The Tuyuhun general Ye Yan led warriors from the Western Regions, arriving in great numbers with imposing momentum. Yet their first battle ended in humiliation: the lecherous Prince Danba now lay sprawled in the snow, face bruised and swollen, groaning in misery. Attendants rushed to lift him, but the Western Region warriors around him looked displeased, their faces dark. Clearly, they felt shamed by the prince's defeat. Among these allies were many champions in their own right, each renowned for unmatched skill, and none were willing to let such disgrace go unanswered.
At that moment, a towering figure strode forth from the Western camp. He was massive in stature, riding a tall steed, his frame corded with muscle, aura fierce as a mountain. His leopard-like eyes shone with arrogance and wild pride. Casting a contemptuous glance at the battered Prince Danba, he sneered, then proclaimed in a thunderous voice:"I hail from the Pamirs. My name is Darius! Across the Pamirs, I am invincible—one punch can slay a snow leopard, hence they call me the God Fist of the Pamirs! Today I have come to test the martial arts of the Central Plains, to see if they are truly as profound as the legends claim!"
His words drew a roar of approval from the Western warriors, their morale instantly lifted. Clearly, they had full faith in Darius and believed he would restore their honor.
From the Central Plains camp, a man stepped out calmly, hands clasped behind his back, gaze sharp as a hawk—it was Xu Li, leader of the Xu Zhou Gang.With a faint smile he said evenly:"That lecher just now relied on his petty skills and has now tasted bitter fruit—it was no more than deserved. And now you, leaning on your name as the 'God Fist of the Pamirs,' would run rampant in our land? You think Western martial arts can stand above those of the Central Plains? That arrogance is laughable!"
His words sparked a chorus of cheers from the Central Plains warriors, for all knew their martial traditions were vast and profound, with countless schools and masters. How could they suffer foreign contempt?
Darius snorted coldly, disdain flashing in his eyes:"Save your boasting! Our Western martial arts stand on their own, no weaker than yours!"With that, he stamped forward, his body lunging like a tiger descending the mountain. His palm slashed toward Xu Li with explosive force, wind howling as if thunder rumbled within it.
Xu Li's expression remained unchanged. His feet shifted lightly, tracing the Three Talents Step. His stance was steady as Mount Tai, and with a swift turn he countered with Coiling Dragon Returning Fist, power flowing endlessly through his strike. The two fists collided—boom!—sending shockwaves across the field, snow scattering in whirlwinds.
Their movements blurred; fists and palms clashed in a furious storm. The duel of Central Plains versus Western martial arts had truly begun.
The deep of winter added to the ferocity—northern winds swept across the land, whipping robes and banners, lending the scene a grim, murderous air. Both camps held their breath, eyes fixed upon the battle, knowing this struggle was more than a contest of arms—it was a trial of honor, of survival, a clash for the fate of the martial world itself.
Darius fought with strange, ferocious techniques, clearly a disciple of a famed Western sect. His fists were famed for their weight and power, blending speed, trickery, penetration, and steadiness. Swift as lightning, cunning and relentless, his attacks came with uncanny variations, yin and yang interwoven.
Xu Li, however, displayed the depth of Central Plains mastery. His footwork was solid, his form shifting like stone and water—unyielding yet fluid. When Darius struck with tigerish ferocity, Xu Li countered with Hidden Mountain Form, rooted as rock, immovable and unshaken.
Their blows rang through the air. At one opening, Xu Li twisted his waist, driving inner strength, unleashing The Gale's Furious Cry. The wind shrieked like a storm, rushing toward Darius. Startled, the Westerner shifted swiftly, switching stance, attempting to meet force with force.
But Xu Li pressed on, qi coursing through his entire body. With a thunderous shout, his palms surged forth: Thunder Rouses the Heavens, followed instantly by Wind and Thunder Resound. Palm and fist combined, generating violent shockwaves, snow spiraling in wild eddies under the storm of qi. The spectacle was magnificent beyond words.
Darius paled at the onrushing gale, unwilling to take it head-on. He braced, qi surging into both arms, and struck out with all his might.
BOOM! The collision of energies exploded, the snowfield shuddering, snow bursting outward in showers. Both men staggered back several steps before regaining their stance. They met each other's gaze, and in that moment, respect flickered in both sets of eyes.
Xu Li drew a steady breath, then smiled and bowed:"Your fists are formidable, blending hardness and softness—truly admirable!"Darius, his arrogance faded, clasped his fists and replied solemnly:"Your palm strength is unmatched in its might. I too am sincerely impressed!"
This clash between two first-rate masters had reached its peak—force meeting force, skill against skill. Both sides watched in awe, many secretly committing each exquisite technique to memory. This was more than rivalry; it was true recognition. Yet all knew: this was but the beginning. Greater battles lay ahead.
Just then, the Beggar Sect leader Fei Jin stepped forth, his voice ringing out:"When friends come, we offer wine; when wolves come, we offer steel. The nations of the Western Regions are all friends of Tang. Today's matter arises from the Tibetan Lamas intruding upon the Fire-Worshippers' temple. We righteous men cannot let it pass lightly!"
Hearing this ragged figure's bold words, the Tibetan Grand Dharma King, Kunbu, narrowed his eyes and said coldly:"So, you are Fei Jin, leader of the Beggar Sect? Do you mean to sow discord between Tibet and the Western nations? A wasted effort!"
Fei Jin snorted:"You invade our land and call others for aid—where is the true skill in that?"
Kunbu retorted sharply:"Do not think to bully me! I, Kunbu, bow to no one!"
Fei Jin sneered, unrestrained:"I, an old beggar, have feared no man in my life—least of all some Tibetan monk!"
The word Tibetan struck Kunbu like a spear, his face flushing with rage. He bellowed:"Too much insolence! Take my palm!"
He leapt forward, palm descending like a crashing mountain. Fei Jin met it head-on, their strikes colliding with a thunderous crack. Both men reeled back a few paces.
Fei Jin laughed scornfully:"Nothing but a false monk selling dog's meat under a sheep's head! How could such as you ever attain true enlightenment?"
Kunbu's fury boiled over. Veins bulged as he snarled:"And you are nothing but a stinking beggar!"
Words turned to blows. Kunbu's body trembled, then surged forward, unleashing the secret Buddhist art of The Five Mudras of the Tathāgata: The Preaching Seal, the Fearless Seal, the Meditation Seal, the Demon-Subduing Seal, the Wish-Granting Seal—five palms hammering at Fei Jin's vital points in blinding succession.
Fei Jin, knowing the art was dangerous, nonetheless refused to yield. Laughing, he rushed forward with Earth-Shaking Thunderclap. His palms thundered out, snow billowing skyward, winds snapping garments in all directions.
The two clashed in a frenzy of speed, blows exchanged and countered in the blink of an eye. Within moments they had struck at least twenty times. Fei Jin, though mocking, admitted inwardly: This arrogant monk truly has skill.
Snarling, he cried:"Foreign monk, to set foot in the Central Plains, you must first pass through me!"
Kunbu sneered in return, eyes blazing like a wrathful Vajra:"Stinking beggar, your hands do have some strength—but come! Let this poor monk accompany you a while longer!"
And once more the two titans hurled themselves into furious combat.