Chapter Sixty-six: Transcendence (III)

Once a practitioner’s boxing skills reached mastery, a true gulf opened between them and ordinary fighters. At this level, the art ascended to its highest form: the will and spirit became the master, flesh and bone the servants, and every muscle and bone obeyed the command of intent, causing one’s power to surge dramatically.

More crucially, each movement—every gesture, even the simplest contact—might suddenly erupt with a tide of explosive force unique to this path. Thus, when facing such an expert, every move must be met with total vigilance; any single flaw would be instantly magnified, spelling certain death.

It was by relying on this natural advantage that Diao Fengsheng forced Kou Li into a corner of the stake forest—on both sides, blade stakes; at his feet, boiling water, the scalding bubbles no more than three feet away.

His opponent now stood half a head taller than before, radiating an even more formidable aura, with energy and blood at their peak, muscles and bones resonating, internal organs thundering as if a storm raged within. In contrast, Kou Li’s appearance was far worse: his clothes were tattered, one shoe split open, and his body bore at least a dozen hidden wounds.

The future that Zheng Xiaobao had foreseen—a dying candle’s dim light—seemed to have already arrived.

Leading with the hand, sweeping across the brow, the left arm fanned forward! As his left swept and right stabbed, both arms sounded with the rising roar of a whirlpool, as if a sea god loomed before him.

Kou Li inhaled deeply without hesitation, tightened his lower body, compressed his energy and blood; his belly swelled dark as charcoal, and he lowered his boxing stance, knees and elbows drawn in to block the opponent’s palm—a mere feather-light touch, yet the pores at his neck bristled in alarm.

He realized, only then, that the opponent had shifted positions using the mist, striking from a diagonal above, elbow hooking upward, arm twisting to ensnare Kou Li’s neck. The air seemed to crack with a thunderous burst.

One more twist and lift, and his neck bones would be half torn from their sockets.

Confronted with such mortal danger, Kou Li’s expression never changed. With a tiger’s stride, he pivoted, bones contracted, hips sank, and his spine snapped his neck back so sharply his head seemed to vanish; at the same time, his lower abdomen lifted, core tightened, and with a flick of his tiger’s claw, his fingertips shot straight at the opponent’s throat.

Yet Diao Fengsheng was even more cunning—stepping forward, his arm twisting, fingers shooting up like arrows through the clouds, seizing the tiger’s claw, binding and transforming it into a thrust. His right foot advanced, churning the mist, and, like a celestial giant, his shoulder crashed down toward Kou Li’s skull.

The shoulder, anchored to the spine, was like a crossbeam; with both shoulders and waist forming a perfect triangle above, and hips and waist another inverted triangle below, the combined force could overturn rivers and seas.

A poem goes: “All strength converges at the shoulder’s crest; with one sudden surge, mountains cower. Turn the shoulder with the force of a surging sea, and storms are rendered calm.”

This was the killer move of the Diao family’s free-hand school—the Eight-Directional Shoulders!

What a fearsome blow—like the Southern Gate Mountain itself crashing down.

Kou Li’s reactions were fast as lightning, yet his opponent’s variations were even subtler. Forced to choose survival over injury, he felt as if he’d swallowed an egg whole; his head snapped up, energy from his core pressing into his limbs, his back arched like iron, absorbing the opponent’s elbow with raw resilience.

A muffled thud resounded. Kou Li felt his entire being seized by a jolt, as if a red-hot iron rod had been rammed into his core. Had the opponent unleashed the full force of his vortex energy, he would already be dead.

Eyes closed, he twisted his step, and slapped his own abdomen with a reverse palm, lightly pressing upon a vital point. As the old saying goes: when energy clogs and blood stagnates, guide it with the flow. The assassin’s fist, deftly used, could also save one’s life.

The point outside the core, too, was a critical spot. With a gentle press, he forced the energy and blood to reverse course, causing his core’s power to churn back, rolling muscles and sinews along his back in a great wave. The crest of that wave rose and fell, as if ages passed in a single breath, until at last he swallowed the opponent’s vortex into his own flesh.

No matter how great the mountain, or how fierce the spirit, none could withstand the boundless ocean.

This internal method was subtle and familiar—the very “Blade Meets Sheath” technique from the old eunuch’s soft palm school, the essence of internal boxing.

The opponent’s shoulder strike, unexpectedly redirected, left a fleeting opening. A sudden, fierce murderous intent burst from Kou Li; joints stretched like bamboo, muscles compressed, bones bent like bows, tendons taut as strings, tiger’s form and leopard’s claws—both palms pierced for the throat in tandem!

The force of this move rivaled seventy or eighty percent of that unleashed by that little demon Luo Yao when she stormed the school.

Momentum shifted—rise and fall, attack and counterattack. If you fail to kill, you will be killed.

No matter how lofty the realm of boxing, without translating it into technique, it would be meaningless.

After dozens of furious exchanges, for the first time Diao Fengsheng found himself in mortal peril—doomed, unless he could escape.

At this critical juncture, he too was forced to reveal his true skill, which by now had surpassed mere boxing. The strange, monstrous eye atop his head contracted; his energy roared out of control. In Kou Li’s vision, his adversary’s head split open, eyes bulged, transforming into a serpentine visage—ashen scales, black armor, a flickering forked tongue, and eyes like rubies, emanating a sinister, irresistible allure.

Man-eating monsters were base creatures; only those that bewitched could claim true mastery.

That same spiritual oppression he’d felt when dueling the Red-Eyed Envoy appeared again—more real and more dangerous than before, as if a slick, massive python coiled around his body.

He could keenly sense the clammy, suffocating pressure.

Then, the serpent’s maw opened wide, about to swallow him whole.

At the very moment Diao Fengsheng exulted in triumph—

The tiger’s claw, sharp as an awl, drove straight for his face!

But that split second of rigidity had granted his body time to react—both palms flared like ox tongues, sweeping aside and redirecting the claw attack.

Kou Li, undeterred, surged into the mist.

Meanwhile, a fresh gash appeared on Diao Fengsheng’s palm. In those once aloof, imperious eyes, a flicker of anger and wariness now gleamed.

At the most dangerous juncture, Kou Li had followed his prior calculations, shutting out the outside world and focusing inward on the “stream” within, thus evading the final spiritual assault.

“Impossible! The ‘Basin of Pearls’ has been broken!” Luo Yi exclaimed in shock. The “Basin of Pearls” was the most famed technique of the Diao family, where each strike, like a scattered string of pearls, embodied the art’s endless variations and refined essence.

Yet this style, which had pushed the vortex force to its zenith, failed to ensnare its target—worse, in the end, Kou Li had even seized the advantage.

Unmatched beneath the level of mastery!

“Again, double force!” Mo Yi whispered, eyes filled with incredulity.

It was the gathering force inspired by the old eunuch’s “Blade Meets Sheath” palm.

With the Tiger-Leopard Combo at its core, combined with Kou Li’s insight into the Fierce Tiger Fist and the Wrist-Shearing Blossoms, it gave birth to the Serpent’s Snap.

The most difficult part of the Bamboo Joint Force was to generate technique without form; its greatest strength, to weave form from formlessness. Each joint linked to the next, roots rising and falling in harmony, the force explosive and unpredictable—no one could tell at which joint the lethal blow would emerge.

In this sense, the characteristics of his boxing echoed those found only at the highest level.

Unmatched beneath mastery—truly, this saying was never wrong. But when mastery met mastery, the outcome was far from certain.

Kou Li, wielding a near-masterful Fierce Tiger Fist, reinforced with the fourfold Bamboo Joint Force, now stood as a “pseudo-master” among fighters.

Meanwhile, on the stage, the boiling water had filled the air with dense steam, turning the arena into a giant steamer, the heat rising to almost unbearable levels.

Even with Kou Li’s consummate training in the Boy’s Stance, he felt both inside and out as if scorched by fire, his pores on the verge of opening uncontrollably.

If victory or defeat was not decided within the time it takes half an incense stick to burn, his organs would find no respite, his blood would run wild, and all moisture within him would pour out like a river—certain death would follow.

Through the mist, the opponent’s spirit, like invisible tentacles, radiated menace, oppression, and ferocity, ceaselessly battering his own will.

Yet from the moment this deadly bout began, for the first time, he felt a true hope of survival.

Had Diao Fengsheng combined the Diao school’s free-hand art with his uncanny mental techniques from the very start, Kou Li’s chances of living would have been less than one in ten.

Especially since his opponent’s extraordinary physical state was beyond all expectations—at the height of his powers, with energy surpassing even Kou Li, whose hard stance was second to none.

But ever since coming close to turning the tables, Kou Li sensed a shift—the opponent’s condition was faltering. Reversing age was beyond the reach of boxing, and if the man truly wielded immortal arts, he would not be subject to the whims of others.

So this state must carry a price, especially in an environment where energy and stamina were consumed at a furious pace. The odds of collapse only increased.

And since his foe had underestimated him, failing to unleash his full strength from the outset, it was finally time for him to pay the price!