Chapter 69: Fighting the Group of Ghosts (Bonus chapter for 3500 recommendation votes)

The tip of the sword had already been clamped between Yu Liancheng's two fingers.

Ye Guhong's face had turned iron-blue, then began to flush red, and beads of sweat rolled down his entire head. He had already used all his strength to pull the sword, but this sword felt as if it were being pressed down by Mount Tai, unable to move at all.

"Is... is this the Lingxi Finger?" He could not believe that his own sword technique, which he took such pride in, had actually been clamped by just two fingers. And if it were the infallible "Lingxi Finger" from the rumors, it would at least make him feel a little better inside.

Unfortunately, Yu Liancheng shook his head: "I just clamped it casually. If a sword technique like this wants to defeat me, you still need at least fifty years of hard work; of course, that is on the condition that I do not make the slightest progress in these fifty years."

Ye Guhong's face was cold: "I don't need a sword to still be able to kill you."

His hand had already left the sword hilt, and he had already lunged toward Yu Liancheng, both palms striking out together.

His left hand used the Wudang Golden Silk Cotton Palm, fine and continuous, impossible to sever. His right hand used the Seventy-Two Capturing Hands, his five fingers like hooks, force penetrating to the fingertips.

Swish!!

Suddenly, a flash of sword light pierced through the offensive of the Cotton Palm and the Capturing Hands, and an aura sharp beyond words erupted, stabbing toward his throat.

Ye Guhong's pupils contracted sharply, and he felt the hairs all over his body stand on end.

The tip of the sword was now only half an inch from his throat.

With just a light thrust forward, the life of this "Wudang Little White Dragon" would be lost right here.

All color had drained from Ye Guhong's face, and he stood frozen like a wooden statue. After a long while, he suddenly asked: "How many moves did it take you to defeat Ximen Chuixue?"

Yu Liancheng said indifferently: "Things like this, I have never really kept track of; probably a few hundred moves."

Ye Guhong lowered his head and looked at his own hands.

He sighed a long sigh: "I have studied the sword since I was young, nineteen years now, regardless of cold or heat, practicing hard day and night. I was confident that I had no rival in the way of the sword. I had already decided to issue a challenge to the winner of the battle at the Forbidden City, but I never expected..."

Suddenly, his figure surged forward.

His chest collided toward the tip of the sword.

He wanted to seek death, to die under his own sword.

Bang!

Ye Guhong did not manage to die; he was kicked away by Yu Liancheng.

He fell heavily to the ground and said in a hoarse voice: "You won't even let me die?"

To him, dying at the hands of a swordsman like Yu Liancheng was both an honor and a release.

Yu Liancheng gave a cold snort: "If one must die upon losing, I fear the swordsmen of the world would be nearly all dead. Even if you want to die, please go die further away; do not dirty my eyes here."

Ye Guhong's expression changed again and again: "Fine, fine, fine, this time I count you as the winner. One day, I will defeat you." After saying this, he unfolded his figure and disappeared, having no face to stay any longer.

"Want to defeat me? You had better wait for the next life." Yu Liancheng gave a cold laugh and then turned his gaze toward the crowd: "I imagine you have gained some understanding of my martial arts; now it is time to give me an answer."

"This person actually wants to be the Old Knife Handle?" The Big-Headed Ghost Sikong Dou was laughing coldly: "I think he is either crazy or stupid."

"Whether he is stupid or crazy, today we absolutely cannot let him walk out of here." This was the voice of Lou Laotaipo; she spoke in an eerie, sinister way, as if a fierce ghost were whispering in one's ear.

"We are Ghosts, a group of people who cannot see the light; once discovered, we might be doomed forever." In the palms of the Flying Fish Island Master Yu Hai, two halves of a Flying Fish Sting had already appeared.

"I haven't used torture for many years; I never thought I would have to use it again today. I wonder how long this person will last in my hands."

Ruthless Soul Chaser Du Tiexin looked at his own hands, muttering to himself, his face showing a look of reminiscence.

It was said that in the past, many iron-boned men who wouldn't even frown when a blade struck their necks would spill everything once they fell into his hands, even willing to sell out their own fathers and mothers.

"Sigh." Yu Liancheng suddenly let out a sigh.

"Why do you sigh?" The hook installed on the shoulder of the One-Armed Divine Dragon Hai Qikuo flashed with a chilling green light: "Could it be because you know you are about to die?"

"No, I am sighing for you all. No matter what, you were once big shots who made the pugilistic world tremble; now, one by one, you don't even have the guts to make a move. It is truly laughable." Yu Liancheng sighed.

"We don't have the guts?"

"Correct. If you had the guts, you would have already charged over, instead of nagging endlessly here. It is nothing more than wanting to use words to make me timid, so as to reveal a flaw."

Yu Liancheng suddenly turned his back, completely exposing his undefended back to everyone's eyes: "Since you are all so timid, I might as well lend you some guts."

In an instant, it was silent.

Absolute silence.

True, they were not people of many words, but today they had spoken especially much.

Because they had not only heard of Yu Liancheng's reputation, but had also just seen his strike.

Many among them were not Ye Guhong's match, and even those who were confident they could defeat Ye Guhong could never do it with such ease and grace.

Twenty or so people joining forces indeed had the confidence to kill this uninvited guest, but how many casualties would occur was another matter.

Therefore, they attempted to use words to make the opponent timid, so as to reveal a flaw.

But they never imagined that Yu Liancheng would not only see through their thoughts but also perform such a bold act.

—Directly exposing his back and vital points to everyone.

He simply did not put this group of evil experts who dominated the martial arts world in his eyes.

Too arrogant.

Swish!

The sound of robes breaking the wind rang out, and the crowd struck almost simultaneously in an instant.

There were twenty or so experts in total; if they still lacked the courage to strike when the opponent's vital points were wide open, even if they could return to the pugilistic world in the future, they would likely be cowards mocked by everyone.

"Big-Headed Ghost" Sikong Dou was the closest and struck the fastest; his figure swept through mid-air, both claws striking out together.

He practiced claw techniques; his left hand practiced the White Bone Claw, and his right hand practiced the Black Ghost Claw. Each hand contained at least twenty years of hard-earned internal power, and now he had unleashed all twenty years of that power.

One could see his left hand had turned snow-white, while the other hand had turned pitch-black. But both were equally ghostly and sinister, equally ferocious and terrifying. As long as they were touched by his fingertips, even a stone man would have ten more holes poked into him.

What's more, his fingertips carried deadly poison; even a slight scratch on the opponent's skin could claim the opponent's life.

Yu Liancheng remained with his back turned, motionless; his long sleeves rolled out like flowing clouds, as if blown by the wind.

One only heard two "click" sounds, like snapping radishes, followed by a miserable shriek.

The crowd didn't even see how the two had exchanged blows; Sikong Dou had already flown out, crashing into a large tree, snapping the tree in half at the waist.

When he slid down, he could no longer move; his hands were dripping with blood, and all ten fingers had been snapped.

Yu Liancheng sighed: "I do not take in trash; trash that cannot even withstand a single move or half-style of mine might as well just die."