Chapter Fifty-Eight: Sikong He, the Qi-Blade Mage

People in the crowd scattered as Cold Butterfly and Blood Butterfly came crashing down, except for the Infatuate Vagrant, who was enchanted by the sight. Seizing the opportunity, he flew forward to catch one of the Cold Butterflies in his arms, using every chance to grope her and take advantage before they hit the ground. Enduring her pain and injuries, Cold Butterfly raised her hand to strike him, but the Infatuate Vagrant merely flashed away, already chuckling secretly in the distance.

Blood Butterfly slammed heavily onto the ground, clutching her chest and coughing up a mouthful of blood. Looking back up at the stage, Meng Xiaoli, affected by the poisonous powder, was half-kneeling, drenched in hot sweat. Beads of sweat trickled down her cheeks and spine. Exhausted and panting heavily, she still forced herself to stand up, her chest heaving violently with every labored breath.

The Five Poison Flowers took a brief moment to adjust before standing at the edge of the stage once again. Clutching her chest, Cold Butterfly called out loudly to Meng Xiaoli on the stage, "Although the poison we used today is not fatal, had we fought to the death with true steel, your reckless style of combat would likely have cost you your life as well. All five of us suffered severe injuries, resulting in a draw where both sides were battered. You spared our lives at a critical moment, and we acknowledge this favor." With that, Cold Butterfly retrieved a small cloth pouch from her tunic, poured out a tiny pill, and tossed it to Meng Xiaoli with a smile. "This is the antidote. We are returning this favor." Having said this, the five of them cupped their fists in a mutual salute, turned, and leaped away into the crowd.

Meanwhile, Meng Xiaoli swallowed the antidote and began circulating her internal energy to regulate her breath. Liang Keyong, the leader of the Beggar Sect who had been observing the battle from beneath the stage, watched the exchange and muttered to himself, "Though it ended in a draw, the Five Poison Flowers outnumbered the Demonic Yama Ghostess. Calculated that way, the Demonic Yama Ghostess actually won." Just as he finished speaking, Liang Keyong noticed someone squeezing in from the outer perimeter of the crowd opposite him. What caught his attention was that the newcomer was a bald man dressed in a monk's robe, monk's trousers, and monk's shoes. Yet, strapped across his back was a chilling, gleaming broadsword. Unlike the other spectators, whose expressions carried various motives, this man's eyes were fixed entirely on Meng Xiaoli upon the stage, filled with deep worry and desperate urgency.

Liang Keyong looked back at Meng Xiaoli on the stage. Her face and head were covered in glistening beads of sweat, and her body swayed slightly, a clear sign of depleted physical strength after enduring numerous battles. Yet, she meticulously straightened her garments and gazed out at the human faces—far and near, large and small—surrounding the ring. Although she looked somewhat exhausted, Meng Xiaoli showed no intention of quitting. She raised a hand to wipe away the fine beads of sweat from her forehead and lips.

At that moment, a trace of pity stirred within Liang Keyong. Come to think of it, whom had she ever harmed? And who was it that wished to harm her? To clear her own name, Meng Xiaoli had dared to stand upon the stage and issue a challenge to the entire world. Armed with nothing but solitary courage, she faced the multitude of common folk, knowing full well that even if she were smashed to pieces, she could never silence the endless gossip and accusations of the crowd. Regardless of what Meng Xiaoli had done in the past, and whether people understood her or not, at this moment she was worthy of respect. This fragile woman possessed a powerful and unyielding resilience that refused to be violated. And judging by how she repeatedly chose to hold back when she could easily have slain her opponents, it seemed she had not truly strayed from the righteous path; a thread of Buddhist compassion was woven deep within her demonic arts. Yet perhaps it was precisely this thread of compassion that plunged her into an even deeper abyss.

Thinking along these lines, Liang Keyong could not help sighing softly, "If only she had a master, and if that master were still alive, how could they bear to let their beloved disciple face the entire world alone with a sword?"

At that exact moment, a dark figure darted from the crowd below and leaped onto the stage. Liang Keyong looked sharply, his heart tightening as he gripped the armrests of his chair. He gasped, "The Qi-Blade Master of Gannan, Sikong He!" Then, shaking his head, he continued, "Leaving aside the fact that the Demonic Yama Ghostess's stamina is exhausted, even at her absolute peak, she is likely no match for Sikong He's *Eighty-One Qi-Blade Palms*."

The onlookers beneath the stage saw that Sikong He was tall, dressed in white robes with a black cloak draped over them. The hood of the cloak concealed his upper face so that his features could not be fully seen, revealing only the contours of his lower face, his sharply chiseled lips, and his chin, which inexplicably radiated an aura of oppression. Upon seeing Sikong He, Meng Xiaoli felt an overwhelming sense of depression flood her heart. The newcomer possessed an extraordinarily powerful presence; before the fight even began, Meng Xiaoli's momentum had already been defeated.

Sikong He spoke first, his voice rich and refined, yet extraordinarily pleasant to the ear: "Sikong He of Gannan, I have long admired your great reputation. I wonder if I might have the honor of exchanging pointers with Sect Leader Meng?"

As soon as Sikong He announced his name, a wave of commotion rippled through the crowd below, everyone casting astonished glances toward the stage. Those who had heard of Sikong He's formidable reputation had already concluded, even before the two exchanged a single blow, that the Demonic Yama Ghostess would not only lose, but lose miserably.

Before long, people beneath the stage began placing bets, recklessly gambling on the outcome. In their eyes, the only thing that mattered was where their wagered silver would end up; whoever they bet on, they prayed would win, entirely unconcerned with righteousness or villainy.

Meng Xiaoli subconsciously cupped her fists in a salute to Sikong He and replied, "No matter who it is, whoever refuses to accept defeat may come up onto the stage. I, Meng Xiaoli, will face them one by one."

Sikong He gave a slight nod, flipping his hands which had been folded before his abdomen, and said, "I originally had no wish to challenge you, but having watched for so long, not a single person has managed to defeat you. You will be leaving this place tonight, and I did not want to miss this final opportunity. To be fair, your physical strength is waning by now; it would be best for the two of us to choose another day and have a proper, thorough battle. I wonder if Sect Leader Meng would grant me this courtesy?"

Meng Xiaoli retorted, "I have already given you all two days' time. What? Do you expect me, Meng Xiaoli, to stand up here every single day to be beaten by you people?"

Sikong He spread his hands flat, smiling faintly, "Since you are unwilling to postpone our fight to another day, I shall take advantage of your fatigue. Make your move!" With that, Sikong He channeled his internal energy into his hands.

Meng Xiaoli simultaneously raised both palms and said to him, "Come at me with everything you've got!" Instantly, Sikong He's figure flashed. Before Meng Xiaoli could even see where he landed, she heard a rush of force attacking her from the side. She hurriedly turned to parry, thrusting out with a claw, only to see that Sikong He was standing far away and had not actually attacked. Yet that formless power was already bearing down upon her chest. Caught off guard, Meng Xiaoli was struck backward by the invisible force and crashed heavily to the ground, blood spilling from the corner of her mouth as cheers erupted from the crowd below.

Having suffered an unfavorable start without even figuring out what technique Sikong He had used, Meng Xiaoli immediately struggled to her feet, casually wiped the blood from her mouth, and leaped toward Sikong He. Sikong He stood composed in his spot, pushing out a palm through the air. Before Meng Xiaoli could gauge the strength and range of this palm strike, she was once again knocked flat to the ground by the formless force, sliding toward the edge of the ring and coughing up another mouthful of blood.

Standing below the stage and watching the back of the Qi-Blade Master, Liang Keyong spoke in a low voice to the deputy beside him: "Although the Qi-Blade Master is a pugilist from the common walks, he can hold his own even against masters from the top ten sects. Both rely on internal energy for propulsion, but the Qi-Blade Master can channel the same force as a palm strike through any part of his body—powerful and steady, impervious to obstacles. The force generated by his qi-blade is sustained and formidable, losing none of its lethal intensity over distance. For this reason alone, many adepts who claim to master the qi-blade hold themselves in deep inferiority."

On the stage, Meng Xiaoli spun into the air, spat the blood from her mouth onto the ground, and wiped her face casually with her hand. Having tasted two of Sikong He's palm strikes, she no longer dared to charge at him recklessly. Overhearing the crowd discussing the "Qi-Blade Master," she quickly pieced things together. Sikong He's true terror lay in his peerless internal strength, which allowed him to condense his inner energy into a razor-sharp blade to assault his adversaries, proving even sharper than swords and sabers, and far more powerful in impact.

Meng Xiaoli began attempting feints against Sikong He. Seeing him raise his palm to retaliate, she would dodge in advance and aim for his wrist to prevent him from striking. However, Sikong He would simply bend his elbow and thrust his elbow-tip straight at her. Caught unawares, Meng Xiaoli took a heavy blow to her right ribs. A ferocious shockwave shoved her backward; feeling a sharp pang of pain in her liver and gall bladder and losing her balance, she hastily invoked the Wind Technique, spinning to steady herself.

Shock gripped her heart: "So Sikong He's profound mastery lies in the fact that his qi-blade is not restricted to palm force alone. It can be unleashed from his elbows, the soles of his feet, his kicks—any offensive movement whatsoever allows Sikong He to mobilize his internal energy and manifest a qi-blade."

This placed Meng Xiaoli in a profound dilemma. Sikong He's qi-blade had a limited arc and traveled in straight lines, making it relatively easy to evade at a distance, but exceedingly difficult to approach. Now, she could neither meet his palm force nor afford to come anywhere near his attacking limbs.

Sikong He flashed before Meng Xiaoli, pressing downward with a single palm in a move titled "Qi Piercing the Vast Rainbow." Daring not to meet him palm-to-palm, Meng Xiaoli ducked beneath the sweep of his palm wind. She countered by thrusting her claw toward Sikong He's exposed right flank, but unexpectedly, Sikong He pushed out his left palm from beneath his arm. Before Meng Xiaoli could even touch him, she was struck squarely by the impact and sent flying through the air.

Before Meng Xiaoli could rise, Sikong He was already upon her in a light leap, bringing his heavy foot down in a stomp. Meng Xiaoli instantly rolled aside to dodge and sprang rapidly to her feet. Turning swiftly, Sikong He slid another palm toward her. Meng Xiaoli dropped and rolled across the floor to let it pass.

Unbeknownst to her, Sikong He's palm force continued straight ahead. Although Meng Xiaoli had evaded it, the unyielding qi-blade hurtled directly into the spectators beneath the stage. The crowd had been engrossed in the spectacle when a sudden, invisible force knocked several people in the front rows to the ground. Because they were caught completely unprepared and lacked internal energy for protection, they were all injured and had to be carried away by their companions.

While Meng Xiaoli dodged aside, Sikong He executed a fluid pivot. Paying no heed to whether his palm wind injured the innocent, he pressed his attack against the retreating Meng Xiaoli. Daring not to block his strikes anymore, Meng Xiaoli resorted solely to defense, leaping and bounding across the ring in agile evasions.

After dodging dozens of strikes, sweat streamed profusely down Meng Xiaoli's body. Still unable to find an opening to counter Sikong He, she had nevertheless formulated a method to evade his qi-blades: since Sikong He's qi-blade traveled only in straight lines, it was exceedingly easy to avoid at a distance, while at close quarters she must circle around him in arcs to prevent being caught by his palm shockwaves.

Dozens more blows passed in this fashion. Meng Xiaoli began to pant heavily. Although she had learned to evade his palm gales, she remained utterly unable to strike back at Sikong He. Raising a hand to brush away the sweat running down her forehead, she desperately sought an opportunity to launch an offensive. Springing off the ground, she leaped toward Sikong He's flank, executing a low, upward thrust styled "The Rooster Pecking Rice." Sikong He's reactions were lightning-fast; with a backhanded sweep of his palm, he countered. Meng Xiaoli attempted a sideways dodge, but was a fraction too slow and was clipped by Sikong He's qi-blade. Her body spun around, and she staggered back two paces.

Sikong He followed up instantly with a palm strike titled "Qi Rushing to Battle the Dipper," aiming straight for the center of Meng Xiaoli's forehead. Meng Xiaoli reflexively leaned backward. Giving her no breathing room, Sikong He followed with yet another palm strike aimed directly at her chest. Ducking beneath the first strike, she frantically threw herself backward to escape the second. Midway through her retreat, realizing she was too slow, she twisted her body, grazing the high-speed wind generated by the qi-blade. The qi-blade continued unabated, plunging straight toward Liang Keyong, who was watching from beneath the stage.

With eyes as sharp as a hawk's and hands as swift as lightning, Liang Keyong spun and brandished his Dog-Beating Staff. A crisp clang rang out as the qi-blade struck the staff. Channeling his internal energy, Liang Keyong shattered and dispersed the force, then calmly lowered his staff and sat straight, as if absolutely nothing had happened, continuing to watch the duel.

Witnessing this, the onlookers realized that very few of them dared to take the Qi-Blade Master's moves head-on; whoever tried would likely suffer mutual destruction. As Sikong He exchanged blows with Meng Xiaoli, the qi-blades that Meng Xiaoli dodged frequently swept toward the crowd below. Not a single person in the audience possessed Liang Keyong's courage and skill, and everyone scrambled away in panicked haste.

Though this martial arts duel was fought by the two individuals on stage, the spectators below dared not relax for a single moment, knowing that a single lapse in attention could result in being accidentally wounded by Sikong He's qi-blade.