Chapter Fifty-Eight: Master and Disciple, the Twin Terrors (Please Vote)

In a narrow alley of Yuezhou City, two corpses lay limp on the ground, their skulls caved in, necks seemingly shortened, and bone spikes protruding faintly from their limbs. Blood mingled with shattered joints, scattered all over their bodies, making them appear like rag dolls, broken and discarded.

This was the ruthless manifestation of the "Monument-Smashing Hand" technique: a force that split the skull and shattered the bones throughout the body, driving fragments outward. Even as the heat rose in delicate wisps above Luo Yanzong’s hair, the aura of violence lingered.

"Deathsworn!"

If they weren’t deathsworn, how could they have thrown their lives away, knowing they were outmatched, merely to buy time? Yet what puzzled Luo Yanzong was, which power could command such skilled fighters—masters of the fist—to so casually sacrifice themselves?

Their level of martial arts was close to the "Four Tigers and Eight Wolves" of the Water Dragon Gang.

"Master Luo, please heed the master's command: stay here a while and do not meddle," the two remaining men said, faces expressionless.

"Hmph!" Luo Yanzong's anger was barely contained. The alley’s temperature rose as if coals had been lit beneath his feet. He strode forward, covering thirty feet in a single step, his hair bristling and falling in rhythm.

He swung his arm like a hammer, and inside his body, twenty-four crisp snaps echoed—"Great Heat!" In an instant, his forearm turned red as glowing iron, white smoke curling upward. He brought it down with force. The opponent braced, summoning all his blood and energy to block. There was a muffled crash; seven or eight flagstones shattered beneath them.

The man’s arms broke at the same time.

"Nine-Fold Wave!"

Without pause, Luo Yanzong transformed his hammer strike into an open-palm technique. His palm swept forth, and within a hundred-foot radius, the roar of surging waves thundered as if bursting at one’s ear. His opponent, stunned, was sent flying, body and soul, to hang against the left wall of the alley. At the realm of the Fourfold Refinement, every punch and kick carried the force of a thousand pounds—no longer intricate, but refined to the highest mastery.

To strike a man like hanging a painting—the wall, likely decayed with age, could not withstand the force. Three heartbeats after the body struck it, there was a succession of crashes as nearly thirty feet of blue bricks and red tiles collapsed like a domino chain, drawing a crowd of startled onlookers.

"Go back and tell your master—whoever he is, from whatever faction—if anything happens to the Eighth Brother, I’ll show him what it means when a commoner’s wrath spills blood within five steps!"

The final deathsworn was silent for a moment, then turned and left—not out of fear, but knowing even another life could not buy so much as a heartbeat’s delay.

A master whose martial arts have reached such a realm is nearly impossible to restrain—no matter who you are.

Luo Yanzong’s expression was cold. He no longer concealed his identity, walking openly down the main street. He began to wonder if, over the years, he had been too patient, too yielding—so much so that others now dared to scorn him.

Burning Body Hall, Five Elephants Hall, Che Family Fist—they seemed not to understand why, without a wealthy patron or a powerful backer, the Burning Body Martial Hall remained one of the three great halls of Lingnan.

What was his nickname, ten years ago?

Ah, yes—Sea Asura! The wrathful and combative demon, feared and famed.

...

Just as Kou Li thought he was doomed, the ground suddenly trembled. A stormy howl, like a locomotive whistle, erupted. His vision blurred, and the eunuch who’d been constricting him like a demonic python was sent flying.

“It’s said that when martial arts reach the verge of shattering the void, when qi and strength are united and the marrow produces blood, one can sense everything within twenty miles—killing intent, a silver needle dropping, a flower petal falling—every detail is heard. Good, good, today I have witnessed it myself!” The old eunuch struggled up, his gaze venomous.

Lin Xianshi looked at him calmly. Though his body seemed unremarkable, his presence was as weighty as a mountain. He spoke coolly: “When the twisting force of the skin and the explosive force of the flesh are combined, one strike with the palm turns bone to mush, shattering it at every inch, rupturing the organs. The internal school’s mastery focuses inward, with a unique, soft, and subtle force. You’ve trained it well.”

“A pity—were you not a eunuch, with your level of martial arts, body refinement would not be difficult.”

The old eunuch wiped blood from his lips, grinning malevolently. “I practiced this soft palm precisely to seal my essence gate, so my masters wouldn’t smell urine. Body refinement means nothing to one such as me.”

After castration, eunuchs lose control of their lower bodies and are forced to wear diapers. The highest-ranking servants are selected from those who practice internal martial arts, tightening the essence gate—taiji eunuchs trained in the house.

“I told the Eighth Brother, as long as he’s at Guanchao, no one can harm him. You’re no exception. You have ten breaths—if you can’t escape, you’ll stay here forever.”

To Lin Xianshi, even consummate martial arts, nearing the body refinement realm, weren’t enough to warrant him striking immediately—he would grant the other ten breaths, just to be fair.

Most importantly, the old eunuch showed not the slightest displeasure at these terms, but cast Lin Xianshi a deep look and said, “I’ll remember you.”

With a shuffling step, he performed the art of "flying mud and treading snow," his body snakelike and boneless, vanishing into the depths of the forest.

“The footwork of an internal master relies on the simultaneous exertion of hand, shoulder, arm, hip, thigh, and knee, uniting the body’s movement—lifting the shoulder with the hand, raising the hip with the arm, pulling the thigh with the hip, leading the knee with the leg. This technique is known as the Six Dragons Playing with the Pearl.

“The simplest way to break such a step is to strike the waist, disrupting all points of power transmission,” Luo Yanzong explained to Kou Li, making no move to pursue, instead picking up a pebble from the ground.

Strangely, though the old eunuch had fled far, every word reached his ears, and anxiety, rare for him, began to creep in.

A master of the internal school channels rolling force from the dantian, closing the pores, drawing the vital energy up to the fetal origin, looping it back through the life gate, descending through various acupoints, and returning to the dantian—a state known as the Taiji Circle.

In this state, breath is unnecessary—energy circulates in torrents, the pelvic region is filled with strength and flexibility, creating a central powerhouse within the body, never exhausting its momentum. The next step is the Taiji Sphere, a different, unique force altogether.

Thus, the old eunuch, without pausing for breath, appeared two miles away, the city walls of Yuezhou already in sight—just a few steps beyond Guanchao.

But then, a violent commotion like the shifting of mountains erupted behind him. The earth caved in, roots snapped, and the sound was like a hill collapsing.

Unable to resist, the old eunuch turned—and his eyes narrowed in shock, cold sweat prickling his skin. Behind him, a huge shadow surged. A tree, as thick as a strong man’s waist and five or six zhang tall, had been uprooted. The sound of tearing came from roots deep in the earth, leaves and dirt flew, and the commotion was as if a thousand-year-old tree demon had awakened.

The tree, like a battering ram, crashed forward with thunderous force.

When Lu Zhishen uprooted willows, he swung an iron monk’s staff—onlookers marveled that even a water buffalo couldn’t wield such strength. To pull up a tree by the roots would demand the power of an iron ox, not a mere beast.

Faced with this mountain-uprooting force, the old eunuch’s hair stood on end. His left foot leapt forward as his right slid sideways, heel and toe tapping the ground a dozen times. His body shifted three zhang to the left front in a strange, gliding step—the "Crossing Water Step" of internal martial arts, like a spider skimming water or a gecko climbing a wall.

Thanks to this step, he barely dodged the devastating blow of the giant tree.

But as he twisted through the air, a sudden pain stabbed his waist. His body froze mid-leap, then a gentle palm struck his back. Within, several main tendons snapped—the sound clear and sharp. The old eunuch was sent hurtling seven or eight zhang, crashing heavily beyond the forest’s edge.

For a long moment, he could not rise. When he finally struggled upright, he cried in agony: “Well done, Lin Xianshi—truly ruthless! With one palm you’ve snapped four of my main tendons, crippling all my martial arts. Well, well! You’ve hidden yourself deeply indeed. For someone like you, to not be listed in the Martial Records is a travesty.”

This kidnapping had been almost certain to succeed—only Lin Xianshi’s unimaginable mastery, able to sense every nuance within twenty miles, had ruined it. Otherwise, with the eunuch’s skills, he would never have met such an end.

The Martial Records of the court listed not only the most famous schools but also the most dangerous folk masters. Yet, somehow, a figure as formidable as Lin Xianshi was nowhere to be found.

Kou Li finally managed to stand, only to see the martial hall master crouching before him, dusting his shoes. Rising, Lin Xianshi smiled gently: “Eighth Brother, I told you—at Guanchao, no one can trouble you.”