The sword tip split the air, a flash of cold steel blazing forth. Its edge was so keen that the ringing clash it made echoed across the courtyard—shattering not only the peril surrounding Liu Yun, but also throwing the Southern King Hong Qi into disarray. His dominant assault was forcibly broken, and he had to spring backward, steadying himself in midair.
A glint of murderous suspicion flickered in his eyes as he barked coldly,"Who goes there?"
That strike had been the very first move of the Thirteen Swords of Lingxiao—"Strike Where Unprepared"—fast as lightning, razor-sharp, meant to seize the advantage at the moment of surprise. One sword to turn the tide, catching Hong Qi completely off guard.
Liu Yun, momentarily stunned, swept her gaze toward the newcomer—and saw that it was none other than the "Zhao Gongzi" she had glimpsed in the tavern earlier. Her heart gave a jolt, a trace of astonishment in her eyes, mingled with a faint delight she did not trouble to hide.
The newcomer stood in flowing white, sword in hand, its tip quivering with a faint shimmer of cold light—it was Zhao Rou.
Her eyes were icy, her tone calm yet edged with righteous indignation."How can one be so cruel—every strike aimed to kill a person with whom you have no enmity? And she is but a young woman!"
Her words, firm and cutting, met Hong Qi's gaze without flinching.
The Southern King, stung, his face darkened to iron."Boy, who do you think you are?!" he snarled, his fists clenching, killing intent surging. Never had he imagined a mere junior daring to question him so.
At that moment, Wu Tong strolled forward, sword in hand, his steps measured, his manner elegant but carrying an unmistakable edge."She merely saw injustice and drew her blade to help—what fault is there in that?" His voice was steady, his confidence quiet but absolute.
Hong Qi's eyes flicked over him—handsome, refined, infuriatingly at ease—and found the sight unbearable."And who might you be, to meddle in my affairs?" he demanded with a sneer, his tone dripping with disdain, as though certain Wu Tong was just a foppish dilettante.
Unperturbed, Wu Tong replied in the same calm tone:"I too saw injustice and lent my aid—what fault is there in that?"
The Southern King's irritation deepened, his voice a low growl:"I do not kill nameless whelps! State your name!"
Wu Tong's lips curved faintly, half-smile, half-taunt."My name… very well, listen closely."He paused for effect, then said, his tone ringing like steel:"One mouth beneath heaven, versed in letters and courtesy—sit, and my surname stays; walk, and my name remains. I am Wu Tong!"
At this, there was a ripple of surprise. Liu Yun blinked, a wry smile tugging at her lips. An unusual way to announce oneself indeed.
Hong Qi gave a contemptuous snort."Wu Tong or no—today if I don't cut you down, you'll think I'm a sick cat!"
Even as the words left his mouth, he surged forward, sword flashing in a brutal overhead slash. The air shrieked as the steel came down like a storm wind.
Wu Tong's expression did not change. His sword still sheathed, he lifted it smoothly, stepping aside into the first move of the Eight Styles of Cloud Hand—"East to West".
His footwork shifted, his body flickering aside like a sudden gust, and the deadly stroke cut only empty air. Hong Qi wheeled, about to strike again—only for Wu Tong to spin and snap his scabbard forward, aiming straight for Hong Qi's chest.
Thud! Startled, Hong Qi blocked in haste, their weapons colliding with a shockwave of force.
In that heartbeat, Wu Tong's figure blurred, his blade flashing into the Thirteen Swords of Lingxiao's opening move—"Strike Where Unprepared"—once more. The thrust was swift as a thunderclap, cunning and merciless, streaking straight for Hong Qi's undefended angle.
The Southern King felt the chill of steel at his guard's edge and leapt back just in time. His mind jolted. Such speed!
Wu Tong did not press, but let his sword fall to a ready guard, his gaze sharp, his voice cold:"Southern King—best leave yourself a retreat. Don't drive the tiger to maul."
Hong Qi's eyes narrowed, killing intent thickening."Young whelp, if you dare strut your skill before me, then face my sword!"
In a flash, his blade lashed out like a viper, stabbing for Wu Tong's chest, belly, waist, and shoulder in a relentless torrent, fast as lightning, pressing for the kill.
Wu Tong's wrist flicked, steel rising to meet steel. He answered with "Fear None Who Come", two swift cuts angling for the Shanzhong, Zigong, and Xuanji points—a seamless blend of offense and defense.
Hong Qi parried in haste, channeling inner force into his blade until it thrummed with a deep hum, then countered in a whirl of steel. Sparks leapt from each clash, the ring of metal on metal filling the air as they traded a dozen blows in the blink of an eye, attack and defense flowing too quickly for onlookers to follow.
Suddenly, Wu Tong's swordwork shifted—"Within the White Clouds"—its movements as fluid and formless as drifting mist, elusive and deceptive. Hong Qi's rhythm faltered; the unpredictable blade work kept him guessing, each feint flowing into a cut as unstoppable as a surging river.
Wu Tong's eyes flashed; seizing a brief opening, his sword darted forward like lightning.
Shhk! The point drove into Hong Qi's thigh, and blood gushed forth. The Southern King roared in pain, springing back to gain space, his face blanching.
Wu Tong lowered his sword slightly, his voice cool as frost:"I told you to leave yourself a retreat. This time it's your leg—next time, it's your head."
The Southern King clutched his wound, sweat beading on his brow. Tearing a strip of cloth, he bound the injury, his pride stinging more than his flesh.
"Don't think a few tricks make you invincible!" he snarled, then turned sharply to the black-clad men nearby."All of you—kill him!"
At his command, over a dozen blades flashed and rushed forward, cold steel gleaming.
Wu Tong's eyes hardened."I gave you your chance. Now I'll show no mercy."
With a shake of his wrist, his sword blazed into the Thirteen Swords of Lingxiao, each stroke swift as the wind, fierce as a tempest. The clash of blades rang out in a storm of sparks; screams punctuated the steel-song as weapon after weapon was batted away, their owners staggering back in fear.
Within moments, half the attackers were down. The rest, pale-faced, fled beyond the circle of his reach.
"Run if you value your lives!" Wu Tong called, driving his sword into the earth with a sharp thunk. The black-clad men scattered like leaves before a gale, until only Hong Qi remained.
Liu Yun and the two Venerables stared in open astonishment. Liu Yun's eyes shone with admiration. Such swordsmanship—and he calls himself a scholar? What kind of scholar fights like this?
Hong Qi's face was a mask of rage and shock, his gaze locked on Wu Tong. He knew now—he could not win.
Wu Tong leveled his blade at him."Your leg wound has already dulled your sword arm. You have no chance. Don't be stubborn—leave with your life."
Hong Qi's jaw tightened; instead of yielding, he barked again for his men to attack.
Once more, Wu Tong surged forward, sword flowers spinning in a dazzling storm. The weaker swordsmen fell back instantly, blades knocked from their hands.
Steel rang—ding-dang-ding!—and in a single exchange, most of the attackers were routed, leaving Wu Tong and Hong Qi alone once more.
They crossed blades in a flurry of ten blistering strikes. Wu Tong, knowing Hong Qi's leg slowed him, targeted it relentlessly. Hong Qi defended desperately.
Then Wu Tong unleashed "Blue Peaks Seen Again"—a sweeping, unending sequence of cuts, the sword blossoms flying like drifting petals.
Hong Qi's eyes widened in shock. He had no room to dodge; the cascading strikes bore down, forcing him to lift his blade in desperate defense…