The Jiaoling Twin Demons—one tall and reed-thin, the other short and built like an iron tower—were infamous figures in the hills of Jiaoling. For years they had roamed the region, burning, plundering, and killing without mercy. Their crimes were well known, their names whispered in fear. Having accepted a thousand-tael bounty from the bully Liu Bao, they had come today to claim Wu Tong's life.
From the moment they appeared, their murderous aura was palpable. Their eyes gleamed with bloodlust, as though Wu Tong were already prey in their grasp.
At Liu Bao's signal, the two leapt forward like tigers pouncing on their kill. Wu Tong's expression did not change. Calmly, he raised his paper fan, gave it a flick—shuā!—and it spread open, the silk catching the sunlight with a faint glimmer. With a smooth step, he launched into "East Comes, West Goes" from the Eight Cloud Hands. His movements were like the wind, his footwork light and swift. Just as the demons' palms were about to strike, Wu Tong shifted, turned, and slid past their attack; their palm wind brushed the hem of his robe but failed to touch him.
The Jiaoling Twin Demons were not used to being toyed with, especially by a mere youth. Snarling, they wheeled around and attacked again, their palm wind sharp and deadly, aimed for Wu Tong's vital points. Wu Tong remained unruffled, flowing into "South Comes, North Goes." As the taller demon's palm descended, Wu Tong closed his fan, guiding the force aside. At that exact moment, the shorter demon's strike landed—straight into his partner's redirected attack.
Pèng! A sharp crack sounded. "Watch out!" they both cried.
Feigning surprise, Wu Tong said with a hint of mockery, "What's this? Why turn on each other? Oh—I see. The big one wants to keep the bounty for himself!"
The tall demon roared, "Don't you try to sow discord! The payment's already split—your death is all that's left!"
The short demon growled coldly, "Enough talk. Dead men don't need to know so much!"
Once more, they surged forward together, palm wind rolling like the tide. But Wu Tong's fan danced in the air, his body swaying aside with ease. He caught the fan as it fell, his movements smooth as drifting clouds.
Again and again, he slipped between their strikes, each time escaping without so much as a touch. The demons grew increasingly frustrated. "What sorcery is this?" one shouted.
Wu Tong, inwardly pleased, betrayed nothing on his face. The Eight Cloud Hands was a subtle and mysterious art, and his own playful, irreverent nature only enhanced its unpredictability. The Twin Demons, unable to even graze him, were infuriated.
The tall demon barked, "Boy, stop dodging! That's no real kung fu!"
Wu Tong laughed aloud, his tone mocking. "And what is real kung fu, then?"
"Face us head-on!" the short demon snapped. "Fists meeting fists, palms against palms—that's skill!" The two even demonstrated, trading mock blows as if to instruct him.
Wu Tong nearly laughed aloud, but instead folded his fan, his gaze sharpening. "Since you insist, I'll show you what real skill looks like."
His body moved, palm wind thundering toward their vital points. For the first time, he pressed the attack. The Twin Demons were taken aback; they had not expected such deep reserves of strength. Caught off guard, they staggered under the onslaught.
"Fine!" Wu Tong said coldly. "I'll give you a taste of true kung fu—just hope you can take it."
They squared off once more, tension thick in the air. The demons struck first, four palms sweeping in with the force of a collapsing sky. "Hand over your life!" they bellowed.
Wu Tong's body flickered aside, once again slipping into "South Comes, North Goes" to turn aside their momentum.
"Cheating again!" they shouted. Furious, they attacked together, palm wind howling, every strike meant to kill.
Wu Tong's voice was calm but edged with challenge. "Don't rush—I'll strike when I'm ready. Try not to cry for your mothers."
In an instant, his palms flared with power, his momentum surging like a rainbow across the sky.
The tall demon roared, "Take my palm!"
"And let's send him to hell!" the short demon snarled.
They lunged. But Wu Tong had already read their attack. In a flash, he unleashed Muddy Waves Sweep the Sky—a strike of pure force, fast as lightning, fierce as a tidal wave. Their combined assault shattered like driftwood before a storm.
Pèng!Pèng! Both bodies flew through the air and crashed to the ground. They did not rise again.
Wu Tong froze for a moment, shocked by the result. In one night, his skill had risen to heights he had never imagined. Though he had struck with full force, he had not thought to kill them outright. A strange mix of awe and unease welled up in him.
Just then, he heard shouts: "Boss! The Jiaoling Twin Demons are useless—run!" Liu Bao, seeing the battle lost, turned to flee.
Wu Tong's cold smile was like a blade. With a light tap of his foot, he crossed the distance in a few leaps, landing before Liu Bao and his gang. His fan snapped open—shuā!—and he said in a ringing voice, "Who was it that said this would be my grave? That I'd be cut into pieces?"
No one dared answer. All eyes turned to Liu Bao.
Wu Tong's gaze hardened. "I spared you once. Today you chose your own grave. Speak your last words—time is short."
Liu Bao's legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees. "Spare me, great hero! I have an aged mother and a wife and children at home!"
Wu Tong's heart softened slightly, and he was about to speak—when the hiss of projectiles reached his ears. He swept his fan; several hidden weapons clattered to the ground.
His eyes flared with anger. "If I let you live today, I am no man!"
With a single step, his palm lashed out like thunder, striking Liu Bao square in the chest. Pèng! The bully screamed and flew backward, hitting the ground lifeless.
Thus did Liu Bao's cunning turn upon him, costing him his life. Wu Tong's strike was thunder, yet his heart was that of a bodhisattva.
The rest of the gang fell to their knees. "Spare us, great hero! This was all Liu Bao's idea—we only followed orders!"
Wu Tong's voice was cold. "I'll spare you—but bury these three over there."
They scrambled to obey, digging a grave with knives and whatever wood they could find. When they reported the pit ready, Wu Tong said, "Strip anything of value from them and give it to the poor. Let it be their last good deed."
None dared defy him. Wu Tong stood apart, gazing at the blood-red sunset spilling across half the sky, and murmured:
"The bully seeks revenge—Yet knows not his fated end.Divine skill now revealed—Evil meets a bitter fate."
That day, Wu Tong shed the skin of youth and became a true knight-errant of the jianghu. The road ahead would not be easy, but there was no turning back. He would go forward, upholding justice and protecting the weak.