The next instant, Song Que changed his saber technique again, and a skyful of saber shadows swallowed Deng Qing whole.
Deng Qing swayed, slipping through the saber shadows once more.
The two crossed paths. Song Que stamped down hard and abruptly halted, while Deng Qing stopped several yards away.
Silence returned to the alley.
Suddenly, a few loose stones tumbled from the wall, clattering against the ground.
Song Que turned with his saber in hand, but Deng Qing had already tucked the Blacksteel Soft Sword back around his waist. "Thank you for the bout."
With that, he paid Song Que no further heed and strode out of the alley.
Song Que stood where he was, his brows tightly knitted.
He instinctively looked down at himself. There were no wounds on his body, and his clothes were perfectly intact.
He looked up at Deng Qing again. Deng Qing was already striding away, likewise showing no sign of injury.
If not for the gouges in the walls, there would have been no proof that a fierce fight had just taken place here.
Song Que's eyes filled with bewilderment. You didn't even win. What the hell are you thanking me for?
Just as Deng Qing vanished at the far end of the alley, hurried footsteps came from the entrance ahead. Several Golden Saber Sect disciples were rushing toward him.
Leading them was Chen Kong, who had also commanded the Golden Saber Sect's side in the battle at Blackwind Ravine.
Seeing that Song Que was unharmed, Chen Kong breathed a sigh of relief. "What did you come running here for? Master was worried sick."
Song Que sheathed his saber. "I came to settle accounts with Deng Qing."
Chen Kong and the others were all startled.
"Did you fight him?"
"I did."
Everyone perked up.
"Who won?"
Song Que hesitated for several seconds. "I don't know."
They exchanged bewildered looks.
Chen Kong frowned. "If you fought, there ought to be a winner and a loser. Was it a draw?"
Song Que's brows drew tighter and tighter. "It was strange. I feel like I won, but I also feel like... he won."
Chen Kong and the others were lost in a fog.
Song Que snorted coldly. "Before that brat left, he even had the cheek to thank me for the bout, as if he'd won."
One Golden Saber Sect disciple asked blankly, "Did he hurt you?"
"No."
"Then did you hurt him?"
Song Que recalled their exchange. "I can't really say.
"I felt every slash land on him. There was no mistaking the sensation through the blade, yet he was completely unharmed. Even his clothes weren't torn. As for his sword..."
Song Que glanced down at himself. "It probably never touched me."
The more Chen Kong heard, the more confused he became. "What kind of fight was that? How could two people finish fighting without even knowing who won?"
Song Que grew irritated. "That's why I said it was strange."
Chen Kong looked around. The alley walls were covered in saber and sword marks; clearly, the two had indeed fought a fierce battle.
Unable to make sense of it either, he waved a hand. "All right, stop dwelling on it. As long as you're unharmed."
Song Que nodded and followed the others out of the alley.
As soon as they emerged, a breeze swept in from the lake, gently billowing Song Que's robes.
Suddenly, a barely perceptible slit slowly appeared at his collar.
Then came a second, a third...
A dense web of slits instantly spread across his robes.
Before Song Que could react, his entire outer robe silently fell apart, turning into countless tiny strips of cloth that the night wind swept into the air.
Before anyone could cry out, the fitted martial outfit underneath split apart inch by inch as well.
His sleeves, his trousers... everything seemed to lose its support at once.
Strands of cloth soared upward, scattering and fluttering in the lake breeze.
In the blink of an eye, Song Que stood stark naked at the alley entrance, without a scrap of covering anywhere on his body.
His skin was perfectly intact, without so much as a tiny bloody scratch.
Everyone from the Golden Saber Sect stared, dumbstruck.
Chen Kong's eyes widened, his mouth hanging slightly open, unable to make a sound.
Song Que looked as though his soul had been stripped from his body, standing utterly motionless.
His face turned deathly pale, then flushed visibly red, the color spreading from his neck all the way to his ears.
"Deng Qing!"
A shrill, anguished howl rang through the long street.
Snapping out of his stupor, Song Que nearly died of shame and fury. He hastily covered himself with both hands, wishing he could find a crack in the ground and crawl into it.
Chen Kong finally recovered too. He hurriedly pulled off his outer robe and fumbled to drape it over Song Que.
Even though no passersby were around, Song Que was so humiliated and furious that he nearly fainted.
Through gritted teeth, he shouted, "Anyone who breathes a word of what happened today will be my sworn enemy until one of us is dead!"
Morning mist still lingered in the courtyard.
Deng Qing stood among several wooden posts, feet apart and knees slightly bent, assuming the stance of the Tiger-Subduing Fist.
The next instant, he stamped his foot hard against the ground.
His waist and hips twisted, his shoulders and back tensed, and a fist thundered out, striking a wooden post squarely.
The post jolted violently, a shallow fist print appearing on its surface. His other fist followed immediately.
Once Deng Qing's fists began moving, he was like a fierce tiger descending the mountain, and dull impacts rang through the courtyard without cease.
Deng Qing advanced and retreated, his footwork steady throughout, while the force of his punches grew ever fiercer.
A moment later, he abruptly drew back his fists and stepped back with his right foot, bowing his body to gather strength. In an instant, all the qi-blood in his body twisted into a single surge.
"Ha!"
Deng Qing drove a heavy punch into the center of the wooden post.
Bang! The entire post shook violently. A spray of splinters burst from its far side, and a cracking sound came from within.
Deng Qing withdrew his fist. With a thought, Clear Radiance appeared.
[Heaven helps those who help themselves, no effort is wasted] [Realm: Skin tempering third layer] [Tiger-Subduing Fist: 78% (Grand mastery)] [Violet Palace Method: 52% (Minor mastery)] [Seven Forms of Settling Solitude: 69% (Grand mastery)]
A hint of a smile appeared on Deng Qing's face as he looked at his Tiger-Subduing Fist progress.
For the past ten days or more, he had practiced his fist technique once each morning and evening, while also circulating the Violet Palace Method and breaking down the Seven Forms of Settling Solitude in between.
Since the Tiger-Subduing Fist had reached grand mastery, his progress had grown slower and slower. Fortunately, it still kept inching forward.
Deng Qing dismissed the display and walked beneath the eaves. On the table sat a large bowl of braised pork, glistening red, with alternating layers of fat and lean meat.
Deng Qing grabbed his chopsticks and began eating in great mouthfuls.
After practicing his fists, the qi-blood throughout his body was active, and his stomach was desperately empty.
A pound of braised pork looked like plenty, but once it entered his stomach, it was as though it had fallen into a bottomless pit.
Before long, only a layer of glossy gravy remained in the bowl.
Counting it up, more than ten days had already passed since his return from Dongting County.
Deng Qing's life had long since settled back into its usual routine.
Every morning, he first practiced in the courtyard, then went to Celebration Hall for breakfast.
At noon and in the evening, besides eating the meals provided by Celebration Hall, he also ate extra nourishing food at home.
The money for this was the sixty taels left over from the hundred Li Cheng had given him last time.
Besides that, every few days Li Cheng sent someone to invite him over to practice swordplay. He would spend the day at the Li Family residence, enjoying hearty portions of meat all day long.
Such days were uneventful but peaceful, and Deng Qing liked them very much.
Each day, all he had to do was practice, eat, then practice again, watching the numbers in Clear Radiance rise little by little like a boat lifted by the swelling tide.
This visible accumulation gave him a sense of security that was difficult to put into words.
He had even stopped dwelling on the prospect of Li Dashan accepting him as an initiate disciple.
Becoming an initiate disciple would naturally be a good thing.
But even if he could not, by training hard and slowly honing the Tiger-Subduing Fist, the Violet Palace Method, and the Seven Forms of Settling Solitude to perfected mastery, he might still forge another path.