Chapter 35: All Sides Make Their Move

The long spear hung suspended in midair; despite its fifty or sixty catties of weight, not a tremor was visible. Cao Mao gripped the spear with his right hand, eyes wide, and lunged forward in a bow stance — his feet instantly sank deep prints into the ground. He drove power up from the earth, pushing off his legs, thrusting his hips, twisting his waist, then his right shoulder shook violently, the muscles on his arm bulging as he thrust straight out.

The one-zhang-long Dianqiang spear seemed like a giant python emerging from its den; the golden spear tip tore through the air with a sharp whistle, streaking like lightning straight toward Qian Yang's brow.

Qian Yang's face changed drastically; he could no longer bother feigning pity to beg his wife for rescue.

He pushed off with both feet, sank his shoulders and twisted his waist, retreating several steps to the left rear trying to evade Cao Mao's thunderbolt of a thrust, but Cao Mao's spear was simply too fast. In his haste Qian Yang could only twist his body midair, contorting himself like a twisted dough stick, while simultaneously kicking out with his right foot at full force against the spear shaft.

*Ding! * Qian Yang poured all his strength into knocking Cao Mao's long spear off line, and at the same time borrowed the reaction force to fling himself backward, crashing heavily onto the ground. Ignoring the pain, he immediately executed a lazy-donkey roll, putting distance between himself and Cao Mao.

Having failed to land his first strike, Cao Mao's face showed not the slightest change. He withdrew the long spear, gripped it with both hands, and instantly pressed a fierce assault toward Qian Yang.

Spear techniques basically divide into thirteen fundamental moves: shake, hook, thrust, collapse, chop, lift, coil, entwine, lock, horizontal, and so on. The vast majority of applications require the flexibility of the spear shaft to coordinate, only then can the moves be nimble and ever-changing — one thrust sends spear blossoms trembling chaotically, impossible to defend against.

But a heavy iron spear with a metal shaft like Cao Mao's emphasizes unyielding rigidity — pure battlefield spear art.

Moves such as shake, coil, entwine, and the like are mostly discarded; the main ones used are thrust, chop, horizontal, and lock. It is both spear art and heavy staff art. Once unleashed, the force is like a thousand jun; attack the enemy and he must rescue himself — like a fierce tiger descending the mountain, unstoppable.

Cao Mao had trained the spear for many years and had long since grasped its innermost secrets. The moment his first thrust missed, he immediately closed in, the long spear sweeping horizontally and chopping vertically in a continuous barrage of heavy blows.

The pretty-boy Qian Yang turned out not to be a mediocrity either. He had been caught somewhat disheveled by Cao Mao's ambush just now; now with no way to retreat, he could only counterattack.

From somewhere he produced two short crutches — not walking sticks, but one of the Eighteen Weapons: one long and one short wooden rod joined together, each serving as the other's grip.

The short crutches were sixty centimeters long, made of hardwood, and had some weight of their own, but before a heavy iron spear they instantly paled in comparison.

At this moment Qian Yang held the short handles with tiger's mouths facing inward, the long shafts pressed against the outer sides of both forearms, desperately blocking each of Cao Mao's heavy strikes.

Cao Mao's Dianqiang was too heavy, and his arm strength far surpassed Qian Yang's. Every block forced a pained muffled groan from Qian Yang; he was knocked back repeatedly, his figure tottering, drenched in sweat. The close-quarters agile fighting that the short crutches excelled at could not be deployed at all — he could only bitterly hold on.

After merely blocking a few times, Qian Yang let out a miserable scream; his left short crutch was chopped in two by a single spear strike from Cao Mao. His left arm was instantly severely wounded; amid the agony he could barely lift it. He retreated several steps and sat heavily on the ground.

Cao Mao pressed his advantage to finish him off. His left hand loosely gripped the middle of the long spear, his right hand clutched the bottom end, both feet left the ground, and he flew forward. The spear shaft seemed to cross space in the blink of an eye, accompanied by the crackling of every tendon and bone in his body. This move was called White Snake Spits Tongue — a single cold glint again stabbing at Qian Yang's brow. It was clear Qian Yang had no chance of survival; he was about to perish on the spot.

Just when everyone believed Qian Yang must die, a ball of black light shot out at high speed from the corner of the broken temple, striking squarely against the spear blade. The black light's force was astonishing; Cao Mao's all-out strike, the heavy iron spear, was actually knocked off course.

At the razor's edge of life and death, Qian Yang suddenly ducked his head, barely dodging the spear tip; the official hat on his head was directly flicked away by the long spear.

At this moment his soul had scattered; he did not know who had helped him, but this person's thoughts were truly vicious. Having just escaped a death calamity, his eyes were filled with malice. Qian Yang waved both hands, and several flying knives shot out in succession — the direction of the flying knives' attack was actually toward He Zhiyu, who had been sitting quietly without any reaction, and the little girl clinging to her legs.

Cao Mao was horrified. At this moment his center of gravity was forward; he simply could not turn around in time to rescue them. He watched helplessly as his wife and daughter, who possessed no martial arts, were about to lose their lives on the spot.

The bystanders were also caught completely off guard; only Yu Xiaowu and Wu Chengyu reacted in time. The two of them acted simultaneously. Yu Xiaowu threw willow-leaf darts, just intercepting the flying knives aimed at He Zhiyu.

What Wu Chengyu shot were over a dozen Flying Darts. Only a series of *ding-ding* sounds was heard, and that little girl was also rescued by him in time.

Only then did everyone let out a long breath. The eyes of Niu Dajie and the others all turned toward Wu Chengyu. They had long known Yu Xiaowu excelled at hidden weapons, but who would have thought Wu Chengyu was also proficient in this art.

Now was not the time for explanations, and Wu Chengyu had no need to explain. He could hardly tell them that while recuperating from his injuries he had been too bored, and following the Bamboo Slips' instruction manual function, he had figured out a few hidden weapon techniques on his own — this was also a self-defense measure Wu Chengyu had prepared before setting out on the road.

After He Zhiyu and the little girl were rescued, Niu Dajie stepped forward in a single stride, pulling He Zhiyu and the little girl to their side to protect them, while cursing viciously.

"You damn pretty-boy, you dog thing, for the sake of survival you'd even kill women and children — just now you were calling her 'wife' with every breath."

"You surnamed Cao, are you up to it or not? If not, hand it over to me — my copper mace loves smashing pretty-boys' skulls the most."

Niu Dajie cursed while looking at Qian Yang: "Aiyo, wait, that's not right — you pretty-boy are actually a monk."

After Qian Yang's official hat was flicked away by the long spear, his head turned out to be completely bare, with only a few precept scars.

After his wife and daughter were saved, Cao Mao let out a breath of relief, turning a deaf ear to Niu Dajie's curses. He leveled the long spear straight at Qian Yang, but his eyes gazed toward the corner of the broken temple.

That monk who had sat silently in the wall corner since entering the broken temple, unseen by anyone in the shadows, quietly walked out from the corner. The black light just now was actually just a single prayer bead in his hand.

"Amitabha. This poor monk is Tian Shi of Shaolin. Greetings, benefactors."

"A Shaolin monk? Shaolin Temple has been sealed for years; I never expected the fortune to see a Shaolin high monk today. But Master Tian Shi actually intervened to save this lecherous thief — Cao needs an explanation." Cao Mao's face was as still as water, his eyes full of anger.

Niu Dajie, blunt and quick-tempered, opened her mouth to curse: "No need to ask. This pretty-boy is also a monk; they're definitely in cahoots, a gang together. Shaolin monks haven't walked the jianghu for years — who would have thought the ones we see are two scum."

Qian Yang had just escaped mortal danger; at this moment his whole body was limp and he slumped on the ground. Seeing Tian Shi startled him violently. Just now Tian Shi had been hiding in the corner; when Qian Yang entered the broken temple his mind was entirely on He Zhiyu, and immediately after Cao Mao chased him in, scaring him out of his wits. He had completely failed to notice there was still a person in the corner.

Ordinarily, if he saw Tian Shi he would have slipped away at once, fleeing for his life. But now it was as if he had seen a savior. He crawled toward Tian Shi on hands and feet, crying out repeatedly.

"Senior Brother Tian Shi, save me. Senior Brother Tian Shi, save me."

"Amitabha. This Qian Yang was originally my Shaolin disciple, dharma name Tian Yang. Over a year ago he fled Shaolin Mountain. In the jianghu his conduct has been improper, committing all manner of sins. This poor monk obeys my master's order to descend the mountain and bring this wayward disciple back to the temple for punishment."

Thanks to Caomang Daoshou, Tongchi Jiaozhu, Reader 3766, Xiao Goods, Reader 6409, Reader 3669, Xiao Xiao 520, Reader 4175, Reader 0331, ABCDEWYF for their monthly tickets.

Thanks to Miao Sheng, Tongchi Jiaozhu, Reader 5519, Reader 7399, Yizun Jiangyue Meng Rensheng, Shouwei De Zuzi, Zhang Lei 1, Shi Qu De Feng, Feng Changhuan, Qiu Liang Meng, Wo Wei Fan Zhou Ren, Reader 3215 for their recommendation tickets.

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(Chapter End)