Wang Chong had a thoroughly miserable night, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. With no other choice, he got up, sat cross-legged in meditation, and refined Qi all night.
As the sky began to brighten faintly, he slipped out of the inn. Seeing that neither the Flying Tiger Escort Agency nor the women of Qingcheng had risen, he quietly settled his bill, passed through the town, and sprinted at full speed using his lightness skill for just under an hour. Sure enough, he dimly made out an isolated roadside inn.
He had asked the inn's waiter yesterday and learned that there was such an inn seventy li ahead. For ordinary people, seventy li was already a full day's journey, but for a master of lightness skill, it was no more than a fleeting gust of wind.
He had eaten only one meal yesterday and had risen early to travel, so his stomach already felt very empty. Entering the inn, he asked, "Do you have any food and wine ready?"
Before he heard the innkeeper's reply, a dozen or so rough-looking martial men came swarming out. A sallow-faced man shouted, "Are you the lecherous criminal White Chrysanthemum?"
Wang Chong jumped and hurriedly cried, "No, no! I'm a scholar."
A dark-faced man beside him shouted, "How would a scholar know martial arts? It must be that lecher White Chrysanthemum in disguise, trying to slip past us! Let's seize the lecher first, then torture a confession out of him. He won't have a choice but to confess."
Wang Chong wanted to explain, but how could these men be willing to listen?
At once, two men who looked seventy or eighty percent alike, evidently brothers of the same surname, charged forward, each gripping a pair of iron plaques in his hands. Without a word, they moved to attack.
Wang Chong really was a scholar. Before transmigrating, he had graduated with a proper engineering degree from a Project 985 university. But now he truly found himself living out the saying, "When a scholar meets a soldier, even reason cannot make itself heard." This was far harder to deal with than meeting a contrarian on social media: these martial men really did attack. Helpless, he still dared not use a weapon, afraid of confirming his identity as the lecher. Unless he could kill every one of them to silence them, there would only be more trouble. Hastily drawing on the internal power he had acquired along with his transmigration, he employed the Hundred Styles of Wind and Cloud, pulling and guiding to divert the brothers' iron plaques. He never expected that Wind and Cloud Emerge in a Thousand Transformations, one of the three extraordinary moves of the Hundred Styles of Wind and Cloud, would prove so marvelous. As the brothers thrust out their iron plaques, his surging internal force deflected them, changing their directions and sending them toward their own kin. The slightly older man's iron plaques on the left smashed into his younger brother's chest and lower abdomen, while the slightly younger man's iron plaques on the right smashed into his older brother's shoulder and forehead. With two dull thuds, both died on the spot.
Before Wang Chong even had time to feel pleasantly surprised-he truly had no experience fighting and had acted entirely on instinct-his stomach churned, and he began to retch.
These martial men all knew that the Hao brothers possessed fierce, powerful external martial arts, and that the pair of iron plaques in each man's hands was a consummate skill passed down through their family. They had roamed north and south of the great river for decades, joined forces to defeat dozens of formidable foes, and were notorious tough customers. Yet to their astonishment, this refined-looking young man had killed both brothers in a single move. His execution had been so extraordinarily ingenious that many of them could not even understand what had happened.
Before they had time to feel horrified, they saw Wang Chong vomiting violently. Their eyes lit up, and they thought, So he's a greenhorn? He's never killed anyone. At this point, who was still thinking about whether this young man was White Chrysanthemum? White Chrysanthemum had a fearsome reputation; how could he never have killed anyone? They all swarmed forward, raising every sort of weapon. Clearly, people of the martial world never observed the martial world's rules. Single combat, with no one else allowed to interfere, was all nonsense made up by novelists. Charging together and killing the enemy was the true style of the martial world.
Wang Chong truly had not expected his body to react so strongly to killing someone.
After all, not long ago he had still been a law-abiding urban professional who had never even slaughtered a chicken. How could he have dared imagine that one day he would kill someone with his own hands, and by such brutal means at that? And score a double kill? He had not known his own mind could be so wretched and weak. Now, no one gave him any time to recover. Watching a dozen or so martial men charge at him, every face savage, he could not help feeling a little afraid, even though he had just killed two men with his first move. He immediately wheeled around, and with a sway of his body, he was dozens of meters away. Using his lightness skill, he fled at speed.
He sprinted with all his strength, wind roaring in his ears. His speed was so great that even he was pleasantly surprised. Looking back, he saw that no one could catch up. He had only just begun to feel secretly pleased when he saw the martial men draw all manner of hidden weapons from inside their clothes and send them flying with flicks of their hands. Flying locust stones, iron lotus seeds, throwing knives, throwing darts, sleeve arrows, iron melons-the varieties were endless, filling the sky. Wang Chong groaned inwardly, thinking, This martial world is far too dangerous.
They didn't even check whether I really was White Chrysanthemum before attacking at random to kill me.
What if they killed the wrong person...
Ah, they must kill the wrong people all the time. They're probably used to it.
Wang Chong changed his footwork repeatedly. He knew very well that at this distance, even a crack shot might not hit him, and these martial men's hidden weapons were probably less accurate still. Sure enough, as he dodged with all his might, the incoming weapons missed one after another. His lightness skill was far superior to theirs, and in moments he widened the distance until their hidden weapons could no longer reach him.
As he put on a burst of speed, a powerful gust suddenly struck his face. It was fearsomely strong, carrying the might of wind and thunder, like a thunderclap bursting overhead. It immediately made breathing difficult. Someone had actually struck down at him from above with a palm.
Judging by the sound of the palm strike, the attacker was truly a formidable master. Appalled, Wang Chong dared not meet the palm with his own. A folding fan flew from his sleeve, and he clashed head-on with the man for one exchange.
The attacker was appalled and thought, This man's internal power is orthodox Wudang Daoist power, gentle and harmonious. He absolutely cannot be White Chrysanthemum.
Wang Chong was likewise shocked and frightened, thinking, What formidable palm power this man has.
The man who had stopped Wang Chong was a graceful young Daoist, none other than Fang Jingru, acclaimed as the foremost master of the Celestial Master Sect's seventeenth generation. Hearing those martial men shouting to seize White Chrysanthemum, he had attacked without hesitation. But after exchanging one move, he knew that this man absolutely could not be that lecher. He hurriedly called out, "Which fellow Daoist of the Wudang Sect is here?"
"I am Fang Jingru of the Celestial Master Sect's seventeenth generation. I mistook you for White Chrysanthemum, fellow Daoist, and so struck to stop you."
Wang Chong was so moved he wanted to cry. At last, someone was willing to listen to reason, rather than try to beat and kill him without distinguishing black from white. The problem was, he really was not certain whether he was White Chrysanthemum. With his heart bobbing up and down in anxious uncertainty, he answered, "I am Wang Chong!"
That brief delay was enough for the dozen or so martial men to catch up.
Fang Jingru turned and stood in front of Wang Chong, shouting, "Fellow members of the martial world, this fellow Daoist is not White Chrysanthemum. Do not mistake him for someone else."
The martial men showed no courtesy, flicking their hands and unleashing a barrage of hidden weapons. Fang Jingru was far more experienced than Wang Chong. A folding fan likewise flew from his sleeve, and with a sweep through the air, he knocked the weapons to the ground one after another, shouting, "This is the Celestial Masters Mansion Wind-Thunder Fan Divine Skill. It absolutely cannot be counterfeited. You need have no doubts."
Seeing that this young Daoist seemed extraordinarily skilled in martial arts, the martial men had no intention of arguing. They turned and left one after another. Clearly accustomed to the martial world's rule that "your martial arts are stronger, so whatever you say is right," they retreated with excellent unspoken coordination.
... Fang Jingru: He's a great master too...
Before you continue