Publicly undermined by Xiao Yan, Xiao Yi's face alternated between livid and pale as a nameless fury rushed straight to his head. He had never been particularly even-tempered, and being called a fraud to his face by Xiao Yan now sent him into a rage. He snatched up the Wooden Sword beside the stall, which had served as little more than a prop, and swung at Xiao Yan's head without a second thought. With a light smack, the blade struck Xiao Yan squarely on the corner of his forehead.
Xiao Yan let out a howl of pain and staggered back a step, clutching his forehead as stars danced before his eyes. He glared at Xiao Yi, his eyes beginning to redden.
"You bastard! You actually dared hit me?! It's all your fault! You're the reason that old man Ling Ying is watching Xun'er even more closely! Now we barely get to see each other!"
The more Xiao Yan spoke, the more aggrieved and furious he became, pouring all his resentment toward Ling Ying and his frustration at being unable to see Xun'er onto Xiao Yi.
Xiao Yi froze at his words, then stretched his mouth into an exaggerated grin, as though he had just heard the greatest joke in the world. "Oh? So it's my fault now? Come on, Xiao Yan, take a look at how old you are! You're over thirty, and you spend all day pining after a ten-year-old girl, you pervert! You ought to be locked up and given a proper ideological reeducation!"
Those words stunned not only Xiao Yan but also the watching crowd, which erupted into an uproar as people began looking at Xiao Yan strangely.
"Who... who's over thirty?!" Bewildered by Xiao Yi's sudden "age attack," Xiao Yan felt rage surge through his heart. Without stopping to think, he kicked Xiao Yi's shabby fortune-telling stall. With a crash, the planks, wooden signs, Peachwood Sword, and the few coins Xiao Yi had painstakingly saved scattered across the ground.
At the sight of his overturned "business," Xiao Yi stamped his feet in fury. He pointed at Xiao Yan and shrieked, "You middle-aged Transmigrator pretending to be young! You dared wreck my stall! I'll fight you to the death!"
Xiao Yi knew full well that Xiao Yan had also come from Another World. Judging by his accusations of "feudal superstition," he had most likely received "nine years of compulsory education" too, and might even have attended university. Now Xiao Yi simply decided to poke straight through the paper covering that window!
Coming back to his senses, Xiao Yan grabbed the Wooden Sword Xiao Yi swung at him and snapped it with a forceful twist. With a crack, the ritual implement symbolizing Xiao Yi's status as a "master" broke in two. The two immediately grappled, trading punches and kicks as they rolled across the ground, utterly ignoring the ever-growing crowd and its astonished stares. Dust flew, curses and muffled grunts rang out without pause, and the spectacle proved more colorful than any storytelling performance.
Their fight had long since lost any semblance of technique; they relied entirely on youthful recklessness and anger. Slightly more agile than Xiao Yan, Xiao Yi occasionally landed a sneaky hit, but Xiao Yan's Dou Qi was currently one stage higher, giving him the advantage in strength. A few solid punches left Xiao Yi seeing stars as well. Before long, both had bruised faces and clothes torn into tatters, looking utterly bedraggled.
As they fought, Xiao Yi sprayed spit into Xiao Yan's face and spat out a classic curse from his previous life: "Fuck your mother! You damned pervert! You son of a bitch! Today I'm carrying out heaven's justice and subduing you, you 'otherworldly heavenly demon'!"
The curses made Xiao Yan freeze for a moment before realization struck him. That familiar cadence, that distinctive vocabulary. Instantly abandoning any concern for appearances, he spat back an equally crisp and clearly enunciated string of classic curses: "Fuck your mother! You're the otherworldly heavenly demon! Your whole family is full of otherworldly heavenly demons! You think I don't know? Didn't you come over from there too? Who the hell are you talking about?!"
In the midst of the fight, Xiao Yan grabbed Xiao Yi's hair again. Not to be outdone, Xiao Yi extended his own demonic claws and seized Xiao Yan's hair just as tightly. Back and forth they went, launching a uniquely inventive "hairstyling" contest. Their mouths never stopped either, with slang, obscenities, and wisecracks pouring out like floodwaters through an opened sluice. Their endless vocabulary, rapid delivery, and rich content left the native residents of Wutan City dumbstruck and utterly baffled.
All the onlookers could see were two young masters of the Xiao Clan wrestling in a heap while constantly producing the strangest syllables. Those sounds rose and fell, brimming with emotion-sometimes angry, sometimes contemptuous, and sometimes carrying a hint of mockery-but not a single word made sense to them. They exchanged bewildered looks, unsure whether the two young masters were chanting spells or arguing in some dialect they had never heard before.
"What are they saying? Why can't I understand a single word?" a servant whispered to his companion.
"Who knows? It sounds pretty scary, but it kind of makes me want to laugh too... Look at the Third Young Master's face! He looks ready to eat someone alive!" Another servant shrank back, yet kept his eyes fixed on the fight without blinking, afraid of missing a single exciting moment.
Some busybodies even began speculating that this might be an ancient language lost long ago, or perhaps some special technique that required such peculiar "shouting" to unlock one's potential. For a time, all sorts of far-fetched theories circulated through the crowd, lending this farce between brothers an air of mystery. Xiao Yi and Xiao Yan, meanwhile, were completely immersed in the pleasure of hurling abuse at each other in their mother tongue, utterly oblivious to the confused yet excited looks around them.
The two kept grappling, rolling from one end of the street to the other and then back again, kicking up clouds of dust wherever they went. Nearby vendors hurriedly gathered their belongings, terrified of being caught like fish in a pond struck by disaster. Xiao Yi's and Xiao Yan's topknots had long since come undone, their clothes were torn in several places, and their faces were mottled blue and purple, but the "friendly greetings" flowing from their mouths showed no sign of stopping.
Xiao Yan narrowly dodged Xiao Yi's kick to the groin, while Xiao Yi nearly lost his balance from putting too much force into it. Humiliated and furious, he burst out with, "Fuck your uncle!" Not to be outdone, Xiao Yan seized the chance to pin Xiao Yi beneath him and punch him in the eye socket, retorting, "I bought a watch last year!" They went back and forth, their assorted curses accompanying their punches and kicks in a nonstop crackle like roasting beans, leaving the spectators increasingly convinced that these two young masters of the Xiao Clan were engaged in some mysterious, sophisticated form of "soul communication."
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