Wuxia: Start with max-level Nine Yang Divine Skill

Chapter 242 Fan Taisui: "Who dares to touch me? Who dares to touch me?!" (4k8)

The sun was blazing on Dongmen Street in Luzhou.

Li Fu came out of the teahouse, crossed two streets, and arrived at Dongmen Street.

From afar, one could see a flagpole over two zhang tall standing alone in the middle of the street.

A small, thin figure hung from the top of the flagpole.

It was a little girl of seven or eight years old, her hands tightly bound with hemp rope and hanging from the crossbeam. Her skirt was tattered, her face was pale, her lips were dry and cracked, and her eyes were half-open and half-closed, with a vacant look in her eyes.

Occasionally a gust of wind would blow by, and her body would sway gently, like a withered leaf.

Li Fu's gaze lingered on her face for a moment.

The streets were packed with people, three or four deep.

Some people sighed softly, some turned their heads away, unable to bear watching any longer, and some clenched their fists but could do nothing.

A kind-hearted old woman wiped her eyes with her sleeve, her voice trembling: "Poor thing—a child of only seven or eight years old—his parents were killed, and he's being tortured like this—"

The person next to her hurriedly tugged at her sleeve: "Keep your voice down, are you out of your mind? If Fan Taisui's men hear you, they might hang you up too."

The old woman's lips trembled, and she ultimately dared not continue speaking, only wiping away her tears.

Li Fu's gaze passed over the crowd and landed on a building across the street.

It was the second floor of a teahouse, covered with brocade and set with a table of food and wine.

A young man in a brocade robe leaned back on a cushion, crossed his legs, and ate a grape, looking languid.

This person should be the Fan Taisui that everyone is talking about.

A precious sword lay at his feet, its scabbard a deep crimson, gleaming lustrous in the sunlight.

Standing beside him were four or five experts of different appearances, some monks, some laymen, some tall, and some short.

Each of them exuded a deep and composed aura, seemingly possessing extraordinary skills; they were undoubtedly retainers of the Prince of Nankang's mansion.

There were more than twenty guards standing below the platform, with swords at their waists, glaring menacingly.

Suddenly, the other end of the long street fell silent.

The crowd parted to the sides, making way for a narrow passage.

A young man slowly walked from the other end of the long street.

He was about twenty years old, wearing a worn-out gray cloth shirt with frayed edges on the shoulders and cuffs, looking travel-worn.

He was holding a knife in his hand, the blade already drawn, its edge gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

He walked slowly, each step steady, his face as gloomy as the sky before a storm, his lips tightly pressed together, his eyes bloodshot.

The crowd whispered among themselves. Li Fu stood calmly in the crowd and watched. As expected, this was Xue's only son, who had been wandering outside for two years and escaped a disaster.

Xue Ning stopped about thirty paces from the flagpole.

I looked up and saw my younger sister hanging from the flagpole; her small, thin figure drooped there softly.

His body trembled slightly, his eyes suddenly reddened, but he gritted his teeth and endured it, the veins on the back of his hand holding the knife bulging.

On the high platform, Fan Taisui sat up straight.

He flicked the grape seed he had just finished eating onto the ground, clapped his hands, and shouted with a laugh, "Hey, you've finally arrived!"

"You've got some guts; you didn't keep me waiting for two days in vain."

He smiled at the guards below the stage and said, "Did you see that? Even knowing he was going to die, this kid still dared to come. He's a bit tougher than I thought."

One of the guards said with a forced smile, "It's good to have guts."

If they're too scared to come, we'll have to go through all that trouble, wasting not only our time but also your precious time, young master.

"Haha, that's right."

Xue Ning tightened his grip on the knife, and roared, his voice hoarse: "Fan Taisui, give me back my parents' lives!"

"Release my sister!"

Fan Taisui picked at his ear, as if he had heard a joke that wasn't funny at all.

He said slowly, "Return your parents' lives? Your parents are long dead, what can I give you in return? Your sister, well—"

He glanced up at the little girl hanging from the flagpole.

"Your sister is still alive."

As for how long you can live, that's up to you.

Xue Ning brandished her knife, pointing it angrily at him, almost grinding her teeth to powder: "What do you want?"

Fan Taisui stood up and walked to the edge of the platform.

He bent down and picked up the Rouge Knife from beside his feet, casually drawing out a section of the blade. Sunlight shone on the blade, causing its crimson luster to shift and change.

He glanced at the blade and said casually.

"Your Xue family has two treasures."

I've already obtained the same Rouge Blade.

The other thing—is the Dream-Startling Saber Manual passed down through your Xue family.

He looked up, his gaze landing on Xue Ning's face: "Did you bring your family's Dream-Startling Saber Manual?"

Upon hearing this, the expressions of the martial arts practitioners in the crowd changed.

Someone exclaimed in a low voice, "The Dream-Stopping Blade? So the Xue family are descendants of Xue Xunnan, the 'Dream-Stopping Blade' from decades ago!"

It really is the Dream-Startling Blade. Legend has it that the blade is entirely crimson, like it's stained with rouge—"

Another person said, "Yes, legend has it that when Xue Xunnan drew his sword, it was as beautiful as a dream. His opponent was as if he had just woken up from a dream, and the sword was already at his neck. That's why it's called the Dream-Startling Sword."

Later, he fought a duel with a master swordsman and was defeated, suffering severe injuries. He then disappeared without a trace, with no further news of him. It turned out that he had retired from the martial arts world under an assumed name, married, had children, and lived in Luzhou.

Some sighed, "What a pity! The descendant of a master swordsman was targeted by such a纨绔 (wán kù, a spoiled and dissolute young man), and his entire family was wiped out."

"Fan Taisui killed the entire Xue family, but failed to obtain the sword manual. That's why he hung the youngest girl here to force his surviving brother to come back."

Xue Ning gritted his teeth and roared, "You killed my parents, and now you want our Xue family's sword manual? Don't even think about it!"

Fan Taisui's smile slowly turned cold, as if he had expected him to say that.

He slung the Rouge Sword over his shoulder, draped the scabbard over his shoulder, put his other hand on his hip, and looked down at Xue Ning.

"Your father is a man of principle; he would rather die than utter a single word. I have a lot of respect for him."

You're not bad either.

He tilted his head and said slowly.

"But your parents are dead, and your sister is still alive."

You wouldn't want to see your sister become a mute corpse like your father, would you?

He paused, then sighed.

"Sigh, actually I didn't want to go through all this trouble."

But the young master's master, Senior Ba Dao, is about to celebrate his fiftieth birthday.

I have to give a presentable gift, right?

"We already have the Rouge Blade. If we could also add the Dream-Startling Blade Manual from your Xue family, this gift would be truly substantial."

As soon as the words "Overlord Blade" were uttered, a murmur arose among the crowd.

Li Fu stood in the crowd, listening calmly.

"Zhao Changgeng, the Overlord Blade?"

"—He's one of the most skilled swordsmen in the world."

"A martial arts practitioner with a sword at his waist said in a low voice."

"He swept across the world with his domineering blade. With a single strike, he possessed the power to swallow ten thousand miles like a tiger. His domineering nature was unparalleled, and few in the world could withstand a single strike from him without dying."

A person next to him chimed in.

"The Overlord Blade has been famous for over thirty years, and no one in the martial arts world who wields a blade dares to challenge him."

I heard that he has rarely made any moves in recent years, and has been living in seclusion in a mountain villa outside Luzhou City, focusing on teaching his disciples.

It's no secret that the young master of the Nankang Prince's mansion studied swordsmanship under him.

"If Grand Duke Fan wants to give away a precious sword and sword manual obtained from the Xue family as a birthday gift, will the Tyrant Blade Zhao Changgeng accept it?"

"You don't know this, but Zhao Changgeng earned the nickname 'Overlord Blade' not only because his swordsmanship was unparalleled, making him the king of swords, but also because he himself was equally domineering, a complex mix of righteous and wicked, cold and ruthless—"

Li Fu listened to these words and his gaze sharpened slightly.

Zhao Changgeng, the Overlord Blade, is one of the most skilled swordsmen in the world. I had heard of him before, but I had never heard that he lived in Luzhou and had taken the Prince of Nankang as his disciple.

Upon hearing the name "Overlord Blade," Xue Ning's pupils constricted slightly. Having roamed the martial world for two years, and being a wielder of a blade himself, he naturally knew of the reputation of Overlord Blade Zhao Changgeng.

The hatred and despair in his heart surged and churned, almost bursting his chest.

Xue Ning said no more, suddenly drew his knife, and roared, "You bastard, release my sister!"

Before the words were even finished, the person had already rushed out.

The guards below the stage came forward to greet them.

These guards were all skilled martial artists, but how could they possibly stop a descendant of a master swordsman?

Xue Ning swept his longsword horizontally, the wind whistling through it, graceful and gentle, aimed directly at vital points.

Someone raised a knife to parry, but he twisted his wrist, and the blade slid down along the opponent's blade, slicing it away in one swift motion. The man was struck in the wrist, screaming as he dropped his weapon and retreated.

Another person lunged at him from the side. Xue Ning dodged to the side and then struck the man on the back of the neck with the back of his knife. The man groaned and fell to the ground.

Someone thrust a spear at him, but Xue Ning advanced instead of retreating. He swung his longsword, deflecting the spear shaft, and then kicked the man in the chest. The man flew backward, knocking down two people behind him.

In just a few exchanges, Xue Ning had taken down several people.

He fought his way down to the flagpole, trying to save people.

Just then, Fan Taisui lazily waved his hand: "Don't let him touch that girl."

A figure moved behind him.

The man was in his early forties, not tall but very stocky, with broad shoulders, and a short knife hanging at his waist, the scabbard plain and unadorned.

He stepped off the high platform in one step, and without any apparent movement, he was already three zhang behind Xue Ning.

Xue Ning was reaching out to touch the rope when he suddenly felt a sharp gust of wind coming from behind him.

The strong wind came very fast, carrying a chilling, razor-sharp feeling.

Before Xue Ning could turn around, he felt the hairs on the back of his head stand on end and instinctively rolled to the side.

A blade of light grazed the spot where he had just stood, slashing down and carving a deep gash into the blue bricks of the ground, which stretched for nearly ten feet.

The onlookers screamed and backed away.

Xue Ning flipped himself up, holding his sword horizontally in front of him to protect himself, and saw the posture of the person who came.

The man's right hand rested on the hilt of the short knife at his waist, his body slightly bent, his left knee bent forward, and his center of gravity low, making him look like a leopard poised to pounce.

His strike just now was executed by drawing the sword directly from its sheath and slashing simultaneously, so fast that there was almost no gap between the drawing and the strike.

Xue Ning was startled.

A master who specializes in sword-drawing techniques and reaches this level is extremely rare in the martial arts world.

Seeing that his first strike missed, the man didn't hesitate; he leaped forward and drew his short sword again.

This time it was faster and more ruthless; the blade flashed like a gust of wind, slashing upwards towards Xue Ning's lower abdomen.

Xue Ning hurriedly lowered his blade to parry, and the blades clashed, producing a crisp sound.

He felt a heavy force coming from the knife, and his entire arm went numb from the shock.

The man missed his first strike, but with a flick of his wrist, the blade slid upwards along Xue Ning's sword, aiming to slice at his fingers.

Xue Ning had no choice but to withdraw his hand and retreat, but the man's knife followed him like a shadow, delivering three consecutive blows, each faster than the last, each aimed at his throat, chest, and wrist—three vital points.

Xue Ning parried with all his might, and three sharp clangs rang out as he took a step back after each strike.

After the three stabs, he had retreated five steps, his tiger's mouth was slightly cracked, and cold sweat was pouring down his forehead.

The man sheathed his sword and stood there, looking at him coldly.

Xue Ning was panting heavily, his eyes fixed on the other person's short knife, and he also observed the other person's stance and the rhythm of the knife strike.

That rapid, swift swordplay, the seamless integration of drawing and striking, and the ruthless style that never misses a vital point—

A name suddenly popped into his mind.

Xue Ning's face paled: "You are—Zhang Tieshan, the 'Wind-Splitting Blade'?"

The man nodded slightly, his tone indifferent: "Good eye."

Xue Ning was incredulous, both shocked and furious: "You, the mighty Po Feng Dao, a renowned figure in the martial arts world, your skills and swordsmanship revered by all swordsmen, how could you become a lackey of such a person?!"

The onlookers, including martial arts practitioners, were also taken aback.

Zhang Tieshan, known as the "Splashing Wind Saber," is a renowned top-tier saber in Northwest China. His Splashing Wind Saber technique is said to be able to deliver twenty-seven consecutive slashes in a single breath, each one sharp and deadly.

It is said that he once fought alone against the notorious bandit gang "The Bees" in the Gobi Desert of Northwest China, and killed all 89 members of the "Bees" who were all skilled in martial arts.

"I heard you've been out roaming the world for two years now, don't you understand yet?"

When you venture out into the world, martial arts skills alone are not enough; you also need a background and a powerful backer.

I sought refuge with the Prince of Nankang and became a retainer of the Prince of Nankang. I served them and had no worries about food or clothing. I lived a life of luxury and no one dared to offend me.

He was a hundred times better than ordinary martial arts practitioners who braved wind and rain, licking blood from the edge of a knife.

The princess ordered me to protect Young Master Fan. I receive a salary and consider it reasonable to follow orders.

Xue Ning was so angry that he trembled all over.

"I have heard that you have practiced your swordsmanship diligently and become a top swordsman. I once admired you and longed to one day become as famous as you in the martial arts world."

To be a lackey of someone else, to abandon all chivalry—don't you feel ashamed?

That's enough.

Zhang Tieshan frowned, said no more, and drew his short sword once more.

This time he attacked even faster than before, his blade flashing like a whirlwind of sand, engulfing Xue Ning completely.

Xue Ning tried his best to parry with his sword, but his swordsmanship was based on the "Dream Startling" style, which emphasized stillness like a virgin and movement like thunder. If he missed his first strike, he would need to gather his strength and strike again.

But Zhang Tieshan's whirlwind sword technique gave him no chance to build up his momentum. His sword strikes came one after another, like a torrential downpour, continuous and unending.

The main problem was that his swordsmanship was inadequate; he hadn't practiced enough.

Xue Ning bravely withstood seven or eight blows, already struggling to stay afloat.

On the ninth strike, Zhang Tieshan's swordplay suddenly changed. The rapid, continuous sword strikes were abruptly withdrawn, followed by a horizontal slash that was fierce and vicious, striking the middle of Xue Ning's blade.

Xue Ning felt an overwhelming force, his tiger's mouth split open, and the long sword flew out of his hand.

Zhang Tieshan lunged forward and punched Xue Ning in the stomach.

Xue Ning doubled over in pain, and Zhang Tieshan raised his knee, hitting him squarely on the chin.

Xue Ning fell backward, blood gushing from his mouth. His vision went black, and he struggled to get up, but his body was weak and even the arm supporting him on the ground was trembling.

Fan Taisui stood on the high platform and took in the whole scene.

He stood up, slung the Rouge Knife over his shoulder, walked to the edge of the platform, stepped onto the railing, looked down at Xue Ning who was slumped on the ground, and slowly said, "How was it?"

Are you interested in considering writing down the sword manual?

Xue Ning struggled to raise his head, furious and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He was filled with grief and indignation, his eyes fixed on Fan Taisui.

"You—you commit such evil deeds, aren't you afraid that one day a chivalrous hero will pass by and chop you down with a single stroke, acting on behalf of Heaven to punish the wicked and uphold justice!"

Fan Taisui seemed to have heard the biggest joke in the world, and laughed twice, his laughter carrying far down the street.

Then he stopped laughing, lowered his head, and looked at Xue Ning with utter contempt.

"You really are naive."

You've been wandering the world for two years now, how come you still have this thoughtless mind?

A great hero? A great hero doesn't eat? A great hero has no family?

"Does this hero dare to touch me? Does he have a death wish?"

"Does his family not want to live anymore?"

He paused, then raised his voice a few decibels.

"My sister is the Princess Consort of the Prince of Nankang, and my brother-in-law is the Prince of Nankang. We are descendants of the founding emperor. Anyone who touches me is a wanted criminal by the imperial court, and their entire clan will be implicated!"

He turned abruptly, the tip of his knife pointing towards the onlookers and martial arts practitioners on both sides of the street.

"Who dares to touch me?"

"You? You? Or you?"

Wherever the blade passed, the people lowered their heads, not daring to meet his gaze.

Several martial arts figures standing in the front row looked angry, but when their eyes fell on the weapons at the waists of Zhang Tieshan and the others, and they remembered Fan Taisui's identity, they gritted their teeth and lowered their heads, daring not to speak out.

No one dared to respond to him.

Fan Taisui laughed loudly, the tip of his knife swirling in the air before falling heavily back onto his shoulder: "You see! No one dares to touch me!"

"Who dares to touch me? Who do you expect to stand up for you?"

"You bastard—"

Xue Ning collapsed to the ground, staring at the blinding sun in the sky, tears mingling with blood as they silently streamed down her face.

His sister was still hanging from the flagpole, but he didn't even have the strength to stand up.

But just then, a calm voice rang out from the crowd.

"I dare to touch you."

The voice wasn't loud, but when everyone lowered their heads, daring not to speak out, and the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, it clearly reached everyone's ears.

Fan Taisui's laughter stopped abruptly, his smile froze for a moment, as if he had been slapped in the face, and he slowly turned cold.

He turned his head with a hawk-like gaze, looking in the direction the voice came from: "Who? Who's acting tough here? Say it again if you're not afraid of dying!"

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