Martial Virtue

The alley was dark. A coal-black cat stopped in its tracks, pricked up its ears at the sounds from the courtyard, then gracefully leaped onto the wall to watch the commotion.

"With just a slight test, your lowly nature is exposed."

Yang Qingshan's face twisted with fury as he roared, "Wang Chan was right—scum like you deserves to die!"

"Heh... you've lost your mind!"

Chen Xuan's expression was as dark as water, a bloody scent seeping from his throat.

"Come!"

Before the word faded, Chen Xuan clenched his teeth, his form shooting forward like a black thunderbolt, loose hair whipping wildly behind him as the cold wind howled like a dragon's roar.

In an instant, two figures who had both stepped into the hall of martial arts crashed together.

The Yang Family Martial Hall trained in hard fists—fierce, unmatched, and overbearing.

"Bam bam bam!"

Their explosive fists and feet collided dozens of times in the air like a string of firecrackers, each impact ringing out like a Bronze Bell and Great Chime.

Chen Xuan was young, his blood hot, his punches faster. Seizing a momentary pause from Master Yang, he drove a fierce hard punch through the defense, straight for Master Yang's face.

A flaw...

No!

He wasn't that old yet!

Chen Xuan's heart jolted, cold sweat instantly beading down his spine. His motion shifted from extreme speed to absolute stillness, fist retracting as he leaped back like an agile Immortal Crane.

'Too late!'

Master Yang's hand coiled up like a python, locking onto Chen Xuan's wrist, then drove a brutal knee strike upward. If it landed, death or crippling was certain.

'Your fist—I taught it to you!'

Where the punch would go, when it would come—he knew it all!

Chen Xuan had no choice but to force his left arm into a block. Instantly, his entire arm and chest went numb and sore, as if splitting apart.

"Come!"

Chen Xuan's brows knitted tight, true fury igniting. Instead of retreating, he pressed forward mid-air, fingers gripping and locking onto Master Yang's wrist, yanking his body up, then slamming down a clean, ruthless headbutt.

"Clang!"

Yang Qingshan saw stars, his face drenched in blood, nose bridge broken, a muffled groan escaping his throat.

"Bam bam bam!"

The next moment, Chen Xuan's flawlessly precise fist seals rained down from all directions, impossibly fast. Yang Qingshan's vision was a blur of red; the punches came from every angle, too quick, dissolving into countless phantom images. He could guess every move, but he couldn't keep up!

Panic surged in Yang Qingshan's heart. He barely blocked a few strikes, then stumbled back, hands trembling.

"Youth beats age in boxing. Your Yang Family Fist has surpassed the master..."

"You taught well, Master Yang."

Chen Xuan let out a cold laugh, not pressing the attack. They stood several zhang apart, each quickly steadying their ragged breaths.

This was a mutual probe—a touch-and-retreat, yet brutally fierce. Both had taken serious damage. If either had faced an ordinary martial artist in such a high-level exchange, they'd have died ten times over.

Suddenly, snowflakes began to fall from the sky.

It was snowing.

Yang Qingshan licked a bloodstained tooth, spat it out, and suddenly said:

"But I still have an Ancient Fist Art you never learned."

He sank slightly, then struck a stance Chen Xuan—and every other disciple in the hall—had never seen. It was simple, unadorned, yet brimming with oppressive force.

This set of fists was called the Mountain Suppression Fist.

He had never taught it to anyone. It was designed specifically to counter every other fist art taught at the Yang Family Martial Hall—his deliberately hidden killing move!

"Chen Xuan, you can't withstand this Mountain Suppression Fist..."

Sparse snowflakes drifted down through the air, the cold wind cutting like blades.

"Heh..."

Chen Xuan glanced at the seamless stance, then looked up as icy snowflakes landed on his face. His eyes flickered with a momentary daze. He tilted his head and suddenly smiled:

"I vaguely remember, three years ago, there was a snow just like this... Master Yang, I don't know what happened. But if you're willing to ask me, I should be able to explain."

"What's this? You're scared... afraid you'll die under this fist!"

Yang Qingshan roared, a hint of mockery flashing in his eyes.

This disciple—he had misjudged him after all. Too soft-boned. He'd even thought of marrying his youngest daughter to him. He'd nearly made a terrible mistake.

Thankfully, his other good disciple, Wang Chan, had opened his eyes and set him back on the right path!

Chen Xuan paid no heed to the ridicule, asking seriously instead:

"Master Yang, have you truly considered—what if, just one chance in ten thousand, you lose tonight? What will you do... and what do you want me to do?"

"Ridiculous!"

Yang Qingshan sneered, exuding the intense confidence of a Great Figure who had long dwelled in the upper echelons. "Twenty years ago, I was already the top martial arts expert suppressing Willow Town!"

"Alright, I understand."

Chen Xuan received the old man's final reply, then slowly nodded. He took a deep breath and once again assumed the basic fist form that all his fellow disciples had learned.

"From now on, you won't be anymore."

"Boom!"

Wind and snow raged wildly. Two domineering figures instantly surged their auras to their peaks and launched themselves into the air. This was a battle between the two strongest martial artists of Willow Town, so fierce it surpassed everyone's imagination.

"Bang! Bang!"

The stone bricks on the ground were shattered by a casual whip kick. The weapon rack beside them collapsed on contact amid their clash. The courtyard walls fell in sections, dust and smoke billowing everywhere...

The martial hall disciples fled in terror, their faces pale. If they were caught in the crossfire, death or injury was certain. That little Junior Sister Yang was sobbing as she ran, clutching her head and scurrying about.

This level of martial artist combat was far too high for them. They couldn't even intervene—getting close was fraught with danger. Everyone's heart was filled with boundless awe at the formidable strength Chen Xuan and Yang Qingshan were displaying in that moment.

"Master Yang's fist technique has no flaws."

"It's specifically designed to counter the Yang-style fist forms we learned... Senior Brother Chen is in trouble." A disciple with decent martial skill saw through the situation.

"Senior Brother Chen hasn't betrayed the sect! Father, don't force him! Stop!"

"..."

The group of fellow disciples hastily fled to a distance, watching the two figures fighting in the corner of the courtyard. They could vaguely see that the younger figure was quickly falling into a disadvantage, taking several punches and barely escaping danger.

"Crash!"

Yang Qingshan's elbow strike blasted a large hole in the courtyard wall, bricks and stones flying everywhere. The black cat on the wall yowled and leaped away.

Chen Xuan retreated again and again, finally cornered into the shadows by the wall.

Yang Qingshan said, "This trump card, the Mountain Suppression Fist, was originally meant to be passed down to you. But your talent is too high... I hesitated. I felt some fear."

"Heh, fear..."

Chen Xuan sighed softly, rubbing his numb fists.

In truth, after several consecutive exchanges, he had already seen through seventy or eighty percent of the essence of this technique called the Mountain Suppression Fist.

In fact, he was now confident enough to execute a fairly convincing version of the Mountain Suppression Fist himself.

But at this point, that no longer mattered.

"Swish!"

In that moment, Chen Xuan's wrist flicked lightly. A glimmer like a grain of rice flashed across his fist seal, and he lunged forward from the corner on his own initiative.

"Master Yang, martial arts is a killing technique."

His fist foundation remained similar to before—moves that Master Yang could predict and fully counter.

"..."

Yang Qingshan sighed inwardly. Even he couldn't string together such standard, practiced moves in a fight... Such talent was truly a pity, but today it would be crippled here.

A cold, sharp gleam suddenly flickered in the night.

Like a snowflake falling through the air, reflecting the moonlight.

At first, Yang Qingshan paid it no mind. He roared, charging forward with the killing intent of a fierce lion or tiger, clenching his fist to meet the attack.

"Pfft!"

The first punch—a strange coolness brushed across his fist.

The second punch—a sudden sting on the side of his raised leg, as if something hot and red was flowing out.

Then came the third punch, the fourth...

"Pfft! Pfft!"

A gleaming sharpness swept past Yang Qingshan's eyes. Red liquid trickled down his forehead, then his chest, his abdomen, his shoulders, even his throat—something salty and bloody was seeping out...

Chen Xuan's expression remained calm, his punches steady and powerful, like an unshakable, towering mountain pressing forward.

The fist seal bore a metallic sheen, carving crescent-like arcs through the wind and snow.

"Pfft!"

In that instant, Yang Qingshan's eyes filled with terror. His strength drained from every part of his body, and a bone-chilling cold surged from the depths of his heart to the top of his skull. This was bad!

Flee!

In truth.

From the second clash, Yang Qingshan had sensed something wrong. He immediately tried to block.

It was useless.

Instead, a segment of his little finger, severed during the exchange with Chen Xuan, flew off trailing a black line of blood.

It was a sharpness that human flesh and blood could not resist.

Sharp weapon.

"Boom!"

Yang Qingshan was terrified to the point his soul nearly scattered, his entire body already stained with blood. He shielded his vitals with both hands, retreating with all his strength, lunging forward to scatter a weapon rack, but was immediately seized by the head and dragged back without mercy.

That enormous shadow, as if impossible to dodge, came devouring heaven and earth!

"Thud thud thud!"

Chen Xuan continued to swing his fists, each punch leaving trails of black lines across Yang Qingshan's back, blood rain splattering like ink blooming.

The old martial artist's struggling movements came to a halt.

Dead silence.

After a brief pause, the girl's heart-wrenching, agonizing wails erupted within the martial hall.

Willow Town was not large, with only one main street.

Pei's Tavern was the town's sole inn, opened by the old martial artist Pei Qing, who had come to challenge the hall today.

Long ago, when he felt he could no longer advance on the martial path, he used some less-than-honorable means to take over this tavern.

"As long as that old monster Yang Qingshan is in Willow Town, I'll never make a name for myself in martial arts," Pei Qing used to complain to his drinking friends.

But today, he changed his tune: "Three years, no, just two, and a higher peak named Chen Xuan will rise!"

In the first-floor hall.

Pei Qing, one arm in a sling across his chest, was clinking glasses with a group of drinking buddies, his face flushed red as he shouted:

"You don't practice martial arts, you wouldn't understand... Once you do, you'll look up and see him like the sun and moon hanging in the sky, and you'll feel despair..."

As he spoke, there was a complex emotion in his heart, hard to articulate.

It wasn't resentment, more like appreciation, even faint anticipation—the kind of strange feeling ordinary people get when they see a true genius.

This path is fraught with hardship; I can't walk it anymore, but you can...

"Heh, Old Pei won't admit he's past his prime, putting on airs, actually praising some unknown young man."

The friends at the table refused to believe it, bursting into laughter.

Who was Yang Qingshan?

The universally recognized top expert, dominating Willow Town for twenty or thirty years.

How could he be defeated by some greenhorn in two or three years?

It wasn't realistic.

The crowd teased Pei Qing until his face turned ashen, but soon, with the arrival of a new table of patrons, the atmosphere grew strange.

It was about the earth-shattering event that had occurred earlier at the Yang Family Martial Hall. Since Willow Town was small, the news spread quickly.

"Yang Qingshan... might be dead..."

Pei Qing and his friends exchanged glances, the mood heavy. Pei Qing instinctively gulped down several mouthfuls of wine, finding it tasteless: "Using a sharp weapon, the young man lacks martial virtue."

"There's something fishy about this. The Green Deer Mountain people are pulling the strings behind the scenes."

One of his drinking buddies cautiously pointed at the ceiling of the second floor, lowering his voice: "Master Yang went upstairs to drink earlier, and rumor has it..."

"Shut up!"

Pei Qing's face changed drastically, and he immediately barked sternly: "Do you want to die too? Those people's affairs have nothing to do with us. Keep drinking your wine!"

Green Deer Mountain...

A bunch of Qi cultivators.

It could only be blamed on Chen Xuan's ill-fated destiny, his bad luck... Provoking Green Deer Mountain would lead to no good end.

At some point.

Pei Qing drank his wine in silence, turning his head to look out the window at the growing blizzard. The road was covered in a layer of frost, with not a single pedestrian in sight.

"The snow is heavy... Where can he run to?"

His gaze suddenly froze.

The snow fell like woven silk.

A figure appeared on the empty street, silently pacing in the snowy night. He was scrutinizing the tavern from top to bottom, reminding Pei Qing of a demon lurking in the darkness of the deep mountains, waiting to devour its prey.

He had come here.

How dare he come!

He had actually sought this place out on his own!!!

"Swish!"

The figure of the young man—gaunt in frame but not frail—turned his head this way, his gaze locking on instantly.

Cold.

Like a block of ice, devoid of any other emotion.

Pei Qing shuddered, terror gripping his heart. He instinctively lowered his head, pretending to pick up a slice of beef with his chopsticks, but his entire arm was already trembling uncontrollably.

He's here.

He killed Yang Qingshan, and instead of fleeing, he's come looking for those Qi Refiners from Green Deer Mountain on his own.

A terrifying thought immediately took root in Pei Qing's mind... this young man named Chen Xuan, with no way out, was truly capable of anything!

Young man, do you have to be this fierce?!

Pei Qing mechanically chewed the thin slice of beef. Only after a long while did he dare to sneak another glance out the window... The street was empty. That figure had disappeared.

But the next moment.

"Whoosh!"

The tavern door was shoved open, wind and snow sweeping through the hall.

A tall, upright figure, his clothes stained with traces of blood, stepped in, covered in frost and snow.

Everyone's eyes snapped toward him.

That expressionless figure carried not a trace of killing intent, yet was as cold as piercing ice. He walked straight to the stairway and headed directly to the second floor.

A few breaths later.

"Wang Chan—"

A low, forceful voice rang out from the second floor, echoing through the entire tavern.