Even in his drunken stupor, Hu Chaohui still retained the instincts of a Spirit Communion Martial Grandmaster. Faced with the fist suddenly hurtling toward him, he jerked his water pipe upward, swinging its bowl like a heavy hammer to block the fist shrouded in darkness.
At the same time, he slid down from his half-reclining position on the bed, using the momentum to snap his right leg taut and kick out with a crack.
Yet both his pipe bowl and his right leg struck empty air. That fist looked close, but it was actually a full ten feet away, still advancing toward him.
In his haste, Hu Chaohui had misjudged the distance between them, as though an illusion had deceived him.
When his right foot hit nothing, his heart tightened. He threw strength into his back and waist, forcibly rolling toward the left side of the bed and abandoning his water pipe.
The fist shrouded in darkness switched from a straight punch to a downward blow, as though beating a drum.
It followed hard on his heels, denying Hu Chaohui even a moment to catch his breath.
Hu Chaohui had barely rolled upright when he saw that fist descending, silent and soundless, with terror hidden within it.
He hastily tightened his waist and abdomen, springing upward as he swung his right fist and roared a single word:
"Retreat!"
In an instant, the world within the room surged and seethed, turning into a nearly tangible gale that followed Hu Chaohui's fist toward the attacker, intent on driving him backward. Yet the fierce, savage gale had barely touched the fist shrouded in darkness before it collapsed inward and vanished without a trace, like a hundred rivers returning to the sea, unable to raise so much as a ripple.
Thud!
Hu Chaohui's fist