Chapter Sixty-One: The Strength of Bamboo Joints (Part Two)-Bandit Road(Dream of Insects)

Page (1/3)

“The old man up to his tricks again, huh? Sends me, the Winged Wolf, to fetch some countryside boxing master in person. My name is Winged Wolf, not Errand Dog,” Luo Yi drawled lazily, glancing sideways. “Aren’t I right, Turtle Brother?”

“Ah Yi, enough of your nonsense. Last time, you got scolded by the Dragon Head for that mouth of yours. Do you want to get in trouble again?” Turtle Brother sighed in exasperation.

“This is just some wounded, retired old geezer. I really don’t get what’s so formidable about him. It’s just a tournament—let me handle it. Why do we even have the Four Tigers and Eight Wolves if not for this? Or is it that after the Death Wolf died, all those old men lost their nerve?” Luo Yi flexed his sinewy form, a hint of mockery in his tone.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!”

Suddenly, Luo Yi shouted toward a large tree some thirty yards away. Instantly, the scores of gang members around him tensed up. Yuezhou was never a peaceful place, and their Water Dragon Gang, being so prominent, often attracted ambushes. It wouldn’t be the first or second time.

They stood in a hollow among the hills; the setting sun crashed against the mountainside, casting a dim, dying light. The trees were bare. There was no sign of a village ahead or behind, just a lone crow pecking at the ground, its beady black eyes fixed on them as it croaked a harsh call—a perfect spot for murder and corpse dumping.

A shadow stretched long under the weak light. The face was pallid, blending eerily into the lifeless landscape. The gaze seemed unfocused, looking at them, or perhaps through them, as if at something behind. In a flat, emotionless voice, the figure spoke: “Honored guests, the Master has awaited you for some time. Please, follow me.”

“How did he know we were coming? Did the old man tip him off?” Luo Yi murmured in surprise. Logically, if he’d been sent personally, there should be no separate messenger.

“The Master received a divine revelation in a dream last night.”

“A revelation?” Luo Yi opened his mouth but found himself at a loss for words.

Divine—divine, my ass. The gods know even this?

After a bow, the villager silently led the way. Luo Yi mulled it over for a long while, then nudged Turtle Brother and whispered, “What kind of god does this Diao fellow worship, anyway?”

Turtle Brother blinked, gave him a strange look, and replied, “How would I know?”

“Strange man, strange god,” Luo Yi concluded.

They trekked nearly twenty miles through the mountains, crossing two ridges before finally arriving at Diao Village just as night fell. A strong wind blew, sending hundreds, if not thousands, of white cloth streamers flapping wildly. Each strip was covered in wild, grotesque symbols, extravagant and bizarre.

“It’s like the whole village is in mourning,” one of the gang members muttered.

Moreover, Diao Village was eerily silent—no human voices, only crickets shrieking desperately. These hardened Water Dragon Gang elites, used to butchery and bloodshed, couldn’t help feeling a chill crawling up their spines.

What a sinister place!

Suddenly, Turtle Brother’s eyes narrowed. In the village square knelt a dense mass of black figures, each draped in a massive white cloth. Painted in ink upon the cloth was a huge black eye, its pupil vertical.

Amid the swirling flames, it seemed as if every one of those great eyes fixed on them—then, all at once, blinked.

“Ah!!”

That collective blink nearly scared Turtle Brother half to death.

“What are you shrieking for? It’s not even dark yet—don’t tell me you’re seeing ghosts!” Luo Yi, not far off, cursed, though he’d jumped, too.

“You guys—” Turtle Brother glanced around at his companions’ odd expressions, then simply clamped his mouth shut.

Perhaps it really was just a hallucination.

Page (2/3)

“The Master is inside.”

Before them stood a temple that looked like a giant serpent’s gaping maw—half of it protruding from the mountain, half buried within.

A hot, greasy scent wafted out in thick waves.

“What, your god roasting pigs and sheep to welcome us?” Luo Yi grinned, thinking to himself that any god who offered wine and meat was a good god.

But the scene awaiting him was anything but expected. Before a stone altar three feet high, a man was being burned alive. His flesh was already charred and blistered, blood bubbling up only to burst and spatter, viscera slithering from his ruptured belly in sticky ropes.

The silence, the mute burning victim kneeling in respect, and the figure seated atop the altar—smiling warmly, eyes gentle, prayer beads slipping through his fingers—cast a dreadful, solemn pall.

“Urgh!”

Luo Yi’s eye twitched. The Water Dragon Gang’s own tortures were savage—skinning and tendon-ripping were nothing new—but even their victims wept and screamed. Here, the condemned suffered in silence, kneeling reverently, suffusing the whole affair with a ghastly, reverent terror.

“The Red Eye has finally returned to the Holy Mother’s embrace,” the Master proclaimed loudly, his face glowing with health.

The last thing the burning man did before death was to form a sacred gesture, squeezing out a final, satisfied smile.

Beneath the scorched bone, one could vaguely recognize the features of the Red Eye Emissary.

From madness, he’d somehow regained his senses—or perhaps grown even more insane.

“Master Diao, since your Holy Mother has already informed you, let’s get going. The boat is ready,” Luo Yi said stiffly. Not only had he lost his appetite, he couldn’t bear to stay another second in this place.

“The Holy Mother has already revealed who the next to return to the Heavenly Sect will be,” the Master laughed, clapping his hands. In a flash he glided ten yards, emerging from the cave mouth.

This Diao Fengsheng!

According to Water Dragon Gang records, Diao Fengsheng was already fifty-three, with a knife scar across his chest and wasted muscles. In Luo Yi’s memory, he’d always been a sinister old man.

Yet the man before him had a devilish face, stood nearly eight feet tall, muscles bulging, complexion ruddy—his vitality at its peak, more formidable than even the South’s former number one free-fighter.

No matter how much you train, boxing can only slow aging, not reverse it. How could someone turn young again? Luo Yi now understood why the Dragon Head insisted on inviting him.

With such martial skill and a body in its prime, success was all but guaranteed.

But glancing at the lifeless Diao Village and the vigorous, energetic Diao Fengsheng, Luo Yi blinked. He seemed to realize something.

……

'Roar!'

Page (3/3)

The secret Tiger’s Roar within his body grew ever more urgent, yet Kou Li’s boxing stance was unexpectedly loose, tilting as if he might collapse at any moment.

Meanwhile, Luo Yanzong and Yue Wuhuo exchanged glances, nodding in approval. Suddenly, Kou Li stamped the ground, bouncing up and down like a spring, sinking his hips and twisting his waist before driving a punch into the wall.

A thunderous crack—plaster and sand burst from the wall, radiating out from the point of impact like a firecracker.

Then, Kou Li bent his knees, kicked back, twisted his waist and arm, his back arching like a drawn bow, before snapping back. The roar that followed carried the pressure of a gale hurtling through a tunnel.

Clouds follow the dragon, winds follow the tiger.

Kou Li’s striking arm shot out like a pouncing tiger—teeth bared, reeking with ferocity.

“Beautiful!” Yue Wuhuo slapped his thigh in delight. “That was a spectacular punch.”

“There are two types of force in that, aren’t there, junior brother?” Luo Yanzong smiled.

“Yes. One is the explosive force, based on the Five Flowers Mountain Frame and Five Flowers Tiger Hammer, mixed with some Tiger Fist techniques. The other is the twisting force, refined from the Tiger Strike and Tiger’s Mane Grasp.”

“The Tiger Fist truly deserves its reputation as an ancient boxing art—it can yield two combined forces. Old Eight, your Tiger Fist is now the best in the entire school—even Second Brother can’t compare.”

“I owe much to Brother Yue. He passed on his experience of integrating the essence of the Tiger’s Pounce. Without that, I couldn’t have mastered two forces so quickly.”

Praise begets praise—Kou Li didn’t mind offering thanks. As expected, Yue Wuhuo grinned broadly, though he waved it off with feigned indifference. “That’s all your own talent, nothing to do with me.”

“Usually, two combined forces are the limit for a single style. We’ve gone over free-fighting tactics plenty of times. There are only two days until the match—take care to rest and don’t overexert yourself.”

After a while, the two prepared to leave. Before stepping out, Luo Yanzong turned back, asking casually, “Old Eight, have you heard about the trouble with Old Six lately?”

“What? Hasn’t Brother Lu been away from the school for ages?”

“That’s right, never mind then. It’s nothing to do with you.”

Once they’d gone, Kou Li’s eyes flickered. Was that just a test—or had they already discovered something?

“You don’t suspect Old Eight, do you? He’s not the type to get mixed up in this,” Yue Wuhuo wondered aloud as they walked.

Luo Yanzong frowned. “Just a gut feeling. Old Eight isn’t someone you can push around.”

“I told Old Six more than once to keep his distance from the pirates—he’s asking for trouble!” Yue Wuhuo snapped, still angry.

“It’s done. Master always said he wouldn’t get involved in the Xumin’s internal affairs—and he hasn’t, not in all these years. Whatever debts there were, he’s already repaid them.”

“As for Old Six, this time, no one can help him.”