Shooting the Eagle: Starting from Iron Palm Peak

The next day, Guo Jing, Lin Qi, and Huang Rong strolled around the streets.

Zhongdu was bustling with activity, lined with shops and teeming with people. It was Guo Jing's first time in such a large city, and everything was new and exciting. Although young, Huang Rong was very knowledgeable and pointed things out to him, pointing out silk shops and jewelry stores, which Guo Jing listened to with nods of agreement. Lin Qi followed beside him, occasionally interjecting a word, but mostly just listening quietly.

After walking for a while, a commotion suddenly arose ahead. A crowd had formed, some cheering, others making a fuss. Huang Rong's eyes lit up, and she pulled Guo Jing through the commotion. Lin Qi followed behind, already knowing what was going on—a martial arts contest to choose a husband.

Inside the circle, a banner fluttered in the wind, embroidered with the four golden characters "Martial Arts Contest for a Bride." Beside the flagpole stood a middle-aged man, around forty years old, burly and weathered, dressed in a coarse cloth robe, carrying a bronze gong. Behind him stood a young woman, seventeen or eighteen years old, dressed in red, a long sword at her waist, beautiful but with a touch of heroism in her brows. She lowered her head, a hint of shyness on her face, but stood ramrod straight, unlike an ordinary young lady.

Guo Jing looked at it and asked, "What are you doing?"

Huang Rong whispered, "A martial arts contest to choose a husband. Whoever defeats that girl can marry her."

Guo Jing simply said "Oh" and didn't say anything more.

The middle-aged man struck a gong and announced loudly, "Fellow villagers, my surname is Mu. I'm traveling the world with my daughter, hoping to find her a good husband. My daughter is seventeen years old and not yet betrothed. Which hero dares to step forward and defeat my daughter? I will give her to him in marriage!"

A burst of laughter erupted from the crowd, and someone teased, "What if you win the fight but don't want to marry her?"

The middle-aged man's face darkened: "If you don't want to get married, don't come up on stage. It's a martial arts contest to find a husband; those who are willing will take the bait."

Several burly men stepped out from the crowd and went up on stage one after another, only to be easily defeated by the girl in red. The girl's martial arts skills weren't top-tier, but her moves were agile and her movements nimble, more than enough to handle these ordinary martial artists. Each time she won a match, the middle-aged man would strike a gong and loudly announce the victory. More and more people gathered, cheering and applause rising and falling.

Lin Qi stood in the crowd, his gaze fixed on the girl in red. Mu Nianci—in the original story, her fate was fraught with hardship; she was deeply in love with Yang Kang but was ultimately betrayed, dying in despair. Now that he was here, he didn't want to see her walk that path again.

Just then, a young man stepped out from the crowd.

The man was about eighteen or nineteen years old, dressed in a brocade robe, with a handsome face, and holding a folding fan in his hand, exuding arrogance. He brought a few attendants with him, walked down to the stage, glanced at the scene with interest, and then strode onto the stage.

"Young lady, my name is Wanyan Kang. Please enlighten me."

Mu Nianci glanced at him, her face slightly flushed, and returned the greeting with clasped hands.

The two began to fight. Wanyan Kang's martial arts skills far surpassed Mu Nianci's, but he was in no hurry to win. He teased her with each move, sometimes grabbing her sleeve, sometimes tapping her wrist, all the while uttering lewd and suggestive remarks. Mu Nianci grew increasingly anxious as she fought, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Some onlookers cheered, some shook their heads, and some whispered among themselves.

Guo Jing stood in the crowd, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper. He saw Wanyan Kang reach out to pull at Mu Nianci's belt, and was about to step forward when Lin Qi stopped him.

"Brother Guo, let me do it."

Guo Jing was taken aback: "Brother Lin..."

Lynch had already strode onto the stage.

"stop."

His voice wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly. Wanyan Kang stopped what he was doing, turned around, and saw a young man in his early twenties, wearing a long blue cloth robe, with no weapon at his waist, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, yet he possessed a calm and composed demeanor.

"Who are you?" Wanyan Kang frowned.

"My name is Lin Qi." Lin Qi walked to Mu Nianci's side, glanced at her, and saw beads of sweat on her forehead, with a hint of grievance and stubbornness in her eyes. His heart softened slightly. He turned to Wanyan Kang and said calmly, "This young lady has already lost; the outcome is decided. If you continue to pester her like this, it will be unbecoming of you."

Wanyan Kang sneered, "A martial arts contest for marriage is a contest of who wins. I defeated her, so she's mine. What I do with her is none of your business!"

Lin Qi remained calm, saying, "A martial arts contest for marriage is about skill, not frivolous behavior. If you truly wish to marry, you should treat her with respect. What kind of hero humiliates a young woman in public like this?"

Wanyan Kang's face darkened: "Who do you think you are? You dare to lecture me?"

He snapped his folding fan shut and aimed it at Lin Qi's chest. The move was swift and ruthless, clearly showing he was genuinely enraged.

Lin Qi dodged to the side, his right palm reaching out to gently pat the side of the folding fan. Wanyan Kang felt a surge of supple force, nearly dropping the fan. He quickly took two steps back, his expression slightly changing.

"Impressive skills." Wanyan Kang gritted his teeth, drew a short sword from his waist, and pointed the tip at Lin Qi.

Lin Qi did not back down. He looked at Wanyan Kang and said calmly, "Use weapons? Very well. I'll take a few of your moves bare-handed."

Enraged, Wanyan Kang brandished his short sword, aiming for Lin Qi's throat. Lin Qi slightly shifted his body, the blade grazing past his ear. He reached out with his left hand, two fingers gripping the blade. Wanyan Kang pulled hard, but the sword remained unmoved, as if clamped by iron pincers. Lin Qi released his grip, and Wanyan Kang, unable to stop in time, staggered back two steps, nearly falling.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

Wanyan Kang's face turned ashen. Just as he was about to get on again, a commotion suddenly arose in the crowd. Several sedan chairs stopped by the roadside, escorted by imperial guards, their curtains lowered. From the first sedan chair came the voice of a middle-aged woman, dignified yet tinged with worry: "Kang'er, you're making a scene here again."

Wanyan Kang quickly stepped down from the platform, walked to the sedan chair, bowed, and said, "Mother, I was just playing around."

The woman in the sedan chair sighed, "Let's go home."

Wanyan Kang responded and was about to leave when three people stepped out from behind the sedan chair—a short, stout man named Peng Lianhu with a fierce face; a tall, imposing man dressed as a Tibetan monk named Lingzhi Shangren; and an elderly man with white hair and beard and a ruddy complexion, none other than the ginseng immortal Liang Ziweng. The three were clearly skilled bodyguards accompanying the princess.

Peng Lianhu glanced at Lin Qi on the stage, sneered, and strode onto the stage.

"Young master, you dare to lay a hand on the young prince? You've got some nerve. Today I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget."

He struck out with a palm, the wind from which was fierce, aiming straight for Lin Qi's chest.

Lin Qi did not back down. He extended his right palm and clashed palms with Peng Lianhu. With a "bang," both men took two steps back. Peng Lianhu's expression changed; he hadn't expected this young man to possess such profound internal strength.

"Who goes there?" Peng Lianhu shouted.

Lin Qi clasped his hands in a fist and palm salute: "I am Lin Qi, an unknown nobody in the martial arts world."

Peng Lianhu snorted coldly, about to make another move, when suddenly a gray figure darted out from the crowd and landed on the platform. The newcomer was a middle-aged Taoist priest, dressed in a gray robe, with a thin face and three long wisps of beard. He casually stepped on the ground, leaving a footprint nearly a foot deep in the snow, the stone slab shattering, the imprint clearly visible. Such skill was truly astonishing.

Peng Lianhu's eyes sharpened as he stared at the Taoist priest for a moment, then clasped his hands in a fist and asked, "Are you the Taoist Master Yu Yangzi, also known as the 'Iron-Legged Immortal'?"

The Taoist priest said calmly, "I am indeed Wang Chuyi, but I dare not accept the title of Iron-Legged Immortal."

Upon hearing the name "Wang Chuyi," Wanyan Kang's expression changed drastically. Although he had never met this martial uncle, he had often heard his master, Qiu Chuji, mention him, knowing that Wang Chuyi was one of the Seven Masters of Quanzhen, possessing extremely high martial arts skills and an upright character. He feared that if his martial uncle recognized him for humiliating a woman on the stage and this reached his master's ears, he would be in a difficult situation. He quietly retreated a few steps into the crowd, trying to slip away.

"Wanyan Kang." Wang Chuyi's voice wasn't loud, but it came through clearly.

Wanyan Kang paused, then had no choice but to turn around, bow, and say, "Disciple Wanyan Kang greets Martial Uncle."

Wang Chu looked at him with a stern gaze: "Your master dedicated his life to upholding justice, yet the disciple he taught is here humiliating innocent women?"

Cold sweat beaded on Wanyan Kang's forehead as he bowed repeatedly, saying, "Uncle-Master is right. I know I was wrong. I will definitely reflect on my mistakes when I get back."

Wang Chuyi stared at him for a while, then sighed.

Wanyan Kang seized the opportunity and said, "It's rare for my uncle to come to Zhongdu. Why don't we go to the Prince's residence so that I can listen to your teachings?"

Wang Chuyi pondered for a moment. He looked at Lin Qi, then at Guo Jing, and made up his mind.

"Alright, I'll make a trip to the Prince's residence." Wang Chu paused, then looked at Lin Qi and Guo Jing, "Brother Lin, Brother Guo, you two come along too."

Lin Qi's heart skipped a beat. He knew this was Yang Kang's delaying tactic, a plan to lure them into the Zhao Prince's residence before making his move. But since Wang Chuyi had agreed, he couldn't refuse. He nodded, "This junior obeys."

Guo Jing nodded as well.

Huang Rong tugged at Lin Qi's sleeve and whispered, "Brother Lin, that Wanyan Kang doesn't seem like a good person. Will it be dangerous for us to go to the Prince's mansion?"

Lin Qi said in a low voice, "With Daoist Wang here, there's nothing to fear."

Wanyan Kang, with a smile plastered on his face, led the way. As the sedan chair began to move, Peng Lianhu, Lingzhi Shangren, and Liang Ziweng followed beside it, glancing back at Lin Qi from time to time with a hint of coldness in their eyes.

Lin Qi walked beside Wang Chuyi, his mind racing. The Zhao Prince's mansion was teeming with experts; this trip would likely end in disaster. But he knew this was a crucial plot point in the original story, and he had to go.

Just as he was about to walk forward, he suddenly heard a soft cry from behind him.

That was Yang Tiexin's voice.

Lin Qi turned around and saw Yang Tiexin standing below the stage, his face deathly pale, his eyes fixed on the sedan chair, his lips trembling slightly. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his hands were clenched into fists, his nails almost digging into his flesh. He heard the woman's voice inside the sedan chair—a voice exactly like that of his wife Bao Xiruo, who had died many years ago.

"Uncle Mu?" Lin Qi called out softly.

Yang Tiexin didn't hear it. His gaze was still fixed on the sedan chair, as if he were frozen in place. The sedan chair had already started moving, the curtains were lowered, and he couldn't see the people inside, but the sound had already stirred up a storm in his heart.

Lin Qi walked over and lowered his voice: "Uncle Mu, what's wrong?"

Yang Tiexin snapped out of his daze, forced a smile, and said in a trembling voice, "No...nothing. That princess's voice sounds a lot like...a lot like an old friend of mine."

Lin Qi understood, but didn't say anything. He patted Yang Tiexin on the shoulder and said in a low voice, "Uncle Mu, take Miss Mu back first. Don't stay here any longer. I'll go to the Prince Zhao's residence and see if I find any news. I'll let you know later."

Yang Tiexin nodded, took Mu Nianci's hand, and turned to walk into the crowd. Mu Nianci glanced back at Lin Qi, her eyes full of worry, but ultimately said nothing.

Lin Qi watched them walk away before turning around and following Wang Chuyi.

As dusk settled over Zhongdu, the streets gradually darkened, while the brightly lit Prince Zhao's mansion in the distance resembled a giant beast with its mouth agape, waiting for them to walk right into its trap.

Lin Qi took a deep breath, suppressing the distracting thoughts in his mind. He knew that there was still a tough battle to be fought in the Zhao Prince's mansion.