Quiet Enough That Only the Wind Could Be Heard

"Junior Brother Song's footwork is truly beautiful."

"Fists, palms, kicks, grappling, footwork—every one of them is first-rate. No wonder he is said to have mastered all eighteen martial arts."

"That kid from Celebration Hall keeps using Tiger-Subduing Fist over and over. Let's see how long he can hold out."

Hearing this, Song Que's lips curved slightly, and his moves became ever more flamboyant.

From the looks of it, Song Que's attacks came in an unbroken stream, his techniques elegant and seamless through every transition, while Deng Qing was forced into the mire of defense.

The discussion on Golden Saber Sect's side grew increasingly relaxed.

"Junior Brother is showing off again. He just loves playing cat and mouse."

"He insists on running through all eighteen of his skills before he is willing to end it."

"That Martial Saint of the gutters can really endure. Even now, he still hasn't fallen."

"..."

Over at Celebration Hall, everyone had already begun to look anxious.

After all, anyone could see that Deng Qing had fallen into a disadvantage. If he lost, all their efforts on this journey would have been in vain.

Only Zhang Yan and a scant few others gradually relaxed their furrowed brows.

To others, Deng Qing appeared to be retreating step by step. But to experts like Zhang Yan, he was like a stone sunk beneath the water. No matter how fierce the wind and waves above, the stone hidden below remained unmoving as a mountain.

Thirty exchanges passed. Then forty. Song Que still could not defeat Deng Qing.

The clamor from Golden Saber Sect faded into murmurs.

"Something's wrong."

"What's wrong?"

"Why hasn't Junior Brother Song won yet?"

"Look, is Junior Brother Song sweating?"

Sure enough, a thin layer of sweat had already seeped across Song Que's forehead.

In truth, Song Que had noticed long ago that something was off. He discovered that Deng Qing kept circling through the same few moves of Tiger-Subduing Fist.

Yet Deng Qing's Tiger-Subduing Fist was bizarre to the extreme, always catching Song Que exactly where it hurt most.

The longer Song Que fought, the more irritated he became. What the hell is wrong with this bastard? I've never heard of anyone training a lousy Tiger-Subduing Fist to this level.

At the same time, Deng Qing had also sounded out Song Que's true measure and realized that, with his mastery-level Tiger-Subduing Fist, he could already handle the current situation with ease.

Thus, Deng Qing continued to advance steadily and fight securely, never rashly pressing forward. He continued to be a friend of time.

At last, Song Que could no longer endure it. He changed his move, seeming to reach again for Deng Qing's wrist, but his feet suddenly darted half a step forward. Just as Deng Qing turned aside, an extremely faint click of a mechanism sounded from Song Que's sleeve.

A small sleeve arrow shot from within his sleeve. With a clang, it struck Deng Qing squarely in the chest, but it only pierced his outer garment before being bounced away by his leather armor.

In an instant, the entire crowd erupted.

"Despicable!"

"You agreed to a duel, and you fucking used hidden weapons?"

"Is this all Golden Saber Sect is capable of?"

The curses nearly soared into the heavens. Golden Saber Sect offered only sparse rebuttals; even as enemies, they still had some sense of shame.

Of course, some still argued forcefully for Song Que. "A sleeve arrow is a weapon too. No one said it wasn't allowed before."

Deng Qing secretly felt a lingering chill of fear. Fortunately, he had prepared beforehand. At the same time, he resolved that in the future, he must remember to guard against enemies using underhanded tricks.

Song Que's eyes had already gone red from fighting. He paid no heed to any of this.

He slapped a hand against his waist, and his belt came free.

With a flick of his wrist, Song Que's belt snapped open and transformed into a long, slender soft sword. Its blade was black as iron and gleamed with a cold light.

As the mountain wind blew, the blade trembled slightly, like a venomous snake come alive.

"Blacksteel Soft Sword?"

"The Sect Master actually gave this treasured sword to Junior Brother Song?"

"This sword can be soft or hard, wrap around wrists and slice throats. It is the bane of fists and kicks. Junior Brother Deng, be careful!"

Amid the shouts, Song Que flicked his soft sword and charged at Deng Qing. As the soft sword moved, it resembled a venomous snake flicking its tongue.

At times, it straightened taut and stabbed for his throat. At other times, it suddenly bent and curled toward Deng Qing's wrist.

Facing such a weapon for the first time, Deng Qing quickly fell into a disadvantage.

Empty-handed, he found it difficult to close in. Several times he tried to rush forward, only to be forced back by the unpredictable, ghostlike edge of the soft sword.

Suddenly, the blade grazed his sleeve and instantly sliced a tear through it.

Song Que pressed his advantage without mercy, the soft sword curling around Deng Qing's wrist, nearly entangling his hand.

Deng Qing knew he could retreat no farther. With a muffled grunt, he struck straight for Song Que's face. He had judged it clearly: even if his palm was cut, he would still smash Song Que's face into full bloom.

Song Que could see that Deng Qing was using a mutually destructive style. In the end, he was unwilling to trade injury for injury, and with a spring of his body, he retreated a step.

The duel's intensity suddenly rose by an entire level, and the discussions throughout the crowd surged into a deafening uproar.

"Junior Brother Song is serious now!"

"That man is risking his life too!"

"So what if he is? The Blacksteel Soft Sword is extraordinarily sharp. What can he use to block it with those bare palms?"

Wang Wei could not help cursing under his breath, "He used hidden weapons, and now he's using a soft sword. He truly has no shame."

Fan Sheng looked tense. After all, he had been the one to urge Deng Qing into the arena. If Deng Qing was defeated and injured, he would feel somewhat sorry toward him.

But likewise, he knew Deng Qing still had a trump card. If used well, this might not necessarily be a hopeless battle.

Sure enough, when Song Que retreated, Deng Qing seized the opening. With a spring, he violently withdrew more than a zhang away.

Song Que snorted coldly and closed in again. Just as the soft sword stabbed toward him, a mass of black light suddenly appeared in Deng Qing's palm.

Unnoticed by anyone, Deng Qing had already put the Silver Crow Handwraps on his hands.

"So what if you have the Silver Crow Handwraps? Take my sword!"

Song Que thrust his sword straight ahead. With both palms now protected, Deng Qing's mind settled completely.

Earlier, he had been unable to deal with the soft sword not because his martial arts were lacking, but because bare flesh could not withstand its blade. Now that the Silver Crow Handwraps were ready, he feared it no longer.

Deng Qing flipped his palm and pressed it against the flat of the blade. The edge scraped over the Silver Crow Handwraps, letting out a piercing screech of friction.

Deng Qing's palm was numbed by the impact, but his mind grew even steadier.

Song Que's expression changed dramatically, and he immediately tried to pull back his sword and retreat. But how could Deng Qing give him another chance? One hand gripped the sword, while the other seized Song Que's sword-wielding wrist, his five fingers clamping down like iron pincers.

A sharp pain shot through Song Que's wrist. His fingers loosened involuntarily, and the Blacksteel Soft Sword slipped from his grasp into Deng Qing's hand.

Song Que's eyes were full of disbelief. Even in his shock, he still tried to counterattack, but Deng Qing's five fingers formed a claw and swept fiercely toward him.

In that instant, Song Que's soul nearly fled his body. His face turned deathly pale, and he could not help closing his eyes.

But the agonizing pain he expected never came. When he opened his eyes, Deng Qing's clawed hand was suspended mere inches from his throat.

Advance another half inch, and it would have become Hungry Tiger Locks the Throat, a lethal killing move.

Song Que stood frozen in place, as if his soul had left him.

Suddenly, Deng Qing withdrew his hand, stepped half a pace back, and cupped his fists. "You let me win."

As he spoke, he handed the sword back.

Song Que's face flushed crimson. He glared at Deng Qing. "What are you putting on an act for? Just you wait. One day, I'll personally take it back. Keep it safe for me!"

With that, he turned and sprinted toward the other end of the mountain path.

Golden Saber Sect's camp fell completely silent. Chen Kong's face was white as paper. He stared deeply at Deng Qing, wanting to reclaim the soft sword, yet unable to open his mouth.

After all, by the rules of the martial world, the soft sword had become Deng Qing's spoils of battle. Even Song Que had been too embarrassed to ask for it back.

Before the eyes of the entire crowd, Chen Kong truly had no face to demand it.

Chen Kong drew a deep breath and cupped his fists toward Zhang Yan. "Brother Zhang, you won. But this is not over. Golden Saber Sect will remember what happened today. We will meet again."

After saying this, he swung himself onto his horse. With a shouted command, the Golden Saber Sect members immediately gathered their formation and howled down the mountain path in retreat.

No one on Celebration Hall's side cheered. Many had yet to recover from the battle and could only watch Golden Saber Sect vanish into the distance.

For a time, the mountain path was quiet enough that only the wind could be heard.