Chapter 35: Tough Body Cultivation Martial Art

Zhang Dahu held his breath, his face tense.

Looking for trouble?

Should we quietly notify the other cells? I have a feeling Master Shen will be slapped to death by this brute.

Chen Ji also sensed something off—could it be that, despite their polite words, they’d truly come to defend Shoutuo’s honor?

“Well?”

Zhang the Butcher tilted his neck, his calloused, thick fingers plucking the grass stem from his mouth.

Shen Yi stared silently; the man’s gaze was pure, devoid of any provocation, brimming only with fierce, blazing combat intent.

He slowly turned his side, exhaling a slow, turbid breath: “Come.”

The moment the words left his lips, Zhang the Butcher lashed out with his leg—his three- or four-hundred-pound stone weight shot forward like a clay pellet fired from a slingshot, screaming through the air as it slammed toward the upright figure!

The momentum was immense, the speed astonishing—those watching had no time to react.

Shen Yi glanced sideways at the courtyard wall behind him, clenched his right fist, spun back, and thrust his punch forward—beneath the knuckles, the stone weight shattered instantly into dust.

“I see now—you truly care about your silver.”

Lime dust obscured vision for an instant, yet that monstrously massive body had already appeared behind the youth.

Two thick arms, like iron chains, swept down from above—if they landed, both shoulder blades would shatter more thoroughly than the stone weight.

Shen Yi remained calm, leaned slightly forward, dodged the strike, then drove his elbow upward with all his strength, smashing it hard into Zhang the Butcher’s bearded chin.

With a dull thud.

His expression finally showed a flicker of surprise.

Zhang the Butcher staggered back two steps, shaking the entire courtyard, rubbed his jaw, and grinned widely as if nothing had happened: “Fast reaction.”

An elbow strike capable of shattering demonic bone had only made him retreat two steps.

Others saw nothing unusual, but Chen Ji’s pupils contracted slightly.

Yesterday, Master Shen had kicked a tiger demon flat on its back, spitting blood—what kind of monster is this fat man?

“...”

Shen Yi’s inner shift had nothing to do with that.

Just now, his elbow had carried the aura of his acupoint energy—he hadn’t expected to land a decisive blow, but... how had this martial artist from Qingzhou blocked it without mobilizing any energy at all?

As he pondered, his body surged forward, enhanced by the Spirit Snake Eight Steps, becoming a phantom.

Though Zhang the Butcher moved swiftly, his enormous frame was a liability—he couldn’t even see his own toes when he bent his head, his field of view narrow.

Yet his eyes held no panic; he let Shen Yi’s punches land, his greasy skin as resilient as a hundred layers of oxhide stacked together.

Seizing the moment, his fat palm darted to his waist, pulling out a jet-black pig-killing knife that slashed downward at blinding speed.

Despite the immense force, the knife struck empty air again.

Shen Yi seized the opening—while Zhang was still off-balance—he kicked hard into the man’s waist, sending the massive body crashing to the ground.

The Niu brothers scrambled aside like startled rabbits.

“Weak! Weak!”

“This crude fist technique—no matter how well you wield it, what’s the point? Frankly, it doesn’t even warm you up.”

Zhang the Butcher rose from the ground, dusty and grimy, his gaze locking onto Shen Yi’s waist, licking his lips: “Draw your blade quickly—I saw it yesterday. Don’t try to hide your moves.”

Hearing this, Shen Yi rubbed his wrist, then reached for the hilt of his sword.

He’d thought this was just sparring, but the man’s body was so solid—using the Cloud-Pushing Long Fist alone was pointless.

The next instant, silver light streaked across the sky, trailed by crimson mist!

“Good!” Zhang the Butcher finally grew excited, crossing his arms to meet the strike.

The long blade struck with a clear metallic clang—leaving a white mark on his greasy skin.

“Is this a turtle that turned into a demon?” Chen Ji’s eyes widened, his breath quickened.

Yet Zhang the Butcher’s smile slowly faded—he stared at his arm: “Good sword technique...”

Before he finished speaking, the long blade came again, relentless, laced with violent killing aura.

Zhang the Butcher raised his arms to block three strikes—on the fourth, he suddenly rolled like a donkey, barely dodging it.

Before everyone’s eyes, he waved his hands frantically: “Stop! Let me catch my breath!”

Shen Yi slowed to a halt.

Chen Ji hadn’t figured out what was happening—why had the fight ended so soon?

His gaze suddenly fell on the butcher’s raised arm—he felt a chill. The previous strikes had all landed on the exact same spot, which only proved Shen Yi’s blade control was precise.

What truly stunned him was that the single white mark had now been tightly clung to by strands of crimson mist—within a few breaths, faint white bone was already visible.

Beads of sweat broke out on Zhang the Butcher’s forehead; he gritted his teeth, channeled his energy, and slowly expelled the crimson mist. After a long while, he lifted his head, exhaled, and muttered in wonder:

“This trick... isn’t the work of a good person.”

“I like it!”

Shen Yi frowned, puzzled why the man hadn’t used his energy to resist earlier.

Zhang the Butcher had already jumped up, slapping his belly: “What do you think?”

Shen Yi nodded: “Strong henglian cultivation.”

“Want to learn?” Zhang the Butcher said, his eyes fixed on Shen Yi’s sword.

“Master Shen, don’t!” Chen Ji, usually so well-mannered, couldn’t help speaking up.

The relationship between the imperial court and martial sects was far more complex than ordinary people imagined.

Taking their things wasn’t something you could walk away from easily.

“Tsk, why the rush?”

Interrupted by the constable, Zhang the Butcher didn’t anger—he smiled with dignity: “I came here with intent, and yes, it’s not honorable—but I won’t harm Captain Shen.”

He stepped closer to Shen Yi and whispered: “Your sword technique—you figured it out yourself from the Demon-Slaying Sword Art?”

Shen Yi looked at him, slightly surprised.

“Heh, I’ve seen too many. I recognized it at a glance.” Zhang the Butcher raised an eyebrow: “I wouldn’t dare touch the Town-Suppressing Office’s martial arts—but this self-created style? No such rules. Coincidentally, I’ve had some insights too. Why not trade?”

Shen Yi felt an unexpected pull.

If he could gain this man’s body, he wouldn’t have panicked last night when facing the snake woman.

After a moment, he turned and spoke honestly: “I have no objection—but you may not be able to learn this sword technique.”

Zhang the Butcher paused, then chuckled throatily: “Of course I know—this kind of sinister technique couldn’t possibly be something a court official could access. You likely gleaned it from the corrupted essence of some demon’s beast core.”

“Only someone desperate or a mad martial fanatic would do something so foolish.”

“Just trade it. Why worry whether someone else can master it?”

Seeing the two discussing martial arts, Chen Ji ushered the remaining constables, who stared in confusion, out of the courtyard, then stepped out himself and gently closed the gate.

(End of Chapter)