A sea of faces outside the great conference hall fixed their gaze on the stairwell in a grim silence. One by one, the figures of the Yueguang sect emerged, their ascent a slow, deliberate march that seemed to draw all the air from the courtyard.
When the last person from the Yueguang Sect entered the fighting arena, the elder martial artists let out a collective gasp. While the younger generation stared on in confusion, the seasoned masters immediately recognized the man standing beside the elderly leader. The fighting arena fell silent as all eyes turned to Mu Dishi.
A wave of dread washed over them, a horrifying memory of years past when Mu Dishi broke into Shaolin, killed the leaders of the three great sects, and left a trail of wounded in his wake. They had never forgotten that dreadful incident—the carnage in this very arena, when he tore the Mu treasure map into five pieces.
Now Mu Dishi had returned to Shaolin, but this time he was not alone. His presence, flanked by allies, created a new kind of fear and confusion, twisting the old nightmare into a chilling new reality.
When Ma Jingguo saw Mu Dishi standing beside Wang Biming, a burning fury rose in him, surpassing even the anger of the senior masters. He wanted nothing more than to fly across the courtyard and plunge his sword into Wang Biming's chest.
At that moment, a seriously injured Miao Mingzhu rejoined their group and took her place beside Wang Biming. The elderly man scanned the faces of the martial artists gathered in the arena, a chilling sneer on his face.
"Many years ago," he began, his voice a low, gravelly roar, "your petty clans and sects refused to recognize us. You forced us to leave the Central Plains, but today, I want to tell everyone in the martial world that we are here to stay." He then looked at the crowd, his gaze an icy promise. "Anyone who opposes us will be destroyed."
Monk Ling sighed deeply. "Amitabha," he said, his voice a weary admonition. "Benefactor Wang, forcing us to acknowledge your sect will do you no good. If you truly wish to be part of the Central Plains, then please stop doing evil. You alone cannot hope to fight every single shifu in the Central Plains."
Wang Zedong let out a sharp, triumphant laugh. "Old monk, you still recognize me?" he said, his voice full of mock amusement. "We will follow the rules of the Central Plains and fight for our name. Let us duel with the Six Sects and Four Clans. It's a single, definitive duel—if you lose, we stay."
He then looked at the martial artists surrounding the arena. "We welcome anyone who wishes to join us," he proclaimed, his gaze then settling on Wang Biming. "You go first."
Wang Biming stepped forward, a cold confidence in his posture. At the sight of him, a burning fury consumed Ma Jingguo. His hands itched for a fight. He knew Wang Biming had mastered the Devil Fist skill, but he had faith in his own abilities. He seethed with jealousy as he looked at Mu Dishi, desperately wanting to show him that he could do anything Wang Biming could, and do it better.
With a single, defiant step, he walked toward Wang Biming. He met his rival's gaze, his own filled with unbridled rage. "I'll fight you," he said in a low growl.
Zhu Suyin hurried up to him; her voice filled with concern. "Are you sure?" she asked. "I heard you lost to him last time."
The night at the tavern, their journey—it was all a painful charade. Ma Jingguo and Zhu Suyin were not true companions but allies in a desperate plan to win Mu Dishi back. Ma Jingguo wanted to know if Mu Dishi would be angry, if he would finally look at him with a hint of jealousy, a spark of the love that once was. He wanted to continue the performance in the hope that if Mu Dishi just looked at him, he might be taken back.
He met Mu Dishi's gaze, then carefully turned to Zhu Suyin, a feigned tenderness in his touch as he held her. He smiled and whispered in the same soft, intimate tone he once used with Mu Dishi, "I will be fine. You go stay by Wenqian jiejie's side."
Wang Biming turned to Mu Dishi, a mocking smile on his face. "It looks like the little white-haired man has fallen in love with someone else," he cooed. Then, his voice dropped to a soft, dangerous whisper. "I'm the only one who truly loves you, and that will never change."
Without a word, Mu Dishi stepped from behind him. He looked at Ma Jingguo and, with a subtle glance, offered a quiet warning. "Be careful." He then walked directly toward the Sword Village group.
Ma Jingguo was visibly startled by Mu Dishi's action. With a mixture of shock and relief, he quickly released Zhu Suyin's hand, his eyes fixed on Mu Dishi's departing figure.
Yong Taihua greeted Mu Dishi warmly as he approached. Mu Dishi simply nodded in return and took a quiet seat beside Yong Gui.
A cruel smile spread across Wang Biming's face. He took a satisfied breath, watching the shock on Ma Jingguo's face.
"You look so shocked," he said mockingly.
Ma Jingguo's eyes were wide with a desperate, raw hope. "How?" he whispered. "Is he with you?"
Wang Biming's smile widened. "He's no longer mine," he said with a dramatic pause. He was overjoyed to see the regret and fear in Ma Jingguo's eyes. "He was always yours," he continued in a venomous whisper, "until you ruined it with your own hands. That night, when you dragged that woman into the room. He was there. But he couldn't watch until the end, so he left."
A numbing wave of stupidity washed over Ma Jingguo. "He... was there?" he murmured, barely a whisper.
Wang Biming continued his verbal assault, a sneer twisting his lips. "You claimed you would love him a hundred times more than me, but the simplest thing you could have done was understand him. Let me tell you, Dishi... or rather, your xiao shushu... once he loves a person, he will always love that person. Once he hates a person, he will hate them very much. If you had just trusted him with the same degree he trusted you, your xiao shushu wouldn't have come crying back into my arms."
With a final, triumphant bow, he stretched out his hands. "Thank you," he said, the words a poison. "Thank you for giving him back to me."
A blinding rage consumed Ma Jingguo, a fury at both himself and Wang Biming. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Shut up!" he roared.
He lunged forward, striking at Wang Biming. The two rivals, locked in a violent dance, began their fight.
Watching from the sidelines, Yong Taihua looked at Mu Dishi, his expression torn. "Shizun," he asked in a quiet voice, "if I fight him, will you be angry?"
Mu Dishi's gaze remained cold. "You do what you have to do," he said.
"Thank you, shizun," Yong Taihua replied.
Yong Gui placed a hand on his son's shoulder; a grave looks in his eyes. "Hua'er, not right now. A real man will have to wait for his turn."
Yong Taihua nodded, a silent acknowledgment of his father's words. He then tightened his grip on his sword, his expression now one of hard, resolute patience.
In the center of the arena, the crowd watched the violent dance between the two men. Ma Jingguo threw a punch at Wang Biming, who deftly grabbed his fist. Wang Biming then countered with a sharp jab to Ma Jingguo's abdomen. Though Ma Jingguo managed to block the strike with his left hand, the force still pushed him back.
Wang Biming clenched his fist. "If you want to beat me," he said with a taunting smirk, "then learn something new."
Ma Jingguo replied in a low, cold growl, his eyes fixed on Wang Biming. "I will win him back." With a fresh surge of purpose, he strode forward, a cold fury driving his next attack.
In a fierce struggle, the two men were like dragons, locked in a brutal dance as they tested each other's strength. Ma Jingguo knew that Wang Biming was the superior fighter. His chances of winning were slim, yet he continued to fight with a desperate fury.
He wasn't sure what drove him. It could have been his rage at Wang Biming for seemingly taking Mu Dishi away. Or perhaps, in his pain, he was simply looking for a way to die. A devastating sadness washed over him as he realized the truth in Wang Biming's words—that Mu Dishi had always chosen him. He had been so wrong.
Wang Biming had been right about one thing: His love for Mu Dishi had blinded him. It prevented him from seeing a simple truth—that Mu Dishi loved him as fiercely as he was loved. He had claimed to love Mu Dishi more than his own life, yet he had failed to understand him at all.
A wave of profound regret washed over Ma Jingguo. All the things he had done to provoke Mu Dishi were now a cruel weight on his soul. He couldn't blame anyone but himself. In his stupidity and stubbornness, he had willingly handed over his happiness.
With a final, brutal blow, Wang Biming slammed his fist into Ma Jingguo's left side. The force sent Ma Jingguo flying backward, where he landed in a crumpled heap at Zhu Suyin's feet.
Wang Biming simply turned and walked back to his position, to stand beside Wang Zedong.
Ma Jingguo spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground, his body aching from the blow. He turned his head and scanned the crowd desperately, his eyes searching for Mu Dishi. When their gazes finally met, a chilling emptiness washed over him. Mu Dishi was not even looking at him, his phoenix eyes holding a cold, unfeeling stare that seemed to look right through him.
That gaze—that indifference—seared him more deeply than Wang Biming's Devil Fist ever could. In that moment, he understood. The coldness in Mu Dishi's eyes was the very same void the leaders of the three sects and four clans had seen just before he unleashed Honglei, killing them one by one. Now, Ma Jingguo knew the feeling of being hated by Mu Dishi.
Wang Zedong let out a guttural laugh, his eyes sweeping over the silent crowd. "Now, you see how strong our sect is," he boasted, satisfied by the knowledge that Mu Dishi would not interfere with his conquest of the Central Plains.
From the crowd, Yong Taihua rose to his feet. With a single, defiant step, he pointed at Wang Biming. "I want to fight him," he declared.
Wang Zedong turned his gaze on him, a condescending sneer on his face. "As far as I know, Sword Village has never competed," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "What's the difference between then and now?"
"He killed my da ye," Yong Taihua replied, his voice thick with grief and fury. "I am here to seek revenge."
Wang Zedong's mocking sneer widened. "And who is your da ye?" he asked.
"Yong Hao," Yong Taihua replied, his voice firm.
Wang Zedong let out a short, cold laugh. "Oh, Yong Hao," he said, the name a casual dismissal. "Let me guess... he was stabbed to death?"
"Yes," Yong Taihua confirmed, his voice now a low growl. He pointed a trembling hand at Wang Biming. "He must have told you how he killed my da ye! He admitted to the murder when he was at Sword Village last time."
A cruel grin spread across Wang Zedong's face. "My son had no quarrel with Yong Hao," he said, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "But I can't say the same for myself."
Yong Taihua gritted his teeth, his hands clenched into fists. "What do you mean?" he asked in a low growl.
Wang Zedong met his gaze with a taunting smile. "If you want to avenge Yong Hao," he said calmly, "you come to me." He then looked Yong Taihua in the eyes, his smile widening into a cruel grin. "I killed Yong Hao."