The two Jiangnan Freaks thought this day truly uncanny—strange happenings right before their eyes. The man before them actually claimed to be Wu Tong, and even had the audacity to look down on them. Displeased, they both gave a cold snort. The thin freak, Zhu Feng, his eyes sinister, growled in a low voice:
"You've asked for this! When you meet the King of Hell, don't cry injustice!"
At once their killing intent flared. Exchanging a glance, they sprang forward together like tigers pouncing on prey, the wind of their strike howling.
Yet just as they were about to close in, the handsome young gentleman merely smiled faintly. With a casual flick of his folding fan and a light twist of his step, his figure drifted away like willow fluff in the breeze—vanishing from where he stood! The Jiangnan Freaks lunged ferociously but struck only empty air, nearly colliding headlong with each other.
The onlookers gasped in amazement."What superb skill! With a light, effortless move, he made the Jiangnan Freaks strike at nothing—as if it were all child's play!"
But Wu Tong and Zhao Rou were shaken to their cores, hearts surging like stormy waves—for the technique just displayed was unmistakably "East Comes, West Goes," one of the Eight Cloud Hands. That art was uniquely transmitted from Wu Tong's own master; apart from himself and true disciples of the sect, no outsider could possibly have learned it!
Zhao Rou's mind reeled. "How could this woman know such a skill? Who is she truly?" Her heart pounded in dread. Liu Yun, meanwhile, furrowed her brows, casting Wu Tong a sidelong glance, her eyes tinged with grievance and doubt. Wu Tong broke out in cold sweat, thinking: "Could Master have taken another disciple? But to reach such mastery in a few short years—is that even possible?" His thoughts tangled in confusion, as though lost in a heavy fog.
Having repeatedly struck only air, the Freaks were furious. Zhu Feng roared angrily:"What sorcery is this? Wu Tong, are you using witchcraft? If you have true skill, fight us openly instead of slipping about!"
His words carried both rage and humiliation, for the young gentleman had toyed with them into disgrace.
The gentleman folded his fan and laughed lightly, voice flippant yet elegant:"Very well, I shall not dodge again. I only fear your meager skills will not withstand me."
Such words, dripping with disdain, yet carried unshakable confidence.
The fat freak, Zhou Jie, snorted coldly and barked:"Fine words! Let's see how your deeds measure up! The Jiangnan Freaks will test you yet again!"
With that, he charged like an arrow loosed from the bow, surging with inner strength, his palm driving straight for the young man's chest. The strike came swift and fierce, the whistling wind proving he had poured his full force into it—vowing to crush his foe in a single blow.
The gentleman only smiled again. Tilting his body with the grace of a swallow skimming the air, he slipped aside like drifting clouds. Before Zhou Jie could recover, the youth's right fist shot out like lightning, striking hard into his abdomen.
With a dull "thud!" the force reverberated. Zhou Jie's eyes widened; his chest tightened, steps faltering as his body staggered back. His inner breath roiled, blood surging chaotically until he choked—and with a violent "puh!" he spat a mouthful of blood!
The crowd cried out in shock:"Such incredible skill! The speed and precision of that fist—Wu Tong himself might not surpass it!"
The square buzzed with commotion, awash with awe.
At that instant, Zhao Rou and Liu Yun again turned their gazes upon Wu Tong, their beautiful eyes filled with doubt and faint reproach, silently asking: "Who is this woman? And what is she to you?"
Wu Tong's face ran with sweat, his heart like ten thousand galloping horses, yet he could not utter a defense. Before him stood someone impersonating him, wielding the secret arts of his sect with consummate mastery. "Could Master truly have another heir? Her skill is not beneath my own—and in her changes of form, there's a strangely familiar essence…"
Yet Wu Tong could not fathom it. He could only shrug helplessly, feigning innocence, while thinking: "This is no ordinary matter. I must uncover the truth!"
Just then Zhu Feng, seeing his brother spew blood, howled with fury. He leapt high, shifting palms mid-air, a deadly strike aimed directly at the young man's vital point, the Baihui atop the head. But the gentleman countered with flowing steps, his moves solid and precise, each like a star in the Big Dipper—fluid as drifting clouds. The crowd erupted in applause at the dazzling exchange.
Suddenly, Zhu Feng risked all, lunging at the youth's centerline. The gentleman remained unhurried; with a subtle twist of the wrist, he redirected the force and unleashed "Truth in Illusion," one of the Six Phantom Palms. The move blurred truth and falsehood, impossible to distinguish. A resounding crash followed—Zhu Feng was hurled through the air, striking the ground heavily, vomiting blood unceasing.
The handsome youth pressed his fists together and bowed:"Jiangnan Freaks, forgive my offense!"
Then, turning to address the assembled villagers, he announced:"Good people, I am Wu Tong, twelfth master of the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness. By imperial order I have come to Xuzhou to attend the Grand Assembly against the rebels. I invite all heroes to gather on the ninth day of the ninth month at the Temple of the True Martial Emperor, that we may unite and overthrow the traitors together!"
The crowd erupted with cries:"Destroy the rebels! Uphold the Tang! Death to the traitors!"
The youth's heroic spirit flared as he leapt away. Zhao Rou and Liu Yun made to give chase, but Wu Tong held them back. Liu Yun, face clouded with anger, snapped:"So this is one of your old flames, come to seek you out?"
Wu Tong, mild of temper, answered gently:"Yun-mei, I do not know this person. Yet she impersonates me, wields both the Eight Cloud Hands and Master's Six Phantom Palms, and even calls herself Hall Master to summon heroes from all quarters. Her intent is a mystery. We must not act rashly—let us wait and see what she is plotting."
Zhao Rou interjected:"Yun-mei, Brother Tong truly does not know her. For now, let us trust him and watch this game unfold."
Though still suspicious, Liu Yun could only huff:"Very well. That vixen's schemes will show their tail on the ninth of the ninth!"
Wu Tong, unaware of her deeper thoughts, was simply relieved to soothe her anger for the time being.
✶ ✶ ✶
On the ninth day of the ninth month, the Temple of the True Martial Emperor at Xuanyuan Palace swelled with warriors from every corner of the realm—chieftains, monks, recluses, and righteous men. Beggar Sect Chief Fei Jin, the two Jianghu eccentrics White-Brow Daoist and Master Zhenkong, Zhang Zhen the Dragon-Tiger Hermit, and many others gathered. The banners of myriad sects rippled in the wind, the air filled with the roar of countless voices.
When the auspicious hour came, a herald shouted:"The hour has arrived! Commence the ceremony—fire the salutes!"
Drums thundered, gongs resounded, firecrackers crackled; applause rolled like waves as the Grand Assembly against the rebels began.
At the center of the square strode Liu Xuan, Grandmaster of the Celestial Veneration Sect, flanked by his Right Envoy Luo An, Left Envoy Hu Qi, and the revered "Heavenly Venerator" Ding Ren and "Earthly Venerator" Wei An. Amidst a sea of banners and throngs of men, Liu Xuan raised his voice, bold and impassioned:
"Fellow warriors, righteous souls from across the land! The traitor An Lushan has raised rebellion, seizing Chang'an itself. He is but a beast in human guise, spilling rivers of innocent blood. Heaven is above, Earth is below, and between them stands man—let us do our duty as men beneath Heaven! Today, I proclaim by Heaven's mandate: let all heroes rise together and denounce the traitor—"
But at that very moment, a booming voice cut through like a bell:"That is but one-sided rhetoric! Do you not know that Emperor Xuanzong ordered Prince An Qingzong, son of An Lushan, beheaded in Tang court? How shall such blood-debt go unavenged?"
(Indeed, the chronicles record that in the eleventh month of Tianbao's fifteenth year, when news of An Lushan's rebellion reached the Tang court, Emperor Xuanzong in wrath ordered An Qingzong executed.)
From the edge of the crowd, Murong Gui, the Black Dragon Sect's formidable master, entered with his retinue in full force, striding boldly into the square.
Just then, the handsome youth stepped forth once more, voice ringing clear:"Master Murong, An Lushan's treachery is known to all under Heaven. The Tang Emperor's past favor toward him is likewise no secret. Twisting truth with falsehood serves only confusion—such words cannot stand!"
Murong Gui's eyes narrowed as he retorted coldly:"And who might you be, sir, to dare speak with such lofty opinions?"