Chapter Seventy-Five: Roasted Rabbit

The wine jar was clearly infused with a formidable internal energy, spinning at a tremendous speed that not only commanded awe but also stirred the lake water into waves that crashed against the stone pillar opposite. Just as everyone expected, Yan Yishan’s first instinct was to retreat rapidly. However, as soon as his foot moved, the wine jar struck the pillar with a sharp crack, shattering instantly. In that moment, the massive stone pillar trembled slightly.

Yan Yishan’s steps faltered, appearing unsteady, almost stumbling, and at that instant, Brother Bai’s palm wind swept toward him. In the daylight, the palm wind seemed substantial yet invisible, but now under the moonlight, it appeared as a forked, white ribbon, its force enveloping the stone pillar entirely; with Yan Yishan’s unsteady footing, evading it was simply impossible.

The vice chairman of the guild, a player skilled in lower-body techniques, watched and was deeply impressed. That Brother Bai was truly a formidable figure; after a long period of observation, he had discerned Yan Yishan’s weakness—a lack of stable footing. The wine jar’s wave, combined with the proactive palm strike, contained subtleties that only those who understood its essence could grasp.

Yet Yan Yishan was equally seasoned. After swallowing several pills, he advanced instead of retreating, countering with a sword slash toward Brother Bai’s wrist.

Brother Bai, his wrist twisting amidst the blue sword light, responded with a reverse palm strike to Yan Yishan’s neck—a truly lethal move.

A muffled crash sounded.

Red damage value: "-232!"

Yan Yishan was struck so hard that stars danced before his eyes as he collapsed to the ground.

“Amazing!” The three disciplinary committee members exclaimed in unison.

Brother Bai, having landed his blow, brought his other palm down, but this time he made a mistake—the kind that’s most dangerous when one holds the upper hand: carelessness.

Yan Yishan had only feigned defeat; when Brother Bai’s second palm descended, his divine sword moved with lightning speed, its tip darting like a serpent’s tongue straight for Brother Bai’s throat—a true mortal strike.

Brother Bai, even in crisis, managed to react, slapping the sword’s edge with his bare palm. Blood instantly streamed from his right hand, and a "-101" damage value appeared above his head.

That blow deflected the sword’s trajectory, causing its tip to pierce Brother Bai’s shoulder, resulting in a red damage value of "-332!"

Brother Bai retreated swiftly, his toes tapping the lake surface repeatedly, drifting lightly back, but a string of minor damage values spilled across his head, dazzling beneath the moon and stars.

This exchange was unlike their daytime bout. Yan Yishan let out a long howl, rose, and immediately pursued with his light footwork, his divine sword casting blue shadows and sword energy raging across the lake, illuminating the waters anew.

Anyone witnessing these two masters clash would be entranced by the spectacle, their senses overwhelmed.

Compared to daytime, Brother Bai’s movements were noticeably slower and less agile, as if he were growing weary, struggling to keep pace, his strength seemingly waning.

It wasn’t just Zhang He who noticed; even the three disciplinary committee members sensed it clearly.

Yan Yishan’s divine sword forced Brother Bai into desperate defense, and just as it seemed he would be overwhelmed, Brother Bai let out a furious roar, his whole body trembling as both palms unleashed a fierce gale. Anyone could see this palm wind was extraordinary, its hue milky white and its force indescribably swift. Even Yan Yishan, realizing the danger and crossing his sword to guard his chest, found it futile.

For the palm wind lifted him and his sword, sending them flying.

Critical hit: "-588!"

With a splash, Yan Yishan fell into the lake, flailing.

Brother Bai did not pursue. Instead, he quickly sat cross-legged and closed his eyes in meditation, while Yan Yishan dared not attack, swimming back to his original stone pillar.

The fight seemed to have ended once more. Though brief, the exchange of palms and swords was fraught with peril and brilliance, beyond mere words.

The three disciplinary committee members stared in awe, knowing full well they were powerless to participate in such a contest.

After a long while, the guild vice chairman managed to speak: “Comrade Wu was absolutely right.”

Zhang He had indeed been correct; to risk recklessly without understanding the depths was to court disaster.

Yan Yishan’s feigned defeat and counterattack had been stunning, but Brother Bai’s last desperate move was even more formidable.

Yet, who was truly stronger? It was impossible to judge.

“Comrade Wu, do you think Brother Bai’s palm technique comes from the Shaolin Divine Fist… Eh, where is Comrade Wu?” The vice chairman turned to find Zhang He already walking toward the woods.

Curious, the disciplinary committee secretary asked, “Where are you going?”

Zhang He replied, “It’s dinner time. I’m arranging our meals, taking care of everyone’s food.”

“Oh?” The secretary’s eyes lit up. “Should I conduct a terrain survey?”

“No need!” Zhang He didn’t look back. “You go chop some trees. We’ll make a raft.”

The secretary paused, confused. “And you?”

“I’m going to find some rope, to tie the raft together.”

The secretary was dumbfounded for a long moment before replying, “Alright then.”

He certainly thought it was a good idea; chopping wood was tiring, but at least there was a plan. But where, in this wilderness, could Zhang He possibly find rope?

About ten minutes later, the secretary realized that following Zhang He was the wisest decision imaginable, for Zhang He had somehow caught several wild rabbits. Such skill was beyond the secretary’s own reach.

In “Dynasty,” even the craftiest fox might fail to catch a wild rabbit, yet Zhang He was more cunning than any fox. He skinned the rabbits, washed them in the lake, borrowed a fire starter from the finance bureau chief, and soon had a campfire blazing by the lake, roasting the rabbits.

The aroma drifted across the water, and the three committee members, confident in their experience with many fine restaurants in “Dynasty,” found themselves ravenous after days of hardship, their supplies nearly exhausted. The scent was a balm to their hunger, as welcome as rain after a drought.

When the rabbit meat turned golden on the skewers, the secretary couldn’t resist making a move, but all four turned simultaneously, for Brother Bai had silently appeared behind them.

Brother Bai eyed the roasted rabbit and, without a word, reached out. “Hand it over!”

Zhang He blinked. “Hand what over?”

“Whatever you’re roasting,” Brother Bai replied.

The guild vice chairman nearly leapt up. “Why should we?”

“Because of this!” Brother Bai said coldly, waving his hand to reveal a dazzling object, gleaming temptingly in the moonlight.

The three committee members stared—it was a gold ingot.

Judging by its size, it must weigh at least ten taels, enough to buy excellent equipment. The words of refusal stuck in their throats; the finance bureau chief even swallowed hard. Ten taels of gold could buy a fine item.

Zhang He smiled, slicing half a rabbit with his Flowing Cloud Blade, then opened the trade window.

Zhang He saw the man’s name was Bai Shuangfei. Bai Shuangfei was very different from Yan Yishan; after tossing over ten taels of gold, he grabbed the roast meat and used his light footwork to fly away, leaving only one parting remark:

“Keep roasting—there’s plenty of money to earn.”

The three committee members were in awe of Zhang He.

Is this even possible? Comrade, you’re a genius of economic development.

But they had no idea that during the earlier fight, Zhang He had noticed Bai Shuangfei wasn’t struggling to cope, but rather his endurance, fatigue, and thirst levels were dangerously low; his meditation was likely to fully restore his attributes.

As it turned out, Zhang He’s roast meat had lured Bai Shuangfei down, just as Yan Yishan needed medicine, Bai Shuangfei needed food.

No matter how skilled these masters were, they still needed to eat and drink.

At that moment, Bai Shuangfei sat comfortably on a stone pillar, munching roast meat and staring intently at Yan Yishan opposite.

Yan Yishan was infuriated, for the other not only feasted but also produced a wine jar and drank heartily.

The mingled aroma of roast meat and wine wafted to Yan Yishan’s nose, tormenting him; he hadn’t eaten for most of the day.

Looking up, he saw Zhang He and the others had finished a bamboo raft, layered it with soil, kindled a fire, and continued roasting rabbit.

Had Yan Yishan looked more closely, he’d have noticed the raft, seemingly hugging the shore, was in fact drifting toward the center of the lake.

It was clearly Zhang He’s idea—knowing that if the four approached the lake’s center recklessly, the two masters might kill them indiscriminately. Now, with both needing something from him, neither would attack, giving him a chance to explore the lake’s heart.

Yet Zhang He overlooked one thing. As he made his move, the two masters’ thoughts changed dramatically.

Both had seen the others buy medicine or food from Zhang He. Now, Yan Yishan feared Bai Shuangfei would buy medicine, Bai Shuangfei feared Yan Yishan would buy meat; whatever the other acquired would be a disadvantage to themselves.

And so, in that instant, both moved.

Like swallows skimming the water, they darted toward the bamboo raft, identical in their resolve: they must prevent the other from obtaining anything from these people, determined to claim the benefits for themselves alone.

Before they reached the raft, blue sword light and faintly white palm wind appeared, clashing in midair.