Chapter 34: A Single Estate Defies a Nation

Rest assured, things will not go as they wish.

Kou Li covered the old fist master's corpse with a white cloth. Looking at the grief, anger, humiliation, and ferocity etched in the eyes of Qu Tianhua's disciples, he knew he had made the right choice coming here today.

Fist masters were unlike anyone else; their will and spirit were of paramount importance. If they were left to be besieged and worn down until their backbones were completely shattered, then even if the Feng Estate eventually stepped forward to recruit them, they would merely gather a bunch of walking corpses devoid of any real value.

To feel shame and thereby muster courage—there was a limit to this shame. Beyond that limit, it transformed into psychological trauma, a demonic obstacle. Not everyone possessed the immense courage required to break through it.

"Chief Steward, we must first lay Master Qu to rest and await your triumphant return," said Master Ding of the Long-brow Fist, his eyes bloodshot.

"Rest assured, we will not lose," Kou Li replied in an unquestionable tone.

"Chief Steward, farewell for now!"

"Steward, do not let us down."

"The fist techniques of these Japanese dogs are somewhat peculiar. They seem to have fused with Central Plains martial arts and undergone localization; they are no longer as crude as they used to be..."

These surviving descendants of the Guangdong fist masters spoke as though imparting final instructions to their own kin. They poured out the essence of their secret fist techniques and even analyzed the reasons for their defeat without holding anything back. It felt much like the old days, when a peculiar young commander from the capital had mingled with all sorts of riffraff in Guangdong, uniting with indignant martial artists to painstakingly figure out how to break the catastrophe that was plaguing the six provinces.

Back then, men of insight paid no heed to status, age, or seniority. They shared hardships, weathered dangers together, and forged their willpower into a single, unyielding rope. What was once viewed as a joke by contemporaries gradually transformed into the Hong Family Army, renowned throughout the southeast.

They were broadswords forged in blood and fire, capable of cleaving hairs blown against their edge, unstoppable by anything in their path.

The same principle applied to fist masters. Relying solely on conspiracies, calculations, and expedient alliances could never forge an invincible martial art.

"Hee hee hee hee, the Chief Steward has arrived quite early. It seems you intend to exchange pointers with us on behalf of the southeastern martial artists?" Monk Xiangshen giggled strangely.

Kou Li had read about this individual in the intelligence reports: he was the spiritual leader of the Incense God Sect. The Incense God Sect and the True Word Sect were considered the two largest indigenous religious forces in the island nation, with the former specifically aiming to manifest divinity among mortals and establish a divine kingdom on earth.

Cults of this nature had certainly appeared in the Central Plains before, but they usually emerged during times of great turmoil, taking advantage of chaos and riding the wave of human destiny to rise to power. Once a dynasty was established, however, they were immediately suppressed.

Yet, as luck would have it, the island nation was currently in its Warring States period, making the Incense God Sect a prime target for various powerful warlords vying for alliances.

"Indeed, judging by the current situation, a proper exchange is quite necessary. Your nation's fist techniques truly do not look like they can take much of a beating."

As soon as Kou Li uttered these words, the crowd of Japanese powerhouses glared at him with undisguised fury, yet none dared to interrupt. After all, this man had just knocked them down or sent them flying, one by one, with a single punch each. They revered the strong, and the words of the strong had always been the truth.

The ten representatives of the warlords exchanged low-voiced whispers before finally dispatching an ordinary-looking young man onto the arena stage. From his facial features to his height and temperament, he was as ordinary as one could possibly be, blending easily into a crowd, let alone among the legion of monsters within the diplomatic delegation.

Yet Kou Li recognized him instantly. Not just any fist master could evade his splitting-force divine whip. Combined with the bizarre fog and that rat from earlier, the man's identity was already on the tip of his tongue.

The First Shinobi Assassin Troupe excelled in cat-escape techniques, while the Second Shinobi Assassin Troupe excelled in rat-escape techniques. Since this fellow could dodge his whip strike, there was little doubt he was one of the four courtyard masters of the Second Shinobi Assassin Troupe.

Within the island nation, the First and Second Shinobi Assassin Troupes had been mortal enemies for generations. The Shinobi Master Kou Li had previously slain on the desolate island was one of the four great masters of the First Troupe, and the four courtyard masters were undoubtedly on the same tier.

This served as indirect proof of the crouching tigers and hidden dragons within the assassin troupes, as this individual was completely absent from the roster provided to the imperial court.

The former Shinobi Master had been a ruthless character capable of slicing serpentine demons with a blade, and this Second Troupe courtyard master before him was surely no exception.

Kou Li pondered for a moment before quietly uttering a single name: "Qingfeng."

From among the martial artists of the Feng Estate, a young woman dressed as a Feng Guard slowly stood up. Kou Li whispered a few instructions into her ear before she calmly stepped onto the arena stage.

"Such a pretty little lass, how come I've never seen her around the estate before?" muttered the Toad-faced man.
In truth, not only had he never seen her, but even the majority of the martial artists in the estate were unfamiliar with her. She was Young Master Huang's personal bodyguard, one of the Three Feng Guards, whose level of trust was virtually indistinguishable from that of the old eunuch, and her martial arts were equally matched.

Furthermore, the training methods she had undergone were entirely those of assassins honed in pools of blood. This match could truly be considered a duel between Central Plains assassins and island nation ninja.

Neither of the two combatants on stage seemed inclined to exchange pleasantries; they struck the very instant they engaged. Qingfeng flicked her sleeve, drawing a soft sword that reversed and whipped outward. Her opponent similarly produced a hand-claw gauntlet from an unknown hiding place—a weapon resembling finger-tigers, yet far more ferocious and terrifying, akin to sharp iron claws encasing the entire palm.

Their methods shared the exact same style: every single blow was lethal, every technique fierce and merciless, laden with the same murderous intent and a do-or-die resolve.

Yet experts could discern the subtle differences in their styles, which stemmed from the divergence of their environments.

In the Central Plains, an assassin was epitomized by lines like, *"The wind blows bleakly, the Yi River is cold; the stout warrior departs, never to return."* They were heroes who executed treacherous ministers and slaughtered malevolent spirits. Court historians specifically used grand, sweeping brushes to pen the *Biographies of Assassins*—biographies meant to record figures capable of altering the course of history through sheer individual strength.

Meanwhile, the assassins of the island nation, facing the impending Warring States era where heroes and demonic legends arose in succession, served merely as a tactical tool for eliminating enemy leaders. Assassination, poisoning, seduction—they stopped at nothing. Warlords both feared and utilized them. With assassinations breaking out one after another, everyone lived in a constant state of crisis, leading the populace to generally view the profession as dark and terrifying.

Consequently, the assassination arts of the Central Plains retained a grand, earth-shaking momentum reminiscent of dragons and serpents rising from the land, whereas the methods of the island nation's assassins were far more sinister, shadowy, and utterly unscrupulous.

Dark Sword Technique—White Rainbow Piercing the Sun!

Qingfeng tucked her knees and thrust her sword forward, her figure dropping low before exploding outward. As the blade slid and frictioned against the air, it actually ignited pale white phosphorus fire, sweeping outward in a torrent. It possessed an imposing aura that seemed to overturn the heavens and disrupt the cosmos, and within that aura surged a terrifying murderous intent that locked relentlessly onto her target.

The Second Troupe courtyard master retreated swiftly, scattering sulfur bombs and senbon needles as he moved. Where they landed, billowing yellow smoke and black fire erupted, tainted with foul-smelling poisonous gas.

Amidst the swirling mist, the courtyard master slammed a palm down onto his woven hat, dropping low to cloak his entire body beneath it. A rat crawled out from his garments, while his human figure vanished with eerie stealth.

That sword strike, carrying a momentum of concentrated murderous intent, stabbed straight into empty air.

Just as her vital energy and spirit inevitably transitioned from their peak to a decline, a figure materialized from her rear left in that very instant, driving a hand-claw straight toward the back of her head.

At this perilous juncture, Qingfeng suddenly whipped her sword back, and the sound of a spring snapping echoed out. She discarded the outer sheath-like blade entirely, revealing a hidden sword within. Ignoring the lethal strike coming from behind, she twisted the short blade so that it reflected zero light, thrusting it toward the rear right.

Then, right into the empty, yellow-fogged expanse, she forcefully pierced straight through a person's skull.

The moment the man died, his hand-claw fell limply, plunging into Qingfeng's waist.

The ten representatives of the island nation's warlords furrowed their brows in unison. Those whose composure was lacking immediately stood up on the spot. In a single fleeting moment, victory and defeat, life and death, had inverted. Yet how on earth had the opponent seen through the Second Troupe's unique clone-assassination technique?

When the mist finally cleared, what lay before everyone's eyes was a shinobi staff planted upright in the ground, a bizarrely shaped leather doll, and a wisp of steel wire coiled around it.

Expressionless, Qingfeng pulled the steel claw out from her waist. Flesh was torn open, blood gushing forth. She walked back slowly and bowed slightly toward Kou Li.

Kou Li's expression remained calm. His hand suddenly swept across her waist and gave a sharp flick, peeling away a thin layer of flesh that dropped to the ground and dissolved into a puddle of concentrated liquid.

That hand-claw was coated with poison.

"Go back and tend to your wounds. This is no longer your affair."

"I can still fight," Qingfeng said expressionlessly.

"That is an order."

A trace of defiance flashed across Qingfeng's eyes. Meeting Kou Li's profound gaze, her heart trembled. She bowed her head and withdrew.

Seeming eager to salvage their pride, the enemy dispatched another candidate mere moments later: a bizarre figure garbed in bright red Japanese robes, heavy makeup painted on their face, looking neither male nor female—a contemporary successor of the Onmyodo arts.

"Toad-face."

"Don't call me Toad in front of all these people, it's so embarrassing. I have a name, you know," muttered the Toad-faced man, though his heart was itching with eager anticipation as he obediently stepped forward.

"After the twenty-third move, three inches from his hipbone will reveal a flaw."

The Toad-faced man froze. He understood what Kou Li had just said to Qingfeng, but how on earth did this man know the martial flaws of these island nation powerhouses?