Chapter 227: Bearing Grudge

Because of what happened back then, Xu Gu always felt inferior before Cui Zhao; and the Zhang family, before Cui Zhao and his two brothers, could barely hold their heads up.

And if one dug deeper, forcing Zhang Zhang Junxue to face Gu Guang would be a bloody torment to a woman's soul.

That empty sleeve hung limp before her, though less than a year had passed, the man's face seemed to have aged ten years.

She still remembered the warm, broad smile he wore when they first met last winter—this elder brother of Cui Zhao was exceptionally approachable and cheerful; Xu Gu practiced his knife more, and he almost personally corrected and guided every single person, sacrificing nearly all his own training time for it.

Back then, Zhang Zhang Junxue always habitually hid behind her sister; though already in her twenties, she still feared meeting and speaking with strangers.

Especially in the overly bright training ground, surrounded by countless strangers, she felt her bulky frame stood out too much—she wished she could chop off a section of her legs, carve away part of her chest and abdomen, detach a shoulder. In short, many parts of her felt superfluous. Sometimes she preferred practicing alone in the small courtyard, waiting for her sister to return after exhausting herself, rather than stepping out to receive her masters' instruction.

If she had made any friends during those days, it was only this elder brother. He seemed to never overlook anyone, not even this woman whom outsiders saw as reclusive and strange.

Their friendship never came from Zhang Zhang Junyu; during those days, the two discussed knife techniques and tested the overlapping waves, and she would forever remember that kind of kinship-like joy.

They discussed many knife-related questions, and he often brought her to the training ground, introducing her to everyone who came over as "this little sister"—though she always struggled painfully to force out a greeting.

During those days, besides her sister, this elder brother was the only one who made her feel close and safe.

Some of those conversations she still remembered.

"Don't use Qi—let's try arm-wrestling!"

"Your body is naturally divine-boned; you'll surpass me someday."

"Zhang Junxue, your sister… does she like spicy food?"

"What's good about being skinny and small? Isn't that just asking to be protected? We're big—we can be the ones who protect others, isn't that better?"

"Look, how envious they are of you."

Those words still echoed in her ears; back then, the man before her was warm and steady, nothing like his current quiet silence.

She also remembered the bare arm he showed her during their arm-wrestling—warm, pulsing, alive and strong, blood surging hot within it.

Now, only a limp, empty sleeve remained.

Zhang Zhang Junxue looked at the man before her, opened her mouth, wanting to say something—perhaps that she never knew her sister would reveal so much, or that her sister never intended to harm him.

But before the consequences now standing before her, explanations sounded like lies and excuses, and apologies felt like flippant provocations.

After all, in the end, she had truly chosen her sister, concealing the truth from this elder brother and dear friend.

Already poor with words, she grew even more flustered; the sight of Gu Guang silently wiping his blade tightened her heart.

Those events were already from last winter.

Now enemies, they must settle victory or defeat—what else is there to say?

Gasping as if unable to breathe, the woman slowly opened her mouth and exhaled a thick breath. Then she silently gripped her knife tighter.

She must win—she must win even more.

Amidst suppressed silence, the bell rang, its clear tone startling white herons into flight.

In the first instant, Gu Guang surged forward, his robe tearing the wind, the blade he drew straight and heavy.

Without any trickery, Zhang Zhang Junxue immediately raised her knife forward—the next moment, a solid "clang!" echoed through the blue sky.

This training ground had already witnessed the brilliance of the Five Lives—Zhang Zhang Mozhu, Li Li Piaoqing, Zhang Zhang Huan—each move elegant or graceful, their attacks and counters always drawing spontaneous applause.

But such pure, direct force clashing against force was unprecedented—no feints, no evasion, only raw, brutal, and even more brutal impact that made spectators cry out in delight.

Gu Guang, with only one arm, used the point of blade contact to support his entire body.

Zhang Zhang Junxue blocked with her knife—perhaps for the first time, this woman actively sought to meet someone's gaze. But Gu Guang's eyes remained fixed only on the point where the blades met, now showing surprise.

But the next instant, he twisted and slashed again, a more powerful blow descending upon her guard.

A gap had opened, but Zhang Zhang Junxue stiffened, letting it pass, choosing instead a less favorable moment.

A strike heavier than a thousand jin, a defense as solid as gold and jade—next, their roles reversed. The Five Lives unleashed their full strength, each move heart-stopping; everyone wondered—if one suddenly faltered, could the other even draw back in time? Or would they simply cleave their opponent in half?

Gu Guang's full effort was genuine; though disadvantaged by his left arm, the years of grueling effort he'd poured into this had been enough to turn his disadvantage into an edge against his opponent.

Zhang Zhang Junxue held her ground perfectly; her massive blade moved with agility and solidity in her hands, yet her expression remained silent, defense dominating over offense.

She wasn't blind to those openings, nor did she let emotion override reason; once she decided she must win, she had already prepared to knock the man off the platform.

But these openings, these hesitations and clumsiness in his body movements, clearly came from… the arm he lacked.

Zhang Zhang Junxue found it hard to strike at such a flaw—not merely out of pity, but because a deeper, more painful feeling arose: as if, once again, she were teaming up with Shang Huitong to steal his victory.

She refused to play such a role.

Even the "Overlapping Waves," the knife technique he had taught her, she found it hard to turn against him.

Only "Waist-Cutting Knife," a technique purely learned from the Zhang family, was clean and untainted. Zhang Zhang Junxue ignored those openings, striving to fight him with this technique in the fairest match possible.

Yet even so, she remained on top.

Equal in realm, the woman's divine bone structure held overwhelming advantage, not to mention the man had spent these nine months recovering from injury.

Precisely when this situation became clear, the spectators on all sides—even the Zhang family members—suddenly realized: this woman had also reached the Fifth Life.

The suspense of the semifinals continued to grow.

After twenty moves, the advantage was unmistakable; though she defended far more than she attacked, each defense held firm, and each offensive strike forced the man to retreat, gritting his teeth.

Just as the tide turned clearly, Gu Guang, pressed under pressure, after another blade clash, did not retract his blade—but used the momentum to execute a stunning, swirling turn.

For the first time, "technique" appeared in this match: his long blade traced a circular arc around his body, the force re-accumulating and redirecting toward the direction it had been pushed.

Perfectly precise.

An astonishing force erupted—stronger than any previous clash—this time, the woman's broadsword finally lost its upper hand.

Overlapping Waves.

Gu Guang had been the first to deploy this technique.

If "Yellow Jadeite" was the essence of the Bowang Sword, then "Overlapping Waves" was the most outstanding knife technique in the entire province. His single arm had become an advantage—he could channel all his force into one side.

This was his signature killing move.

The blade sprang up again, another wave of Overlapping Waves surged forth; Zhang Zhang Junxue stepped back to block, her arm muscles straining violently, barely absorbing this doubled strike.

Under this pressure, the woman was already on the path to defeat.

When she gave Gu Guang space, she had already handed him the chance of victory.

Of course, she could still reverse it now—strip him of victory again—by using Overlapping Waves herself. Once, he had been her warm, powerful elder brother, her senior on the knife path, guiding and teaching her—but now, he was merely a broken shell.

The third wave of blade force roared again.

Zhang Zhang Junxue gathered all her Qi, yet beneath this accumulated surge, even her innate divine bones lost their efficacy; the hilt trembled violently, and for the first time, she felt her grip slipping. In her vision, her massive blade tilted.

But he had entrusted this technique to her and her sister out of trust—and she had betrayed him with a fall into the abyss. Now that he had climbed back up, how could she use the very technique he gave her to knock him down again?

The woman strained to adjust, re-raised her broadsword—she would still rely solely on her own strength to support the next strike.

The fourth wave was the limit of her own study of Overlapping Waves; back then, the man had only advanced this far—he said the fifth wave existed only in texts.

Gu Guang's body twisted, the fourth wave crashing toward her.

For the first time, before even clashing, Zhang Zhang Junxue felt the sense of collapse.

If she had faced herself using "Waist-Cutting Knife" to perform Overlapping Waves, she would have lost by the second wave. But Gu Guang used only ordinary powerful strikes for his Overlapping Waves, allowing her to hold on this long.

But now facing the fourth wave, she felt like a mantis trying to stop a cart.

A mountain was collapsing upon her.

The collision of long blade and heavy blade erupted a shockwave that cleared dust in a three-zhang radius; the crowd gasped—no one had imagined that a weapon clash without any Qi leakage could reach such intensity.

Zhang Zhang Junxue collapsed to her knees in an instant, her blade pressed onto her shoulder, the overwhelming force threatening to shatter the platform through her body.

But she held.

The immense, unstoppable force inflicted extreme pressure on both their bodies; the impact's energy surged into each other's flesh—resisting, channeling, dissipating—bones and tendons screamed in unison under unbearable strain; Zhang Zhang Junxue clenched her teeth, while Gu Guang spat blood with a "puff."

At that moment, Zhang Zhang Junxue realized: there would be a fifth wave.

She knew clearly how the final release would feel—the moment the wielder could no longer control the force, the blade would fly free, and the only choice left was to direct its final torrent.

But now, the man still tightly restrained the power within his blade—this proved he still had the capacity to add yet another layer.

Nine months—this one-armed man, struggling even to hold his blade—had pushed this technique to its textual limit.

Zhang Zhang Junxue lifted her gaze, again trying to meet the man's eyes.

This was the rule she had set for herself, and she was willing to accept defeat. But now, she wanted to convey her clumsy, complex gaze to this former elder brother.

Longing, regret, apology, grievance—and shared pain.

And this time, she succeeded in meeting his gaze.

It was bone-deep hatred—and unyielding will.

The man who had lost everything gripped his blade again, gritting his teeth, stepping from the bitter cold of winter into this golden autumn—not to admire the scenery. Glory, cheers, or even the lavish prize meant nothing to him. Only suppressed hatred, and the rage waiting to be unleashed.

Such a gaze explained everything.

Though she had long prepared herself, Zhang Zhang Junxue still couldn't suppress her sorrow. Her friends were few—so she cherished each one deeply.

If she were merely one link in his path of revenge, she would accept this fate.

But the expected, even more violent fifth strike never came.

After this collision, Gu Guang did not use the impact to rebound his blade—he absorbed the force directly, pressing blade to blade, then threw his entire body's strength into a final, desperate push.

Zhang Zhang Junxue froze. She hadn't expected him to decide victory this way—not only because it wasn't a guaranteed method, but because their blades now stood only a breath away from each other's throats.

This wasn't about victory or defeat—it was about life and death.

She stared blankly, now somewhat bewildered.

Suddenly, she noticed: the hatred and resolve in the man's eyes were not directed at her.

They were etched into his mind from countless days of practicing this technique, fixed upon the one man he needed to tear apart limb from limb. This emotion had become bound to the killing technique; when he used this blade, he was like a wounded, furious tiger.

Now, the blade had stopped—and the emotion slowly faded.

Before her, the man strained to maintain the pressure; in the woman's bewildered gaze, he slowly clamped the hilt under his armpit, freeing his only hand.

Then, with that arm, he braced his elbow on her wide blade, raising his palm before her.

Zhang Zhang Junxue was instantly dazed.

It felt as if she had returned to that winter, the arm before her alive and powerful, muscles pulsing. She lifted her head, and the man before her offered a warm smile, just as he had back then—only blood still seeped from his mouth.

"Don't use Qi! Try this time with your left hand."

Zhang Zhang Junxue stood frozen, silent; her lips trembled slightly, then she slowly raised her arm and gripped that same broad, powerful hand.

The sudden surge of force triggered her instinctive outburst; when she came to her senses, she had already pressed his hand flat against the blade.

"When you held my third wave without using the overlapping surge, I knew your third wave had already surpassed my fifth," Gu Guang smiled gently at her. "You were bound to surpass me someday, Xiao Zhang Junxue."

He staggered back, steadied himself, and dropped his long blade.

"Then, I entrust this hatred to you," he said seriously.

The final contender among the eight emerged; she descended the arena, her steps heavier than those of the previous seven—weighted by invisible burdens.

(End of Chapter)