Chapter 46: Fists and Feet Will Not Yield

“Good!”

Below, the crowd erupted again in thunderous cheers.

Zhou Bai’s display was visually more impressive than Li Yan’s.

Monkey tricks, dog taming, pole climbing, tightrope walking—these were things the common folk had seen street performers do at temple fairs.

But this skill of running along eaves and scaling walls was rare to behold; especially the series of claw marks left on the thick wooden boards as Zhou Bai passed, leaving them marveling in awe.

Of course, amateurs watch the spectacle; experts watch the technique.

Only true martial artists knew how astonishing Li Yan’s earlier move had been in demonstrating his lower-body foundation.

These were merely interludes.

Everyone’s attention quickly turned to the fighting platform.

Even watching a spectacle has its rules.

For instance, a condemned man on the execution ground who stays silent and is beheaded without a word might chill the heart, but afterward feels dull.

But if he shouts curses as he’s led out—cursing the court, cursing corrupt officials, cursing the dog emperor—and then sings a verse declaring he’ll be a brave man again in eighteen years, that’s what’s called flavor.

Likewise, a fighting platform match must be judged by the rivals’ pre-fight taunts.

Just like modern combat matches, you always bring the two enemies together, force them to glare at each other, and build up the atmosphere.

So the crowd held their breath, eyes wide, eager to see how the two would taunt each other—ideally with a scene from opera, singing a few lines.

Yet the stage disappointed them.

Li Yan and Zhou Bai merely sized each other up, cold and silent.

By now, on a life-or-death duel, there was nothing left to say.

To Zhou Bai, this was just a naive country boy, relying on his father’s reputation to provoke the Zhou family for fame.

Li Yan knew the Zhou family’s grudge could never be resolved.

Leaving aside past grievances, his father’s death was tied to Zhou Pan.

Even if Zhou Bai wasn’t the killer, he was an accomplice.

The two studied each other, searching for weaknesses.

Both were martial artists, young but trained since childhood, intimately familiar with the human body, able to discern from subtle signs whether the opponent had recently suffered serious injury.

A martial artist’s body was as precious as gold.

It required not just training and fighting, but also care; one misstep could end a career unless one forged a new path, like mastering the one-armed sword technique.

A life-or-death duel knows no courtesy.

Once you spot an injury, you strike to kill.

Seeing no obvious flaw, Zhou Bai grew impatient and gave a slight bow, coldly saying: “I hear you specialize in Hong Quan?”

“Come, let’s test each other—see how many guts you’ve got to challenge the Zhou family in Xianyang!”

At these words, Zhou Peide among the Eight Golden Warriors turned pale and slammed his fist on the table. “Ridiculous!”

Everyone now saw Zhou Bai’s intent.

The Zhou family’s Monkey Fist was a branch of Hong Quan; Zhou Pan had studied the Back-Reach Monkey Fist, absorbed strengths from both lineages, and built his own renown.

Naturally, the parent art, Hong Quan, was also mastered deeply.

This young man, arrogant, abandoned his own strength to use Hong Quan to suppress Li Yan.

This was entirely different from the original plan.

Yuan Qu’s eyes flashed with anger, but he suppressed it, smiling: “Big Brother, don’t get angry. Zhou Bai has trained hard in Hong Quan too; with his talent, defeating this opponent is effortless.”

“This is a life-or-death duel—do you want fame so badly that you’ve lost your mind?”

Zhou Peide remained furious, barking: “When we return, lock him in solitary confinement. And you—keep him away from faction affairs. Stay clear of Zhou Bai!”

He held himself in high regard; though nominally brothers with Yuan Qu and Zheng Heibei, he looked down on them as mere servants of the Zhou family.

Now enraged, he spoke without restraint.

“Yes, Big Brother is right to reprimand us.”

Yuan Qu immediately bowed, hiding the venom in his eyes.

Above, Zhou Bai had already moved first.

The ten-meter platform was small; he pushed off with his feet, twisted his body, closed the distance, raised his left palm in a feint, and his right hand shot straight toward Li Yan’s face.

This move, White Tiger Washing Face, derived from Hong Quan’s Six Harmonies Spear.

The arm moved like a spear blossom—only shadows visible—aiming for surprise, striking the eyes and the central brow point.

This was Hong Quan: techniques forged on the battlefield, each move meant to draw blood.

Fear not a hundred refined moves; fear only one brilliant one.

If perfected, this move would erupt like a spear-blossom thunderclap; the enemy couldn’t react, eyes blurred, and died instantly.

But Li Yan had anticipated it.

He didn’t dodge; his left hand blocked Zhou Bai’s arm, then shifted his shoulder and twisted his waist, using abdominal power to drive his right fist down like a hammer, striking Zhou Bai’s Baihui point at the crown of his head.

Hong Quan’s opening move: Block-Chop-Hammer!

Looked like a wild punch, but it was guarding the center while attacking the center—deflecting and countering in one motion. If it landed, one punch could shatter the opponent’s skull.

Opposite, Zhou Bai had trained with many masters since childhood; his experience surpassed Li Yan’s. He merely tilted sideways, twisted his shoulder, raised his arms, crossed his fists in a cross-lock, and seized Li Yan’s right wrist.

“Good!”

Zhou Peide on the distant winehouse balcony relaxed slightly.

Hong Quan techniques came from the battlefield; this wrist-lock was crucial.

In battlefield combat, when weapons clashed, a master needed only a light tug to unbalance the enemy, leaving him defenseless.

The wrist-lock worked the same way.

Once locked, countless follow-ups could deliver a killing blow.

Indeed, as Zhou Bai seized Li Yan’s wrist, he immediately launched a vicious groin kick.

Li Yan reacted swiftly, countering with a side kick that sent Zhou Bai’s leg flying back.

!.

But the moment they connected, he sensed something wrong.

Zhou Bai’s kick was limp, weak—just a feint.

As Li Yan lifted his leg to counter, he stood on one foot, off-balance.

True enough, Zhou Bai leaned sideways, wrapped his arms around the back of Li Yan’s right knee, crossed his hands, and unleashed a burst of force.

Sword-Carrying Leg!

A brutal move, instantly unbalancing the opponent to throw them down, followed by a killing strike.

Master Zhang Shi had been knocked flying by Li Yan’s Leaf-Hidden Flower precisely to avoid this move.

Without surprise, Li Yan fell backward.

Zhou Bai’s follow-up came instantly: a side whip kick, perfectly timed to strike Li Yan’s temple as his head neared the ground.

In this critical moment, Li Yan’s extraordinary foundational skill showed.

He twisted his waist mid-air, dodged Zhou Bai’s side kick, then locked his legs around Zhou Bai’s waist in a scissor grip.

This time, the force was applied mid-motion—he couldn’t lift and throw Zhou Bai like he had in the Zhang family’s training hall.

But Hong Quan had specialized countermeasures for falling: the Nine Rolls, Eighteen Tumbles.

Using Zhou Bai’s waist as leverage, Li Yan pushed off the ground with his left hand and executed a horizontal Rabbit Kicks Eagle, kicking straight into Zhou Bai’s leg.

Zhou Bai had rich experience in breaking techniques, but perhaps because his training had been too rigid, his adaptability was poor, his responses stiff.

He didn’t react to Li Yan’s move in time and lost his balance.

Li Yan, meanwhile, pushed off with his left hand; as his legs came down, he bent and surged forward.

This move was called Pushing the Mountain.

Like a tiger pouncing on prey, Li Yan wrapped his arms around Zhou Bai’s waist, stepped forward several times, and slammed him to the ground, then straddled his waist sideways.

His fists rained down like linked cannons, crackling rapidly.

Worse, because the platform was narrow, Li Yan’s shove pushed Zhou Bai right to the edge—his chest hanging over empty air, his waist unable to generate power.

Facing this barrage of cannon punches, Zhou Bai desperately shielded his head, but still took several hits; his vision blurred, blood spurted from his nose.

Li Yan showed no mercy.

This series of cannon punches—if one landed on a vital point—could snap the opponent’s neck outright.

In moments, Zhou Bai was on the defensive; as he struggled to block, fear rose in him—but more than fear, rage.

He had intended to crush Li Yan with Hong Quan, yet Li Yan, younger than him, fought with such seasoned, ruthless skill, humiliating him before the entire crowd.

Martial artists naturally carried a fierce aura.

Zhou Bai trained Monkey Fist, which bred a wild nature.

Anger and pain drove him to reckless abandon—he grabbed Li Yan’s clothes, rolled over, and both tumbled off the platform.

Many onlookers gasped sharply.

The preceding exchange had been relentless—no evasion, pure collision, lightning-fast, dazzling to watch.

And now, this.

A platform over three zhang high—if they fell, wouldn’t they be half-dead?

But the martial artists watching weren’t worried.

Martial artists trained since childhood; rolling to dissipate impact was basic skill. Even falling from five zhang, they could roll and land unharmed.

Some masters even dared to jump from city walls.

What troubled them was that the rules of the arena stipulated that falling off meant defeat—could this match really end in a draw?

Yet, the situation took them by surprise.

As Zhou Bai fell, he curled his body, revealing his monkey form, then dug his claws into the wooden wall beside the platform and clung to it, stopping himself dead.

Li Yan’s claw technique was inferior to his opponent’s, but he had his own way to respond.

He flicked his left hand, punched through the wooden plank, gripped the crack to halt his momentum, and turned to look at Zhou Bai across the way, a faint sneer on his lips.

“So, wanna go up and fight again?”

“Go fight your damn self!”

Zhou Bai roared in fury, leaping forward like a monkey…

(End of Chapter)