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"Yaaah!"
The girl beneath the arena could not help crying out in alarm. It was as though her cry had flipped some switch. Threads of divine light gathered in Wang Anfeng's eyes. With a sharp shout, he caught Zeng Bo's wrist with his right hand, suddenly stepped in and twisted, pinning him to the ground. His left hand shot out like a blade leaving its sheath and stopped firmly above Zeng Bo's throat.
The middle-aged man serving as referee's eyes brightened slightly. He nodded and said:
"Winner, Wang Anfeng."
Clutching his wrist, Zeng Bo gave a bitter laugh and admitted that Wang Anfeng was formidable before stumbling off the stage. He had won two matches in a row, yet had failed to take anything at all, leaving him in a truly sorry state. Wang Anfeng's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the martial artists below, all around his age. Some were arrogant, others calm. Each held a sharp blade, and every one of them was watching him.
His master had said he had to subdue every one of them.
It was not that not a single person was willing to step forward.
It was that not a single person dared. Their hearts were full of resentment, yet none dared draw his sword.
And so, under everyone's watchful eyes, the youth with his pale features, gentle as a passing breeze, raised his hands and gave everyone below a deep bow.
"Wang Anfeng of Shaolin respectfully requests your guidance."
"Please grant me a defeat."
The moment those words left his mouth, the entire arena fell silent.
A young man stared blankly, seemingly unable to believe his ears. Several breaths later, he smashed the wine jug in his hand to the ground, cursed loudly, and sprang onto the arena. Wang Anfeng gave him a slight cupped-fist salute, but the young man did not even return it. He only looked at Wang Anfeng and sneered:
"You want to use us as stepping stones? You're far too arrogant!"
"I can't be bothered to waste words on you. Take this!"
With that, he charged straight at Wang Anfeng. His fists were ethereal and nimble, like drifting clouds and surging currents, changing unpredictably. Wang Anfeng drew a slight breath and clenched both fists.
Since he had to fight one battle after another, stamina would inevitably be a problem.
So he chose...
A swift kill!
His eyes brightened slightly. With a clear shout, his right fist shot out without the slightest flourish in the most common mid-level palm strike. It carried overwhelming force. Having just witnessed the consequences of taking Wang Anfeng's fists and kicks head-on, the youth warily dodged to the side. At that moment, Wang Anfeng suddenly accelerated, closing in on the youth as ferociously as he had on Zeng Bo.
His left palm thrust straight toward the youth's waist and abdomen.
His right elbow bent upward, like a general raising his spear while riding into battle.
Then he suddenly twisted and spun, driving his elbow forward. The edge of his elbow tore through the air with a scalp-numbing shriek, piercing the distance between them before stopping firmly at the youth's throat.
His explosive speed stopped abruptly. A fierce gust lifted the youth's black hair. In his pupils, widened by terror, was reflected the face of the youth before him—peaceful and warm, yet filled with the cold composure and detachment of a strategist laying out a game.
The elbow slowly withdrew. The youth's legs went soft, and he collapsed directly onto the ground.
Wang Anfeng cupped his fists, said, "You let me win," then adjusted his sleeves slightly and gave the people before him a small bow.
It was still only one sentence.
"Please grant me a defeat."
His voice rang out, yet for a moment no one in the arena dared answer. After a deathly silence, someone shouted:
"He's provoking everyone here!"
"Although I'm no match for him, I'm still willing to fight this brat! He can't possibly pick all of us off!"
Amid the angry shouts, a young man leaped onto the stage. In his hand was not a pair of gauntlets, but a long wooden saber. He raised its edge slightly and shouted:
"I'm a disciple of the Wangxian Zhang Family. I'll knock that arrogance out of you!"
"Wang Anfeng of Shaolin. Please instruct me."
Thirteen breaths later, the youth surnamed Zhang staggered off the stage, his face deathly pale.
That nightmare-like, calm and earnest voice sounded once more beside his ear:
"Please grant me a defeat."
Today was the fifteenth day of the eighth month. The autumn chill had grown thick, making it unsuitable for sparring and only fit for watching the red maples gradually fall and the ginkgo leaves turn gold. Below the mountain lay the county seat of Wangxian County. The great clans and sects all had successors in that city. The names of those sects and the surnames of those clans represented one outstanding master after another.
Every year, the Phoenix Banquet was when these masters first took flight in the memories of their youth. One young name after another would be printed on the Phoenix Ranking and spread across the thousand li of Wangxian County. While they were still immature, they absorbed experience through battle and grew rapidly.
But battles inevitably had winners and losers. Someone would always be used as a stepping stone.
More or less.
With a crisp sound, the twin spikes in a young woman's hands were knocked away by Wang Anfeng's fists and fell to the ground. As she gritted her teeth and prepared to continue fighting, a fist had already stopped firmly at her throat. At the same time came that same bland voice.
"You let me win."
The girl's eyes widened. Alongside her unwillingness appeared a fear so intense that even she could hardly believe it.
How... how was this possible?
Eight consecutive battles, eight consecutive victories!
Was he not tired?
Wang Anfeng slowly breathed out a mouthful of stale air. He could faintly sense a trace of fatigue rising within his body, but his expression did not change. He raised his cupped fists, his bearing upright, and gave the people below a slight bow.
Almost the instant he saluted, all the young heroes and scions of the great clans went pale. In perfect unison, they retreated a step, leaving a broad empty space before him. The sincere face of the youth before them looked as terrifying as an evil ghost in their eyes.
Wang Anfeng paused slightly. Just then, a long laugh suddenly rang out in the distance. A wooden sword shot across like a streak of lightning and landed on the arena. A white figure then strode over and vaulted onto the stage. His right hand grasped the hilt, yet the wooden sword gave a long, resonant cry, flashing a dazzling radiance across Wang Anfeng's eyes.
The latter's pupils contracted. He abruptly retreated, while his left hand swept horizontally toward the newcomer's wrist. His force burst forth. The newcomer seemed to know its power and did not meet it head-on. He turned, and the long sword struck toward Wang Anfeng's throat like a venomous snake. At that instant, Wang Anfeng's right hand had already risen. His body turned aside, and his five fingers pressed with extreme precision against the spine of the wooden sword, blocking the strike.
Then his force erupted!
Although it was not particularly powerful, it was enough to draw the air into surging currents as the opposing forces collided and dragged against each other. Wang Anfeng retreated several steps, while the figure landed on the arena. The middle-aged man serving as arbitrator frowned and shouted angrily:
"Who are you?"
"How dare you cause trouble here!"
The man did not answer. He merely laughed, raised his wooden sword, and swept it horizontally. As though he had known the future, it landed on the middle-aged man's right fist. The arbitrator's expression flickered with surprise before he stumbled backward. The sleeve on his right arm burst directly into shreds that fluttered down like butterflies. He cried out in shock:
"Who?!"
"I just haven't seen such an interesting little fellow in a long time. I felt like playing around. Heh heh, you needn't mind me."
The newcomer flicked up the hem of his robe. He was an exceedingly dashing and unrestrained middle-aged man. He casually waved at the referee before smiling at Wang Anfeng.
"Quite a mouth for someone so young. How about it? I was down there too. Tell me, can I fight you?"
"Of course, I'll temporarily seal my Internal force, and we'll limit it to ten moves. How does that sound?"
Wang Anfeng exhaled a breath of stale air. The fear in his heart slowly vanished, transforming into composure and excitement. He slowly cupped his fists.
"Shaolin, Wang Anfeng."
The man threw back his head and laughed.
"Hahaha! You've got guts, you've got guts! I'm Xu Ziyang, the Dragon General of Wangxian County!"
"Watch my sword!"
Amid Xu Ziyang's exhilarated, hearty laughter, he tapped several acupoints on his body with two fingers, sealing his Internal force. The wooden sword trembled slightly in his hand, and his swordplay unfolded at once. His purer True Qi, accompanied by light yet fierce sword movements, transformed directly into a field of cold radiance that shot toward Wang Anfeng. In the space of a breath, it had already appeared before him. He seemed completely unable to react, drawing a burst of alarmed cries.
The arbitrator's face turned livid. He raised all the power in his body, waiting to rush in and rescue Wang Anfeng the moment something went wrong.
Like now.
But just as the arbitrator took a step with his right foot, Wang Anfeng, who still appeared somewhat dazed, suddenly retreated. His speed surpassed the wooden sword by a fraction. For a moment, one person retreated violently across the arena while the other charged forward. The sword's edge hung suspended in the air, unable to advance even an inch and unwilling to retreat by a hair.
The white robe and ink-blue hem tangled together like white clouds drifting across the heavens. There was no solemn murderousness to it, but rather a hint of poetic beauty. Just as he was about to fall from the arena, Wang Anfeng exerted force through his waist, spun his body, and slammed his fist into the wooden sword that had lost its momentum, producing a light clang.
A sharp radiance appeared in the youth's dark pupils.
Buzz, buzz, buzz~
Force coursed through his five fingers as they hooked onto the long sword, producing a crisp sword chime. The surrounding youths could not help widening their eyes, but before they could voice their alarm, Wang Anfeng's left hand had already transformed into a palm and struck the sword. Before its edge could rotate, he knocked the wooden sword several inches aside.
At the same time, his body turned, and his right elbow slammed toward Xu Ziyang's waist and abdomen with the momentum of the spin. Its sharp, fierce power far surpassed his earlier attacks, and its speed was astonishing. Xu Ziyang's heart lurched as the figure had already appeared before him.
Startled, he transformed the force in his body into a roaring, wandering dragon that surged into the long sword. The sword followed his body as he turned it, guarding himself. His Internal force was, after all, far purer than Wang Anfeng's. Moreover, to preserve his dignity, he was now exerting himself at "full strength." The long sword narrowly traced a flawless defensive arc just as the fist descended. He could not help letting out a sigh of relief, but at that moment, a pale hand suddenly appeared, casting a deep shadow across his eyes.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Several light smacks rang out, followed by piercing pain at multiple acupoints. His sealed Internal force could no longer protect his body, and his hand loosened involuntarily. In the next instant, the long sword in his grasp had changed hands.
Xu Ziyang was anxious, but he did not lose his composure. Steadying himself, he crossed both palms, preparing to use the Cloud-Ink Palm Technique. But at that moment, a large foot had already kicked violently into his shoulder. The force was so great that even he staggered and lost his balance.
Immediately afterward, legs like a violent storm enveloped his body. There was no technique or pattern to them whatsoever. Crude and savage, they were nonetheless as rapid and forceful as rain striking banana leaves. Under everyone's watchful eyes, Xu Ziyang was forced backward step by step. The frenzied barrage of kicks ended with a fierce whip kick. Xu Ziyang finally managed to catch his breath and had only just raised his head when a shadow descended over him—
Several meters above the ground, the youth in ink-blue battle clothes took advantage of the momentum to leap up. His left hand clenched into a fist, while his right palm held the wooden sword upside down. At the apex of his leap, the youth's body paused slightly, then he spun and hacked downward.
A wave of air erupted, kicking up dust across the ground. An ink-colored dragon surged into the heavens, raising its head and roaring in fury until the mountains all around echoed.
Wang Anfeng staggered as he landed. Under the vast surge of True Qi, the wooden sword in his hand crumbled into powder. Enduring the soreness throughout his body, he nevertheless kept his face calm and peaceful as he gave Xu Ziyang, who had released his seal and now stood with the fierce bearing of a divine general descending to earth, a slight bow.
"You let me win."
He shifted his footing slightly, his gaze falling upon the many Young Heroes. Wang Anfeng raised his cupped fists and once more bowed to everyone below the stage.
"Wang Anfeng of Shaolin."
"Please grant me a defeat."
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