Chapter 311
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Before the skinny monk could speak, the monk who had just now sat with closed eyes suddenly stepped forward, gripping a crescent-moon spade in hand, and called out in a loud voice: “This benefactor possesses no small strength—allow this humble monk to experience it firsthand!”
Zhang Xiaohua was infuriated at the sight.
All along this journey, he had first dodged the sneak attacks of Bai Yonggui and Chai Feng’s longswords on the desolate island, then used his qinggong aboard the sea vessel to intimidate the disciples of the Xinrong Sect. He had remained hidden within the cabin, refusing to face them. Just now, he had demonstrated brute strength by uprooting a weeping willow. Time and again, he had chosen restraint and deterrence—not out of fear, but to convey a single truth: I, Zhang Xiaohua, do not fear you. I simply do not wish to stir up trouble. I only wish to return home in peace. Yet what had the Xinrong Sect done? Failing to silence him, they sought outside help. They even dared to seal his acupoints and drag him away. Was this not a blatant attempt on his life?
He had gone through the trouble of toppling a large tree, startling the Xinrong Sect’s disciples, and now this monk stepped forward—clearly, they wouldn’t give up until they slammed headfirst into a wall. If he didn’t teach them a lesson, they wouldn’t know that the Horse King has three eyes!
Watching the monk step into the circle, Zhang Xiaohua sneered coldly and said: “Since the great monk seeks battle, then so be it. But state your name first.”
The monk raised his crescent-moon spade proudly and declared: “This humble monk is Yuanshan of Dalin Temple!”
“Dalin Temple?” Zhang Xiaohua frowned. In truth, he knew little of the jianghu, but upon seeing monks, the first name that came to mind was Dalin Temple. Still…
“Isn’t Dalin Temple supposed to be a renowned sect of the martial world? Why is it associating with a sect like Xinrong Secy? Killing and looting for treasure—this is conduct scorned by all of the jianghu. Why would Dalin Temple get involved?”
However, Zhang Xiaohua, consumed by fury, no longer cared whether it was Dalin Temple or even Shaolin Temple.
Seeing Monk Yuanshan approach with his crescent-moon spade, he laughed loudly and said: “Good! Good! Good!”
With that, he reached down and pulled the longsword from where it was embedded in the ground beside him. With a light leap forward, he raised the sword and cleaved down with a powerful overhead strike, shouting: “Baldy, take my sword if you dare!”
Zhang Xiaohua had only learned a nameless sword technique. When performed with this sword, which weighed several thousand catties, the style lacked the airy grace it should have had, despite his ability to wield heavy as light. He had not learned any other sword arts. But since the white-haired old man could hack with a soft sword, why couldn’t he strike with a heavy one?
Naturally, this move of his resembled the famed “Split Mount Hua” technique.
When Monk Yuanshan saw the sword coming down, Zhang Xiaohua was full of openings. He originally intended to strike at one of those weak spots with his crescent-moon spade. But the howling wind that followed the sword’s arc made it clear—even if he landed a clean hit, that sword would still reach him. At such close range, his skull would likely be split open. His heart wavered involuntarily. With a loud shout, he raised his crescent-moon spade with both hands and met Zhang Xiaohua’s sword head-on.
In Monk Yuanshan’s mind, his crescent-moon spade, as thick as a duck egg, naturally held the advantage. He thought that the oncoming longsword would surely be withdrawn or changed mid-strike before it even reached him. But faster than words could describe, sword and spade collided. At first, when Zhang Xiaohua didn’t retract his move, Yuanshan was secretly delighted. Though that longsword was still a sword blank and had yet to be sharpened, how could it compare to his own crescent-moon spade? Surely, with this clash, it would be knocked away on the spot!
However, in that very instant, an overwhelming force—far beyond anything he had ever encountered—surged from the crescent-moon spade into his arms. It felt as though a towering mountain were pressing down upon him. Yuanshan’s eyes nearly burst from their sockets, his face turned ashen, and he clenched his teeth tightly, summoning every ounce of strength in his body to resist upward.
In the ears of those watching, a deafening crack rang out. Yuanshan abruptly sank half a head lower—his entire lower legs were driven into the earth!
Then came a pu! as he spat out a mouthful of fresh blood and cried out, “Good!”
The strength in his arms faltered by half.
Another pu!—another mouthful of blood sprayed forth, followed once more by a cry: “Good!”
The crescent-moon spade dropped lower, and Yuanshan’s arms began to tremble.
And again—pu!—yet another mouthful of blood spewed out, and he still shouted, “Good!”
Finally, with a loud clang, the crescent-moon spade slipped from his hands and fell to the ground. Having spat three mouthfuls of blood, Yuanshan collapsed—though his entire lower legs had sunk into the soil, and even if he wished to fall, there was nowhere to fall.
Zhang Xiaohua’s longsword followed through and hovered right above Yuanshan’s skull!
Not far off, the skinny monk witnessed this scene and cried out in alarm: “Spare my senior brother’s life!”
But before his voice had even finished echoing, that monk was already lunging toward Zhang Xiaohua, his longsword thrusting straight for Zhang Xiaohua’s brow. That burst of qinggong, like an arrow loosed from a bow, left Zhang Xiaohua slightly surprised.
Unfortunately for him, Zhang Xiaohua had already seen through the trajectory of the sword with his divine sense. As the longsword neared, he tilted his head ever so slightly to one side, and the thrust missed. The skinny monk was indeed skilled—seeing his sword go awry, he instantly spun out a sword-flower to guard his body, then flipped midair without support, and once again faced Zhang Xiaohua, resuming his assault.
Zhang Xiaohua had never intended to take Monk Yuanshan’s life. His sword had only pointed at the monk’s head, nothing more. Now, with a swift somersault, he rose lightly into the air, deftly avoiding the second thrust. Then, without even glancing, he casually hurled his longsword straight toward Chai Feng, who had been part of the encirclement. Chai Feng, watching the fierce duel unfold, suddenly saw the longsword flying straight at him. Terrified, he dove flat to the ground in panic. The longsword whistled over the crown of his head and drove itself deep into the earth behind him.
After Zhang Xiaohua flung his longsword, he reached into his robe and drew out the small sword, letting out a cold chuckle, “Heh heh,” before twisting his body mid-air and flying toward the skinny monk. The skinny monk, seeing that Zhang Xiaohua had discarded his longsword, was at first confused. When he saw the toy-like small sword being drawn from his chest, he didn’t know what to make of it. Still, he dared not be careless—his own longsword pointed forward and once again launched an attack.
As the sword thrust in, Zhang Xiaohua didn’t retreat—instead, he advanced! With a flicker, he sidestepped half an inch in a strange movement that avoided the sword’s point, and the small sword in his hand shot directly toward the skinny monk’s throat. The monk was startled, quickly twisted his body to the side, and lashed out with a kick at Zhang Xiaohua’s waist. But Zhang Xiaohua, still mid-air, bent his leg and kicked right back.
Plop! A dull thud rang out as their kicks collided. The skinny monk borrowed the force to land on his feet, but Zhang Xiaohua, like a streak of smoke, shot off toward the encirclement.
The skinny monk thought he was trying to escape and shouted: “Don’t let him get away!”
He gave chase with an arrow-step, but Zhang Xiaohua, riding the borrowed momentum, had already leapt up to the edge of the encirclement. Contrary to what the monk expected, Zhang Xiaohua didn’t leap past the encirclement—instead, he thrust out the small sword in his hand, aiming directly for one of the encircling men. That man was none other than Bai Yonggui!
Like Chai Feng before him, Bai Yonggui had been so terrified by Zhang Xiaohua’s ferocity that he was almost wetting himself. In panic, he raised his sword in defense, but his martial skill was inferior to Zhang Xiaohua’s to begin with, and now he was completely flustered. Zhang Xiaohua sneered, and the tip of the small sword touched his throat—already, a bead of fresh blood had seeped out. Yet Zhang Xiaohua didn’t press the attack. Instead, with a swift pull, the sword traced past Bai Yonggui’s sword-wielding right hand—slice—and his thumb was cut clean off.
The ten fingers were connected to the heart; the pain of losing a finger was like a spike through the heart. Bai Yonggui howled, and his longsword clattered to the ground with a clang.
Just then, the skinny monk arrived. Zhang Xiaohua turned back and grinned, baring his teeth. He didn’t try to break out—instead, he whirled and, like a bolt of lightning, shot forward again. His small sword lashed out at the skinny monk’s throat from an unpredictable angle. The monk dared not slack off—his longsword changed forms mid-strike, moving to guard his chest.
But in that instant, Zhang Xiaohua suddenly rose higher in mid-air, vaulting over the monk’s head. Then, with a casual backward thrust of his sword, he left a thin line of blood at the back of the monk’s neck.
The skinny monk hadn’t even turned around before he felt a chill at the nape of his neck. Alarmed, he knew things had gone badly. His own sword lashed out behind in a desperate counterattack, hoping for mutual destruction—but by that time, Zhang Xiaohua had already soared back into the encirclement. Without sparing them another glance, he laughed loudly and said: “Don’t come looking for trouble again. Otherwise, it won’t be so easy next time.”
As the words fell, his figure lifted into the air, heading straight in Chai Feng’s direction. Chai Feng had just clambered to his feet, and upon seeing Zhang Xiaohua flying at him, he instinctively dropped to the ground again. Zhang Xiaohua didn’t even spare him a glance. He landed beside his longsword, yanked it free, then rose lightly into the air again. With a few bounding leaps, he vanished into the dusky wilderness.
From the moment Zhang Xiaohua made his move to the moment he vanished from the encirclement, only a brief span had passed. The two high-ranking members of the Xinrong Sect standing outside the encirclement hadn’t even had time to act. Only now did they hastily rush over, as if to give chase—but clearly hesitant, they didn’t dare move recklessly. The skinny monk stood there pale-faced, staring blankly at his hand. In his palm, there was only a faint trace of blood.
After a moment, he finally came back to his senses. Looking at Hall Master Li, who was still standing in the middle of the circle without having moved even half a step, he said dejectedly: “Don’t bother chasing him. None of you are his match. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to catch him anyway.”
Hall Master Li immediately responded: “Yes, Master.”
The skinny monk added: “Go and check on my senior brother’s injuries.”
In truth, he already knew that the young man hadn’t shown any intention to kill. He himself had just escaped death under that sword—it stood to reason that his senior brother wouldn’t be in any mortal danger either.
Sure enough, Monk Yuanshan had only suffered a violent internal shock, his entire body drained of strength. After taking one of Dalin Temple’s secret pills, he regained consciousness after about half a stick of incense’s time.
By then, Zhang Xiaohua had already gone far. The members of the Xinrong Sect no longer had to maintain a perimeter; now they simply stood around blankly, each of them reflecting on how they’d spent so many days on the same boat as such a powerful expert. Their hearts were filled with lingering fear. At the same time, they were deeply grateful that their earlier decision had been the right one—not to provoke him. Otherwise, who knew where the corpses of everyone on the ship would be lying by now?
Chai Feng, seeing the extent of Bai Yonggui’s injury, felt his heart turn over like crashing waves. He understood clearly: that ordinary-looking youth had never intended to harm him. That thrown sword had only been a warning. And Bai Yonggui—this man who had ambushed him on the desolate island, who had tried to silence him on the sea vessel—hadn’t been killed, but had his right thumb sliced off by that youth. For the rest of his life, he would never wield a sword again. Still, the youth had remembered that it was he who had brought him back to the mainland. In the end, he had spared a life, letting Bai Yonggui drag out an ignoble existence to the end of his days.
The skinny monk had wanted to ask more about Zhang Xiaohua, but seeing how exhausted and dispirited Yuanshan looked, he said: “My senior brother’s injuries are severe. I must take him back to the temple immediately for treatment. As for the matters here—you handle them. I’ll report all of this to the elders once I return to the temple. You all should also return to your sect quickly.”
With that, he didn’t linger. He hoisted Monk Yuanshan onto his back, then used qinggong and swiftly departed into the distance.
