Chapter Sixty-Six: The Battle of Deception

Rampage Through the Street was indeed a terrifying opponent. Though his body was exposed in a manner that made one's blood boil, his shameless display actually embodied the principles of Zen Buddhism: presence is absence, absence is presence; illusion and reality entwined, truth and falsehood indistinguishable, leaving others unable to discern, unable to see through him.

Zhang He did not yet understand these profound martial philosophies, but he knew one thing: if he acted recklessly now, the consequences would be unimaginable. Many might think that, with so many openings in Rampage Through the Street’s defense, a single strike would topple him, but in fact, what appeared to be an opening might well be a trap. The moment one made a move, the opening would surely turn into a killing strike.

Zhang He was clear on this point: without certainty, never act rashly.

His situation was far from optimistic. He was wounded, his constitution slowly recovering thanks to Tease You Playfully; the earlier hit from the Golden Lotus Throwing Knife had impaired his agility; his strength and inner power had undeniably weakened;

Compared to previous battles, injuring Rampage Through the Street this time seemed all but impossible.

Thus, all he could do now was wait—for an opportunity to present itself.

His cultivation journey in Dynasty, coupled with his bleak real-life struggles, had taught him patience and endurance.

In truth, Rampage Through the Street was also waiting. He was waiting for Zhang He to make a move, because he too was uncertain about Zhang He's capabilities and dared not act rashly.

Yet as time ticked by, Zhang He showed no sign of attacking.

Rampage Through the Street was astonished. He could not fathom how this man could remain so calm—the people downstairs could come up at any moment, yet this young man stood there like a petrified statue, his expressionless face as if resigned to die.

Starlight still glittered, but the air had grown so tense it seemed on the verge of explosion. After a prolonged standoff, Rampage Through the Street could no longer keep his composure, and coldly demanded, "Why haven't you attacked yet?"

Before the word "attack" had even finished leaving his mouth, Zhang He finally moved. This was the only chance, and he seized it without hesitation.

A streak of blue light flashed. Rampage Through the Street was caught off guard—such a cunning fellow, striking at this precise moment.

Rampage Through the Street threw out a palm, attempting to knock aside the blade with his bare hand, but the blue light suddenly vanished. He felt a sharp pain below, as if all his strength had drained away, and his body collapsed forward, limp.

Critical Hit: "-386!"

It turned out Zhang He had feinted with his left hand, thrusting the Frost Sword at Rampage Through the Street's throat to draw his attention. The sword was withdrawn halfway, and the true killing move was the Flowing Cloud Blade slashing at his opponent’s thigh.

Zhang He had not expected this strike to fell a renowned mid-level fourth-turn hero, but as long as Rampage Through the Street’s thigh took the hit, his agility would plummet, leaving him unable to pursue Zhang He for a while. Zhang He was confident of this, and had calculated it precisely.

In fact, Rampage Through the Street should have realized that Zhang He was not a dual-wielder—if he were, he would have killed White Horse Prince in the hall earlier.

But he lost his composure first, giving Zhang He the opening. Before he could even draw his famed weapon, he was struck.

Seeing Rampage Through the Street sprawled on the ground, blood flowing beneath him, Zhang He strode forward, sheathed his blade, and declared proudly, "No one can make me yield three moves—not even one."

He finally spoke the words, the result of days of arduous training and quests granting him the right to say so.

Rampage Through the Street was gravely wounded, his agility crippled by that strike. Panting, he gritted his teeth, "There are still two moves left."

Zhang He was momentarily stunned, not expecting such stubbornness. He smiled, "You are a man of chivalry—when you said you’d let me have three moves, you kept your word. But—"

Before he could finish saying "but," Rampage Through the Street, still prone, suddenly thrust out a palm. Fierce wind howled, making the Five-Colored Banner flutter wildly.

Zhang He had not anticipated this. He forgot that while Rampage Through the Street’s agility was diminished, his inner power remained untouched.

The palm wind struck his abdomen squarely, and Zhang He was jolted several steps backward, then half-knelt on the ground, using his blade for support to avoid collapsing.

Wound Value: "-103!"

His vision blurred, his organs felt as if they were being tossed about, and a metallic taste rose in his throat.

He knew he was lucky this was only palm wind from three or five meters away—had it landed directly, his corpse would now be at the bottom floor.

Rampage Through the Street's face flushed with excitement, and he laughed breathlessly, "You must understand—even if I couldn't let you have three moves, you should have killed me in one."

Zhang He gritted his teeth. "I won't forget that."

The hearts of those in the martial world are unfathomable, full of intrigue—something no one can truly comprehend.

Shouts echoed from below, "Hero Rampage, Hero Rampage, don’t let that villain escape, kill him, kill—"

Rampage Through the Street said, "Go. I have no strength left to kill you, but I do not wish you to die at their hands. Go, quickly!"

Zhang He swallowed, forcing down the metallic taste.

He wished he could leap up and hack this man to pieces, but a shred of reason told him that now was not the time for anger—he must seize this moment and flee.

Just then, the sound of a flute drifted from the depths of the river. Others might not notice, but Zhang He’s eyes brightened—hope returned.

The flute’s melody was graceful and flowing, no less beautiful than the music of the Fairy Maestro:

“Who says blades and swords are the most heartless in the world? The saying goes, the innocent remain innocent. When fate ties the thread, why does love drift away again? Love cannot be severed, reason is tangled; feelings are impossible to see through, impossible to pierce…”

A swift arrow-boat drifted on the river, with a boatman vigorously rowing at the bow, and three stunning beauties standing amid ship, their skirts fluttering, ethereal as immortals. They were Zhong Shuman, Hua Feihong, and Ma Junmei.

At that moment, music from the Peony Pavilion echoed again, playing the same tune.

A duet of zither and flute, the beautiful music carried far across the vast river, imparting an unspeakable elegance and comfort—even Zhang He felt his discomfort ease.

He forced his damaged inner power to leap onto the tip of the Five-Colored Banner. Using the steps of the Song of Footsteps, he sped across the five banners, then leaped into the river, executing Ripple Crossing to tap lightly on the water, landing precisely amid the three women.

Only then did Zhang He see that the Peony Pavilion was packed with people, all brandishing weapons and shouting to kill him. He sighed inwardly; thankfully the arrow-boat arrived, or he would have been hacked to pieces today.

The arrow-boat sped swiftly downstream. Zhang He wanted to ask how Zhong Shuman, Hua Feihong, and Ma Junmei had come here, but quickly realized that since their team hadn’t disbanded after splitting up, they could track each other’s direction via the mini-map.

The boatman smiled, “My master learned you were in trouble, and hired me to help you escape.”

Zhang He hurriedly thanked him. “May I ask who your master is?”

The boatman replied, “Naturally, it’s Young Master Qi Shiqi!”

Zhang He pondered aloud, “The Young Master Qi currently in the Peony Pavilion?”

The boatman nodded, “Exactly!”

Ma Junmei, seeing Zhang He covered in blood, said, “Brother, you really outdid yourself—visiting the Peony Pavilion and even killing someone from Wudang. I don’t even know how to admire you.”

Ma Junmei had just bought new, splendid attire, covering her Shushan Taoist robes. She no longer looked like an immortal from Shushan, but rather a flower girl from the Spring Court. Zhong Shuman and Hua Feihong, too, wore emerald dresses adorned with flower pins, exuding the charm of noble ladies.

Hua Feihong stood at the bow, playing the jade flute, her melody echoing faintly with the zither from the Peony Pavilion.

On the top floor’s railing, a group of eminent guests gazed at the river. Even if their pleasure barge set out now, they could not catch Zhang He’s swift boat.

A player in lavish Taoist robes spoke coldly, “The Peony Pavilion is a gathering place for the elite, yet someone dares to commit murder here and kill a member of Wudang. Luckily I am here in Fuling tonight—otherwise, would this man not turn the world upside down?”

Qi Shiqi replied serenely, “Wudang men are people, ordinary players are people—a world full of conflicts. Why take it so personally, Master Gu?”

The Taoist player sneered, “None of your people died, Young Master Qi, so it’s easy for you to talk.”

He paused, then turned to a burly man standing nearby, “Wudang is in trouble. Will Chief Xi just stand by and do nothing?”

Xi Liangxu looked troubled, glancing hard at Qi Shiqi.

Qi Shiqi’s serene expression vanished as he spoke solemnly, “Chief Xi, please think carefully before acting.”

The Taoist player said coldly, “Looks like I’ll have to go ashore and hunt him down along the Yangtze River myself?”

Xi Liangxu gritted his teeth and turned away. Qi Shiqi’s expression darkened.

Xi Liangxu waved his hand, and a massive black longbow appeared. It was twice the size of an ordinary bow—by its sheer bulk, only immense strength could draw it.

He was famed as the Flying Divine Archer, not in vain. He mounted three arrows at once, each thick as a bowl, their steel tips gleaming sharply in the night.

If one looked closely, they’d notice his aim was toward the starry night sky.

Suddenly, he released the bow. With three sharp clangs, three steel arrows shot into the dazzling night, whistling as they soared.

At that moment, the zither music abruptly changed—harsh and rasping—and Hua Feihong lowered her flute, “Something’s not right!”

There was no need for her to say so, for the three had already heard the roaring in the sky above, as if massive rocks were falling from great heights, the sound heavy and fierce.

Xi Liangxu’s Hundred Paces Piercing Yang was formidable because of this—you knew his arrows were deadly, yet you couldn’t dodge them. Especially on a narrow arrow-boat, where was there room to evade?