Money was the fairest thing in this world, and also the filthiest.
Money could turn people from good to evil, and could also drive them to take desperate risks.
Two thousand taels of silver meant little to the rich, but for most people, two thousand taels was enough to stake their lives on.
Once that cry of "Get him together!" rang out, countless roughnecks of the martial world charged madly at Zhang Qingyuan, their eyes bloodshot.
There were already more than fifty people present. These fifty-odd people were like starving wolves on the plains, finding long-awaited prey in a blizzard.
Zhang Qingyuan did not draw his sword. He seemed utterly out of place in this world. No matter how the crowd attacked him, he remained standing still.
He even lowered the sword he had raised, spread his arms slightly, and assumed an opening stance no one understood. His hands moved slowly, one before the other, his palms stirring ripples in the air.
A gentle breeze danced around him. Dry grass, fallen leaves-everything in the world seemed to move with the swaying of his arms.
At that moment, he was like an immortal who had transcended this world, like the Dao that allotted all things their places.
His eyes were almost closed, his movements fluid yet slow.
He sank into a horse stance,
his palms rose lightly,
like wind, like matter,
like dust, transcendent.
None of those lunging at him understood what he was doing.
Moving so sluggishly,
was he still putting on a performance at a time like this?
Had he already given up resisting?
Still, whether he had given up resisting or not, this mob certainly would not show mercy.
He had even closed his eyes. He was waiting to die.
Whoever killed him first would claim the reward.
It was as though Zhang Qingyuan were already fish on the chopping block, theirs to butcher as they pleased.
Everyone charged forward like mad, cursing their parents for not giving them another pair of legs.
Had they known two thousand taels of silver would be so easy to get, they would never have waited for the others.
The man closest to Zhang Qingyuan was named Zhu Xiaoliang. He had once studied saber techniques at the Swallow Saber Sect for five years.
Although the Swallow Saber Sect could not compare with the great, prestigious sects of the martial world, its Swallow Saber Technique was still not to be underestimated when mastered to great completion.
Perhaps he possessed exceptional talent. Within five years, he had brought the Swallow Saber Sect's Swallow Saber Technique to great completion, and even his master was no match for him.
The Swallow Saber Technique was renowned for its lightness and speed. Paired with a swift saber, its power increased greatly.
A year ago, the leader of the Green Snake Gang, a second-rate expert with some reputation in the martial world, had failed to last even ten moves against him before he slit his throat.
At the start of this year, Zhu Xiaoliang had bought another lightness skill manual from the Martial Arts Alliance. Combined with the Swallow Saber Technique, it increased his speed once again, carrying him to victory at every turn.
Zhu Xiaoliang firmly believed that, given a few more years of practice, joining the ranks of the world's first-rate experts was not impossible.
Of everyone present, his saber was the fastest, and so was his lightness skill.
Thus, he was the first to reach Zhang Qingyuan, the Swallow Saber in his hand sweeping toward his neck.
Seeing Zhang Qingyuan still motionless, he could almost see the blood spraying after his Swallow Saber sliced across his carotid artery.
He was excited,
he was elated,
he longed to cheer.
But just as the keen blade, gleaming with cold white light, was about to claim this kill,
Zhang Qingyuan shifted one step sideways. His movement seemed sluggish, yet somehow, miraculously, he evaded that blindingly swift slash.
Before Zhu Xiaoliang could react, pain struck his stomach, and he found himself flying backward.
After dodging that slash, Zhang Qingyuan had struck out with his palm. A white palm force had hit Zhu Xiaoliang from a foot away.
After he sent Zhu Xiaoliang flying, four people attacked him from different directions and angles.
Zhang Qingyuan merely took one step, closing in on the person before him. His left hand caught the man's arm, redirecting its force, and he repelled the other three by borrowing strength to counter strength, killing with a borrowed blade.
Another elbow strike followed, and the man fell, beginning to howl.
The husband and wife, who had readily heeded his advice and withdrawn from the fight, watched this sudden display of fist technique in disbelief.
How could such a martial art exist in this world?
And how had he learned a fist technique like this?
It looked so slow, yet was truly fast.
It looked soft, yet was hard.
Some could not withstand it and died beneath his fists.
Some died bitterly aggrieved, because Zhang Qingyuan had killed them using their own companions' moves.
Those who were merely injured counted themselves fortunate. Though they lay on the ground, they were still breathing, were they not?
"The beginning of movement and stillness, the mother of yin and yang. Yin never leaves yang, and yang never leaves yin. Softness within hardness, softness overcoming hardness, hardness and softness in harmony...
"I cannot bear to commit more slaughter. This is the fist technique I created during three months of seclusion at the Taiyin Dao Palace-Taiji!"
A voice drifted out, reaching the ears of everyone present.
"The profundity of this fist technique lies in striking after the enemy yet gaining the advantage, overcoming hardness with softness, borrowing strength to counter strength. It has no moves or forms, emphasizing only its shape, not its techniques.
"This is the first time this fist technique has appeared in this world.
"Today, on a moment's inspiration, I shall practice my fists with you all. Life and death are in fate's hands."
Taiji Fist emphasized its shape and understanding its intent, not its moves.
Zhang Qingyuan's eyes remained almost closed. All his perceptions came from movements in the air and the sensing of his outwardly released True Qi.
One move for each person, one punch for each person.
Any martial art had to be tempered through actual combat.
And today, with so many people present, this truly was a good opportunity to temper his fist technique.
Hearing his words, every one of them was shaken by this fist technique.
Creating one's own martial art sounded simple, yet was incomparably stunning.
This Daoist...
Yet there were still those who refused to believe it.
"Don't be afraid, everyone! His eyes are closed, and he has no weapon! Keep charging!"
Those words once again stirred those still standing. They brandished their sabers and swords again, and there was no shortage of experts among them.
But whether they were experts or roughnecks, they were all the same to Zhang Qingyuan.
He gave each person only a single strike, without favor or bias.
And whether they qualified as experts or were mere roughnecks, they fell to that single punch, unable to move again.
The hem of his Daoist robe fluttered with his movements. He was like a refined gentleman strolling leisurely through a courtyard, weaving among the flowers.
Effortless,
his footwork ethereal.
Singing praises,
writing,
appreciating.
Just like that line of poetry: passing through ten thousand flowers, not a single leaf clung to him.
His fists were sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes fierce, sometimes gentle.
Like dominoes, wherever he passed, not a single person could stand again.
When he opened his eyes, everyone around him lay on the ground.
There were not many corpses, only seven or eight.
Some had died because their bodies were too frail to withstand a single punch from him.
Other unlucky souls had been killed by Zhang Qingyuan using their companions' sabers and swords.
He raised his hands, concluded his stance, and dispersed his power.
He turned toward the husband and wife. The two had long since been won over by Zhang Qingyuan's performance.
He said, "As I told you, give up this job, and your child will surely be born safely."
"D-Daoist Qingyuan, you're right."
"Do you want money?"
"No, no, no, we wouldn't dare." Both shook their heads at once.
Zhang Qingyuan smiled, walked over to the corpses, and searched them. In all, he found a little over five taels of silver.
So fucking poor.
Helpless, he returned beneath the tree, took a fifty-tael silver ingot from his bundle, and said, "Here are fifty-five taels. Help me dispose of the bodies. Thank you."
He tossed the ingot over. The husband and wife caught it, still finding it somewhat unbelievable.
Zhang Qingyuan looked at the others again. They were only temporarily unable to move. After resting for an hour, they would be hale and hearty once more.
Zhang Qingyuan told them flatly, "When you go back, tell the others not to come throwing their lives away if they aren't strong enough."
With that, he packed his bundle, took Baolai's lead, and strolled away beneath the river of stars.
He left only a crowd of roughnecks lying on the ground, howling and in disarray.