Chapter Sixteen: The Axe Squad

At the brink of life and death, Kou Li instead found his heart growing calm. In these peaceful times, he refused to believe that his pursuers truly dared act at the city gate. The most opportune moment for their attack would be on the short road as he made his way to the martial arts hall—a stretch through the unruly, lawless outskirts of Jiufan, where a few deaths in the wilds were hardly worth a mention.

He knew escape was impossible; it was a simple truth that two legs would never outrun four. The pursuers belonged to a powerful gang—how could they possibly lack horses? Yet returning to the city was even less an option. With their connections and influence, dealing with a lone outsider like himself would be effortless. With just a few words, they could have him invited for 'tea' within minutes.

His sole chance at survival lay in the warren of alleyways ahead. If he could use the labyrinthine, crowded layout of these residential lanes to shake off his pursuers, then the sky would be wide open, and he could soar away to safety.

Feigning composure, Kou Li followed the main street for several hundred paces before abruptly changing rhythm. His fingers curled slightly, waist, hips, shoulders, and back relaxed, arms bent and loose. Leading with a crouched front leg and a bent rear leg ready to spring, his spine flexed like a bow. In a flash, he pounced nearly twenty feet forward, vanishing into the mouth of an alleyway with a few bounding strides.

Moments later, at least a hundred muscular men with bulging waist pouches stormed out the city gate without so much as blinking, their murderous auras converging on the spot where Kou Li had disappeared.

A young gatekeeper was about to stand, only to be forced back down by an older veteran who rebuked him harshly, "Don’t go courting trouble, boy. These are the city’s financial lords. It’s a miracle the authorities haven’t sent soldiers to escort them. You want to be dismissed by tomorrow?"

Several tall horses thundered past in succession. A money pouch traced a graceful arc through the air, landing with a thud on the table.

The old gatekeeper sucked in a cold breath and muttered, "The Four Tigers and Eight Wolves of the Water Dragon Gang, lords of the southern lands. Whoever provoked the vengeful Soul-Chasing Wolf is doomed never to see tomorrow's sun!"

In these times, whether it was brawling or murder, numbers ruled. Even martial artists and so-called gallant highwaymen, if cornered in an alley by a hundred men, would be hacked to death in an instant.

Qingni Lane was narrow within, wider without, leading to a single entrance—two sides, two forces arrayed.

Each man facing Kou Li was in his thirties, tattooed, their rough features fierce. Their eyes gleamed with malice. In their hands were single-bladed knives, as thick as a man’s forearm, far sturdier than the cleavers seen in movies—more than capable of severing bone.

Just twenty years ago, Lingnan was a place of exile, where criminals were left to fend for themselves. Since the imperial court opened the seas, these very murderers, convicts, and refugees had carved a bloody path to fortune, their every move watched by local authorities, gentry, and magnates.

It was said that when the seas first opened, an outsider magistrate arrived and tried to suppress these local tyrants. Before he could act, his wife and daughters were taken hostage. Even the deployment of soldiers was useless. In the end, the women were found in a squalid brothel, drugged with aphrodisiacs and subjected to unspeakable abuses by countless brutes.

And that was but one of the Water Dragon Gang’s many atrocities.

Defiant of law and authority, they lived by the creed: “Those who follow us prosper; those who oppose us perish.” The Water Dragon Gang, the Brotherhood, the Canal Gang—of the three great river clans, the Water Dragon Gang had risen the fastest, and their methods were the most ruthless.

Kou Li understood that his stamina, experience, and boxing skills were no match for the enemy’s overwhelming numbers. The greater the danger, the less he could afford to retreat.

Retreat a single step, and it would cost him his life.

The third level of the Child’s Posture revealed its power in that instant—a warm current flowed down from his crown, spreading throughout his body.

Rooting his stance, mind calm and breath deep, his entire body relaxed, blood and energy harmonized, circulation unimpeded. He compressed, compressed, compressed again—intense emotion fused with the body’s fluid response, blending like yin and yang.

Under the contrast of ice and fire, every pore on Kou Li’s body snapped shut. The compressed energy surged into his lower abdomen, then rebounded a hundredfold, force erupting from his spine through his shoulders and out to his extremities. In a snap, his body shot forward like an arrow, covering three steps in a single burst, sweat beading on his fists.

In the realm of boxing, this was known as ‘integrated force’—to unleash it was to truly step through the door. Do not underestimate this seemingly simple threshold; nine out of ten martial artists were stuck here all their lives. To step through was to be able to wander the martial world.

The burliest man at the front saw only a blur before a searing pain pierced his abdomen, as if stabbed with a red-hot iron rod. His body was hurled half a yard by a tremendous impact, and with his kidneys injured, he lost all control below the waist.

A rush of wind followed as two thick blades chopped down at Kou Li’s shoulders—this was the “Flesh-Scooping Blade,” a slash, a gouge, a flick, sending palm-sized chunks of flesh flying.

Those cinematic heroes who fought on after a dozen wounds were pure fantasy. In reality, a single cut would drain half one’s strength, leaving the victim helpless for the slaughter.

Luckily, though Kou Li lacked much real combat experience, his hearing had been keenly trained. At the sound of wind, he sensed danger. With a rolling dodge, and still riding the familiarity of his boxing rhythm, he lashed out with two more punches.

With two crisp cracks—like eggs being smashed—even a regular punch to a vital spot would cause excruciating pain, but an ‘integrated force’ punch—power from waist, spine, and muscle—would instantly shatter an opponent’s will to fight.

Yet in that moment, Kou Li felt a surge of rage. The tiger is lord of the mountain; all beasts tremble at its passing. To be forced into such humiliation—how could he endure it?

His ten fingers clenched and released instinctively, his shoulder blades flaring wide, legs coiling for a powerful rear kick. From fingertips to toes, every joint tensed, then his spine exploded outward, as if wrapped in force, ramming backward.

The two men, crippled from the earlier blows, had just bent over in pain when they were slammed by what felt like an iron plate, sending them and three or four behind tumbling like scattered gourds.

Amidst the chaos came the sound of bones breaking.

What Kou Li did not know was that the Fierce Tiger Fist contained a devastating combination called "Tiger Ascends the Mountain," which began with a Five-Flower Seated Mountain stance, then, like a tiger flicking off fleas, released the body’s power, ending with the Five-Flower Tiger’s Embrace—tiger’s force like a battering ram.

Southern boxing stances, when performed at their peak, could unleash the brute force of the northern schools.

Such a sequence was hard enough to execute in training, let alone in the heat of battle.

Yet, thanks to the mysterious power of the Wordless Manual, Kou Li’s pounce was perfect—in body and in spirit, he became the tiger, channeling its wrath to drive all his strength, unwittingly unleashing this move and severely wounding his foes.

The outcome of mortal combat can turn on a single thought. In these moments, the strength of one’s courage decides the victor.

If Kou Li had been timid and clung to life, he would never have chosen this path. Having set foot on it, he resolved to die if he must, and in feigning the will to die, he carved out a way to live.

The last two assailants lunged at the same time, gleaming blades flashing past Kou Li’s figure.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A fresh wound, half a foot long, opened on Kou Li’s left side, the flesh gaping, a hot, wet rush quickly soaking half his robe, searing pain and a stabbing agony flooding in.

But the dripping blood was not from just their blades—it covered Kou Li’s ten fingers too, his blood staining most of their length.

One of the attackers rolled his eyes and gurgled as he collapsed, a palm-sized gash carved in his throat.

The other Water Dragon Gang man howled, clutching half his ruined face—his cheekbones crushed, one eye gouged out, the socket like a grape steeped in sauce.

Chest hollowed, waist collapsing, steps twisting and knees gripping the ground. Shoulders dropped, elbows heavy, hands stretched forward—like a tiger’s maw ready to slash.

Tiger’s Pounce—Bow Stance, Twin Tiger Claws!

The tiger devours its prey—pounce, cut, and twist. After pouncing, Kou Li instinctively unleashed a claw strike, just as Instructor Zhao had once demonstrated, except the power now far surpassed that level.

Panting heavily, Kou Li staggered forward, his steps light and uncertain as if treading on cotton. His back was not the only part soaked with blood—his whole body felt damp and clammy.

His pores, which he had held so tightly shut, now all burst open, and most of his vital energy had drained away.

In martial parlance, this was called ‘venting and dispersing force,’ a sign of extreme exhaustion in the body’s bones and sinews. For Kou Li, who had trained less than two months, to strike down three men and slay two more was already beyond belief.

As expected, with a dozen fewer men, the encirclement had been broken. With his keen hearing, only one step remained to escape!

“To have trained less than two months, yet to merge stance work with boxing, to wield the Fierce Tiger Fist with true tiger’s power—what are you really hiding?”