enemies meet face to face;a fierce battle erupts
Zhou Chun crouched on the rooftop, his breath held as he peered into courtyard below.
A burly monk, his bald head glistening with sweat, loomed over a trembling woman.
The monk gripped a monastic blade, its edge catching the pale light as he snarled,
"Submit to me and come to Ciyun Temple! Riches and glory await! Refuse, and I'll carve you into mincemeat!"
The woman, though pale with terror, spat back,
"Leave now! My husband, Wei Qing, is no weakling! He'll tear you limb from limb!"
Her voice cracked as she screamed again,
"Help! Someone, help!"
The monk raised his blade, but before it could descend, Zhou Chun erupted into action.
"Wicked monk! Halt your filth!"
His sword, gleaming like winter frost, shot toward the monk's chest with lethal precision.
The monk—Mao Tai, the One-Armed Bear—startled, dropping the monastic blade with a clatter.
He snatched up a nearby
"So it's you!"Mao Tai roared, his voice dripping with venom.
"I've hunted you for months! Today, you die!"
The two clashed, steel meeting iron in a shower of sparks.
Zhou Chun's heart raced—Mao Tai's movements were sharper, fiercer than a decade prior. Gone was the brutish bandit; this was a warrior honed by years of hatred.
"You think a decade of training frightens me? I've studied under Master Canxia and the Drunken Daoist! Surrender now, or I'll carve your name into your tombstone!"
Mao Tai's eyes flickered with doubt. If he really is their disciple, then my
But he was not reconciled, he wanted revenge.
"Let's settle this with weapons, not flying sword! If I lose, I'll shave my head and renounce the world!"
"Agreed!" Zhou Chun thought that as long as he didn't use the flying sword, then he would have a chance.
Under the darkening sky, their battle raged—a storm of swords and staffs.
Mao Tai's monk's staff whirled like a cyclone, each strike aimed to crush bone.
Zhou Chun danced aside, his sword a silver serpent darting for gaps in the monk's defense.
"You've improved,"Zhou Chun admitted through gritted teeth, blocking a blow that rattled his arms.
"But not enough!"Mao Tai roared, swinging the staff in a wide arc.
Zhou Chun leapt backward, his heel catching a loose stone.
Mao Tai, seeing Zhou Chun suspended mid-air and yet to land, seized the opportunity with a vicious grin. He swung his monk's staff in a sweeping arc aimed at Zhou Chun's legs.
But Zhou Chun had anticipated this very move.
Before the staff could connect, he planted his right foot atop his left, leveraging the momentum not to descend but to propel himself several feet higher—a masterful display of his signature
Mao Tai's monk's staff through empty air.
The force of his missed strike threw him off balance, and he stumbled forward, his face twisting in fury.
Zhou Chun abruptly shifted into
"Damn it!" Mao Tai bellowed, thrusting off the ground with his feet.
His body tilted forward as he lunged sideways, narrowly evading the strike—but not before Zhou Chun's blade grazed his left arm, carving a bloody gash four inches long.
Rage contorted Mao Tai's face.
Before Mao Tai could steady himself, Zhou Chun surged forward again, sword thrusting like a silver viper.
Mao Tai, now a feral beast, spun wildly to meet the attack, their blades clashing in a frenzy of sparks.
Dusk approached, the sun bleeding into the horizon.
After hours of combat, Zhou Chun knew victory wouldn't come easily. With a sudden leap, he whirled his sword, conjuring a dazzling
Mao Tai hesitated, suspecting a hidden technique—and in that split second, Zhou Chun seized the opening.
He turned and fled!
Zhou Chun was worried that Mao Tai would use flying sword and had been looking for an opportunity to leave.
"Your tricks won't save you!"Mao Tai roared, charging.
Zhou Chun's fingers closed around a hidden
"Try this!"
Twelve bolts erupted in rapid succession—thwip-thwip-thwip!
Mao Tai twisted like a demon, deflecting the first six with his staff.
But the seventh volley—Five Blossoms Piercing the Clouds—struck true. One bolt pierced his left arm; another shattered his front teeth.
"Aaargh!"
Blood gushed from Mao Tai's mouth as he staggered, his staff clattering to the ground.
Zhou Chun pressed his advantage, blade poised for the kill.
"Never!"Mao Tai spat a mouthful of blood and crimson.
His hand flew to his robe, withdrawing a sinister crimson blade—
Zhou Chun dove into the woods, the sword's golden beam shearing trees like parchment. Branches rained around him as he sprinted, the deadly light inches from his neck.
"To hell with pride—run!" he cursed, lungs burning.
Just as the blade descended for the final strike, a green streak shot from the canopy—a second sword, its light pure as jade.
The two beams collided mid-air, sparks cascading like fireworks.
"Who dares?!" Mao Tai bellowed, his face contorted with rage.
From a towering oak, the Drunken Daoist emerged, red gourd swaying.
"Enough, Mao Tai! Your vendetta ends tonight!"
With a flick of his wrist, the green light overpowered the golden beam, forcing Mao Tai's sword to retreat.
The Drunken Daoist's power was overwhelming—Mao Tai stood no chance.
Just as Mao Tai teetered on the brink of defeat,
The Drunken Daoist leapt down from the tree abruptly, hissing urgently to Zhou Chun:
"Follow me—now!"
Without giving Zhou Chun a chance to respond, he sheathed his sword's radiant aura, hoisted Zhou Chun onto his back, and soared toward the city along the main road, leaving Mao Tai's enraged roars fading into the dusk.