The Tang soldiers advanced without hesitation, pressing forward against the bandits. Agile, fierce, and well-trained, they were far beyond the rabble before them.
Shouts of battle erupted.
Steel clashed.
In less than three exchanges, the bandits faltered. Unable to withstand the onslaught, they scattered in panic, fleeing in all directions. The Tang troops, unmatched in valor, swiftly routed them, their victory resounding like a triumphant war hymn.
But then—
The fleeing bandits suddenly stopped… and turned back.
Moments later, they parted to form a path.
Four figures stepped forward—three men and one woman.
Without question—
These were the Four Fiends of the Swift Wind.
Their leader, Wang Bao, eyes glinting with cunning malice, barked,"Where did this Tang army come from? You court death! The Four Fiends of the Swift Wind stand here—leave at once!"
Their reputation alone struck fear into the jianghu. Wang Bao stood arrogantly at the front, radiating menace.
Yang Gang was about to respond when—
A figure descended from the air.
It was an elderly monk.
Though aged, his bearing was vigorous and composed. A string of prayer beads hung across his chest. With palms pressed together, he stepped forward and intoned:
"Namo Amitabha… this humble monk greets you."
Wang Bao's expression darkened."Where did this wild monk come from? State your name!"
The monk replied calmly,"This poor monk is Master Yiye."
At these words, the Four Fiends were visibly shaken.
They exchanged glances.
Master Yiye was a renowned monk of both scholarship and martial mastery. Deeply versed in Buddhist teachings, he was equally formidable in combat—his Beiye Palm and Beiye Sword famed throughout the martial world.
Even Wang Yun—the sole survivor of the Wang clan massacre that had shaken the jianghu—was his disciple.
Qian Ming spoke,"We have long heard your name, Master. What brings you here today?"
Master Yiye said softly,"Life is impermanent—present in the morning, gone by night. Lay down your blades, and you may attain enlightenment."
His words struck like arrows to the heart.
In Buddhism, all beings possess Buddha-nature. Those who abandon evil and turn to good may achieve awakening.
But Wang Bao's eyes flared with hostility."Karma? Rebirth? The Six Realms? Is that all you monks ever say? Do you have anything new?"
At that moment, Ling Xian'er stepped forward from behind the Tang soldiers. She approached the monk, pressed her palms together, and bowed:
"Namo Amitabha."
Master Yiye returned the gesture.
Then Ling Xian'er turned, her voice clear and firm:"Having heard the Master's teaching, you bandits should kneel and repent!"
Qin Hong—the Enchantress—raised a brow, amused."And who is this sharp-tongued girl? Do the Four Fiends need you to lecture us?"
Ling Xian'er's tone sharpened slightly."I dare not claim to teach. But abducting women in broad daylight—do you not fear Heaven's wrath?"
Qin Hong, long accustomed to ruling through fear, was rarely challenged. Hearing this, her anger flared.
Who does this girl think she is?
Her brows shot upward as she snapped,"The Four Fiends are not to be trifled with!"
Ling Xian'er remained expressionless, unmoved by the provocation.
"Then make your move."
Qin Hong could endure no more.
With a single motion, she leapt forward, her attack accompanied by a chilling wind. Her left middle finger shot out, striking toward Ling Xian'er's Yutang and Zhongting acupoints—swift, precise, and deadly.
This was her signature technique—"Embroidered Hook Hand."
Subtle, insidious, and lethal.
But Ling Xian'er had long prepared.
Her feet moved along the patterns of the Nine Palaces and Eight Trigrams. Channeling her inner force, she unleashed the Seven Absolutes Palm, neutralizing Qin Hong's piercing strikes.
The two exchanged blows—attack and defense weaving together.
Qin Hong's fingers and palms flowed like a storm—seven palms, eight strikes in rapid succession, each aimed to kill.
In an instant, Ling Xian'er was surrounded by a storm of palm and finger techniques.
Yet—
Her footing shifted.
With a sudden movement, she executed—
"Left One Moment, Right the Next."
Her shoulders swayed, her steps light as air. In a single motion, she struck east while feinting west, north while striking south.
Qin Hong faltered—momentarily disoriented.
In that instant—
Ling Xian'er's hand shot forward like a claw—stopping at Qin Hong's throat.
Qin Hong's heart jolted.
She leapt back several zhang, retreating in shock.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "How do you know this palm technique?"
Ling Xian'er lowered her hands calmly."My name is Ling Xian'er. This is the Seven Absolutes Palm—taught to me by a master beyond the mortal world."
Qin Hong sneered."Ling Xian'er? Aren't you just Wu Tong's concubine?"
At that moment—
A figure stepped forward.
Wu Tong.
His voice was calm but firm:"Mind your words. She is my fourth wife, properly wedded. Not a concubine."
Qin Hong's eyes gleamed as she looked him over.
Well-built. Handsome. Radiating masculine strength.
Her expression softened into a seductive smile."So—you are Wu Tong, Master of the Hall of Loyalty?"
But Ling Xian'er saw everything.
Jealousy flared instantly.
Her eyes blazed as she snapped,"Witch! How old are you? Old enough to be his mother!"
Qin Hong's expression darkened instantly.
"To speak of my age—and call me someone's mother? You dare!"
Her killing intent surged.
"You think I fear you?"
Before the words faded, she struck again—her body flashing forward, unleashing her ultimate move:
"Silken Needle Strike."
Her finger force pierced through the air.
Ling Xian'er responded with "Feign Welcome, Conceal Refusal." Her hands traced arcs, and a gentle palm met the attack.
Startled, Qin Hong shifted instantly—transforming her strike into a palm.
The two collided—
Bang!
Their inner forces clashed violently.
Both staggered back three to four steps before stabilizing.
Qin Hong's heart trembled.
This girl… so young—and yet her power rivals mine.