Intense Battle

Deng Qing lowered his head and ate his noodles. "Song Que is at the Skin Tempering Fourth Layer, while I'm only at the Third Layer. I'm no match for him."

"Don't try to fob me off with that."

Fan Sheng lowered his voice. "There is indeed a gap between the Skin Tempering Third and Fourth Layers, but it's not as if you've never defeated someone at a higher realm. Song Que may be formidable, but you can't possibly lack even the courage to take the field and try.

"Master may not have said anything aloud, but he might well have formed an opinion. A martial artist can lose, but he can't lack courage."

Deng Qing said, "I didn't think it through at the time. I regret it quite a bit now."

He couldn't tell Fan Sheng what he had been planning, so he could only make up an excuse.

Fan Sheng let out a long sigh. "What a pity. What a wonderful opportunity. I just wonder what Master will think. You had practically been guaranteed a chance to enter the sect."

Deng Qing sighed along with him, but felt no worry in his heart.

If Master Li decided that he was timid and incapable merely because he had refused an uneven contest born of wounded pride, and removed him from consideration for Initiation, then Master Li could hardly be called a wise teacher.

In that case, he would simply find an opportunity to withdraw.

Of course, he would never forget Master Li's kindness in feeding him. He would repay him when the opportunity arose.

Thinking of Li Dashan, Deng Qing asked casually, "Senior Brother, you've followed Master for so many years. How much do you know about him?"

Fan Sheng froze. "Why are you suddenly asking about that?"

Deng Qing said, "I haven't been in the hall for long, and Master is often away from Celebration Hall. I really don't know much about him."

Fan Sheng lifted a chopstickful of noodles and ate as he spoke. "Master has indeed spent very little time in the hall these past years.

"However, he is extremely strict in disciplining the disciples here.

"If a disciple of the hall is merely lacking in martial skill, he won't blame him too harshly. But if someone relies on having learned a little ability to bully the good and honest outside, and Master finds out, he will never let it slide.

"Master may not have the best temper, but he is an upright man. He can't stand seeing the poor and downtrodden suffer."

"You were so hungry back then that you were about to dash your head against the pillar outside Celebration Hall. Wasn't it because Master took pity on you that he kept you?"

Deng Qing nodded, then asked, "I've been in the hall for so long, so how come I've never seen Master's personal disciples? Have you seen them, Senior Brother?"

"Of course. But I've only seen Senior Brother Chen. He was the last personal disciple Master accepted."

Fan Sheng set down his chopsticks, a trace of longing appearing on his face. "Which of those personally accepted by Master didn't become a Bone-Forging Realm expert?

"They're all serving in other places, with bright futures ahead of them."

Deng Qing said, "But during the New Year, I didn't see any of those senior brothers return to kowtow to Master."

Fan Sheng said, "Most Bone-Forging Realm experts have official duties weighing on them. How could they come and go as freely as we do?

"Besides, Master doesn't allow them to rush back specially for such empty formalities."

As Deng Qing and Fan Sheng ate and chatted, Li Dashan's image gradually took shape in Deng Qing's mind: strict in disciplining his disciples, yet not bound by empty formalities; upright, compassionate toward the poor, and merciful toward the weak.

His personal disciples could all hold their own outside instead of merely depending on their sect to get by.

Judging from these things alone, Li Dashan truly seemed like a good master.

Before long, several empty bowls had appeared on the table.

Deng Qing put down his chopsticks, stood up, and went to settle the bill.

Fan Sheng saw a peddler crossing the bridge on the far side, carrying a shoulder pole with brightly colored sugar figurines stuck on it.

His eyes lit up, and he called out, "You go on back first. I'll pick out two sugar figurines for the boy at home."

Deng Qing agreed and left the noodle stall, walking alone along the lakeside toward the post house.

After walking a distance, Deng Qing turned into a secluded alley.

High walls stood on both sides of the alley, which was about a zhang wide. A dim yellow lantern hung at the entrance ahead.

When he reached the middle of the alley, Deng Qing's footsteps suddenly stopped, and he turned around.

At the entrance, Song Que stood in the dim night, holding a long saber, his gaze cold and grim.

Deng Qing said coldly, "Brother Song, blocking my path in the dead of night—could it be that you mean to kill me out of resentment?"

Song Que gripped the saber hilt and slowly advanced. "I'm not so petty as to kill someone over a victory or defeat."

He stopped several zhang from Deng Qing, his gaze settling on the sword at Deng Qing's waist. "I've come looking for you tonight for two reasons.

"First, to defeat you.

"Second, to take back the Blacksteel Soft Sword."

Deng Qing smiled. "It's pitch-black out here, and there isn't even anyone watching. Even if you defeat me, no one else will know. Wouldn't all the hard work you've put in these days go to waste?"

Song Que sneered. "Whether others know or not doesn't matter. As long as I take back the Blacksteel Soft Sword, that's enough."

Deng Qing reached for his waist. "If you'd come to ask for it sooner, perhaps I really would have returned it to you.

"But this sword has been with me for several months, and I've grown more and more accustomed to using it. After being together day and night, we've developed a deep bond. It truly wouldn't be right to give it back to you now."

Song Que drew his saber, its icy blade light illuminating the dark alley. "No matter. If you won't give it to me, I'll beat you until you kneel and offer it to me with both hands."

Deng Qing reached up and brushed a leaf from his shoulder. "Since that's the case, come on."

Deng Qing genuinely didn't want to fight Song Que. He hadn't expected the fellow to chase him all the way here.

If possible, he wanted to kill him and silence him, but this was, after all, the Golden Saber Sect's territory.

Deng Qing's thoughts turned several times before he decided to give the fellow a lesson he would never forget—make him clearly see the disparity between them, and make him tremble whenever he thought of Deng Qing, so he wouldn't come looking for trouble again.

Song Que let out a cold snort, shot into the air, and brought his long saber slashing diagonally down. When the blade had traveled halfway, it suddenly wavered lightly. In an instant, one blade glint became several.

The blade was clearly right in front of Deng Qing, yet phantoms simultaneously appeared on both sides. Reality and illusion intertwined, making it impossible to distinguish truth from falsehood.

In a flash, the narrow alley seemed to be filled to the brim with layers upon layers of saber shadows.

What Song Que had unleashed was precisely the secret technique, Shadow Saber.

Deng Qing swept backward, and with a flash of black light, the Blacksteel Soft Sword had already fallen into his hand.

Clang!

Saber and sword clashed, sparks bursting outward.

The long saber in Song Que's hand suddenly pressed downward. The blade light scattered once more, attacking Deng Qing from several directions at once.

The Blacksteel Soft Sword in Deng Qing's palm alternated between straight and curved, threading through the dense saber shadows.

A string of crisp, closely packed clashes rang out in the alley.

The two figures advanced and retreated by turns, exchanging more than ten blows in the blink of an eye.

Song Que's saber grew faster and faster, its shadows overlapping layer upon layer without end.

Deng Qing's sword also grew faster and faster, like streak after streak of unpredictable black lightning.

As the two clashed, sparks repeatedly burst from the high walls on either side of the narrow alley. Lines of saber and sword marks scarred the walls, while broken stones pattered down.

Song Que stared fixedly at Deng Qing.

He could sense that his Shadow Saber had performed far beyond its usual level.

Yet every time the saber shadows dispersed, Deng Qing remained completely unharmed.

A faint unease rose in Song Que's heart, but there was no longer time to think about it.

He gave a low shout, and the qi and blood within his body surged with a thunderous roar.

His long saber swept upward from below, a streak of cold light shooting straight for Deng Qing's chest.

Deng Qing turned aside to evade it. The Blacksteel Soft Sword slid along the saber's body, its tip silently passing by Song Que's side.

Song Que only felt the night wind brush past his robes and paid it no mind.