At that moment, the Heavenly Venerable's Right Envoy, Luo An, narrowed his eyes and once again urged his footwork, closing in on the Left Dharma King of the Black Dragon Sect, Meng Ming, with lightning speed. His palm strike was fierce, as swift as thunder! His feet tapped lightly, and in a flash he lunged forward, his palm cutting straight toward Meng Ming's chest.
Meng Ming, worthy of his title as the Black Dragon Sect's Left Dharma King, reacted instantly. He sidestepped to evade, his left palm sweeping across to block, his bow stance withdrawing as he skillfully deflected the force. In the same breath, his body shifted, waist and stance aligned, and with a powerful sweep kick he struck toward Luo An's lower body, the wind howling with brutal force. Luo An sprang up, light as a swallow skimming the clouds, neatly avoiding the blow. The instant he landed, Meng Ming, his momentum undiminished, let out a sharp shout and unleashed a flurry of rapid strikes. His fists tore through the air, his palms sharp as blades! Luo An dared not relax, twisting and darting away while countering, their palms meeting with force. In the blink of an eye, dozens of exchanges had passed—blows came swift as shooting stars, palm shadows flashing, fist wind roaring. Neither man yielded an inch.
Their palm forces condensed and clashed in a single, resounding bang! A burst of inner strength erupted, sweeping a fierce wind in all directions, sending dust swirling into the air. Both men staggered back several steps, each inwardly surprised at the other's profound inner power.
Meng Ming gave a cold, narrow-eyed smile, his voice low and edged:"Your martial skill is indeed formidable. Let's leave it at this for today. When we meet again at the Pavilion of Prince Teng, we shall decide the winner."His gaze swept across the crowd, his tone chilling:"We came today to deliver a warning—mark my words. Should your sect insist on opposing my Black Dragon Sect, then twenty days hence, at the Pavilion of Prince Teng, there will be a battle! Do not blame us for showing no mercy."
With a flick of his long sleeve and a cold snort, he turned away, leading the Black Dragon Sect's men into the fading sunset beyond the Lingxiao Hall. Their silhouettes melted into the dying light, leaving only a lingering air of menace.
Luo An watched them go, slowly lowering his stance, his eyes sharp, his voice steady:"The Black Dragon Sect truly comes with ill intent. If they wish to stand against us, then let them see that the righteous path will not suffer villains to run rampant!"
The assembly before the hall shouted as one:"Well said! The Assembly to Punish the Traitors—our duty without hesitation!"
The mountain wind stirred, and above the Lingxiao Hall, battle spirit filled the air. The storm in the martial world had begun to gather.
In such times, when the world is clouded and muddied, only the pure-hearted can be seen clearly. "Only when the year grows cold do we see that the pine and cypress are the last to wither." In these troubled days, with the land in turmoil and good and evil hard to discern, only the righteous remain unsullied; only the true men of resolve reveal their colors. The more turbulent the era, the clearer the division between loyalty and treachery, between worth and folly.
The Heavenly Venerable Sect's leader, Liu Xuan, listened without change of expression. With a cold snort, he declared:"This is no concern of your sect. Twenty days from now, at the Pavilion of Prince Teng, our Assembly to Punish the Traitors will be held as decreed by Heaven and in accordance with the people's will. Since the decision is made, there will be no change. It shall be held as planned!"
His voice was firm, brooking no argument, and a solemn stillness settled over the hall.
The Black Dragon Sect's Right Dharma King, Shi Kai, narrowed his eyes, his face shifting slightly. With a cold laugh, he replied:"Very well! Since your sect is set on this, then on that day at the Pavilion of Prince Teng, we shall see whose skill prevails!"
With a wave of his hand, the Black Dragon Sect's black-clad men leapt away like shadows on the wind, disappearing beyond the sect's mountain stronghold, leaving behind a heavy, oppressive air.
As the old saying goes: "When paths differ, we cannot make plans together. Each follows his own will." From ancient times, the righteous and the wicked have been as incompatible as water and fire. This confrontation was but the prelude to a greater storm.
Though shadowed by this exchange, the Lingxiao Hall's consecration ceremony at the Heavenly Venerable Sect's Nine Flower Mountain headquarters still concluded in full splendor. At its end, a grand banquet was laid before the main hall, with mountain delicacies, fine vegetarian dishes, and rare fare to honor the many guests from afar. The feast was a gathering of heroes and scholars alike—cups were raised, laughter echoed, and the air was bright with camaraderie. Yet beneath the cheerful toasts, all knew: when the wine cups were emptied, the true storm would come.
As the banquet concluded, guests began to depart. Wu Tong and Zhao Rou were on their way to the hall with Daoist Baimei and Master Zhenkong to bid farewell to the sect leader, when a sudden shout split the air before the hall:
"Where are Wu Gongzi of Lingnan and Zhao Gongzi?"
Wu Tong turned to see a large group approaching. At their head was none other than the man he had once glimpsed at a roadside inn—the towering, broad-shouldered figure with a bull's neck and a face of bold, heavy features. His brows were thick as ink, his leopard eyes gleaming with sharp light. His presence was brash and imposing. His gaze locked on Wu Tong and Zhao Rou, and he said arrogantly:"My name is Ge Tian, son of the Thunderbolt Hand, Ge Long!"
Wu Tong, already suspecting the man's intent, remembered the incident at the inn well. This was clearly a visit for revenge. He clasped his fists with calm courtesy:"So it is Young Master Ge. May I ask what advice you have for us?"
Ge Tian's lips curled as his sharp gaze slid to Zhao Rou:"This matter has nothing to do with you. I am here for Zhao Gongzi."
Zhao Rou stepped forward, her voice steady:"I am Zhao Gongzi. May I ask what you seek?"
Ge Tian looked her up and down, momentarily startled. He had expected a tall, imposing warrior, not this refined, elegant figure whose handsome features held a trace of gentleness. Regaining himself, he laughed derisively:"So this is the famed Zhao Gongzi? Handsome enough, I'll grant you, but far too delicate. What man of the martial world carries himself like that?"
He sneered, his tone sharpening:"I hear your martial arts are quite something. I'd like to see for myself!"
Zhao Rou, sensing his hostility but unwilling to provoke trouble, replied evenly:"Today is the Heavenly Venerable Sect's grand celebration. I have no wish to cause a scene. We have no enmity, Young Master Ge. I would not harm you—let us leave it at that."
She turned to go, but Ge Tian's figure flashed, blocking her path. Arms crossed, his tone was full of mockery:"You can go—if you crawl between my legs. Do that, and I'll let you go."
Laughter erupted among his companions. It was a calculated insult, a ploy to disgrace Zhao Rou publicly so that Liu Yun would no longer regard her favorably. Such tactics were not unheard of—after all, even the great general Han Xin had once endured such humiliation.
But Zhao Rou's temper flared. She had tried peace, only to be met with scorn. Her voice turned cold:"You refuse the toast and choose the penalty cup—very well, let us see your skill! Step aside, everyone!"
The crowd backed away, eager for the spectacle. Ge Tian smirked:"Zhao Gongzi, I'll tell you plainly—Miss Liu Yun is my woman. Keep away from her!"
Zhao Rou's eyes chilled. She drew the folding fan from her waist and snapped it open with a flourish, her bearing suddenly like a breeze through pines."A clumsy oaf like you? How could Miss Liu Yun possibly look your way? Take a look at yourself—do you really think you're worthy?"
The onlookers burst into laughter, Ge Tian's face darkening to a livid hue."Courting death! Take this!"
He sprang forward like a tiger descending the mountain, his palm driving toward Zhao Rou's face with a whistling wind. Zhao Rou's eyes sharpened; her fan flicked with a crisp snap as she sidestepped, her footwork light as the wind. In the same motion, she countered with a "Whirlwind Fan Shadow", the fan's ribs flashing cold light as it struck toward Ge Tian's left wrist, forcing his attack to falter.
He retreated with a scowl, shifting from palm to claw, reaching for her shoulder. But Zhao Rou tapped her foot, sliding away with airy grace."Such crude strength might suffice against street ruffians, but in the martial world, your skills are pitiful."
Laughter rang out again. Ge Tian's face burned red, his voice a growl:"Don't get cocky! Let me show you the Ge family's Heaven Thunder Palm!"
His inner force surged, and each palm strike boomed through the air, heavy and forceful. Zhao Rou's eyes flashed coldly; she closed her fan, her inner energy flowing as she wove in and out, steps unpredictable."You think brute force alone can touch me?"
Her wrist flicked, the fan darting like lightning, meeting his palm strikes head-on. Their energies clashed in midair, whipping the air into violent currents. Their movements were a blur—palm shadows and fan-light intertwined, fierce and unrelenting.
The afternoon sun slanted down, catching the flare of their battle. Robes swirled, force waves shimmered, and the scene was like a painted scroll of the martial world in motion.
Before the great hall, the crowd swelled, eyes fixed on the duel. Zhao Rou tossed her fan into the air and caught it again, spinning lightly like a swallow through clouds. The move drew thunderous cheers.
Ge Tian froze for a heartbeat, then his fury ignited. With a sudden leap, he dove toward Zhao Rou's crown, striking straight for her heavenly point—The duel had reached its fiercest pitch!