A Trap Within a Trap

Just as the two were about to clash, Han Li twisted the blade in his hand slightly, tilting it by a fraction. That was right, it had changed by only the tiniest bit, but in Doctor Mo's eyes, the change was enough to overturn heaven and earth.

Doctor Mo saw a sudden flash as more than a dozen balls of dazzling white light appeared before him. The light was incomparably intense, shining directly into his eyes without anything to block it.

This is bad! he cried inwardly. He hurriedly retreated and shut his eyes at once, but he was too late. The white light entered his eyes in an instant, leaving him no time to react.

Doctor Mo felt a sudden heat in his eyes, followed by an unbearable ache in his eyeballs. Tears welled up and poured out without stopping. He had no time to wipe them away. Forcing himself to endure the discomfort, he struggled to open his eyes and look ahead, but saw only a vast expanse of white. Never mind seeing objects clearly-even their outlines were doubled by overlapping phantoms, blurred beyond recognition.

He was both shocked and furious, deeply regretting that a moment of carelessness had let him fall for his opponent's trick once again.

Doctor Mo had, however, spent many years roaming the jianghu and had ample experience dealing with all manner of dangers. He kept retreating to put distance between himself and his opponent, hoping to buy some time. At the same time, he pulled both hands back and waved them incessantly before him, relying on his Demonic Silver Hand, impervious to blades and spears, to shield the vital points of his upper body.

He had made up his mind: until his eyesight returned to normal, he would not take the offensive again. Every attack would have to wait until he could see clearly, lest he fall into that cunning brat's trap again.

By now, Doctor Mo had long since cast his earlier contempt to the winds. This struggle with Han Li was no less dangerous than the life-and-death battles he had fought against formidable enemies in his younger days.

Though he could not see his opponent's movements clearly, Doctor Mo pricked up his ears and listened intently, hoping to judge his opponent's next move by sound.

He seemed to make out a figure flickering vaguely in front of him. Immediately afterward, a piercing sound came straight at him, accompanied by a gust of cold wind.

Rather than panic at Han Li's thrust, Doctor Mo was delighted.

His opponent's methods were indeed still somewhat childish. If he had hidden to one side and launched a sneak attack without a sound, Doctor Mo might really have had cause for concern. But what was there to fear from such a swaggering frontal assault? He had long since perfected the art of detecting movement by wind and sound. Never mind a direct thrust from a short sword-even if a slender embroidery needle came at him, he could hear it perfectly clearly.

Doctor Mo heard it distinctly, but deliberately slowed his hands, leaving a small opening in front of him. Sure enough, the sound of the attack immediately changed direction and darted through the gap, heading straight for his throat.

A savage grin crossed Doctor Mo's face. His right hand, which had been waiting for this moment, suddenly shot out and seized the blade like lightning. He gripped it tightly, showing no fear of the short sword's sharp edge.

His opponent clearly realized something was wrong and gave the short sword several fierce tugs, trying to pull it back. But caught in the Demonic Silver Hand, how could it move even a fraction? The effort was wasted.

Doctor Mo felt somewhat pleased with himself, but he did not dare grow careless again, for fear that his opponent would come to his senses, let go and run. Disregarding the fact that his eyes had yet to recover, he suddenly used the full force of his strength in one hand and pulled the short sword toward himself, intending to drag Han Li over by force and then subdue him personally. But the sword felt feather-light in his hand, as though there were nothing there.

He was greatly startled. He was clearly still holding the blade, so how had it suddenly become so light? Even if Han Li had let go, it should not have felt this light.

Before Doctor Mo could work out what had happened, a piercing sound of air being torn apart suddenly erupted a few inches in front of his throat. Something slender and pointed seemed to be stabbing toward him at an extraordinary speed. Before it even arrived, the rushing air had already caused a slight stinging pain in his Adam's apple.

He had no time to think. His body made an evasive move first, as though by reflex. His head jerked to one side, tilting desperately in that direction, his neck twisting to an inconceivable angle as he tried to avoid the fatal blow.

The deep foundation he had built through years of arduous training finally proved its worth. Doctor Mo felt a chill on his neck as the sharp object grazed past it, scraping his skin only slightly and causing no greater harm.

Having dodged the attack, Doctor Mo feared his opponent had another move in reserve. Without pausing to think, he copied the escape technique Han Li had used at the start: he dropped to the ground and performed a lazy donkey roll of his own. Only after getting far away from Han Li did he dare stand up again.

Once upright, Doctor Mo felt a burning pain in his neck. He could not help touching the wound, and his hand came away wet. It seemed he had bled quite a lot.

He hurriedly used two fingers to seal the nearby blood vessels, finally stopping the bleeding.

Only then did fear catch up with him. He felt that there should have been no way to dodge that blow. Yet, unexpectedly, his body had surpassed its usual limits on instinct, and he had escaped disaster as if guided by ghosts and gods.

At that thought, Doctor Mo could not help looking up at Han Li. Only then did he realize that he could see clearly again; he did not know when his vision had returned to normal.

Han Li was glaring at Doctor Mo, his face full of unwillingness. Clearly, he was deeply unwilling to accept that his opponent had escaped disaster yet again.

In his hand was a pointed weapon about an inch long. In shape, it resembled an exceptionally short awl, though its grip was still the original sword hilt, giving the whole thing a somewhat peculiar appearance. There were traces of blood on it as well. It was the strange blade that had wounded Doctor Mo.

Doctor Mo's expression was cold and grim, his eyes filled with rage. He could no longer tolerate having come so close to losing his life again and again. He was just about to erupt when he suddenly felt that his right hand was still holding something.

He looked down and saw a hiltless sword blade, as light as a feather. He raised it for a closer look and finally understood. The blade was hollow, and judging by the size and shape of the cavity, the pointed awl was what had been hidden inside it. The blade was merely a sheath fitted over the awl to deceive the eye.

In an instant, this unexpected discovery extinguished every last spark of the rage filling his chest.