The wind howled across the precipice, whipping the hem of the midnight-black robes worn by the young woman who had appeared like a ghost. A crimson-hued sword was strapped to her back, its scabbard humming with a low, restless energy. She did not look like a thief; she looked like an executioner. Li Bai Feng stood amidst the swirling mist, her eyes—cold and dark as a winter's night—stared intently at Song Xiaolong and the Tang disciples.
A heavy silence fell over the Heavenly Peak. The martial artists who had been mid-clash froze, their weapons lowered, as the realization of her identity rippled through the crowd like a physical chill. They couldn't believe their eyes; the stories told in teahouses of the "Black Widow" were usually dismissed as exaggerations to frighten children. But here she was, standing on the sacred ground of the Seven Mountains.
Xu Jing Seng, his face pale beneath the mountain sun, gave a grim nod. His voice was a mere rasp. "That's her. Li Bai Feng."
She did not acknowledge the crowd. Instead, Li Bai Feng ascended, her feet barely touching the frost, and landed silently beside the wounded Li Meng. She looked down at him, her gaze sharp enough to cut. There was no pity in her eyes, only a clinical assessment of his weakness.
"Who struck you?" she asked, her voice like cracking ice.
Li Meng, his face twisted in a mix of pain and petty triumph, looked pointedly at the Tang family. He raised his sword, pointing the trembling tip toward Tang Lei and Song Xiaolong. "Elder Sister," he spat, "he struck me. They teamed up against us."
Li Bai Feng's head turned slowly, her eyes locking onto Song Xiaolong. She rolled them with a dismissive, haughty flair. "How dare you strike my cousin?" she hissed.
The air around her seemed to combust. Without another word, she surged forward. She didn't just run; she became a streak of black lightning.
Song Xiaolong's eyes widened. He raised his hands to form a defensive ward, his internal energy surging to his palms, but Li Bai Feng was a whirlwind. Before his defense could fully manifest, she delivered a powerful, bone-crunching punch straight into his chest. The impact sounded like a drum being struck. Song Xiaolong was launched backward, his body soaring across the fifty-foot chasm and crashing into the dirt beside the Heavenly Flower bushes on the other side of the cliff.
As soon as Song Xiaolong scrambled to his feet, coughing up the dust of the peak, he was swallowed by a second wave. Li Bai Feng was already there, her shadow eclipsing him. She unleashed a whirlwind of strikes—palms, elbows, and kicks that blurred into a singular, unrelenting assault.
"If we don't get over there quickly, they will destroy the rest of the Heavenly Flower bushes!" someone shouted from the main cliff.
The cry broke the spell. The martial artists stopped their petty squabbles and turned as one to watch the titans battling on the far ledge. The shock of Li Bai Feng's arrival was being replaced by the gnawing greed for the remaining blossoms.
"Let's get over there!" a rogue cultivator roared, drawing his blade.
"Yeah, if we don't get over there soon, those two will destroy the Heavenly Flower bushes in their fight!" "But... look at the ledge!" a disciple cried, pointing. "That cliff is too small to hold so many people at once! We'll push each other into the abyss!"
Xu Jing Seng walked to the very edge of the precipice, a thoughtful, calculating expression on his face. He looked at the chaos, then back at the leaders of the Seven Mountains.
"What if I go over and pick the rest of the flowers?" he proposed, his voice carrying an air of feigned selflessness. "I will bring these flowers to Ji Qingling, and he will decide who, or how, everyone can have a chance to own one. It is better than letting them be trampled into the mud."
Lu Fong, ever the opportunist, gave a sharp nod. "This might be the best way to handle this situation. Xu has the skill to navigate that ledge."
"I agree with Martial Artist Xu," Chief Wang added, his eyes fixed on the precious white blooms.
Xu Jing Seng allowed a small, triumphant smile to touch his lips. He gathered his breath, preparing to leap across the gap. But before his toes could leave the rock, a blur of silver and grey flew past him.
The figure turned in mid-air with blinding speed. A heavy punch, backed by a terrifying amount of internal weight, caught Xu Jing Seng squarely in the chest. The sound of ribs cracking was audible even over the wind. Xu Jing Seng was sent flying backward, his body crashing into the ranks of the martial artists who had just been cheering him on. He hit the ground hard, his body convulsing as he vomited a mouthful of dark, iron-scented blood.
Standing at the edge of the cliff was a young man who seemed to have appeared from the mist itself. His face was partially obscured by a silver half-mask that caught the glint of the sun, leaving only a pair of cold, weary eyes visible to the world.
"Senior Martial Brother!" the disciples of the Jin Diao Sect shouted in a chorus of concern, rushing to pull Xu Jing Seng from the dirt.
Xu Jing Seng shoved them aside, wiping the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. He stared at the masked figure, his eyes burning with a mix of fury and confusion. "Who are you?"
The young man didn't move. He stood with a stillness that was unnatural. "Bai Jiahao," he replied, his voice deep, low, and vibrating with an authority that didn't match his age.
The name Bai hit the crowd like a thunderbolt. A collective murmur of astonishment rose from the martial artists. They knew the history of the Jianghu; they knew that Grandmaster Bai, a man whose name was once used to quiet rowdy martial artists, had disappeared years ago into the mists of legend.
"How are you related to Grandmaster Bai?" Xu Jing Seng pressed, his hand clutching his chest as he struggled to breathe.
Bai Jiahao's expression didn't change behind the silver mask. "Never heard of him before," he replied flatly.
Lu Fong stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Then what is your purpose here, boy? Why interfere with the Seven Mountains?"
Bai Jiahao let out a long, heavy sigh. There was no aggression in it—only a profound, crushing weariness. "I'm here to pick a Heavenly Flower as a dowry," he stated, as if he were talking about picking up a loaf of bread from a market.
A few martial artists chuckled nervously at the absurdity of it. Others, the older and wiser ones, kept the name Bai carefully tucked away in their minds, sensing the hidden depth of the young man's power.
"And how are you going to get the Heavenly Flowers?" one martial artist asked, his hand resting on his sword. "You think we'll just let you walk across?"
Bai Jiahao turned his back to the man, offering no reply. He simply looked toward the flowers.
"Hey!" The martial artist yelled, his face reddening with the insult of being ignored. "Are you looking down on me?"
The man lunged forward, stretching out his arm to grab Bai Jiahao's shoulder to spin him around. In a flash—a movement so fast the eye couldn't track it—Bai Jiahao turned. He struck the man's chest with a short, explosive palm.
The force was astronomical. The man didn't just fall; he became a projectile. His body crashed backward into the crowd, knocking down ten martial artists standing behind him like a row of pins. They crumpled to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs, all of them vomiting blood as the internal shockwave rippled through them.
Without looking back, Bai Jiahao vaulted over the chasm. He landed on the far ledge and swiftly gathered four Heavenly Flowers. He tucked two into the inner folds of his robe with practiced ease. He was about to turn and leave when a shadow fell over him.
Li Bai Feng, abandoning her assault on Song Xiaolong, swung her right leg in a lethal, sweeping arc aimed at Bai Jiahao's head.
Bai Jiahao's hand moved like a viper. He seized Li Bai Feng's airborne leg mid-swing. With a terrifying display of raw strength and fluid motion, he flung her entire form toward the jagged face of the mountain.
He didn't stop to watch her hit. He vanished, reappearing instantly before the staggering Song Xiaolong. He delivered a bone-shattering punch to the abdomen that sent the Tang disciple reeling toward the very edge of the precipice.
Before Li Bai Feng could even recoil from the mountain face she had been thrown against, Bai Jiahao was on her again. He lashed out with a swift, punishing kick to her chest. The impact launched her across the short distance, her body slamming into the already-unsteady Song Xiaolong.
It was too much weight, too much momentum. Song Xiaolong's heels slipped on the frozen rock. As he tumbled backward into the void, his hand reflexively shot out, latching onto the thick silk of Li Bai Feng's black robe.
There was a sharp gasp, a rustle of fabric, and then—nothing. With no anchor and no ground beneath them, the two powerful cultivators plummeted together into the misty abyss, swallowed by the white shroud of the mountain.
Bai Jiahao turned around. He saw the remaining Heavenly Flower bushes still standing, their petals glowing with that taunting, celestial light. He stared at them for a long moment, the silence of the peak returning for a heartbeat.
"So," he murmured to himself, his voice barely a whisper, "these are the Heavenly Flowers that people trade their lives for just to get a hold of them."
He looked down at his feet, where Song Xiaolong's discarded sword lay. With a flick of his right foot, he kicked the blade into the air, catching the hilt with a practiced grip. He spun, and with two quick, violent swings, he unleashed waves of raw Sword-Qi.
The energy cut through the air like invisible scythes, mowing down all twenty bushes of Heavenly Flowers in a single breath.
But he wasn't finished. Reaching into his inner robe, he pulled out a fire folder. With a practiced flick of his thumb, he popped the cap open, blew gently on the tip to awaken the hidden flame, and tossed it into the heap of severed branches and dying petals.
The bushes, rich with natural oils and energy, erupted. Bai Jiahao stood there, his silver mask reflecting the orange glow of the pyre, until the flames had consumed everything. Only when he was certain that the source of the greed was ash did he fly back across the chasm to the main cliff.
"How dare you destroy the bushes on Heavenly Peak?" a martial artist roared, his face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. "You've robbed the world!"
Bai Jiahao's voice was a calm blade, cutting through the collective fury of the crowd. "These plants are a recurring source of disagreement and bloodshed within the Martial World, appearing every seven years only to fuel further killing. There is no good reason to preserve the cause of so much destruction. The superior solution is to eradicate the problem."
"What right do you have?" one young disciple dared to ask, his voice cracking.
Bai Jiahao turned, fixing the boy with a stare so cold it felt like a physical weight. "Whoever has the better skill has the final say. This is the rule that you people of the Seven Mountains had set up... Am I wrong?"
The crowd fell silent. The logic was their own, turned against them.
"This shall resolve all disputes," Bai Jiahao continued, his gaze sweeping over the sea of angry faces. "With these bushes gone, I am certain there will be no further disagreement among the martial artists of the Seven Mountains. You all should thank me; I have given you a grand opportunity to erase a foe and regain a friend."
Lu Fong, regaining some of his composure through his gritted teeth, stepped forward. "Since you destroyed the rest of the bushes, then leave all of the Heavenly Flowers you picked behind. Hand them over, or else..."
Bai Jiahao's eyes locked onto Lu Fong's. "Or else what?"
Though he was years younger than the men closing in around him, his voice—low and glacial—carried a weight that silenced the room. Combined with a death-cold stare that peered out from behind a silver mask, he inspired more dread than any of the seasoned martial artists surrounding him.
He looked at the sea of martial artists surrounding him, his hand resting loosely on his belt. "If you think your skill is higher than mine, then come and take the flowers from me. I invite you." He paused, his voice dropping an octave, becoming something much more sinister. "If any martial artist feels they need to seek revenge, you are welcome to visit Bai Village. But believe me—if you choose to fight me, it means that you are happy to die."
"Arrogant!" Lu Fong snapped, his finger trembling as he pointed at the masked man. "Do you think your arrogance will save you? Do you think you alone can win against all of us?"
"I don't think," Bai Jiahao stated simply, his voice devoid of emotion. "I know for a fact that I can win against all of you."
"Amitabha," a serene, resonant voice intoned.
The crowd parted as Monk Li, a figure of peace in the middle of the storm, walked toward the center. He bowed deeply, his palms pressed together. "This humble monk apologizes for being a poor host. I was unaware that Chief Bai had honored us with a visit."
Bai Jiahao's icy posture softened, if only by a fraction. He returned a shallow nod. "You are too kind, Monk Li. Please... do come to my wedding."
Monk Li smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "How could I not come to your wedding when Chief Bai personally invites me? It would be a sin to miss such an auspicious day."
Bai Jiahao rolled his cold eyes at the remaining martial artists, a silent gesture of contempt for their greed, and began to walk away. The four Heavenly Flowers remained secured in his robes, a dowry won in blood and fire.
"Master, why let him go?" a young disciple whispered to his elder, his confusion clear. "Why not take the flowers from that lone man?"
The Master shook his head, his eyes fixed on Bai Jiahao's retreating back. "Unless Bai Jiahao is willing to give them, no one in this world can take them away."
"How come, Master?" another disciple asked.
"The Bai Family lives in seclusion in the furthest corner of the mountain range, atop the tallest peak—Golden Peak. Though it is well known within the Seven Mountains martial artists, they refuse to associate with the Martial Arts Sects," the Master explained quietly. "But their skills are beyond peerless—especially their newest chief, Bai Jiahao. Since he had become the Chief, he has not lost a single duel. He rose to that rank at the age of ten, the youngest in their history. While the world may not know their name, the very essence of Great Master Bai's fighting prowess moves with him. Those who know him do not fear him; they respect the inevitability of his victory."
"Do we have to fear such a small sect?" the disciple persisted.
An elder chief nearby let out a heavy, weary sigh. "You should fear crossing paths with him. It is said the Golden Peak chiefs are ruthless, but Bai Jiahao is more ruthless than any who came before him. But he has a strange heart. If you leave him in peace, he will leave you in peace. Next time you see that silver mask... do not try to be brave. The consequences are deadly."
Monk Li bowed his head as the smoke from the burning bushes drifted into the sky. "Since the Heavenly Flower bushes have been destroyed, there is no reason for us to stay here anymore. Everyone, please return to your sects," he said, his heart heavy with the weight of another seven years of silence.