Suddenly, the dreaded "Autopsy Hand" Deng Chao loosed a piercing cry. The shrill, keening whistle cut the night air, so sharp it rattled the ears of all present, tightening the tension of the battlefield to the breaking point.
In the very next instant his technique shifted—open, bold, and overwhelming. Palm shadows whirled, his footwork strange and elusive. He lunged left, then snapped a lightning kick, fast as thunder, before both palms came crashing down in a chain of relentless blows, each strike steeped in murderous intent.
Han Zhen's eyes flashed cold. "The decisive moment has come!" he thought. At once he drew in breath to his dantian, focused his spirit, and unleashed his peerless art—"Deceiving Heaven, Crossing the Sea." His palm-force expanded, vast and surging like a rising tide, weaving falsehood and truth to lure his foe deeper.
Deng Chao's gaze lit with cruelty. He spied what seemed a gap at Han Zhen's chest and exulted. Like a phantom he slid to the kun position, striking straight for Han's heart. But this was the very snare Han Zhen had set, baiting him in!
Even so, he dared not relax. With a sudden roar, Han Zhen gathered his inner power and hurled forth his earth-shaking technique—"Toppling Mountains, Overturning Seas!" Both palms thrust out together, qi surging like avalanche and tidal wave, momentum crushing as if Mount Tai itself bore down.
Deng Chao started in alarm. Yet he was already committed—advance or retreat, all paths were cut off. Desperately, he sank his waist and forced his qi downward, twisting into an uncanny change. With unimaginable speed, his palm-force darted beneath Han Zhen's crashing power, slipping under the tide to strike for Han's chest.
If the blow landed, Han Zhen would be gravely wounded. Han realized the danger too late—the strike was almost upon him, no time to evade!
Boom! The mountainside rang with a deafening blast. A figure flew spinning through the air—Deng Chao. He tumbled across the ground in two heavy rolls before crashing down, vomiting blood that spattered crimson on the earth.
The "Jade Guanyin" cried out in horror and rushed forward. Deng Chao lay collapsed, blood streaming from his lips, chest heaving faintly. He tried to rise, eyes still glaring with unwillingness—but at the slightest effort he coughed up another torrent of blood and fell senseless to the ground.
Thus the battle was decided. But Han Zhen too had not emerged unscathed. His frame swayed, steps faltering, his face drained of color. The force of Deng Chao's last strike still churned within him.
At last he could not contain it—"Pu!" He spat a mouthful of blood, staining the dust at his feet bright red.
"Hero Han!" Zhao Rou cried, rushing forward to catch him, her eyes clouded with anxious concern.
Just then, a flash of steel cut across the field. Cold light glittered—a blade! Wu Tong arrived with the Wolong Sabre in hand.
But the "Monument-Splitting Demon Palm" Yin Li sneered:
"Han Hero, do not waste your life in stubborn pride. Take your lady and withdraw—I will not hinder you."
Han Zhen straightened, voice hoarse but unyielding:
"So long as Han Zhen draws breath, I will never flee the field."
Yin Li clapped in fierce delight.
"Admirable! Eternal loyalty and righteousness—Yin Li salutes you. Yet since you insist, do not blame me for ruthless hands. 'Demon Sabre Envoy' Yuan Ping! 'Swift Blade' Li Jie! Step forth!"
At once, two figures leapt into the arena—Yuan Ping, the feared Envoy of the Demon Sabre, and Li Jie, famed as the Swift Blade.
Wu Tong's face hardened.
"What? Two against one? Such conduct disgraces the martial world. Very well—then Wu Tong shall meet you both together!"
Yin Li only laughed, uncaring for honor. Yuan Ping sneered:
"Boy, stand aside. In all the Jianghu, none dare provoke Yuan Ping and Li Jie together!"
Wu Tong's eyes blazed. With a sudden rasp he drew the Wolong Sabre—azure light flared like a rainbow, his presence soaring to the heavens.
"When the Wolong Sabre is unsheathed, no demon can stand before it! Come then—show me your vaunted skill!"
Yuan Ping and Li Jie, both in their prime, were unmatched masters of the blade in this generation. Each had honed his art to perfection—Yuan Ping's "Sixteen Demon Slashes," Li Jie's "Thirty-Six Paths of the Swift Blade." Their names resounded across the land.
They leapt as one, sabres flashing. But Wu Tong met them head-on, blade whistling, every stroke bursting with surging qi. He unleashed "Raising Clouds, Summoning Rain," his strikes chained like storm winds, vigor spanning heaven and earth.
The three clashed in a whirlwind of steel. Yet though two against one, Wu Tong did not yield an inch. Within twenty-odd exchanges, Yuan Ping and Li Jie were already pressed back, signs of defeat showing in their eyes.
Then Wu Tong spun his wrist, shifted his force, and loosed his killing technique—"Single Sabre, Straight Thrust." Six strokes flared like lightning. Yuan Ping blocked desperately, but his balance faltered.
"Ahh!" He screamed as Wu Tong's sabre pierced his right knee. He collapsed, kneeling in pain. Another flash—Li Jie howled as the sabre slashed his arm, his weapon clattering to the earth.
At that instant, a strange roar filled the night—whoosh, bang! Fireworks shot skyward from the sea, bursting into blossoms of flame. Brilliant flowers of light scattered across the heavens.
While all stood bewildered, Han Zhen suddenly clapped and laughed aloud.
"Brother Yin! The Imperial Consort has long since departed for Japan. My mission is already complete!"
He recited:
Beauty peerless, rainbow-raiment sways,A song of sorrow ends the feast of men.Isles like fairylands drift far away,Fireworks bloom, then fade to silence again.
Yin Li's face darkened with disbelief.
"Impossible! The Consort was in that carriage. Do not lie to me!"
The Jade Guanyin cried:
"We watched you daily—how could this be, unless… that night?"
Yang Mi stepped forth.
"That very night the magistrate of Penglai came. The Consort was taken away then."
Yin Li staggered, furious.
"I don't believe it! I must see for myself!"
He vaulted to the carriage. With a single motion he drew the curtain aside—only to find a palace maid within, not the Consort.
"Out!" he roared. The young maid, delicate and terrified, descended trembling.
"Where is the Imperial Consort?" Yin Li thundered.
Wu Tong sheathed the Wolong Sabre and leapt lightly forward, sighing.
"This poor girl knows nothing. Even I was unaware of the ruse. Senior Yin, would you lay such blame on an innocent maid? How could your heart bear it?"