Chapter 9: Blood Spatters at Ximen Mansion

Yet, to Ximen Qing’s disbelief, Zhang Jie—who had been absorbed in the jade pendant—reacted after him but struck first, catching his punch mid-air.

He intercepted his certain-hit punch with a counter that came after but struck first.

“Excellent fist technique!”

Zhang Jie felt the tremendous force transmitted through his palm, enough to slightly stagger his stance, and couldn’t help but praise aloud.

After all, his strength was shared with the true Zhang Jie from the Yi Tian world, a man capable of lifting a cauldron.

Ximen the Great Official had made Zhang Jie’s body sway slightly,

Master Ximen’s punch had barely shaken Zhang Jie’s stance,

proving that though he indulged in wine, women, wealth, and anger, he had not let his body decay, nor neglected his martial arts.

Of course, it’s also possible Master Ximen maintained his training simply to better indulge in wine and women.

After all, without a strong body, how could he satisfy his one wife and five concubines, each as fierce as a wolf or tiger?

Moreover, Master Ximen’s Cannon Fist perfectly embodies the true essence of Cannon Fist: “Both hands twist and turn, power erupts from the heart,

Liver and spleen assist, fire burns pure. Diagonal steps, straight advances, changes follow intent, the whole heavenly cycle turns with true rhythm.”

Even in the Yi Tian world, where internal energy exists, if he merely cultivated one internal art,

he could easily earn a reputation like “Fist That Calms Yanggu.”

If Master Ximen joined Liangshan, he might even earn the title of Heavenly Lust Star.

The only question is, which of the Thirty-Six Heavenly Gang Stars would he displace?

“How is this possible?”

Ximen Qing muttered in disbelief, having failed to land a blow.

He had considered that Zhang Jie might block his punch,

but he never imagined Zhang Jie would block it so effortlessly.

Such a master—why would he come to harass a mere Ximen Qing?

Such a master, even in Bianjing, would surely be a honored guest of princes and ministers!

“Master Ximen, you threw one punch—now take one of my palms!”

Zhang Jie paid no mind to Ximen Qing’s swirling thoughts.

He let out a soft cry, channeling his internal energy; his palm, already pale from frail constitution,

turned pure white in that instant, slowly pressing toward Ximen Qing.

“Damn it!”

Ximen Qing roared inwardly.

To Dai’an, the palm seemed light and slow,

but to Ximen Qing, Zhang Jie’s palm was like the imprint of a celestial giant’s hand descending from the heavens.

It sealed off every possible escape route—he had no choice but to block it head-on!

With no way to evade, Ximen Qing crossed his arms before his chest and braced with all his strength.

“Crack!”

Zhang Jie’s palm shattered Ximen Qing’s defense like dry grass before a storm.

With a crisp crack, Ximen Qing’s arms bent into

a V-shape no healthy, normal arm could ever achieve.

Clearly, Zhang Jie had broken both his arms with a single palm strike.

White bone fragments protruded from the broken ends of Ximen Qing’s arms,

each jagged, uneven spur clearly visible.

Zhang Jie was not surprised by this outcome:

His Yi Tian Zhang Jie’s ancestral master was the founder of Wudang, the Third-Feng True Man,

whose might made Shaolin monks cry, “If we all charge together, Zhang Zhenren still couldn’t kill all six sects!”

His own master was the second disciple of the Third-Feng True Man, the most skilled among his peers;

he created the “Tiger Claw Family-Extinction Hand,” then fully mastered the “Taiji Fist,”

and at the Lion-Slaying Assembly, used the Taiji palm’s ability to neutralize force to catch two thunder-fire bombs,

shattered Song Qingshu’s Nine Yin White Bone Claw, demonstrating his supreme martial skill—the Wudang Second Hero, Yu Lianzhou.

And Yi Tian Zhang Jie himself possessed extraordinary bone structure and strength capable of lifting a cauldron, a peerless warrior.

With these three forces combined, Zhang Jie crushing Ximen Qing was only natural—

for Ximen Qing was nothing but a lower-dimensional target before him.

It would be strange if he fought Ximen Qing for three hundred rounds without victory or defeat, or worse, lost.

If he failed to defeat or be defeated by Ximen Qing after three hundred rounds of battle, that would be strange.

Lying on the ground, Ximen Qing felt unbearable pain surge into his brain—

every neuron screamed in agony as he howled, clutching his mangled arms.

Zhang Jie was satisfied: the soundproofing in Ximen Qing’s private chamber was excellent—

even his gut-wrenching screams barely escaped.

Of course, this might also be intentional:

He’d just been planning to play some private-chamber games with Dai’an!

No doubt he’d done so often with his wives and concubines.

“W-what just happened?”

Dai’an, standing in the corner, looked utterly bewildered.

Hadn’t they been talking nicely just now?

How did it suddenly turn into Ximen Qing attempting a surprise attack on the black-cloaked man,

then the black-cloaked man effortlessly blocking it,

and finally, one gentle palm breaking both of Ximen Qing’s arms?

The events unfolded so swiftly they nearly fried his brain.

Dai’an: I know city folks play dirty, but I didn’t think you played this dirty…

The city’s tricks run deep—I want to go back to the countryside…

“Master Ximen, this puts me in a difficult position.

Tell me—how should I deal with you?”

Zhang Jie looked down upon Ximen Qing from above.

“Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!

I’ll give you all my wealth!”

With both arms shattered, Ximen Qing lost all dignity, kneeling and begging for mercy.

From Zhang Jie’s overwhelming martial power, he knew this was an enemy he could not resist.

Even if he gathered all his servants, it would be useless!

As for waiting for the county officials to respond, for the County Commandant to arrive with armed soldiers?

Forget whether those soldiers—weak, old, sick, corrupt, and only good for extorting bribes—

could even fight, or whether they could surround this black-cloaked killer.

Simply waiting for them to arrive would give the black-cloaked man enough time to kill his entire family,

loot everything, and vanish.

He was still young; he had many good years ahead, many wives and concubines to care for,

much wealth left to spend,

he hadn’t yet enjoyed enough of this world of red lanterns and wine, and he didn’t want to die!

His only option now was to sacrifice his wealth to save his life.

As long as he lived, he would still be Master Ximen, the mighty lord of Yanggu County!

As long as he lives, he is still the mighty Ximen Daguannren who ruled over Yanggu County!

If I kill you, won’t all your money become mine anyway?”

Zhang Jie said with interest.

“I have more gold and treasures hidden in a secret chamber.

If you kill me, you’ll never find them!

I’ll tell you exactly where I’ve hidden everything—if you spare my life.”

Ximen Qing offered another lifeline.

“Secret chamber?

Isn’t there another witness right here?”

Zhang Jie pointed to Dai’an, frozen in the corner, not daring to move.

“Master, Master, I know where the secret chamber is!

I’ll tell you everything—I beg you to spare my life!”

The pointed-out Dai’an crawled forward and prostrated himself before Zhang Jie.

“Dai’an! How dare you betray me?”

"Dai'an! How dare you betray me?"

Upon hearing these words, Ximen Qing flew into a rage.

In that moment, the pain of his severed arm was drowned out by the rising fire of his fury.

In the Ximen household, he, Ximen Qing, had always been the absolute master, whose word was law.

No servant had ever dared defy his orders!

Dai’an glanced at the disheveled, dog-like Ximen Qing and sneered:

“Master Ximen, I’m merely following the wise principle of adapting to circumstances.”

Master Ximen?

Upon hearing this title, Ximen Qing felt a surge of rage rushing straight to his head.

In the Ximen household, all servants were required to call him “Father” to show obedience!

“You damned dog of a servant!”

Ximen Qing momentarily forgot Zhang Jie’s threat and the pain of his severed arm,

staggered to his feet, and lunged to beat Dai’an.

“Do you still think you’re Master Ximen?”

“Do you still think you’re our Father?”

Dai’an kicked Ximen Qing—both arms severed—straight to the ground.

His voice carried unmistakable triumph:

We’re all human—why should Ximen Qing be the lord above,

while Dai’an is nothing but a servant who grovels day and night?

Why must he call a man with no blood tie to him “Father”?

And even when this beast’s lust surged, be forced to offer his own rear?

He never found it pleasurable—he only found it revolting!

“Clap, clap, clap! What a fine spectacle of dogs biting dogs.”

Zhang Jie, witnessing this absurd scene, clapped his hands.

“My lord, what is your decision?”

Dai’an dared not refute Zhang Jie’s insult calling them dogs,

only knelt low, looked up at Zhang Jie, and gazed at him with desperate hope.

Even the furious Master Ximen came to his senses,

realizing his life still hung in the hands of this black-cloaked monster, and dared not move again.

“My decision is…”

As Zhang Jie spoke slowly, Ximen Qing and Dai’an’s hearts rose to their throats.

“My answer is—you both must die!”

Zhang Jie’s eyes glinted with malice.

“My lord, my lord, why?

If you kill us, you gain nothing!”

Dai’an asked, his heart as dead as ash.

“Why?”

Zhang Jie thought of the comrades and instructors who had died at the hands of Dai’an, Ximen Qing, and the bandits;

of their blood-soaked, mangled corpses—limbs missing, bodies broken;

of their families, weeping uncontrollably, heartbroken, nearly fainting.

Even now, the bloody scenes still flashed before his eyes,

the heart-rending cries still echoed in his ears!

Overcome with emotion, Zhang Jie tore off his face covering:

“Now do you understand why?”

“You—you’re that sickly Zhang Jie from the Zhang household?”

Ximen Qing stared at Zhang Jie’s pale yet familiar face, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Impossible, impossible!

That Zhang Jie was a sickly wretch who gasped for breath just walking!”

Dai’an, equally incredulous, muttered to himself.

“Kill us…”

Knowing he had no chance of survival, Ximen Qing gritted his teeth and prepared to shout Zhang Jie’s name aloud.

Even if he died, he would drag Zhang Jie down with him!

“Bang!”

Zhang Jie, anticipating this move, fired a pebble the size of a ping-pong ball straight into Ximen Qing’s mouth the instant he opened it.

He forcefully shot a pebble the size of a ping-pong ball into his mouth.

Ximen Qing’s plan died instantly—his mouth crushed, he spat out several bloody teeth.

“Retribution, retribution!”

Dai’an, still young, his conscience not yet entirely extinguished, stared blankly, whispering to himself.

He seemed shattered by the shock—already mad.

“Mad or not, you both die!”

Zhang Jie stepped forward swiftly, summoned his inner energy, and struck each man’s crown with a palm.

As his energy surged, their brains instantly liquefied,

and white, viscous fluid oozed from their mouths, ears, and nostrils.

Zhang Jie stared at their lifeless, wide-eyed corpses,

and felt no nausea, no urge to vomit—the usual horror of killing for the first time—

only profound relief, as if he had finally exhaled a foul breath held for twenty years!

Not only was there no nausea or urge to vomit, as the legends described when killing someone for the first time,

but he felt an extraordinary sense of relief, as if a long-suppressed bitterness of ten or twenty years had finally been expelled!