A gale of wind exploded through the room, tearing it apart. The harsh clash of metal rang out—one of the bearded man's left hands slammed against the haft of Mo Long's sword, which both of Mo Long's hands gripped; the other hand seized the blade to stop it from slicing through. Sparks of qi—black and red like smoke—danced between the two weapons and then burst.
A snapping knee strike came in from the side—precise, brutal—smashing into the man's face and sending his body skidding several paces. Yaohua, clad in her red qipao, landed with grace; her hair flowed and her gaze was razor-sharp. She glanced once, then launched back in: a flurry of crisp kicks that shattered the opponent's rhythm.
Mo Long didn't waste the opening. He closed the distance like a shadow and flowed through a sequence of slashes aimed at the chest, the belly, the arms. Each impact landed compact and lethal, battering into the man's body.
The man staggered, then toppled.
Yaohua dropped down and tried to drive a poisoned, purple-tinged kick into him, but the beastly fighter rolled with agile cunning and caught her leg.
Yaohua was pulled and nearly dragged off balance.
Mo Long reacted in an instant, driving a lightning-fast thrust aimed at the hand that held her leg.
"AARGHH!"
A surge of red qi exploded from the bearded man's body; a thundercloud of energy boomed. Mo Long wrapped his arm around Yaohua's waist and yanked her back in one bound; the two of them landed together, breathing hard as dust and splinters flew.
The savage man—his body torn by multiple strikes—rose to his feet without faltering.
Yaohua held her breath; a horrified whisper escaped her lips: "He's… a monster." Mo Long studied their foe, his face tightening. "He's under control. He feels no pain and no fear. The Flow Reversal makes his attacks many times stronger."
Ahead of them, the qi-chains from the enemy's sword crawled outward, coiling like snakes ready to lash.
Yaohua shot a look at Mo Long, her voice trembling: "What do we do?"
Mo Long answered quietly, his tone steady: "Only one way—destroy his vital points. Heart, solar plexus, head."
"It won't be easy, Mo Long!"
The bearded man answered with a counterattack: the qi-chains whirled and lashed toward them with lethal speed. Mo Long and Yaohua dove apart; the chain swept past their bodies and snapped back like a viper.
Yaohua ducked and rolled; Mo Long used the opening to flash a series of thin Shadow-Qi slashes. Most were perfectly parried, but one cut through—ripping the man's left arm, blood spilling and flesh opening under the blade.
The bearded man roared but did not fall. In a single, nauseating motion he bit into his own palm and tore it away. The sight froze the blood in their veins for an instant.
He stood there, blood streaming from the severed limb, utterly unshaken—then lashed with his remaining arm as if it were a whip.
Mo Long felt a strange vibration run up his right arm—the hand that had struck now numb, his shoulder throbbed painfully. 'Damn—if this goes on much longer I'll shred the meridian channels in my shoulder,' he thought.
Amid splintered tables and broken tiles the two of them faced the enraged, dangerous enemy; the qi-chains kept coiling, radiating heat and a savage red glow.
Mo Long shot Yaohua a quick look. "We strike together—find an opening and hit his vital points."
Yaohua nodded sharply.
The red chain spun again.
"Watch out!" Yaohua shouted.
They twisted away in opposite directions, trying to evade. The chain tore into the stone floor, producing a small burst of red qi that cracked the air. Even without his left hand, the bearded man's attacks remained ferocious—his aura seemed to grow even wilder.
Though his limb was gone, his strength had not diminished. His strikes were relentless, his eyes vacant, veins bulging at his neck. He snorted like a beast, and the chained blade in his grip continued to slash in furious arcs.
Mo Long frowned. 'What can I do...?' he weighed in his mind. 'I can't unleash much qi, and yet his power shows no sign of waning.'
In his mind, a figure surfaced—a shadow from the past, not of Mo Long's life, but of Guang Lian's.
A bald man with a calm, wise face sat beside him by a riverside. His voice echoed gently in memory:
"When your qi flow is disrupted—by poison, pressure points, or wounds—use the technique Right Fist, Left Palm. It's difficult to channel two different qi currents through both hands, but once you master it… you can attack and defend at the same time, even with only a fragment of qi."
Mo Long's head lifted. His eyes sharpened.
"Yaohua!" he shouted.
The woman turned swiftly amid the storm of whirling chains.
"Take my sword!" Mo Long hurled his black blade across the wrecked hall. It spun once in the air before landing solidly in Yaohua's grasp. "Distract him! I need time!"
"What?!" she cried out, but there was no room for hesitation. The sword felt heavy and cold in her hands, humming faintly with his shadow qi.
The red chains lashed again, smashing into pillars and walls. Yaohua raised the sword, meeting the blow head-on. The clash sent sparks of purple and crimson qi bursting across the room.
"Attack!" Mo Long roared.
Yaohua darted forward, slashing wildly. Each swing tore through the air, leaving behind thick trails of poisonous purple qi that coiled like mist.
The bearded man's qi chains blocked and shattered most of the strikes, but red blotches began to appear across his skin. Wisps of smoke rose from his flesh as if it were burning from within.
"GRRRAAHHH!"
The beast-man went berserk, his qi chains whirling in a storm that ripped apart furniture and beams. As his focus locked on Yaohua, Mo Long began to move.
He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled deeply.
His stance shifted—right leg bent, left stepping forward, body rotating slowly. What looked like a graceful dance was, in truth, a meticulous flow of qi—he was channeling energy from his upper and lower dantian, balancing them with the precision only a true prodigy could achieve.
Thin black vapor rose from his palms—Shadow Qi pulsating softly, opposite in direction yet harmonized as one.
Meanwhile, Yaohua was being pushed back. The red chains tore through everything in their path, splintering the beams behind her until she was cornered against a cracked stone wall.
"AAHH!!" Yaohua blocked hard—purple sparks burst through the air.
Then—
BRAAK!
A solid, focused strike landed squarely on the beast's back. The giant's body jolted, his stance faltering. He turned, ready to counter, but just as his red chain whipped toward Mo Long, the young man's left palm intercepted the attack from below—redirecting the force cleanly aside.
The chain snapped through empty air.
DUUGH!
Mo Long's right fist crashed into the man's abdomen. Blood sprayed from the beast's mouth as he staggered back two heavy steps.
Before he could recover, Yaohua's purple qi slash cut in from the side, slicing across his leg.
His skin blistered, blood boiling over the seared wound. The man howled in agony.
Mo Long didn't waste the moment. He channeled qi into his right arm—a powerful strike slammed into the man's solar plexus.
Immediately after, his left palm shot upward, smacking the man's jaw. The force snapped his head back, lifting his massive body off the ground for a split second.
The rhythm didn't stop. Mo Long and Yaohua moved like two blades of the same weapon—striking, slashing, punching, pressing forward in perfect harmony.
The red qi chains spun wildly, losing control, missing their marks.
The beast's roars weakened; his movements slowed, qi leaking uncontrollably from his pores.
Until—
BOOOM!
One final, crushing blow from Mo Long slammed into his solar plexus. The impact sent a deep tremor through the man's body.
In the same instant, the black sword in Yaohua's hands pierced through his back, driving straight through to his abdomen.
The giant staggered, then dropped to his knees.
His skin darkened; veins burst one after another. Black smoke seeped from his pores, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh.
Silence.
Yaohua stood frozen, chest heaving, her trembling hands still clutching the sword. Sweat and blood streaked her face as she drew a ragged breath, her knees nearly giving out beneath her.
Mo Long stared at the kneeling corpse for a long moment. There was no satisfaction—no relief—only the hollow ache of weakness.
His gaze shifted toward the courtyard.
Explosions of qi, violent crashes, and faint cries echoed from outside.
The battle… wasn't over.
A heartbeat later, his expression hardened.
BRAAAKK!
The wall of Yaohua's house exploded outward—wood, dust, and stone scattering in every direction. A massive body slammed through, skidding across the ground and carving a long trail of debris.
It was a hulking figure, muscles bulging beneath orange-and-black striped fur. The half-tiger man snarled, blood dripping from his fangs, his crimson eyes blazing like live embers. His shoulders trembled, his breath rasped and animalistic, each exhale a growl that made the earth hum.
Before he could charge again—
WUSSSHH!
A sound like tearing wind filled the night. Thousands of black feathers streaked down from the sky, swirling like a storm. They spiraled into a massive vortex and plunged toward the beast below.
In an instant, the half-tiger was trapped inside a cage of spinning shadows. He roared and slashed wildly, claws ripping through the air, his body twisting as he fought to break free. But every feather that touched him turned razor-sharp—slicing his flesh open, line after line, until blood streamed dark and heavy down his striped body.
"RAAAAAWRR!" His roar shook the night, echoing through the shattered house.
Mo Long looked up sharply.
Above the ruined rooftop, beneath the pale moonlight, a dark-winged figure hovered—Hu Wei.
His face was calm, his eyes cold. Sword aimed downward, the twin black wings at his back shimmered with shadow qi. From their tips, those deadly feathers continued to form, circling the tiger-man in a tightening ring of death.
The beast howled, bleeding from countless wounds, yet his feral instinct refused to yield. Suddenly he crouched, muscles coiling, and leapt high into the air—straight toward Hu Wei, claws gleaming, ready to tear him apart.
"Tch!" Hu Wei hissed, darting sideways and slashing.
ZRAANG!
His blade cut deep into the beast's shoulder, blood spraying in a violent arc. The tiger-man crashed to the ground, rolled once, then rose again with a hoarse, manic laugh.
"Bastard…" he growled, his tongue flicking out like a beast's. "It's been a long time since I've fought like this!"
He raised his arms high; crimson qi flared around his claws before he unleashed a barrage skyward—
KRAASSH! KRAASSH!
Blades of blood-red qi shot up like a rain of daggers, filling the air around Hu Wei.
But Hu Wei's movements were fluid and graceful. He twisted midair, each step weightless like a shadow.
"Your attacks are futile," he said coldly.
Dark feathers gathered once more around his sword, spinning into a sharp spiral vortex. The wind and qi merged, creating a high-pitched hum that pierced the night. The tiger-man froze—his eyes widening in sudden dread.
"I'll end this… now."
Hu Wei dove from the sky like a black hawk, his sword glowing with dark light, surrounded by a storm of spinning feathers. The air quaked; the ground cracked even before his blade struck.
But—
DEGH!
A searing pain stabbed through his chest. His body stiffened. His eyes widened in shock as the feathers around him scattered like ashes on the wind. His wings flared wildly, losing balance—then, in a heartbeat, Hu Wei plummeted.
THUD!
He crashed hard into the ground.
The tiger-man looked up with a feral grin. "Hah! Finally, you fall!" he howled, leaping high, massive claws gleaming as they swung down toward the fallen Hu Wei.
But before the strike could land—
SHIIING!
A streak of shadow cut through the air.
SLASH!
A single black line split the night.
The tiger-man's head separated cleanly from his shoulders. Blood erupted like crimson rain beneath the pale moonlight. The massive body slammed into the earth with a thunderous DUUUM!
Hu Wei fell to one knee a few steps away, blood trickling from his lips.
Yaohua rushed over, panic written on her face. "Hu Wei!" she cried, kneeling beside him, checking his chest as it rose and fell with ragged breaths.
Mo Long stood over the beast's corpse, his curved blade buried deep through its back—driven so far it cracked the stone beneath. The black qi along its edge still pulsed faintly.
The night wind carried the mingled scent of blood and poison. Half of Yaohua's home lay in ruins; the ground was scarred with cracks and claw marks, soaked with the remnants of qi.
Mo Long slowly drew his sword free—black blood dripping from its tip.
He looked down at the lifeless body at his feet, then toward Hu Wei and Yaohua.
His face was cold, but his voice came low, strained through heavy breaths:
"This isn't over yet..."
And from the distance, faint howls of wolves mingled with the cries of unseen men, echoing through the shattered night—as if the entire Jianghu itself was holding its breath, waiting for the greater storm still to come.