Chapter Thirty-Two: Southeast of Feng Prefecture Town (Part Two)

De Township, also known in the Guangdong region as the Township of Dragons and Lions, has always been renowned for its dragon and lion dances. Their explosive charges, agile leaps and bounds, Qilin pillar-walking, startled-dragon steps, and the dynamic shaking power of the lion dance inherently require immense lower-back strength and solid horse stances. After centuries of refinement and accumulation, once transformed into fist techniques, this explosive power is released in its entirety.

Ever since the three martial arts styles—the Lion Dance, the Floating Cloud Steps, and the Phoenix Nodding—were integrated into one, De Township has faintly earned the title of the Second Martial Township of Guangdong, growing increasingly famous.

"Fourth Master, this time, we truly need Master Guo Jing to step forward. We cannot afford to lose the dignity of Guangdong martial artists."

"I, Wu Long, have never begged anyone in my entire life. Today, leaning on my age, I ask you—for the sake of the deep friendship the old master shared with Master Guo for many years—please invite Young Master Guo out to meet us."

In the pavilion welcoming guests, three white-bearded veteran martial artists were continuously bowing and pleading before the magistrate of De Township. Though not supreme elders within the Guangdong martial arts community, these men were deeply respected senior figures of impeccable reputation who loved nothing more than nurturing the younger generation.

The magistrate wore a troubled expression. "Three senior masters, it is not that I refuse to let you in, but Master Guo has withheld his consent, and I dare not make a decision on my own."

"Chejia Village and Five Elephants Hall have successively closed their gates. Among the great martial masters of Guangdong today, the only one capable of stepping up is Master Guo. We cannot allow those dwarf invaders to trample upon our spines as they march on the capital! Otherwise, how will we Guangdong martial artists ever show our faces again?"

The magistrate gritted his teeth and said, "Very well, I shall go urge him once more."

With that, he stepped out of the pavilion, walked to the outside of a serene and elegant courtyard in the middle of De Township, knocked on the door, and called out, "Master Guo, it is old Li."

No sooner had he spoken than a young boy dressed in Qilin-patterned attire, carrying an iron lion the size of a water vat, frowned and said, "Old Li, didn't I tell you that Master Guo is receiving guests? Why do you keep urging us? The sky hasn't fallen; what are you in such a panic for?"

The magistrate let out a heavy sigh. "It's not that I'm panicking, but those veteran masters outside—"

"Wait!"

This wait lasted until the setting sun touched the horizon, yet the gates still showed no sign of opening.

Had even the last great Guangdong boxing master abandoned all pretense of holding the line? For a moment, even this old man, who was not a practitioner of martial arts, could not help but feel a profound wave of sorrow. Was the setting sun truly sinking below the mountain?

………………

"The Long-Eyebrow Fist, the Buddha-Dragon Fist, the Yue Family Fist, the Zhu Family Fist, the Bow-Stance Ten-Fist Palm, the Taiyi Hook-Dragon Hand, and the Crane-Form Eight Methods—descendants of over a dozen Guangdong fist lineages joined forces to challenge the envoy delegation, only to suffer a crushing defeat. Tsk tsk, the heirs of these minor fist lineages at least possess a backbone, unlike those in their prime, but I suppose this is the extent of their capability," Zhu Sanchi laughed heartily.

This third sworn son of Zhu Baozai and master of the Iron Shark Fleet had somehow slipped away from the envoy delegation and appeared here.

Guo Jing stared at him coldly for a long while before asking, "What does Zhu Baozai stand to gain by doing this? Isn't he currently making a grand display of negotiating peace with the imperial court?"

"That is not something you need to concern yourself with," Zhu Sanchi said with a grinning smile. "You only need to know that if you do not interfere, your son will obediently return in a few days. Should you intervene out of a sense of righteous indignation, however, it is hard to say what might happen."

Guo Jing opened his phoenix-like eyes, and a terrifying murderous intent erupted. The dozens of bronze-headed iron lions on the hall doors suddenly seemed endowed with spirit, their massive jaws opening and closing rhythmically as if dozens of living Qilins were suddenly darting back and forth before his eyes.

The quintessence of the Flying Lion and Phoenix—A Hundred Lions Bow to the Qilin!

This move was the complete integration of the lethal kinetic energy from the three martial arts styles, symbolizing the patrol of the Qilin, the subjugation of all beasts, and the dispelling of all evils. It fused the practitioner's essence, vital energy, and spirit, mimicking the divine charm of mythical beasts like lions, tigers, dragons, and Qilins. It was perhaps ten times more powerful than dual-beast combination techniques such as the Tiger-Leopard Strike or the Bear's Posture and Bird's Stretch.

To everyone's surprise, rather than being cowed, Zhu Sanchi was delighted and burst into laughter. "Everyone knows that the top pirate under the old man is my eldest brother, Zhu Polong. His Dragon King Fist is no weaker than that of you great masters. I, Zhu Sanchi, started practicing boxing later than him, am younger than him, and hold a lower reputation, but who can predict the shifting winds and waves upon the sea? How do you know I will not catch up and surpass him? Twenty years ago, the title of Pirate King belonged to Meng Tianban; twenty years after that, it belongs to my sworn father. As for the next twenty years, who will wear the crown remains to be seen!"

With every word he uttered, the ground seemed to tremble three times. Several lion dance frames and giant drums were shaken loose, dropping to the floor as his opposing martial intent forcibly carved a path through the surrounding atmosphere.

"Then I shall fight you right here and now!"

………………

Meanwhile, within the nine-tiered Buddhist pagoda housing the Guangdong martial arts delegation, the remaining Guangdong martial masters wore grim and sorrowful expressions. On the massive drill ground of the first floor, the elite experts of the dwarf nation's envoy delegation were all gathered.

Among them stood a hideous, obese giant whose face was painted with beast patterns, his massive body bloated as if pumped full of air.

There was also a long-haired brute with thick, sturdy limbs and ghost-and-god tattoos inked across his back.

There were wandering samurai clad in simple foreign robes, wearing bamboo rain hats, and gripping wide, heavy, purple-green swords.

A fierce, ghost-like master of jiu-jitsu with bulging eyes and four protruding reverse fangs growing from his mouth.

A middle-aged veteran with bare hands and feet, a ponytail, and an utterly nonchalant expression.

A slender, beanpole-like figure draped in yin-yang robes.

A two-sword-style swordsman clad in a short cyan tunic with a scar running across his face.

An ambiguous, androgynous freak dressed in a bright red foreign robe and heavily caked makeup.

In addition to these, there were a dozen mysterious monks from the dwarf nation wearing tall, pointy black hats and pale white masks.

Beyond the main arena, three smaller rings had been set up. These three rings gathered the ten greatest powerhouses of the dwarf nation to produce just three Central Plains grandmaster-tier fighters—though in their homeland, such men were known as Ghost-God Warriors.

The first was a frail elder standing less than four feet tall, his face aged and covered in dark age spots, wearing a tattered-rimmed rain hat and dirty, worn-out robes. He gripped a greasy, filthy black long sword, seemingly so bored by the fighting that he was nodding off to sleep.

This man was the supreme blade god who had run amok across the dwarf nation for fifty years—the Sword God Miyamoto!

Another fighter was entirely encased in interlocking armor made of black and red charging-beast fur, wielding a black steel tin staff. His mask was engraved with Buddhist scriptures in the dwarf script. Having sat motionless in the ring for two days and two nights, he looked equally like a god of war and a ghost-god. No one knew his origins, other than that he was the temple-protecting divine general of the Incense Shinto: Ghost-God Maru!

The last was the prosthetic-limbed machine of the Ueda clan, the master of the Iron Hand Bandits, Demonic Handed Monster—Ueda Tsuyoshi. Years ago, he had dared to assassinate Marshal Hong amidst a million-man army, nearly altering the course of the battle before fighting his way out of tight encirclements upon failure, earning renown as the premier master of hard-and-soft fists.

Though these three remained completely motionless, their overwhelming aura perpetually suppressed the central ring, rendering the blood-stained elderly man in the middle even more mentally exhausted, like a candle about to burn down to its final wick, ready to be extinguished at any moment.

"You concede," said the kickboxing disciple who had been fighting him, abruptly halting his movements with an eerie smile before leaping down from the ring. A moment later, another descendant of the hard-and-soft style jumped forward.

"Please enlighten me!"

Even a grandmaster could not sustain their stamina against the wheel-war tactics employed by these foreigners. In truth, he was already utterly exhausted, sustained by merely a final breath. For apart from him, the other Guangdong martial artists had long since suffered broken bones and lay scattered across the floor in droves.

"Master!"

"Master Qu!"

Watching this highly respected veteran Guangdong martial artist suffer humiliation at the hands of these foreign villains in the ring, the young martial artists felt their eyes split in rage, wishing they could trade places with him.

This could truly be considered the final spine of Guangdong's martial community.

All the rest had already been reduced to spineless cowards bought off with grease-paint and silver. No matter how high their martial arts skill, they remained mere cowards.

With a crisp snap, Master Qu's face turned pale. Risking a moment where the enemy's hand-blade threatened to pierce his shoulder, he executed a swift Three-Talent Step. Gathering his nearly depleted life-force in a sudden sway, he executed a miraculous shift in his decades-old yin-yang桩 boxing stance, transitioning into a deflected-step rising palm. With this, he struck the disciple of the Bamboo-Wave style's inch-punch flat onto the ground, swiftly following up with three consecutive hammer blows that echoed heavily through the hall, directly smashing his opponent to death on the spot.

In the past two days, this was the first foreign martial artist to be killed, whereas over a dozen Guangdong martial artists had already lost their lives, with countless others incapacitated.

"Have you had enough of fighting?" demanded a burly man wearing an iron helmet, speaking one word at a time.

"Hehehe, a soldier expects to die in battle. As an old man who has practiced boxing all his life, being able to die in the ring at the end is a death with no regrets," Master Qu said, his eyes bloodshot and his voice hoarse.

"Look at this pathetic state of yours. Do you not recognize me? It is you?!" The iron-helmeted man lifted his helmet, revealing a face covered entirely in severe burn scars.

Yet, it was a face Master Qu would never forget until the day he died.

"It's you?!"