Chapter Ninety-Nine: The Clash of Tigers and Wolves (Part Four)

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Previously, the martial arts apprentices had traversed Flying Bird Cliff. Beyond Flying Bird Cliff lay Eagle’s Grief Ravine. After crossing Eagle’s Grief Ravine and traveling two hundred li further south, one would arrive at Guang City.

This route was also the most perilous and concealed path leading to Guang City. Given the terrain, the number of government soldiers no longer posed a threat; at least during the climb, not a single soldier was in sight.

Unlike Flying Bird Cliff, which was a sheer precipice, Eagle’s Grief Ravine was a narrow, perilous path stretching across several cliffs. Caves piled one upon another, labyrinthine and endless, interwoven with cascading waterfalls and splashing waves that pounded the rocky cliffs from every direction. Mist hovered, glistening like delicate jewels in the air.

Flying Bird Cliff was named for the difficulty even birds had crossing it, while Eagle’s Grief Ravine earned its name from the despair it cast upon eagles. Even with eyes sharp as an eagle’s, once lost within, one could easily lose their way and sense of direction.

No one could enter Eagle’s Grief Ravine and come out again unless they were intimately familiar with the area.

Within a water cave nestled against a cliff wall, mist droplets scattered about. Turning a corner, three shadowy figures appeared: two were muscular men with sinewy arms, and the third was a middle-aged man missing an arm.

Water flowed over their bodies, rendering their strong physiques faintly visible. Yet these three remained motionless, their faces impassive, their breathing slow and deliberate, unlike ordinary men.

Southern Fist, especially the style from Guangdong, shared many common traits: hand techniques emphasized upper limb strikes, power was prominent, footwork rooted firmly with long and short stances, and the force often bore traces of internal martial arts.

Though not all could master the mystical ‘turtle breath’ or ‘dragon exhale,’ controlling one’s heartbeat and breath was a skill attainable by any truly skilled martial artist.

Their informant had warned them: among the remnants of the Burning Body Martial Hall, there was a ruthless figure whose hearing far exceeded that of ordinary men. Within several li, even the slightest sound would betray them.

If discovered, their lives—and the entire ambush—would be in grave danger.

The two muscular fighters practiced different styles: one Xingxia Fist, the other Wing Chun. Both had honed their arts to the limits of their talent. Beyond this point, improvement required total absorption of mind and spirit, a feat they could no longer achieve.

Their minds were ensnared by ambition and power, so they could no longer cultivate their skills. In five or six years, maintaining even their current combat ability would be difficult.

Thus, before their martial prowess declined further, they sought to seize a fortune. A bonus of a hundred thousand taels of silver—such a hefty reward had not appeared in the black market for a long time.

Though silent, their exchanged gazes burned with greed and fervor. Yet when they looked at the one-armed middle-aged man, their eyes revealed a mix of caution and killing intent.

This one-armed man was famous—at least before losing his arm. He had been a grand master in the Hunan fighting circles. During a major duel between the Hunan and Beijing factions, his arm was forcibly severed, ruining his martial art.

His opponent was none other than the present-day Central Plains’ renowned champion, the little king Invincible Marquis.

To have faced the foremost fighter in the Central Plains, his martial realm at that time must have been extraordinary.

After losing his arm, he vanished from the martial arts world. Five years ago, he reemerged, now notorious as the Blood Spear Assassin, wielding a strange sword technique and having assassinated many high-value targets.

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Given his achievements, had he not been so inexperienced, he would likely have been promoted to the highest assassin rank—the Spear Tier—long ago.

His swordsmanship was said to be the legendary assassination art known as the Shadow Sword Style.

Martial artists drawn by the lure of the bonus were stealthily hiding in various corners of Eagle’s Grief Ravine, waiting for the moment to completely annihilate the remnants of the Burning Body Martial Hall.

...

Suddenly, the one-armed man furrowed his brows and instinctively gripped the hilt of his broken sword.

The two muscular fighters exchanged a wary glance. Assassins of the Blood Spear were infamous in the martial world; killing fellow practitioners was commonplace.

But moments later, a humming sound echoed through the cave walls, causing unease in the two men.

Their commander had repeatedly warned them to remain silent to avoid alerting the enemy. Only when the signal sounded could they strike.

Had the enemy already entered Eagle’s Grief Ravine? If so, why had the lookouts not given the signal?

Though Eagle’s Grief Ravine was labyrinthine and difficult to escape, there were only a few true entrances. How could the enemy infiltrate unnoticed?

More importantly, how skilled was the enemy’s martial art to brazenly charge into their ambush?

Footsteps, screams, and the sounds of combat grew louder, accompanied by the increasingly intense humming.

The water cave where they hid had two waterfall entrances, with fine droplets trickling through cracks in the rock, producing a constant pattering sound.

The three men sharpened their hearing, trying to discern the direction of the attackers amidst the water’s noise.

Suddenly, a tremendous shock came from nearby, like a series of bamboo firecrackers exploding. Then, from the rear waterfall, a severed head and an arm were thrown out, followed by a panicked fighter of the Kong Clan style darting forth.

“Watch out! He’s behind you!”

The Wing Chun practitioner reacted swiftly. A chill ran down his back as he instinctively assumed a stance—open stance with bent knees, flowing spine, and Phoenix Eye Fist—with iron fingers striking in rapid succession. His fingers cracked sharply, blackened and twitching, as if each joint was a small set of pincers.

Combining waist and horse stance with six-directional closed force, his finger joints exploded with a snap. With a clang, he pinched the blade of a draw-knife slash.

From this finger strength alone, his Wing Chun had reached a refined level. Were it not for his distractions by worldly desires, great success awaited him.

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“Your blade—”

The Wing Chun fighter smiled smugly, about to speak, when suddenly the figure opposite flashed. A leg swept in a single whip strike—no visible force—but the air seemed to erupt with a crack.

To his eyes, it was as if a heavy iron whip struck his head. Fear flickered in his gaze as his facial bones, jaw, throat, and ribs collapsed simultaneously. He was whipped three zhangs away. Only mid-air did his bloodburst, spraying everywhere.

Danbian—the Whip God!

The Kong Clan fighter was stunned, raising two T-shaped sticks in defense.

Kong Clan boxing emphasized straight arms and relaxed shoulders, employing hidden force and a technique called ‘Cei Jin’—a sudden impact. It was a style of first suppressing then releasing force. Their core weapon, the T-shaped staff, could pierce bones front and back with swift, brutal strikes.

Yet, as the explosive blade descended, the two staff grips retracted and could not rebound.

The blade, flashing like snow, slashed down, shattering iron and wooden staffs. Wherever it passed, heads exploded, necks ruptured, torsos burst apart—red and white mingling with fragments of bone and flesh, splattered everywhere.

Kou Li coldly flicked his blade, stepping heavily into the water, splashing countless white waves. Explosion Blade!

The explosive force derived from the Tiger Frame’s violent punch. Essentially, it unleashed the body’s qi through the fist’s power. But fists, being flesh and bone, had limited endurance. So this heavy punch was typically used as an explosive movement technique.

Transformed into swordplay, however, it became something entirely different. Compared to Zhai Guan’s massive broadsword, it lacked the latter’s lingering force, but gained in ferocity and brutality.

As two and a half bodies scattered, Kou Li’s bloodied figure appeared before the Xingxia practitioner.

“Ahhhhh!!!”

The fighter seemed utterly terrified, losing all reason. He launched a one-legged bridge kick and struck Kou Li’s forehead with a staff, abandoning all defense.

At the peak of terror, the strike unexpectedly unleashed formidable power.

Kou Li frowned, stepping in Tiger Style Dragon Step, turning like a cloud-bound dragon—elusive. In a deft spin, he appeared behind his opponent.

Simultaneously, the one-armed middle-aged man strangely appeared behind Kou Li, clutching the sword hilt tightly with his remaining left arm.