The Wutian Chan Master clutched his string of prayer beads and said with a grin, "Why does Your Excellency stoop to quarrel with my disciples? If you truly possess ability, then come and exchange a few moves with me instead!"
His words concealed sharp provocation, like a crossbow bolt released from its trigger—swift, direct, and razor-edged. Naturally, the Western Holy Mother knew well how formidable the monk was. She sneered and replied, "Look at you—already unable to wait? Today's gathering belongs to the river transport clans. Do not steal the spotlight!"
Suddenly Wutian Chan Master's face darkened as he shouted, "Bold demoness! You murdered the holy monk and have become the enemy of all under Heaven. Today this poor monk shall uphold justice and execute you on the spot!"
Before the words had even faded, he sprang forward and slashed a palm directly toward the Western Holy Mother. The strike came like a violent gale. She had not expected him to attack without warning, and the palm was already before her eyes. At once she cried out, "Demonic monk! Do you truly think this Holy Mother easy to bully?"
"Hmph!" roared Wutian Chan Master. "Even with disaster looming over your head, you still refuse repentance!"
Though the Western Holy Mother tried to defend herself, the self-righteous monk had already laid his snare. How could he possibly allow her the chance to argue her innocence? Cloaked in the appearance of righteous indignation, he struck first to seize the advantage—for in the martial world, he who hesitates suffers disaster.
Standing atop the moral high ground of Jianghu, Wutian Chan Master sought to shape the Wutian Chan Sect into a banner of justice itself. With such fame, he hoped to rally countless Buddhist disciples beneath his command, establish a mighty foundation, and one day dominate the martial world.
The sudden turn of events delighted the gathered heroes, who watched as though enjoying a grand performance. Only the three men of the Judge Clan felt anxious. Cui Fujun, leader of the clan, hurriedly tried to stop the conflict. After all, the two had already agreed to fight on the twentieth day of the month at Huangshan Palace—why rush matters now?
Deeply worried, Cui Fujun loudly called out, "Both of you burn with great temper—calm yourselves! This is the assembly ground of the river transport clans!"
Meanwhile, Li Yan, wielder of the Judge's Brush, intentionally shouted, "The Chan Master's hatred of evil is known and admired throughout the martial world!"
Sun Tian, bearer of the Judge's Blade, immediately followed, "Since the Chan Master has already announced to all under Heaven that the decisive battle shall take place on the twentieth day at Huangshan Palace, there is no need for haste today!"
The two men deliberately raised their voices in hopes that Wutian Chan Master would temporarily withdraw from combat. Since the duel date had already been set, why insist on fighting now?
It was truly as the poem says:
Demonic winds rise with the Holy Mother,And all beneath Heaven cry for her death.Bodies dart forth like bolts from a crossbow,Yet voices still say: the hour has not come.
As the two exchanged blows, the Western Holy Mother shrieked, "Demonic monk! Since you insist on posing as some righteous hero, then you seek death by your own hand—blame no one but yourself!"
Her right hand rose, fierce winds roaring from her sleeve as she struck directly at his chest.
Wutian Chan Master twisted aside and drifted backward, evading her palm force. His right arm bent at an impossible angle, and his palm suddenly swept across from a direction no ordinary man could anticipate.
"Demoness—receive this palm!"
His strike crashed toward the center of her back. The Western Holy Mother flicked her left sleeve aside while simultaneously thrusting out her right palm. Though their movements appeared plain and unadorned, each technique was rooted in profound internal power.
A thunderous explosion rang out.
Both were forced several steps backward.
Shock appeared on both their faces. Having roamed Jianghu for many years, each was a renowned master of vast experience and knowledge. Both instantly realized that a contest between them could not possibly be decided in mere moments.
Yet neither dared retreat.
Men fight for a single breath of pride; Buddhas contend for but one stick of incense.
As towering figures of the age, standing before the gathered heroes of the realm, neither could afford to display even the slightest hint of fear or weakness. Such humiliation would be unbearable.
The battle continued for some time without victory or defeat. The watching crowd became increasingly excited, cheering loudly and applauding in delight.
At such a moment, who in Jianghu truly cared about good and evil?
Wutian Chan Master merely borrowed the incident to advance hidden ambitions, while the Western Holy Mother, fierce as aged ginger growing ever spicier with time, remained utterly fearless. Confident in her immense inner power and stubborn beyond measure, she showed not the slightest wavering despite the worsening situation.
At last she withdrew her palm force slightly, her expression darkening.
"Demonic monk," she said coldly, "must we truly decide victory and defeat today?"
"Hmph!" Wutian Chan Master barked. "You killed Master Liaoyin, yet still shamelessly claim that fists and feet have no eyes and that the tragedy was accidental! Such excuses are nothing but deceitful sophistry, meant to confuse the world and escape guilt. This is intolerable! You slander a holy monk, and as a disciple of Buddhism, how can I possibly swallow such outrage in silence?"
The Western Holy Mother found the monk vicious and venomous beyond measure. Rage surged within her as she glared fiercely.
"Demonic monk! When one wishes to condemn another, excuses are never lacking. Very well—then let us settle victory and defeat!"
Her sleeves suddenly rose, and two torrents of force swept outward. She thrust both palms forward at once. The terrifying invisible palm power was so extraordinary that all who witnessed it stood in awe.
Wutian Chan Master spread his stance and advanced directly into her attack. Back and forth they fought, truly matched opponents meeting as equals, impossible to distinguish superior from inferior.
Truthfully, Wutian Chan Master had not intended to determine the outcome today. Yet before the assembled heroes, he needed to establish his courage and his image as a destroyer of wickedness.
But when two masters of similar skill clash, victory cannot be decided quickly.
The trouble was that neither could now find a graceful path to withdraw.
For what hung in the balance was not merely battle—but the pride and reputation each carried through all Jianghu. In such a moment, neither side could afford to stop first.