Dusk deepened. Night winds swept down the mountains, rustling banners and tents. Torchlight flickered upon grim faces, shadows dancing, murder intent seething in the gloom. Both sides had dismounted, blades drawn, and the air was so heavy with tension it seemed to crush the breath from one's chest.
Wu Tong stepped forward unhurriedly, his stride steady, bearing calm and assured. His voice rang out clear and resonant:
"I am Wu Tong, Master of the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness. Though uninvited, I have come tonight to pay my respects to the True Lord Maitreya."
His tone carried confidence and authority; his gaze was unwavering.
The gathered cultists muttered in surprise. Though they knew these intruders meant no good, none expected the new master of the famed Hall himself to arrive. Why would he come here now?
The Demon-Quelling Dharma King Mo Xiang frowned, gave a cold snort, and said harshly:
"The Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness… I heard your master was Han Zhen. Why now a mere boy? Could such a youth be fit to lead?"
Mo Xiang stood massive and hard as stone, his thick arms crossed, eyes cold and calculating. He had seen storms enough in the jianghu and would not be swayed by a mere title.
At Wu Tong's side, Constable Li Lu gave a sardonic smile, arms folded.
"So you've heard of us. Then you should know the Hall is no ordinary sect, but the hand of the Tang itself. The court has already decreed your cult's destruction. If you had any sense, you'd bind yourselves and surrender now. Or do you truly mean to pit yourselves against the empire?"
Li Lu's words rang with both righteousness and threat.
The Demon-Subduing Dharma King Gao Jie gave a contemptuous laugh.
"By his hand alone? Too arrogant! And what of your court? The Tang is in chaos, An Lushan runs rampant, war flares on every frontier. Do you truly think they can spare soldiers for the likes of us?"
His eyes glinted with sly knowing.
Zhao Rou's almond eyes widened, her brows arched like drawn bows.
"The Master of the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness is the foremost young hero under heaven—upright, righteous, aiding the weak. And you, vile cultists, dare sneer? Surrender at once, or do you still dream of rebellion?"
Her voice was sharp, ringing with fierce spirit. Clad in fitted garb, she stood bold and striking, a heroine of the age.
Mo Xiang's eyes narrowed when he heard the words "foremost young hero under heaven." A rumor stirred in his mind:
"They say in the jianghu—North Jia Yong, South Wu Tong. Could this youth be that Wu Tong?"
His gaze flickered, suspicion battling with unease.
Zhao Rou answered firmly without hesitation:
"He is."
Li Lu stepped forward, his voice cutting cold as steel:
"Before you stands the Twelfth Master of the Hall. Do not make the mistake of belittling him. If you value your lives, lay down your arms. Otherwise, when the Hall strikes, not a single one of you will leave this place alive."
The words sliced through the night like a drawn blade. Both sides gripped their weapons tighter. The still air seemed ready to erupt in thunderous slaughter.
Then the True Lord Maitreya appeared, borne aloft upon a palanquin, face proud and disdainful, gazing over them all like an emperor of the world. His thoughts were scornful: A callow youth—what is there to fear? His lips curled.
"So this is what the age has come to? No heroes left—only brats made famous."
Zhao Rou flushed with fury. To hear her husband—renowned and gallant—so belittled ignited her wrath.
"True Lord Maitreya, what powers do you claim, to speak such arrogant words? If you are so mighty, why not step down and face us?"
Her taunt rang sharp as a drawn arrow. But Maitreya only smiled faintly, voice calm.
"No need to hurry. Let my Demon-Subduing Dharma King test this boy's skill first."
Zhao Rou restrained her anger and said icily:
"The Master of the Hall cannot be so lightly provoked. Since you insist, let me face your so-called Dharma King."
Gao Jie's eyes glinted with lechery as he leered.
"Pretty girl… I could make you my personal disciple. Think it over."
Zhao Rou's voice turned to ice.
"I could not possibly endure such disgrace."
His face darkened, his tone grew savage.
"You insolent chit! For your sake I'll spare you blades. We shall settle it with fists!"
Zhao Rou sneered coldly.
"I fear only that my blade might end you too quickly."
She sprang forward, body soaring. From midair she unleashed the Thirteen Palms of Soaring Heaven, her hand descending like thunder. Gao Jie gasped—this girl has such skill! He rushed to meet her blow, but already his footing faltered. One misstep led to another, and soon he was driven to pure defense.
Zhao Rou's movements were agile as the wind. A turn, a shift, her left hand cut down like a blade, striking his neck. Gao Jie howled in pain.
"Little witch! You dare use real force!"
Zhao Rou stood cool and steady.
"You talk well enough, but your martial arts seem sluggish."
Humiliated by her taunt, Gao Jie roared, inner power surging. His twin palms lashed out, blasting gales like crashing waves, aimed straight at her head. Zhao Rou narrowed her eyes—she dared not be careless. She answered with the Eight Styles of Cloud Hands. In a blur, her move North and South Converge carried her aside like drifting mist.
Gao Jie bellowed, "Witch! Tricks and illusions! Face me if you dare!"
Zhao Rou mocked him with a smile:
"Why not swallow one of your sect's sacred pills, then? Wouldn't that give you the courage to fight properly?"
The words cut deep. Gao Jie's face turned crimson with rage. All the sect knew that their so-called Maitreya elixirs robbed the mind. For a Dharma King to rely on such filth—never!
"Insolent wench! I'll end you myself!"
He lunged, palms storming. Zhao Rou danced on Three Talents Steps, her weight shifting with dazzling precision. Suddenly she pivoted, stepped in, and turned defense into attack. Their palms clashed in a storm of thunder. Gao Jie pressed forward, but overreached. He could neither retreat nor evade.
"Take this!" Zhao Rou's palm struck, her full strength unleashed. The impact boomed; Gao Jie reeled back, blood spraying from his lips, collapsing to his knees.
"Perfect timing," Zhao Rou's voice rang like a bell. "Tonight I shall subdue demons and strike down evil!"
Gao Jie staggered, his life hanging by a thread—only saved when Mo Xiang rushed in to intercept. Yet Zhao Rou's strike had landed with full force; Mo Xiang himself was hurled several zhang away, crashing to earth pale as death, gasping for breath. He sat cross-legged at once, desperately circulating his qi lest his meridians rupture.
Wu Tong now strode forward, his voice cutting like thunder:
"Followers of Maitreya, this matter does not concern you. Leave now and the court will pardon your crimes. But stand with these three villains, and you oppose the edge of my saber. Choose wisely."
Even the True Lord Maitreya himself faltered. That a mere maiden could battle two Dharma Kings and prevail—such a display filled him with both shock and fury. His eyes darkened as he pondered his next move…