Chapter 68: then translation of chapter title

The restless treetops sprang apart to both sides, a head poked out from among the leaves, a clean complexion, disheveled hair, two eyes covered with a glossy sheen, their gaze as calm as water sweeping down toward Wang Ye below. Zhou Shuo stared at this girl, unable to help but freeze for a moment. Feng Baobao, what is she following Wang Ye for? Hmm, she's even carrying an iron shovel and a rope on her back—could she also be a brainless fan of Zhuge Qing?

Zhou Shuo saw the head popping out from the treetop, doubted it for a second, and just a second later, that head on the treetop actually turned toward him.

Having been discovered, Zhou Shuo felt the gaze meet his, his mind froze for a moment, not knowing what to do, but what he didn't expect was that the girl opposite him also froze for a second, then actually raised her hand and made a "hello" gesture toward him.

"Damn, what is this, people who've made eye contact?" Zhou Shuo watched the girl waving, several questions popped into his head, and at the same time, stiffly raising his hand he returned a greeting; perhaps this exchange of greetings formed a tacit understanding, the voices below faded, Zhou Shuo hurriedly leapt after her, and Feng Baobao didn't lag behind either, shouldering the iron shovel, a few strands of rope slung diagonally across her neck, she flew freely through the woods.

"Stinky bull-nose, if you've got the guts don't run, stand still."

"Miss, I must hunt you down to the death, how dare you make our Ah Qing vomit blood."

The perseverance of those brainless fans far exceeded Zhou Shuo's expectations; for a whole half day, until evening, those dozen or so sisters were panting from exhaustion, yet they still chased Wang Ye all over the mountains, winding through Old Forest several times, with no intention of stopping, only when it grew completely dark did they slowly retreat, but even so they still blocked the road back to the Heavenly Master's Daoist temple, determined not to let Wang Ye go.

"Jeez, what cultivation do these sisters practice? Amazing stamina, they've chased me for a whole half day." The yellow-faced Daoist gazed at the distant stars, walked over to an old tree, bent over, hands on knees, panting heavily.

"Compared to your stamina, little Daoist, they're practically a small crow seeing a big crow." Zhou Shuo leaned against the tree trunk, smiling as he watched the panting yellow-faced Daoist below; although this guy looked like he was dog-panting, his internal organs moved in order, showing no sign of exertion fatigue.

"" The figure in a cyan Daoist robe hesitated slightly, then straightened up, turned his face slightly, and fixed his dark sidelong gaze on the silhouette standing on the protruding tree branch.

"Daoist, you have the Qi Men of Feng Hou in your person; you must have some inkling of why I've come, right?" Zhou Shuo watched the man tilt his head slightly, glanced at him with the corner of his eye, smiling as he spoke, and at the same time leapt down from the tree branch; Qi Men Dun Jia, aside from its techniques, also has divinatory abilities—can this guy figure me out?

"Then you're that 'scattered number'!" The yellow-faced Daoist turned his body, letting the moonlight filtering through the woods shine on his face; his originally yellow complexion took on a bluish tinge.

"Scattered number?" Zhou Shuo looked at the youthful Daoist whose skin turned bluish in the moonlight, his face solemn, and couldn't help but twitch his eyebrows—could this be an epithet for my "transmigrator" identity in the art of numerology?

"Looks like you are indeed that." The young Daoist affirmed his thought.

"Then I suppose you've already figured out why I'm here—come on!" Zhou Shuo read the Wudang Daoist's expression, vaguely understood, spread his arms into a stance; it seemed he had calculated something about him, but not clearly, though the degree was there.

"Wait, wait, first explain—what do you intend to do?" The young Daoist looked at the man spreading his arms into a stance, startled, wondering what he was about to do.

"What's there to explain clearly!" Zhou Shuo, seeing the Daoist's reaction, could tell his numerology had completely failed to calculate him, but he'd set that aside for now.

His body flashed, in the blink of an eye Zhou Shuo stood before the young Daoist, sinking his shoulders and sitting his hips, a tremor ran down his spine, power flowed forward through his right hand—a blend of hard and soft, yin and yang—he struck straight at the man's abdomen, using exactly the same move he had employed against Zhuge Qing in the daytime match.

"Taiji force." Wang Ye faced the sudden strike, showing a bit of surprise, but his hands were not slow; he hooked his right arm inward around Zhou Shuo's wrist, then pulled outward.

"Nice force." Zhou Shuo felt the power in his hand, his eyes lighting up; in this palm of his, yin-yang hard-soft forces were mixed, yet Wang Ye drew with a hard, vigorous force, his fist energy extremely substantial, having the flavor of overcoming strength with hardness, completely unlike the slow, soft gentleness of old men and women; indeed, Taiji force is not merely soft—only when hard and soft complement, yin and yang blend, can it give rise to myriad forces and be called Taiji.

Wang Ye deflected the incoming palm with his right arm, then lashed out with his left hand in a straight strike toward Zhou Shuo's chest; Zhou Shuo bent his arm, broke free of the opponent's sticking energy, simultaneously turned sideways and bent his elbow, lowering his body, imitating the elbow technique from Zhuge Qing's Baji Quan that day, he thrust an elbow at his opponent, but unlike Zhuge Qing's borrowing momentum by going with the flow, this was a pure, hard-hitting blow.

"Can't block it." Feeling his opponent easily break free and the imitating strike from Zhuge Qing, the young Daoist probably could guess Zhou Shuo's intent to seek advice, but faced with Zhou Shuo's elbow he lacked the courage to meet it head-on, he jerked back; Zhou Shuo saw him retreat, immediately bent his knees and trudged forward, both arms bending together, exchanging elbows in rapid succession, delivering not just elbow power but also momentum.

"I—" Wang Ye looked at the elbow-coming guy, his body hit a large tree, feeling the trunk behind him, then seeing the elbow approaching from opposite, he jerked upward, leaping aside with a dry-land pull-up; the tree behind him shuddered with a boom, a hole punched in its trunk, causing Wang Ye to swallow the rest of his words.

"I say, old brother, there's no sparring like this—if you keep it up I won't come!" Wang Ye looked at the hole punched in the tree, cold sweat pouring down, he waved his hands repeatedly; this kind of practice isn't for show—if real blows land, it's no joke.

"It's just the joy of seeing prey; martial skills are merely petty tricks—I'll still use Taiji!" Zhou Shuo looked at the gesturing young Daoist, also feeling he was bullying others; he was no longer a novice martial artist, but an immortal cultivator, his physique far surpassing many extraordinary beings; even a Daoist specializing in Golden Inner Elixir might not withstand his frenzied blows—a solid hit could very well kill someone.

"" Wang Ye gazed at the man who constantly said "little Dao" and "Taiji", his face suddenly turning extremely stiff.

"Then let's go!" Zhou Shuo didn't look at the young Daoist's stiff face, assumed another stance—still Taiji, but now drawing power from his spine, swinging both arms, his palm force bursting forth like a splashing wind, using the very move Wang Ye had first employed when he rushed to attack Zhuge Qing that day.

"Damn, what the hell is this?" Wang Ye felt the air turn viscous, inwardly cursing but not daring to be careless; seizing the gap, he raised his arms forward, using Cloud Hands to block Zhou Shuo's whipping double lashes, neutralizing his palm force, while subconsciously trying to stick to his fist energy.

"Just being soft and weak won't do." Zhou Shuo unconsciously lowered his punch power, gauging the opponent's sticking energy, and spoke up.

"I know." Wang Ye heard Zhou Shuo's voice expressing dissatisfaction, felt the force in his hands, also understood the opponent's plan, and knew that if he continued like this the other would surely be dissatisfied, and if the other was dissatisfied he probably wouldn't get any rest tonight.

Rallying his spirit, Daoist Wang Ye calmed his heart, began to deploy his Taiji techniques one by one—Cloud Hands, Lifting Hand, Grasping the Sparrow's Tail—mixing various energies at will to neutralize the opponent's offense, while simultaneously launching hard attacks: Pounding Hammer, Deflecting Hammer, Elbow-Below Hammer, Body-Slant Hammer, and Single Whip, occasionally throwing in a diagonal flying kick, Jade Lady's Shuttle to evade and counterattack.

"All right." Zhou Shuo personally felt Wang Ye's martial flow, quickly grasped about seventy or eighty percent of it, but it wouldn't be convenient to exploit it to bully him, so he hastily dropped the subject.

"Oh my, old brother, you've worn me out!" Wang Ye saw Zhou Shuo stop, hastily halted his own hands, a bitter smile appearing on his yellow face.

"Thanks, uh, leave your number, we can chat again if the chance arises—I'd also like to ask you a bit about Qi Men numerology." Zhou Shuo looked at the smiling young Daoist, grinning as he pulled out his phone.

"Fine, no problem, I'm happy to chat with you, old brother." Wang Ye grimaced as he gave his phone number; he wanted to clap his hands and turn hostile, but thinking of the other's skill, sometimes it's better to be timid.

"Thanks a lot! My business is done." Zhou Shuo memorized the Daoist buddy's number, expressing thanks while signaling that it was finished—this made others feel different when they were timid.

"Well, I can finally go rest." Wang Ye looked at the guy fiddling with his phone, gave a bitter smile and turned, but failed to notice a shadow descending from behind; the next moment a pain struck his neck, his eyes rolled up, and his consciousness plunged into darkness.

"Eh, forgot to tell you, that last remark wasn't meant for you." Zhou Shuo wrote down the phone number, looked at the dazed kid shrug his shoulders, then glanced at the girl who gave him an 'OK' sign; he returned the gesture, but she ignored him, deftly untying the rope from her neck and binding the unconscious Daoist.

"I say, why are you tying him up?" Zhou Shuo watched the girl's incredibly efficient movements, the corner of his mouth twitching; she didn't look like a brainless fan at all.

"Of course it's for burying! Come on, help me fetch the water left over there." Feng Baobao tied the rope securely, then spoke in a Sichuan accent, pulled the iron shovel from the ground, found an open patch, and began digging while pointing at Zhou Shuo and saying.

"You're really not polite at all!" Zhou Shuo watched her start digging straight away, even directing him, the corner of his mouth twitching, but he didn't object; following her finger, he found a large bottle of mineral water behind a distant tree—why bring water out to this wilderness?

"You look really happy!" Zhou Shuo didn't understand, but still shouldered the mineral water back to its original spot, watching the girl energetically overturning soil with the iron shovel, his eyebrows rising—was it an illusion? This lass seemed utterly delighted, digging a grave and burying someone with such glee—what the hell?