Chapter 35: One Estate Versus One Nation (Part Two)

Sweat slowly trickled down the Toad-Faced Man's forehead, but he dared not wipe it away. The slightest lapse would bring forth the bizarre and eerie fatal attacks of his opponent right before him.

*Glub, glub, glub—* With his belly rising and falling, rising and falling, the pustules on the Toad-Faced Man's face grew so red and bright from the rapid circulation of Qi and blood that they looked like glowing red beans.

"What a truly ugly wretch," muttered Wanhualinghe, the Wunuren transvestite and head of the Wunuren Yin-Yang school, casting a look of utter disgust at his opponent. With a whirl of his body, his grand crimson Wunuren robe fluttered in the wind, resembling a mysterious sacrificial dance from native Shinto—bizarre and twisted to any outsider's eyes.

Yet, to the Toad-Faced Man, this person's hands and limbs seemed to transform into dozens or hundreds of afterimages, while his heavily painted face melted into a terrifyingly sacred aura.

The Yin-Yang Way, the God-Sacrificial Dance.

This dance was originally performed by shrine maidens to serve the gods before sacrificing livestock to wild deities in mountain shrines, but it had evolved into an indigenous Wunuren combat discipline through the spread of Central Plains boxing arts.

When boxing arts served as a sacrificial ritual, the living offering was the opponent's life.

Because this fist-dance had long been dedicated to wild shrine deities, it naturally embodied a mysterious temperament and technique. When practiced to the depths, it could harmonize human and deity, bewitching an enemy's mind.

The hem of that grand crimson Wunuren robe was like a folded paper blade, capable of slicing flesh and dismembering bodies, severing tendons and breaking bones. Especially when this deified sleeve multiplied into hundreds or thousands, passing through a space where almost nothing could block it.

The Toad-Faced Man felt like a toad facing mortal peril; his continuous "croaking" sounds blended together, his abdomen puffed up like a hand-drum, and his hands and limbs occasionally swelled as if tumors were erupting from them. He darted, bounded, leaped, jumped, lunged, tumbled, and rolled. Though his postures were unsightly and humiliating, his footwork was so supreme it rivaled any mastery at the peak of perfection.

As the form-mimicking boxing style best at controlling internal force, the Toad Fist's mastery of footwork and technique was by no means as superficial as it appeared. Unfortunately, the Toad-Faced Man was a craven character who clung desperately to life. In his hands, such martial art inevitably took on this pathetic appearance.

*'Thirteen moves, fourteen moves, watch my Toad Crossing the River, fifteen moves. Damn it, if this goes on, I'll barely last around twenty moves before my stamina is completely exhausted. Is the Grand Superintendent trying to set me up?'*

The art of wielding internal force was an exquisitely subtle skill in martial arts, consuming the greatest amount of stamina. The Toad-Faced Man lacked the "undepleted body" with all four extremities perfected, and the Toad Fist itself was not renowned for boundless physical strength. Naturally, it was like a greenhorn meeting a brothel madam—he was bound to drain himself dry in an instant.

During this time, the Toad-Faced Man seemed to catch the curses of that dead transvestite, which apparently related to some Central Plains boxing styles. He couldn't help curling his lip in secret: what did the merits or flaws of Central Plains boxing styles have to do with him? He, the Toad, was a man of letters and refinement.

Still, if this continued, he would undoubtedly die. Even as craven and cowardly as he was, he knew that at this juncture, fighting for his life was his only option.

Wanhualinghe was equally consumed by fury. To him, dealing with such an ugly creature was in itself a torment and an insult. Yet this greasy, fat wretch kept rolling and wriggling everywhere at blinding speed, diving between his legs more than once—completely devoid of the dignity expected of a Central Plains martial artist. If the martial ring hadn't been so confined, the fellow would have run to the ends of the earth.

The crucial point was that the Yin-Yang style itself did not excel in speed, but rather in mental control. Yet his opponent refused to meet his gaze at all, slipping away at the slightest sign of trouble.

If he allowed this dodging to continue, his own physical stamina would not hold out either; Wunuren martial arts likewise did not excel in endurance.

With this thought, Wanhualinghe's gaze turned stern, as if the enemy before him was no longer a foe, but a worshipped deity. Yin-Yang Style, Four-Directions Deity-Offering Dance—The Divine Bowl.

Accompanied by strange sacred chants from his mouth, his twisting figure seemingly slipped several empty red robes right out of the grand crimson garment. They hung suspended in the air, headless and brainless, yet moving in a bizarre and peculiar dance.

An eerie and profound aura of vital energy spread outward. Even those outside the arena could feel that oppressive, grotesque atmosphere, as if a thick, viscous tongue were slithering back and forth right in front of their faces.

*'Just as I thought. The localization of Wunuren martial arts isn't just about alchemy, but a wicked fist style born from the fusion of breath-harmonization techniques and demons. It bears some resemblance to Esoteric Buddhism boxing styles, except one simulates malevolent fiends while the other visualizes deities and demons.'*

Kou Li closed his eyes, yet he could sense a bizarre woman in red with flowing hair, holding a red lantern, floating above the martial ring.

Right at that moment, a strange roar echoed, "I'm going all out with you, you toad!"

The Toad-Faced Man's abdomen bulged forward like a nine-month pregnant woman's, his neck shrank, his head thrust forward, pulling in his buttocks and tucking his crotch, hurling himself directly forward like a massive iron ball.

No one expected him to counterattack using such a tactic.

With his eyes, ears, mouth, and nose tightly shut, he was like a brainless iron ball hurling forward purely on instinct—yet this exact move exploited his own strengths to strike at his opponent's weakness.

Wanhualinghe had no choice but to awkwardly twist his waist and spin around, breaking free from the divine ritual dance to dodge the strike. However, the opponent clung to him like bone-gnawing maggots, his momentum halting not even for an instant before smashing in again. It was a completely reckless, head-on desperate posture that threw all caution to the wind.

*'Courting death!'*

Wanhualinghe's expression chilled. The red robes fluttering in mid-air suddenly contracted, turning into a sphere of fabric. The bizarre energy field condensed almost into substance, followed immediately by a rapid succession of muffled explosions from within the sphere.

After a moment, the Wunuren transvestite was blasted backward like a reversed arrow, landing as if he had been trampled by a herd of horses. When he hit the ground, he had only outgoing breath and no incoming, his face painted with reluctance and regret.

The Turtle Listening to Thunder, the Toad Spitting its Tongue—one was the skill of listening to force, the other the ability to discharge short-range power, both inherently specialized in close-quarters wrestling and striking. Add to that the vulnerable spot right three inches below the hip bones.

The Toad-Faced Man's already ugly face was now bruised and swollen, sweat pouring from his entire body as if he had just been fished out of water. The only thought echoing in his mind was: *"It actually turned out to be the twenty-third move."*

The fellow couldn't even walk anymore and had to be dragged down the ring by the Phthisic Ghost in the end.

"How on earth was it precisely twenty-third move?" The Toad-Faced Man looked at Kou Li as if gazing at a fortune-telling immortal.

"Because your stamina could only sustain you up to the twenty-third move," Kou Li paused, "and given your personality, you would never fight for your life until the very last moment."

"..." The Toad-Faced Man felt deeply aggrieved, though he was indeed that kind of person.

With two consecutive fighters beaten to death, the expressions of the envoys' powerful representatives grew even gloomier and heavier. Since they had come to "emulate Bodhidharma's deeds," they ought to possess the heroic spirit to sweep across the Central Plains and an aura of worldly invincibility. To be frank, these two matches had largely shattered the envoys' momentum.

*'Next is the most crucial match. Winning will mark the beginning of the Cantonese boxing masters' counterattack, while losing will exhaust whatever psychological advantage we fought so hard to secure.'* Thinking up to this point, Kou Li glanced at the Phthisic Ghost. If the other side deployed a grand master of fist arts, his own side would only have two choices.

"Let me do it," the Phthisic Ghost slowly rose to his feet, saying, "I practice Cantonese boxing as well. Let me stretch my muscles in this match too. Grand Superintendent, Zhou Zhixian requests to enter the fray!"

From him, Kou Li saw an enveloping vitality like the morning sun, along with an increasingly ethereal and picturesque temperament. He slowly nodded, "Go ahead."

This time, he offered no parting words, nor did the other need any.

The Phthisic Ghost lifted his foot and brought it down. With ghost-like suddenness, he stepped onto the bluestone bricks of the arena. Sweeping his gaze across the opponents, he smiled faintly, "Which of you three shall be my opponent?"

His eyes did not even bother to look at the others, for only these three were truly worthy of being his adversary: Hida Tsuyoshi, Kishinmaru, and Miyamoto the Sword God.

"Hehehehe, Kishinmaru, why don't you test the skills of this Central Plains master."

Accompanied by these words, a fierce deity-general entirely encased in black-and-red horned-beast fur heavy armor, holding a black steel tin staff, stepped one pace after another toward the arena. With every footprint he planted, a dark cyan footprint emerged, while a faint wispy black aura simultaneously flashed and vanished from the surface of his armor.

Kou Li narrowed his eyes. From this opponent, he once again sensed the presence of demons.