It was precisely Mad Ghost Bai Chang, his body darting like a swallow skimming the sky. Dharma King Zhao Ke—what composure under peril! He raised his palms at once, split and deflected, parrying and evading in seamless sequence, his steps retreating in orderly measure. These movements were not arcane secrets, yet they were calm and measured, the force deep and resonant, the palm work seasoned and sure—truly the bearing of a grandmaster. With a superb application of "four ounces to deflect a thousand pounds," he shed the incoming force entirely, dissolving the attack in an instant.
Zhao Ke was a peerless figure of the jianghu. Facing such ferocity, his receptions were unhurried and immaculate.
Mad Ghost Bai Chang did not relent. The moment he touched down, he roared out a flurry of palms, then pressed in close, striking straight for the chest. Zhao Ke hollowed his chest and drew in his abdomen; his hands pressed down in succession, arms circling to gather the oncoming force. His waist snapped—whoosh!—and several palms burst forth in counterattack: the move "Swallow the Blade, Spit the Fire." Bai Chang hurriedly sank his wrists to withdraw, shifting left and right, then lifted a leg to sweep Zhao Ke's lower gate. The two advanced and retreated with measure, attack and defense in perfect order. On the field the exchange was fierce; off it, the gathered heroes cried out in delight.
Bai Chang forcibly shed the palm force and shot his left palm through. Zhao Ke pinned it down and countered with a right fist. Bai Chang veered into a slanted leap, suddenly slapping out a palm midair. Zhao Ke slid aside, tapped the ground, flipped in midair, and thundered several palms downward. Bai Chang raised his arms to block; too late to switch hands, he could only brace against the force. With a bang, his body flew backward; even after landing he staggered three steps more.
Zhao Ke's bearing was refined and elegant. He cupped his fists."Accepted—with thanks."
Knowing Zhao Ke had spared his face, Bai Chang laughed openly, returning the salute."Dharma King Zhao shows mercy!"
At that moment Vicious Fiend Hong Qi stepped forward, cupping his fists."Dharma King Zhao—splendid skill! I am Hong Qi, the Vicious Fiend. Presumptuous though it may be, I come to seek instruction. I beg your guidance."
Zhao Ke, scholarly and graceful, returned the salute."Please."
As the words fell, Hong Qi barked a fierce shout and vaulted into the air, plunging toward Zhao Ke. Wind howled as a palm cleaved down. Though Mount Tai were to collapse before him, his color would not change; though deer should leap beside him, his gaze would not flicker. In that instant—no sooner said than done—Zhao Ke reversed a palm to hook the incoming strike. Hong Qi flipped his wrist, brushed it aside, and unleashed "Withered Wind Sweeps the Leaves," a leg whipping low. Zhao Ke lifted to evade and counter-kicked at once. Hands and legs met—move answered by move. After several exchanges, Hong Qi rolled and spun along the ground, speed like lightning, suddenly bursting toward Zhao Ke's chest with twin fists, swift beyond measure.
Zhao Ke remained unflustered. He turned and twisted, body following step, palms changing with motion—moving like a dragon. In a circle they went: you attack, I defend; I attack, you defend. Hong Qi's fists came like gales, blow after blow of stone-splitting weight and razor force. Zhao Ke braced with firm punches. The contest tightened; cheers and gasps rose in waves, echoing without end.
Their handwork still unbroken, Zhao Ke launched "Blazing Fire, Crashing Thunder." His arms wheeled, twin palms crossing like lightning; a shriek of wind, and a fierce palm gale cleaved forth. Hong Qi raised his arms to block and was blasted backward, skimming three zhang away. He cried,"Kite-Hawk Pounce!"
Feet touched—then he sprang, diving like an eagle upon a rabbit, rolling in the air and crashing down in a plunging strike.
Again Zhao Ke held fast under danger. He split palms and evaded, retreating in measured calm—once more "four ounces to deflect a thousand pounds," shedding the force completely and dissolving the assault at once. Against Hong Qi's ferocity, his receptions remained unhurried and clean.
The instant Hong Qi landed, his punches roared forth. Zhao Ke raised a palm to meet them; twin forces collided and billowed into wind. The clash whipped grasses and stones skyward. Shouts rang as they leapt and grappled, palms and fists slamming with thunder that shook the fields. Zhao Ke slipped aside and unfurled "Lure the Wind, Stoke the Fire." His right arm wheeled, clouds rolling and lightning flashing; the left palm cleaved straight, the right struck across—two razor palm-gales burst forth.
Hong Qi answered with "Casual Push of the Stele," his signature art—left fist becoming palm as the right fist drove forward: fist to fist, palm to palm. The heroes gasped, secretly impressed.
They traded again. Zhao Ke's right palm probed; Hong Qi reached to seize—feint!—then the left palm slashed in, swift as a falling star, chaining a wheel of fierce assaults: "Beacon Fires Fill the Heavens." Hong Qi's inner strength was running dry; his strikes slowed a fraction. As he turned, a palm suddenly darted out—his heart jolted; he could not evade in time. Smack! He took it hard—smack, smack!—left chest and abdomen struck in succession. His body reeled back five steps.
Zhao Ke withdrew his force at once and ceased attacking, modest in bearing. He cupped his fists."Much instruction received. I am deeply obliged."
Hong Qi froze, then marveled inwardly at Zhao Ke's unfathomable mastery—such withdrawal, such restraint, leaving him unhurt. He returned the salute with sincere admiration."The Flame Palms are peerless in our age. I yield completely."
With Mad Ghost Bai Chang and Vicious Fiend Hong Qi both defeated, the result sent a shock through the greenwood ranks. They stared at one another, stunned—what face remained to save? Ferocious Deity Yuan Rong and Ghost-Fearing Wang Yu turned their eyes to "Overlord of Chu" Wang Chong. Having left the Yan court, he had joined later; he had rampaged across the two Jiangnan circuits without equal. Tall and broad, leopard head and ringed eyes, swallow jaw and tiger whiskers—his name thundered across the jianghu.
Overlord of Chu Wang Chong leapt into the field in two bounds and cupped his fists."Dharma King Zhao! I am Wang Chong, Overlord of Chu. I come to seek instruction in your sect's peerless arts and to receive your guidance."
Though Zhao Ke's skill was consummate, two hard battles had drained his inner strength; he feared his power might not answer his will. As he raised his hands to speak, another stepped forward and cupped his fists.
"Dharma King Zhao has fought two bouts and should rest. I am Li Rui, Dharma King of the Manichaean Sect. I ask Brother Chu for instruction instead, and beg your generous guidance."