The attacker came in with fierce momentum, her palm wind howling like a tiger descending the mountain, striking straight for Wu Tong's forehead! The force was astonishing, but Wu Tong did not flinch. His eyes sharpened, his feet slid lightly to the side, and he turned his body just enough to evade. In the same instant, his right palm shot out like lightning. Their palms met with a violent surge of internal energy.
Bang! A dull, heavy sound rang out. The woman in martial garb was blasted backward, tumbling several zhang before crashing hard to the ground. Blood spurted from her mouth, her breathing ragged. She struggled to rise but found her strength failing. Her eyes widened in shock at Wu Tong—she had never expected such overwhelming internal force from him.
Wu Tong's gaze was cold. If she were not a woman, he thought, I would have used my full strength—then this one palm would have shattered her heart meridian.
At that moment, the crowd parted slowly to make way for a woman who stepped forward. She was in her forties, tall and broad-shouldered, her square face tanned, with bold, well-defined features. There was nothing of a gentle, delicate air about her—only a steely aura. Each step she took carried a weight of pressure, revealing profound internal skill. Those around her treated her with utmost respect, not daring to overstep—her status was clearly extraordinary.
Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, swept over the crowd before locking onto Wu Tong. Her voice was deep and resonant, carrying a palpable weight. "You dare injure my disciple—are you tired of living?"
Wu Tong stood steady and fearless in the center of the courtyard, his presence commanding. "I had no desire to meddle," he replied loudly, "but a man who walks the martial world must draw his blade for the oppressed! Your Palace of the Fairy Empress condones the abduction of innocent women. Such evil cannot be allowed to run rampant."
The woman paused, her eyes narrowing, her voice low but edged with authority. "Do you even know who I am?"
Wu Tong smiled coldly. "Who you are matters little to me. I take it you are the one in charge here?"
She straightened proudly. "Listen well. I am the Palace Mistress of the Palace of the Fairy Empress—Nangong Yan!" The name carried weight; all around, the palace disciples stood straighter, awe and fear in their eyes. In the martial world, one often announced their name to impress opponents and make the nameless think twice before courting death.
But Wu Tong's expression did not change. Instead, his lips curved into a faintly mocking smile. "So the great Nangong Yan, Palace Mistress of the Palace of the Fairy Empress, dares to seize innocent women by force and commit vile deeds. Tell me—who gave you such audacity? Do you think a title grants you the right to do as you please?"
Nangong Yan's face darkened to ice. "Do you know on whose orders I act?"
Wu Tong sneered. "Then by all means, tell me—what sort of villain commands you to do such things?"
Her eyes glinted coldly. "I act under the decree of the current 'Mighty Martial Emperor.' By imperial command, I gather the beauties of Jiangnan for the palace. This is the emperor's will. Who dares defy it? Stand in my way, and you risk extermination of your nine clans!" Her words sent a ripple of shock through the crowd; even the Beggar Sect disciples began murmuring in unease.
But Wu Tong's face remained calm, unmoved by the threat. "An imperial decree?" he said, his voice firm. "An Lushan raised rebellion and crowned himself 'Mighty Martial Emperor.' I say your Palace of the Fairy Empress uses this so-called decree as a shield for crimes against heaven and man!"
His anger flared. This woman is beyond reason—a willing accomplice to tyranny, a jackal for An Lushan. Wu Tong laughed aloud, then fixed her with a stern gaze. "A rat like An Lushan cannot bring peace to the realm! For you, Palace Mistress, to serve as his hound and commit such wickedness—your crimes are unforgivable!"
Nangong Yan's fury burned hot. "Boy, give your name! I do not kill nameless whelps."
Even in the face of danger, Wu Tong was calm, a faint smile on his handsome face. "Under heaven, my words are plain, my conduct upright. I neither change my name nor alter my surname—Wu Tong."
She gave a derisive snort. "Nameless brat, daring to be so arrogant! Get out of my sight—or leave here dead!" Inwardly, she judged that this impudent youth might have skill, but still thought to intimidate him first. She had been too busy hunting for beauties to attend the Anti-Rebel Assembly the day before, so Wu Tong's growing fame had not yet reached her ears.
Wu Tong's smile faded. Stepping forward at an unhurried pace, fearless and composed, he said, "I had no wish to intervene, but injustice must be met with the sword."
Nangong Yan barked an order. "Yu Xian, Wei Hong—see what he's made of!"
The two women, her second and third disciples, answered at once, springing out from her left and right. One had delicate features, the other a more robust, masculine look. Together, they practiced the Yin-Yang Twin Palms.
Zhao Rou stepped out from behind Wu Tong, a sly smile on her lips. "I'll go first. Brother Tong, Sister Yun—watch and enjoy."
In a flash, she was facing Yu Xian and Wei Hong.
Her left hand swept out, her right tracing a circular arc, just as the two disciples leapt forward together, palms flying. The Yin-Yang Twin Palms struck from left and right, the wind of their blows rushing toward her. Zhao Rou dared not underestimate them. She responded with the Eight Forms of Cloud Hand, opening with East Comes, West Goes, her footwork agile, her stance shifting. The two women's first strike passed harmlessly, their palms cutting only air.
They whirled and struck again, their palms roaring like the wind. Zhao Rou slipped into South Comes, North Goes, weaving and dodging. For ten exchanges neither side gained the advantage, but Zhao Rou held her ground. Suddenly, she surged forward with two palm strikes; Yu Xian and Wei Hong had no choice but to meet them head-on. Two sharp impacts rang out, forcing them back five or six steps.
"Come if you have the skill!" Zhao Rou challenged.
Enraged, they exchanged a glance and shot into the air, their movements swift and fierce, landing with palms joined for a combined strike. Zhao Rou used Stars Shift, Things Change, her body flickering unpredictably—now in front, now behind, never where they expected. Again and again they struck empty space.
Seizing her moment, Zhao Rou's feet shifted and she closed in with a sudden double palm strike. Yu Xian and Wei Hong, startled, tried to steady themselves, but the sound of palm wind was already in their ears. Too slow to evade, they were struck with twin blows, their bodies flying back like arrows loosed from a bow. They landed several zhang away, coughing blood, and lay on the ground, spent.
Seeing this, Nangong Yan knew she was facing a formidable opponent. Drawing a deep breath, she lunged toward Zhao Rou in a blur, her left palm slashing forward in a fierce capture technique. The speed and ferocity made the crowd gasp.
Zhao Rou's heart leapt, but she did not panic. She slipped into Eight Forms of Cloud Hand, using Vanishing Without a Trace. As Nangong Yan's palm closed in, Zhao Rou's figure vanished from before her eyes.
When Nangong Yan looked again, Zhao Rou was already behind Wu Tong, smiling slyly. "Heh… Palace Mistress, there's no need to rush for a fight. Your opponent isn't me—it's Wu Tong."