm and thrusting with fan—moving like a ghost, elusive and unpredictable—and another five people had their acupoints sealed.

Everyone was horrified, desperately lashing out, only to strike empty air; all they saw were layers of black shadows, unable to discern reality from illusion in the moment—something they had never encountered since debuting. One of them cried out in horror, 'This person knows sorcery!'

Although these men were all skilled fighters from the Central Plains and the Western Regions, capable of taking on a hundred ordinary foes each, in the hands of a martial arts master like Feng Yi they were no different from three-year-old children.

Thus Feng Yi plunged into the crowd, pointing east and striking west, sweeping all before him. If he did not still have some ulterior motive, none of these people would survive! Guo Fu and the junior warriors watched, shocked to the point of fainting, their hearts pounding wildly; Guo Jing and Huang Rong, seeing his such body technique, were also amazed and admiring.

The two of them had wandered the jianghu for many years, yet they did not recognize this lightness skill.

Darba swung his pestle in pursuit of Feng Yi, yet feared injuring his comrades, feeling torn; Feng Yi, however, let loose his technique, directly killing those who looked like Western Region folk, and sealing the acupoints of those who resembled Han Chinese.

In an instant, cries of anguish, muffled groans, and the sounds of breaking bones and flesh filled the ears; in a flash, of these forty-plus people, some were beaten to death or maimed by Feng Yi, some had their acupoints sealed and turned into puppets, leaving only four whose spirits were utterly shattered, who dropped their weapons and huddled back-to-back; Feng Yi gave a hehe laugh, spun around, and sealed the acupoints of those four as well.

Feng Yi rushed out of the formation, waved his sleeve, and laughed, 'Darba, I see you're an honest man; I don't want to deal with you—go fetch your master and let him come face me!'

Darba also followed him out of the formation; hearing his words, he still gripped his pestle with both hands and swept it horizontally, muttering in gibberish.

Feng Yi turned his body, coldly eyeing the incoming pestle; his folding fan extended and contracted like lightning, pressing down.

With a slap, the fan struck the pestle's head, and everyone was startled.

They had already seen clearly that Darba's weapon was a golden pestle.

The Vajra pestle used to subdue demons is employed by wrathful deities in esoteric Buddhism; Tibetan and Mongolian monks often use such as their weapon. However, Darba's demon-subduing pestle is four feet long, its head as thick as a bowl's rim, its body gleaming with golden light, appearing to be cast from gold mixed with steel, or a steel pestle coated with several layers of gold—obviously very heavy at a glance.

And as soon as he moved, golden light flared, showing his tremendous strength and swift technique.

Even wielding the pestle with one hand already displayed astonishing divine strength; now, using both hands and simultaneously engaging his waist power, the wind's howl from the Vajra pestle doubled in volume—yet Feng Yi actually opposed it with a single folding fan—isn't that courting death?

Guo Fu could not help but exclaim in surprise; just as her cry left her lips, she saw Darba's golden pestle trace a large arc in the air, clang! —and it slammed down onto the ground.

This move of Feng Yi's comes from the 'Taiji Sword'; softness containing hardness, its force ingeniously applied. When Darba's pestle struck the ground, there was a thud, and another pit formed.

Guo Jing secretly admired him; although Huo Du's fan ribs are steel-cast, Feng Yi's technique of using softness to overcome hardness is exquisitely superb, certainly not inferior to the Empty Bright Fist.

Darba's arms felt a wave of numbness and soreness; he was bewildered. Though born with divine strength, wielding his golden pestle was as easy as lifting a blade of grass, yet a flick of a fan redirected it, and he had not yet grasped what was happening.

Then he heard Feng Yi lightly laugh: 'You are not my match; why keep fighting?'

Who would have thought that Darba would tense his wrist, the Vajra pestle suddenly springing up to sweep sideways at Feng Yi's waist; Feng Yi flickered aside, and Darba let out an angry shout, thrusting the pestle straight at his abdomen.

That he could so swiftly change direction with such a heavy weapon and such a fierce move left everyone astonished.

Feng Yi, while praising him, also grew irritated and shouted, 'You ignorant wretch!' He thrust his folding fan straight at Darba's left eye; this move became a killing technique from the Liancheng Sword Method, and Darba's golden pestle leapt up off the ground, seemingly turning into a living thing, blocking the fan.

Guo Jing coughed, spoke a few sentences in Mongolian gibberish, and conveyed Feng Yi's meaning.

Darba was greatly surprised and halted; Feng Yi also stopped his hand.

He suddenly realized where the problem lay.

He usually assassinated Mongolians; if they spoke Chinese, he'd hear a sentence, if they spoke gibberish, he'd kill them regardless of what they said.

Only now did he understand that he and Darba had no common language, making things rather awkward for a moment.

Darba's large eyes sized up Feng Yi from head to toe, uttering a few sentences in gibberish.

Guo Jing's face showed hesitation.

Guo Fu asked Huang Rong, 'Mom, what is Dad saying to him?'

Huang Rong gave a slight smile: 'Young Master Tu, this Tibetan monk says you wish to see his master; speak after you defeat him.'

Actually, Darba meant to say, 'You injured my junior brother and killed so many of us; my master is a deity incarnate, and if he arrives he will surely send you into the cycle of rebirth.'

Guo Jing felt these words underestimated Feng Yi too much, and it was not proper to say them outright.

Huang Rong, who had some rudimentary knowledge of Mongolian from her time with Guo Jing's western expedition, though not very proficient, made slight adjustments, taking Feng Yi's self-esteem into account.

Huang Rong's words just fell when Dalba suddenly swung his pestle at Feng Yi; he thought simply that Huang Rong speaking would surely get his meaning across, and the other side naturally had defenses, so it wasn't a sneak attack.

Feng Yi knew Dalba was a blunt man who had to be beaten into submission; he thrust his iron fan forward, clank-clank-clank, striking the golden pestle three times in succession, a clear tone piercing the ears.

Guo Fu and the others saw that Feng Yi's move was utterly feeble, utterly unable to shake Dalba's aura of sweeping away thousands of troops.

But Dalba, being in the situation, knew his own suffering.

His 'Supreme Great Force Pestle Technique' had little variation—just eight horizontal sweeps and eight straight thrusts, a total of sixteen moves, but repeating those sixteen moves, horizontal sweeps and straight thrusts, ordinary people dare not even face him, let alone touch the pestle's wind.

Therefore this martial art lies not in the moves but in the force on the pestle; however Feng Yi's Divine Illumination Skill within him had long seen through his martial principle, each strike landing on the intermittent force of the golden pestle—that is, the moment Dalba draws breath—snapping his force outright.

Dalba possessed only brute strength and a fierce pestle technique, yet could not exert his power; Feng Yi, however, had light and graceful footwork, his hand movements elegant, Guo Fu watching from the side felt pleased and couldn't help asking, 'Mom, what martial art is this?'

The two Wu brothers were also completely puzzled, looking at their master-wife, but Huang Rong remained silent.

Dalba let out a bull-like roar from his mouth, wishing to rain down blows and smash Feng Yi into a meat patty; in his frustration his strikes became even more fierce.

This great force pestle technique—first fierce, then swift—now executed with full force, like a golden dragon coiling in the sky; people several zhang away felt the gust hit their faces. Feng Yi's every hand and foot movement was light; the iron fan tapped and struck, the ding-ding sound unceasing, to bystanders merely the clash of metal, but to Dalba each strike hit exactly the gaps when he drew breath.

Although Dalba's martial skill was high, he trained only external arts, his internal weak; each time Feng Yi struck, Dalba's hands and meridians suffered tremendous impact, combined with the numbers, his arms went numb, blood and qi boiled, chest felt stifled and about to vomit, his throat repeatedly sweet.

Seeing his expression off, Feng Yi knew that if he kept striking, this oaf would suffer serious internal injury; he laughed, ha, and with all his strength flicked and deflected the iron fan, shouting loudly: 'Let go!'

In an instant, Dalba felt numbness and pain from hand to arm to shoulder unbearable, his body also spun round and round, the golden pestle in his hand buzzing once, like a rainbow piercing the sun, flung far away.

It landed straight on a huge stone, truly like thunder crashing down, stone chips flying everywhere, shaking everyone into a buzzing hum.

Dalba's body spinning, he only felt his throat sweet, blood surging upward, his black face swelling purple.

Feng Yi stepped forward and leaned in, already sealing several vital points on Dalba's chest with his fan, whereupon he stopped.

Feng Yi bounced out a zhang away; the two were motionless at the peak of movement, as if time stood still, everyone holding their breath.

Bean-sized sweat droplets rolled down Dalba's face; half his heart was anger, half confusion.

Why didn't this person kill me?

Feng Yi turned his gaze, scanning the field, and smiled faintly: 'I need someone to take a message to that old Golden Wheel thief; who will go?'

I!

I'll go!

My lightness skill is good……

Go to hell, can your lightness skill even reach that of the Great Hero Tu?

In an instant seven or eight people spoke up.

Feng Yi gave a cold snort; several people's bodies trembled, and they all fell silent.

Feng Yi waved his fan, unsealed the three people's acupoints, and said: 'Go back and report to the Golden Wheel; tell them his disciple is in my hands, if they want them alive they must come duel me; if not within half a shichen, just wait to collect corpses!'

Alas alas alas!

The three nodded and bowed at the waist, then ran off in a puff of smoke.

Feng Yi raised his head to the sky and said: 'Great Hero Guo, you may go.'

These words struck like a flying peak from afar; Guo Jing and the others all stared in shock.

Guo Jing frowned and said: 'Aren't you supposed to make an appointment with Huo Du's master?'

Huang Rong also said: 'Your martial arts are superb, but that Golden Wheel National Master can make Huo Du and them revere him so; he must have something extraordinary, we can also help you.'

Feng Yi shook his head: 'You can't help me; instead you'd only bind my hands and feet.'

Pah! Guo Fu spat, 'How can you be so arrogant…'

The two Wu brothers also shouted: 'What Sister Fu said is right……'

Guo Jing shouted in a low voice: 'Shut up!'

He once commanded thousands of troops and ten thousand horses; this sentence carried great authority to enforce orders, three mouths—one tightly shut, one half-open—no sound at all, merely the sound cut off abruptly, as clean as a blade cut, yet also somewhat uncanny.

Guo Fu curled her lip, stared fixedly at Feng Yi, thinking: 'No wonder your martial arts are so high yet you look so ugly—it's just retribution!'

Huang Rong said: 'Your exalted word having been spoken, my husband and I ought to obey. However this place has already been occupied by the Mongols; these few people returning will spread the word far and wide.'

They will surely guess that the expert who slaughtered many Mongols is you, this Mongol‑slayer; then they will surely gang up on you in chaotic melee, and my husband and I being here will also be your aid.

Guo Jing said: 'Not bad!'

Feng Yi sighed and said: 'Your good intentions, I appreciate them.'

The Mongol Golden Wheel National Master sounds like an eminent monk of a generation, but in fact he is a villain who repays kindness with hatred; this time he surely did not come alone, this point I know well.

Guo Jing said: 'If you already know, why risk it?'

'This is fighting fire with fire!' Feng Yi's eyes flashed a hint of stern light: 'That Golden Wheel Bald Thief sounds imposing, yet he likes most to seize hostages to threaten those he can't beat—just like Lady Guo and Miss Guo, they will become his targets.'

Hearing this, everyone drew a cold breath; Guo Fu exclaimed: 'You clearly know he's shameless, yet you still do this?'

'Not bad.' Feng Yi nodded: 'Their coming to Longju Village this time is actually setting a trap to lure me in.'

Just now Huo Du provoked Guo the Great Hero to go forward, also for this purpose.

Originally they scared me into not daring to go, hum, but I ended up meeting Huo Du and his gang—truly a heaven‑sent good match!

Guo Fu spat 'Pah!' and said: 'What heaven‑sent good match! He's just trying to steal my horse!'

Huang Rong gazed at Feng Yi, lost in thought, then suddenly asked: 'Letting Fu and them go is fine, but my husband and I still have decent martial arts; we won't drag you down, will we?'

Feng Yi smiled: 'Lady Guo, you overpraise me; Guo the Great Hero is invincible in the age, naturally a great help; but you two are the great heroes of the age, leaders of the world's foremost gang, bearing the fate of the martial world. Since you clearly know the Mongols harbor ill intent, why risk yourselves?'

Guo Jing was about to speak when Feng Yi raised his hand: 'No matter how formidable that Golden Wheel National Master is, how the Mongols deal with me, my victory or defeat, life or death, concerns only myself and my family.'

Moreover, dealing with the Mongols requires underhanded tactics, perhaps seen as vile and shameless; I personally don't care. Yet the world is vast, heroes many; people like me are a dime a dozen, while those like you two, wholeheartedly serving country and people, great heroes, are rare indeed.

If we wish to unite the martial world's hearts and resist the Mongols together, you are capable; but if you become entangled with me, future troubles will be great, surely breeding endless calamity.

These words moved everyone deeply.

'I love hearing this.' Guo Fu first felt pleased, then heard Guo Jing's solemn voice: 'What's this about protecting the martial world's hearts, about reputation—are you asking us to become shrinking‑head turtles?'

Huang Rong's brows slightly furrowed: 'Your Excellency's orders do make some sense, but how can we bear to do this? If you suffer any mishap, I and my humble husband would not only be ashamed—we'd die of shame.'

Feng Yi smiled: 'Lady Guo, a true man can bend or stretch; the key is timing. I am called Tu Meng Ke; if the situation turns bad I'll slip away—do you really think I'd fight him head‑on?'

"Exactly!" Guo Fu clapped her hands and said: "Your lightness skill just now was so good; if you had oiled your soles, you would surely be number one under heaven—how could the Mongols catch up?"

Feng Yi laughed and said: "Not bad, Miss Guo!"

Suddenly he intensified his tone: "If the Great Hero Guo and his wife were present, the martial world would have a leader; relying on you to aid the endangered and rescue the fallen, why would you quibble over trivialities like ordinary people? From the day I debuted, I have already sworn to descend into hell together with the Mongols; the baser my methods, the better. Today is precisely the time for that. Moreover, even if we joined forces, how could we resist a great army's encirclement and suppression? What good would it do?"

Guo Fu found his words amusing and asked: "Since you know your methods are somewhat base, why not change them??"

"That would be affected." Feng Yi laughed heartily and said: "People in the world are different; I am myself—why should I change?"

Guo Jing and Huang Rong faced each other in silence, both knowing that Feng Yi's resolve was set; for a master like him, once a decision is made, no one can change it.

Guo Jing could only clasp his fists and say: "Take care!"

Feng Yi also clasped his hands toward Guo Jing and said: "Great Hero Guo, I have a request!"

Seeing his sincerity, Guo Jing nodded and said: "As long as it is within my ability, I have no objection!"

His heart was clear and serene, and he did not at all wonder whether Feng Yi had some ulterior motive.

Feng Yi whispered: "My beloved is staying in Room Jia of the guesthouse at Dragon Colt Stronghold; please ask the Beggar Sect brothers to deliver a message for me—say I have urgent business, and ask her to wait for me three days at the place we previously stayed at Bamboo Forest Pass; if she does not arrive, she should return directly to Chang'an and wait for me."

Guo Jing gave a slight nod: "Good!"

Huang Rong said: "Farewell!"

Having said that, they turned and left; the two warriors followed suit. Only Guo Fu turned back, glanced at Feng Yi once, sighed, and leapt onto her little red horse and departed.

She heard Feng Yi's voice clear and resonant like metal and stone, his martial prowess strong like her father's; yet his appearance was too ugly, and she couldn't help feeling a little sorry for him.

(End of chapter)