CUI BUQU HAD a heart as hard as iron. Feng Xiao breathed a quiet sigh, face showing helplessness as he walked toward Fo'er.
He walked slowly—almost hesitantly. Fo'er didn't hurry him. He waited patiently until Feng Xiao was a few feet away.
"Are you well, Deputy Chief Feng?" he asked, all concern.
"I am."
Fo'er smiled a little at the sight of Feng Xiao's calm facade. "If Deputy Chief Feng is not at his best today, I'll let you make the first three moves."
"Sure!" said Feng Xiao.
Fo'er was speechless.
He hadn't expected Feng Xiao to agree so readily. He stared for a moment but received only an innocent smile in return. This man was the deputy chief of the Jiejian Bureau, a person of high rank and authority, and a martial arts grandmaster. Shouldn't he be brimming with youthful vigor and arrogance? Yet not only had Feng Xiao failed to haughtily refuse the handicap, he'd accepted it without the slightest hesitation.
Instantly, Fo'er regretted his offer. But the words were spoken; he couldn't take them back. All he could do was beckon toward Feng Xiao. "Then please go ahead."
Feng Xiao was entirely unapologetic. He sprang into the air like a crane spreading its wings, featherlight, and swept toward Fo'er at lightning speed—swift yet utterly soundless.
Fo'er's heart went cold; he instinctively moved to counterattack before he remembered his own promise. In a blink, he switched from offense to defense and dodged to the side.
But Feng Xiao clung to him like a shadow. Wherever Fo'er stepped, Feng Xiao followed, striking out with palms channeled full of internal energy.
The words he'd spoken bound him; Fo'er reined in his attacks and dodged Feng Xiao a second time. He was beginning to realize Feng Xiao didn't need these concessions at all. He'd only allowed Feng Xiao three moves, but to Fo'er, the assault felt unending. He thought quickly—he wasn't here to spar, and the onlookers likely couldn't tell how many moves Feng Xiao had made. Without warning, he switched from defense to offense, driving his palm toward Feng Xiao's right shoulder.
Feng Xiao danced aside. His figure was light and graceful as he drifted a foot into the air, blocking Fo'er's attack.
"You promised me three moves. How come you gave up after two?" He laughed.
"Deputy Chief Feng must have misremembered!" Fo'er sneered. He didn't slow his attacks in the slightest.
Fo'er's techniques had always had a bold style, but now there was an uncanny variability to them. He circled Feng Xiao, looking for an opening to deal him a fatal blow. But Feng Xiao was just as swift as he flashed left and right, his clothes swirling, leaving Fo'er no gap to find.
They'd yet to start fighting properly. When martial artists of their caliber went all-out, the sight was nothing like their current game of hide-and-seek. To onlookers, Feng Xiao's moves appeared downright cowardly, as if he was too afraid to face Fo'er straight on. Fo'er, on the contrary, took this as more evidence that Feng Xiao was injured and feared a direct confrontation. He could dodge all he liked and deplete his strength until it ran out. Fo'er was in no rush.
Yet on the sidelines, Ade was ill at ease.
After the disgrace he'd suffered last night, he hated Feng Xiao and his group to the bone. Had any of the Han slaves they kept on the grasslands humiliated him thusly, the second prince would have chopped off their heads and fed them to the wolves without a second thought. But he couldn't even beat Qiao Xian; confronting Feng Xiao was out of the question. Their status as envoys tied his hands for now, but his heart was filled with simmering rage.
Fo'er and Feng Xiao had tied in the archery contest, much to the second prince's consternation. He wished for nothing more than to see Fo'er send Feng Xiao to his grave with the single strike of a palm. With only two Sui envoys left—one an invalid, the other a woman—there would be nothing to worry about. The neighboring nations' image of the Sui dynasty would plummet, and Apa Khagan would side with Ishbara. No longer would he entertain an alliance with the Sui dynasty, and that harridan Jinlian wouldn't dare strut about. Once they all fell from grace, Ade would be free to kill them or skin them as he pleased.
He stared at the shifting silhouettes dancing on the battlefield, flames dancing in his eyes. His thoughts were like a blazing inferno, ready to burn all the despicable wretches of the Central Plains to ash.
Fo'er's third palm strike missed. He frowned. Over the last dozen exchanges, Feng Xiao had remained evasive, rarely counterattacking. Yet somehow, he had dodged or parried each one of Fo'er's moves at the last instant.
Why wasn't he striking back?
The longer it went on, the more Fo'er itched to force him to attack. The wind from his palm roared like mountain gales, sweeping toward its target and piercing Feng Xiao's cloak of true qi, leaving him with nowhere to hide—now he'd have to meet Fo'er head-on.
Their palms slammed into each other as two bursts of true qi collided with a deafening bang. The very ground seemed to heave as if two mountains crashed into each other and crumbled, stone shattering and sliding down steep slopes. Piercing agony spiked through Fo'er's palm as a sudden thought surfaced in his mind: all his conclusions were based on the premise that Feng Xiao was injured.
What if Feng Xiao wasn't injured at all?
Fo'er had fought Feng Xiao twice. He knew he'd come up short, but he'd subconsciously refused to accept it. He was the Khaganate's foremost martial expert. Across the vast reaches of the Central Plains, who could be his match? If Feng Xiao was injured, Fo'er would no longer be at a disadvantage. They'd be equal in strength.
Neither Feng Xiao's bizarre behavior last night nor his unnatural stance when drawing the bow had looked fake. Fo'er was confident in his victory.
The two separated midair, touching down on the ground.
Fo'er shook out his sleeve and something slipped down into his palm. A moment later, a tiny and exquisite vajra was clasped in his hand.
At first it was only the length of a finger. Yet with a gentle flick of Fo'er's wrist, the vajra extended until it was half the length of an arm. Secure in his grip, it swung toward Feng Xiao in an arc of golden light.
All sorts of strange weapons littered the world. Most preferred swords or sabers, but exceptions existed. Feng Xiao, for instance, preferred the zither. He could inflict damage with its music or use the instrument as a blunt weapon. But he didn't have a zither now. He didn't have any proper weapon at all. Faced with a vajra that was rushing toward his head like a meteor, he had two choices: avoid it, or face it head-on.
Fo'er was certain Feng Xiao would try to evade; thus before this move, he'd sealed all Feng Xiao's escape routes. Now that the vajra was impossible to avoid, Feng Xiao would have to give the battle his all.
Feng Xiao sucked in a breath, drawing up a lungful of true qi. He raised himself up as if preparing to catch the vajra with his bare hands.
How useless. Fo'er's mouth opened in a silent, sneering laugh. The fatal strike wouldn't come from the vajra, but from another place entirely.
As Feng Xiao caught the vajra in one hand, Fo'er's empty palm streaked toward a vital acupoint on Feng Xiao's chest. He channeled every ounce of his power into this blow. Even if Feng Xiao hadn't been wounded, he was distracted by the vajra—it was impossible for him to bring his full strength to bear against Fo'er's palm strike. And he was sure that Feng Xiao was hurt.
"Why are you so certain I'm injured?"
A voice as light as a feather drifted into Fo'er's ear.
Fo'er's vajra connected with empty air. His palm, too, felt like it had struck cotton, the weight of the blow completely absorbed.
"I've been waiting for you to use your full strength," continued Feng Xiao. "You're much more patient now than you were in Liugong City. However—"
The moment he'd missed, Fo'er had sensed something wrong and drawn back in retreat. But it was too late. Feng Xiao landed beside Fo'er at a speed far beyond what he'd used to evade. One of his hands slammed into Fo'er's shoulder blade, while the other plunged a sword into Fo'er's back.
When two masters fought, neither could afford the slightest slip. Fo'er coughed up a mouthful of blood, but he didn't pause for a second. He lurched forward, trying to free himself from the blade piercing a key acupoint in his back.
He'd reacted swiftly, but Feng Xiao had seen through him. With an even greater speed, he turned his wrist and twisted the sword deeper. His other hand released Fo'er's shoulder, then tapped several acupoints along the back of his neck and head.
Fo'er's eyes went wide as he struggled to maintain consciousness. He wrenched his body around and grabbed at Feng Xiao, as if to take Feng Xiao down with him. But Feng Xiao's attack had succeeded; he had no reason to stay close. He flickered a few steps to the side, then slammed his palm into Fo'er's heart.
Fo'er spat another mouthful of blood.
He'd finally lost the strength to resist; his body crumpled to the ground. Yet his eyes remained open, fixed on Feng Xiao, his hatred undying.
Feng Xiao moved his arm experimentally. He'd paid a hefty price for catching his opponent's vajra. The impact had broken his arm and damaged his muscles and tendons, and he'd suffered some internal injuries.
It was a small price in exchange for Fo'er's life.
"You were right. I am injured." Feng Xiao squatted down beside Fo'er, who was breathing his last. "You probably didn't know: there's a secret technique known as meridian sealing. It temporarily seals your injured meridians in exchange for a boost in power. There are side effects, yes, but it allowed me to take your life. A worthy trade. Also…"
Feng Xiao picked up the vajra and tossed it behind him like he was throwing away trash. "Did you imagine you're the only one with a concealed weapon? Two can play at that game. When you arrive in the underworld, tell King Yama you don't want to run into me in your next life. Ah, I forgot. You Göktürks don't have a King Yama. Then go be a wandering ghost, O foremost expert of the Göktürks."
Fo'er opened his mouth as if to speak, but only fresh blood spilled out. Whatever last words he had remained unsaid. At last he fell still—in the end, he'd passed away from sheer rage toward Feng Xiao.
All around was stunned silence.
The greatest expert of the Göktürks had perished. Half an hour earlier, the crowd had been certain Feng Xiao would be the one to lose his dignity or his life. Prince Ade sat frozen with a grape halfway to his mouth. He stared at Feng Xiao, mouth agape and hand hanging in midair, looking for all the world like a shocked statue.
Feng Xiao turned to him and smiled.
With a great shout, Fo'er's deputy envoy rushed toward Feng Xiao. Blood sprayed into the air, hitting the ground at the same time as the deputy envoy's corpse.
Two envoys of Ishbara, one of them almost a martial arts grandmaster—both dead, just like that.
The second prince's hand trembled. His gaze fixed on Fo'er's face, eyes still wide in death. For the first time in his life, he felt the urge to shrink behind his father and hide.