The False Wu Tong
The Jiangnan Two Fiends exchanged dark glances. Today was cursed with strangeness—a youth claiming to be Wu Tong, daring to look down on them so openly! Cold fury rose in their hearts.
Zhu Feng, the thin one, hissed with venom:"You asked for death yourself. When you meet the King of Hell, don't complain of injustice!"
Their killing intent flared. With a shared look, they lunged together like tigers pouncing, wind whistling from their strikes!
Yet at the very instant they closed in, the handsome youth only smiled faintly. With a flick of the folded fan, their body swayed lightly—like catkins on the breeze—and vanished from before their eyes. The Two Fiends struck nothing but air, stumbling forward awkwardly, nearly colliding with each other.
The crowd gasped:"What footwork! In but a breath, the youth makes seasoned fighters strike empty!"
Wu Tong and Zhao Rou, however, were shaken to their core. The movement—East Comes, West Goes—was unmistakable. It belonged to the Eight Cloud Hands, Wu Tong's own sect's secret skill, passed down from his master. None outside the lineage could possibly know it.
"How… how does she know this art?" Zhao Rou thought in alarm, heart trembling. Liu Yun's brow furrowed; her gaze turned upon Wu Tong, tinged with doubt and hurt. Wu Tong himself sweated cold. "Could Master have taken another disciple? Yet with such mastery in so short a time? Impossible…" His thoughts whirled in confusion.
The Fiends, having failed twice, grew more furious. Zhu Feng snarled:"What trickery is this? Wu Tong, do you rely on sorcery instead of true skill? Stand and fight openly if you dare!"
The disguised youth snapped the fan shut, smiling lazily:"Very well. I shall not dodge again—though I fear you lack the strength to withstand me."
The words dripped with disdain.
Zhou Jie, the stout one, bellowed in rage:"Sharp tongue! Let us see how long your airs last!"
With a burst of force, he charged, palm lashing for the youth's chest, inner strength surging, wind howling from his strike.
But the youth only sidestepped, light as a swallow skimming the air. Then, in the same breath, their fist darted forward, striking Zhou's belly.
"Thud!"
The sound was dull but devastating. Zhou's eyes bulged, his chest seized, steps faltered—then with a choking groan he vomited blood, staggering near collapse.
The crowd cried out in awe:"Such speed and precision! Not even the true Wu Tong could be swifter!"
Whispers swelled, excitement bursting through the assembly.
But Zhao Rou and Liu Yun again turned to Wu Tong. Their beautiful eyes brimmed with suspicion and pain. "Who is she? And what is she to you?" their gaze seemed to demand.
Wu Tong's heart pounded like war drums. He wanted to swear innocence, yet words failed him. This mysterious maiden not only impersonated him, but wielded both Eight Cloud Hands and Six Illusory Palms—his master's most secret arts! Stranger still, her style bore faint traces of familiarity. His mind spun in knots.
Just then, Zhu Feng roared in fury at his companion's defeat. Leaping high, his palm cut from above, aimed straight at the youth's Baihui acupoint. The youth pivoted smoothly, footwork steady, trading blows like flowing water. Palms clashed, parries sparked.
Then, with a twist of the wrist, the youth unleashed Truth Within Illusion of the Six Illusory Palms—a strike impossible to predict, neither wholly real nor wholly false.
"Bang!"
Zhu Feng flew backward, crashing to the ground in a spray of blood.
The youth clasped hands politely:"Forgive the offense, Jiangnan Two Fiends."
Then turning to the crowd, they raised their voice:"Good folk! I am Wu Tong, twelfth hall master of the Hall of Loyalty. By imperial command I come to Xuzhou for the Anti-Rebel Assembly. On the ninth of the ninth month, all heroes are called to gather at the Temple of the True Martial Great Emperor to unite against the traitor An Lushan!"
The square erupted:"Down with the rebel!""Restore the Tang!""Death to the traitors!"
The youth stood tall, heroic bearing radiant, before springing away into the distance. Zhao Rou and Liu Yun moved to pursue, but Wu Tong stayed their hands.
Liu Yun's voice trembled with anger:"Is she some old lover of yours, come to play tricks?"
Wu Tong, patient, soothed her:"No, Yunmei—I swear I know her not. But she not only wears my name, she wields my sect's hidden arts. Stranger still, she summons all heroes in my name. Her purpose I know not. Let us watch and wait."
Zhao Rou added gently:"Yes, Yunmei. Brother Tong speaks true—let us hold back until the ninth. Then, surely, her fox's tail will show."
Though still doubtful, Liu Yun sighed, conceding for now. Wu Tong could only wipe the sweat from his brow, heart knotted in uncertainty.
The Assembly
The ninth of the ninth arrived. At the Temple of the True Martial Great Emperor, banners streamed, crowds surged, voices thundered. Heroes and sects from across the realm gathered: the Beggar Sect's Master Fei Jin, the two recluses White-Brow Daoist and Master Zhenkong, the Dragon-Tiger Adept Zhang Zhen, and countless others from Jiangnan and beyond.
As the hour struck, drums boomed and firecrackers burst.
In the temple square, Sect Master Liu Xuan of the Heavenly Veneration Sect strode forward, flanked by Right Envoy Luo An, Left Envoy Hu Qi, and others. His robes billowed, voice sonorous and fierce:"Brothers of the martial world, men of honor from all directions! The rebel dog An Lushan has seized Chang'an, slaughtering innocents. Heaven is above, earth below, man between—each must fulfill his duty. The frontlines bleed; we, too, must rise to denounce this beast and defend the Tang!"
The crowd roared assent—until a thunderous voice boomed from the gates:"Biased words! Do you forget that Emperor Xuanzong himself executed An Lushan's son, An Qingzong? Should not such a blood feud be avenged?"
The square fell into stunned silence.
Striding in with grand retinue was Murong Gui, Sect Master of the Black Dragon Sect. His presence radiated menace.
Before the silence could fester, a clear youthful voice cut the air:"Murong Gui! All under heaven know how Tang emperors favored An Lushan—bestowing honors, showering him with riches. His rebellion was born of wolf's ambition, not of grievance! Do not twist the truth!"
The crowd stirred again. Murong Gui narrowed his eyes."And who are you, bold enough to speak thus?"
From the throng, that same handsome youth stepped forth, fan in hand, heroic air undiminished.