The moment the crowd heard "duel," everyone perked up like chickens sprinkled with grain.
The private salt smugglers naturally rallied behind Xing Honglang, while Gaojia villagers gathered behind Gao Chuwu.
Well… most of them did.
A noticeably large portion of Gaojia's cheering squad defected mid-match and wandered over to Xing Honglang's side as if changing teams was as casual as changing shoes.
One of the smugglers noticed something odd. He turned and nearly choked.
Standing beside him — cheering loudly for his gang boss — was a Gaojia woman holding a small child.
The smuggler blinked.
"Uh, big sister… aren't you from Gaojia Village? Why're you cheering for our boss instead of Gao Chuwu?"
The woman was none other than Gao San-niang, and the kid was Gao San-wa — two of the original forty-two elders of the village. But mother and son had defected without hesitation.
Gao San-niang grinned.
"Xing girl isn't an outsider anymore. I treat her as one of our own. And when two of our own fight, of course I cheer for the one who's easier on the eyes."
Then she cupped her hands and shouted at the top of her lungs:
"Xing girl! Hit him! Smash that blockhead Chuwu so he never forgets who runs the house!"
The crowd froze, sweat beading everywhere.
Immediately, the male villagers picked up the rhythm:
"Gao Chuwu! Don't let men lose face! Beat your wife into submission!"
Xing Honglang's fist clenched, her eye twitching.
"Who's his wife!?"
The men wisely shut up in unison.
Madam Bai and Bai Yan arrived at the edge of the circle. Bai Yan was about to go cheer for Gao Chuwu when Madam Bai snagged him by the collar.
"We're cheering for Xing girl."
"Huh? But I want to support Chuwu-ge."
PA!
Madam Bai slapped him so hard he saw stars.
"Unfilial son! You dare oppose your own mother?"
Bai Yan froze, reflected deeply, and then — very solemnly — slapped himself.
"Mother, you're right. Your son was blind. I must correct myself."
Then he slapped himself again.
"But after becoming clear-headed… I still want to support Chuwu-ge. So I will slap myself once more and beg Mother's forgiveness before going."
And he bolted straight into Chuwu's cheering squad.
Madam Bai stared helplessly.
"A–ah? AH? This boy! Once grown, he doesn't belong to his mother anymore! Ahhh!"
Inside the human circle, the duel began.
Xing Honglang made the first move — a blinding flurry from the thirty-six linked strikes of Jin Hong Fist. Her movements were sharp, practiced, confident.
But Gao Chuwu was no longer the clueless brute he used to be. He countered with Shaanxi Guanzhong Hong Fist — same school, same thirty-six forms, just rougher. With his raw strength and agility, the punches looked surprisingly legitimate, even elegant in their own "giant bear learning martial arts" way.
The two styles were nearly identical, differing only in subtle details — like senior disciple versus junior disciple sparring for honor, both breathtaking in motion.
But Xing Honglang had decades of polish over him.
After twenty-odd exchanges, Chuwu's rhythm began collapsing. His punches turned wild; her punches stayed razor-steady. She slipped in, found a fatal flaw, and unleashed a storm of rapid-fire blows straight into his weak points.
The two figures parted.
Chuwu's massive frame toppled for the second time that day, landing with a ground-shaking BOOM that kicked up a ring of dust.
Xing Honglang dusted her palms, accepted a broad-back blade from one of her subordinates, and tossed it onto Chuwu's chest.
"Hmph! Take it."
The villagers erupted:
"Xing girl, beautiful strike!"
Just moments ago they were cheering for Chuwu — now they flipped like pancakes, all laughing wildly.
"Hahaha! Chuwu got flattened again! He'll never raise his head at home! A lifetime of wife-beating? More like wife being the one beating him! Hahahaha!"
Zheng Daniu rushed in, helped Chuwu up.
Flat-Rabbit grabbed the broad-back blade, and the three wisely fled.
Hearing the villagers' warm laughter — the "you're one of us now" kind — Xing Honglang felt a rare glow of belonging. She waved to her subordinates, grinning:
"Bring out a jar of Wuliangye! We're celebrating today!"
The atmosphere burst into festive chaos.
Until a villager came sprinting down from the hillside, shouting:
"Not good! Not good! Somebody fell into the gully!"
Everyone froze.
Li Daoxuan raised a brow.
The breathless villager reported:
"Zhang Laowu — he slipped, rolled all the way down, fell into the ditch! Come help!"
No one waited. They all ran.
While the duel had been happening, another group of villagers had been working on the northwest slope, carving a road toward Zhangjia Village — ten li away and also under Li Daoxuan's domain now, which meant it had received rain as well. They were trying to build a concrete road over there.
Zhang Laowu had been breaking rocks by the ditch when he slipped, tumbled a dozen meters down the slope, and landed battered at the bottom.
The few workers present couldn't haul him up alone, so they ran to the duel crowd for help.
Li Daoxuan tapped "West" then "North" on the outside of the divine box and traced the terrain. He soon located the gully.
A group of villagers stood at the edge, shouting anxiously downwards. At the bottom lay Zhang Laowu — bruised, bleeding, barely conscious.
Li Daoxuan lowered his hand toward the ditch, preparing to pinch the injured man out with divine precision. He had to be extremely careful — one wrong movement and he'd crush a human like a mosquito.
But halfway down, a sudden commotion erupted beside the ditch.
A man slid down the slope with shocking agility — swift as a wolf on loose gravel — grabbing vines and jutting rocks as he descended. In a blink he reached the bottom, hauled Zhang Laowu onto his back, and glanced upward.
One look at the man's face, and Li Daoxuan immediately recognized him.
A labor convict.
Name: Zhong Gaoliang.
Unusual name — memorable.
Zhong Gaoliang braced Zhang Laowu with one arm, used the other to grip tree roots, and began climbing. His movements were rough but steady — surprisingly competent for a convict.
Li Daoxuan discreetly followed with his hand, ready to catch the pair if they slipped.
But Zhong Gaoliang never faltered. He carried the injured man all the way to the top, handed him to the Zhangjia villagers, then collapsed onto the ground, panting like an exhausted ox.