A Tragic and Bloody Battle, The Dust Settles Part 1

The wind howled and snowflakes danced; several silhouettes tumbled and weaved through the blizzard. Yang Qing struck with lightning speed, his shifts in technique even more unfathomable. In every advance and retreat, he refused to tangle with Third Master Xie, simply blocking the old man’s path up the mountain with grim determination. Qin Youming flicked the short dagger in his hand, and warm blood dripped silently from his fingertips onto the snow. Third Master Xie clutched the bloody hole in his chest, his face a tangle of shock, rage, resentment, and unwillingness. He had devoted years of painstaking scheming, calculated for so long, weathered every storm—how could he have imagined that, at the very end, he would capsize in a gutter, undone by a mere teenager, and see his efforts come to naught? How could he accept that? Feeling the searing pain in his chest, Third Master Xie’s face turned deathly pale; the flowing heat was draining the warmth from his body. “Huh? It stopped?”

Qin Youming’s eyes flashed as he looked toward the other man’s chest. A wound like that, with a dagger having churned through it, would have been fatal for anyone else. Yet Third Master Xie merely spat a few turbid breaths, and the spurting blood visibly halted. “Good lord, you can still take it like this.” He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva into the frost and snow, wiped the corner of his mouth, and raised an eyebrow. “I’m honestly impressed.”

His tone was casual, but it concealed a vicious, suffocating malice. Third Master Xie glared at Qin Youming, staring fixedly at the boy’s habitual, frivolous grin, and said in a voice dark as ink, “I should have killed you sooner.”

He had always prided himself on a master of the age, yet here he was being led around by the nose by a child. Not only had he lost the initiative, he had also dragged down those few on the mountain, ruining a golden situation in an instant. Even though he hadn’t been defeated or killed yet, the battle had already slipped from his grasp. Moreover, since the girl named Qing’er had been able to come down from the mountain, it meant the mysterious figure hidden among the educated youths had been dealt with. With no chance of victory and grievously wounded, even if he risked his life to kill these two, there was still that unfathomable old ghost on the mountain. Qin Youming gripped his short dagger, about to hurl a few more threats, but before he could speak, Third Master Xie turned without hesitation and charged down the mountain, taking long, urgent strides. He was running. He was fleeing. The girl who had come to his aid made as if to strike, but Qin Youming stopped her. “Let him be. We go up first.”

The girl’s raised fist slowed, and she too realized the truth. Third Master Xie’s will to fight was gone, and he was badly wounded—he was no longer a threat. The priority now was the fierce battle on the mountain. Without another word, the two hurried back. In the blinding white curtain of snow, Qin Youming endured the pain in his chest and kept pace beside the girl. The mountain path was slick, the frost and snow deep. But when the girl named Qing’er turned around, Qin Youming gasped, his pupils contracting. Her back was soaked crimson, drenched in blood—he could not imagine what kind of brutal battle she had endured. Though they saw each other every day, they were not close. Unlike those whose hearts fluttered and who spent their days scheming to woo the female educated youths, Qin Youming only mingled among the men. Accustomed to going it alone, he could manage a few words with his roommates at most; to others, he was simply a silent, reticent sort. Qin Youming couldn’t fathom it—exhausted to the bone, how could these people still have their minds set on romance?

“What exactly is buried up there?”

Gazing at the girl’s slight back, Qin Youming couldn’t help asking. He truly wanted to know what kind of treasure could make people guard it for decades, squandering their prime years, frittering away a lifetime. “I think I have a right to know. I am risking my life to help you, after all—I can’t just die without knowing why.”

The girl kept her head down and ran on, as if in silence. But seconds later, she finally spoke. “Up on the mountain, a person is buried.”

“What?”

Qin Youming was taken aback, as if he hadn’t heard right. Not some treasure buried up there, but a person? His voice hoarse, he said, “If you don’t want to say it, don’t. No need to make up lies to fool me. Would a dead person be worth so many people risking their lives to fight over? Do you take me for a three-year-old?”

But the girl added, “It’s not a dead person.”

Qin Youming was even more bewildered. Not dead? Could it be a living person buried there? As if guessing his thoughts, the girl said unhurriedly, “Many things in this world are far from as simple as they appear to the naked eye. You have only just begun to walk the path of martial arts. Though you’ve gained true instruction, you’ve seen only the tip of the iceberg of that world.”

Qin Youming frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

The girl said softly, “I’m saying you still have a chance to return to the world of ordinary people. But once you know what is buried on that mountain, it will be hard to turn back.”

Qin Youming lowered his eyes and fell silent. He didn’t dwell on the girl’s final warning; his mind was fixed on what could possibly be buried up there. If she wasn’t lying, and a living person was truly buried there, it was too bizarre. The old forest ranger had been on the mountain since the Republic era, which meant whoever was buried there had to be at least a hundred years old. And still alive. The thought made Qin Youming’s throat go dry. Considering Third Master Xie’s actions and the old ranger’s reaction, a terrifying, even absurd guess surfaced in his mind. Perhaps these two forces weren’t fighting over a treasure after all—the sacrifices they had made were too great. If that was the case, the person on the mountain was likely trapped. And the old ranger’s purpose was to guard him. So Third Master Xie and his people’s true goal was to rescue someone? To rescue a living person who had survived for over a hundred years, trapped in a coffin, buried deep in the earth? The idea made Qin Youming’s expression turn grotesque; even his breathing grew unsteady. He looked at the girl before him, his face as if he’d seen a ghost. “That person…”

Qin Youming was about to ask when he saw the girl come to a halt. Unbeknownst to them, they had already reached the mountain top. Frost like blades, snow like swords, the north wind struck their faces. But what Qin Youming hadn’t expected was that the girl walking ahead of him would, without a sound, pitch straight forward and collapse. Qin Youming froze, then stared blankly. “What the hell?”

But he quickly reacted and hurried to her side, checking her breathing. Fortunately, she had only fainted. Just then, the girl murmured groggily, “Don’t worry about me… go… go help them…”

Qin Youming frowned slightly. After a brief thought, he simply found a wooden shed used for storing odds and ends, ran back to the dormitory to fetch his cotton quilt, wrapped himself from head to toe, and then plunged headlong into the vast, snowy world. With no time for hesitation, Qin Youming passed one thick tree stump after another, trampled through the thick snow, and finally saw the old forest ranger and four other figures in the empty space behind the cafeteria. He crouched behind a tree stump and stared intently. He saw that the four people were a middle-aged village woman dressed as a peasant, a goatherd wearing a sheepskin jacket and sporting a goat beard, a man wearing a Mao suit, and a short, blond dwarf. The wind and snow filled the sky. Qin Youming squinted with great effort, not daring to breathe heavily, and watched the situation in the field with extreme caution. He did not know if the two sides had fought before, but they now seemed to be in a stalemate, as if waiting for Third Master Xie to break the deadlock. But Third Master Xie, greedy for life and fearful of death, had run away.

Suddenly, the old forest ranger spread his feet slightly, clenched his fists into the posture of a golden toad gazing at the moon, raised his throat, and took a deep breath. Qin Youming widened his eyes, for the old man’s breath seemed to tear a hole in the curtain of snow before him like a giant whale sucking in water, drawing a stream of wind and snow into his mouth and throat. The breath went straight into his belly. The old forest ranger’s waxen yellow face quickly flushed with a tinge of blood. His entire demeanor changed, as if he had shed his old body and taken on a new one, glowing with health and radiance, full of vigor and vitality. Seeing the old man’s transformation, the other four people were all shocked. The dwarf’s eyes bulged outward, and he cursed in resentment, "Xie Tianhong, you turtle egg, f*ck your mother."

Qin Youming’s expression shifted. "Xie Tianhong? Is that Third Master Xie’s name?"

"Careful, this old bastard is going to fight to the death. Old Five, go dig up the coffin first," the man in the Mao suit, who looked like a teacher, said in a low voice. "The rest of us will hold him off first."

A coffin? Connecting this with his earlier guess, Qin Youming’s mind reeled, and he hurriedly looked over. He saw the large, clumsy village woman respond with a sound and then dart toward a low earthen house. Just then, in the vast white world, a fist suddenly burst through the curtain of snow, flying sideways, striking straight at the village woman’s back. The old forest ranger had made the first move. But unexpectedly, the middle-aged village woman seemed to have foreseen this scene. Her footwork suddenly shifted, a cunning glint hidden in her small eyes. She spun around, her rough, large hands flicking and hooking, as if drawing a circle in mid-air. Once the fist momentum formed, the wind and snow inside the circle actually swirled and spun, enveloping the old forest ranger’s fist. As she deflected it, she was already dissolving his force. "The Chen family fist technique?"

The skin on the old forest ranger’s face twitched. The breath in his mouth surged like a roar. His right fist, which had been led astray, suddenly revealed its tendons and bones, veins bulging. In an instant, it swelled by a size. From a distance, it looked as if it had turned into a copper hammer, his five fingers loosely curled. It broke free from the village woman’s fist momentum and withdrew. Unhurriedly, following the momentum of his retreat, the old man’s right fist quietly turned back and smashed viciously behind him. Behind the old forest ranger, a short figure moved with light steps, rising and falling like flight, preparing to strike and kill. But who knew that his eyelids would tremble, and a fist would arrive right at his chest. Where the fist strength passed, frost melted and snow dissolved, killing intent filling the sky. "Ah!"

The dwarf’s pupils constricted. He only had time to let out a loud shout before he was struck in the chest by a punch. He did not fly backward, nor did he vomit blood, but the clothes on the dwarf’s back exploded with a "bang," revealing a large hole, exposing a patch of skin that was rapidly turning purple and dark. The dwarf man, knowing he was surely dead, actually hooked his hands and feet, tightly hugging the old forest ranger’s right fist. His face was hideous like a malevolent ghost. Blood gushed violently from his seven orifices, and he hissed shrilly, "Old bastard, let’s die together."

"Pu-chi!"

Suddenly, an ancient sword actually pierced through the dwarf’s back at this moment and emerged from his chest. Then, without diminishing momentum, it pierced into the old forest ranger’s body. The one holding the sword was the man in the Mao suit. He looked somewhat bookish, yet his strike was the most treacherous and vicious; he even killed his own people. The dwarf was run through by the sword, but seeing the old man who was also injured, his face held both resentment and a hideous delight. "Kill him, kill him, kill him for me!"

Listening to the dwarf’s gradually weakening screams, the old forest ranger’s expression was indifferent. He flicked the fingers of his left hand, and the long sword in his chest broke in response. But then, the man pressed down with a single palm, actually driving the half-broken sword completely into his own body. The momentum of the broken sword did not diminish; it flew straight out from his back. Seeing the old man turn to counterattack the dwarf, the village woman thought victory was within reach. She channeled her energy, raised her palm, and pounced forward. But who knew that just as her strike was halfway there, just as she was about to succeed, a broken sword actually shot out from the old forest ranger’s back. There was a "thwack" sound, and the broken sword shot straight into the wooden door of the earthen house. The smile on the village woman’s face instantly froze, but then she gritted her teeth and pressed that palm down completely. Then, a spray of blood mist "bloomed" with a "pu" sound on the right side of her neck, dyeing the flying snow red, and dyeing the white frost red. The village woman seemed as if she never dreamed she would die like this. She covered that terrifying sword wound, her body falling backward, staggering and retreating. Finally, she sat down on the ground with a thud, leaning against the earthen wall, the light in her eyes rapidly fading. But just then, at the very instant the old forest ranger broke the sword, a figure flipped into the air, stepped on the wall, and pounced down from the roof of the earthen house, simultaneously landing a heavy palm strike. It was that little old man with the goat beard. Not only that, but before the old forest ranger, the man who looked exactly like a teacher suddenly sank his feet, dropped his shoulders and elbows. His originally somewhat thin figure seemed vaguely to have grown a size taller in that trance. With his tendons stretching and bones pulling, a sound like a tiger’s roar came from his mouth, his elbows lifting upward as he leaned forward with the momentum of a mountain collision. "Hmph!"

Everything happened in a flash. There was no exchange of moves, no back-and-forth. In the split second of a lightning flash, there were only endless killing strikes and the clash of wits. Life, death, victory, or defeat—all were decided in an instant. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of the Forest Keeper's mouth. At this moment, his right fist was being clutched tightly by the dwarf's corpse, leaving only his left hand. But the hunchbacked old man had already spotted his opportunity; his palm stood upright like a blade, chopping straight at the Forest Keeper's left shoulder. Was this the moment of his death? No, it was not. Just then, right at this heart-stopping moment when life and death hung by a thread. Amidst the boundless curtain of snow, behind a tree stump, a boy lay covered in frost and snow, squinting his bloodshot eyes. In his hand, he held a slingshot, the hollow rubber tube drawn taut, aiming at the shepherd who had leaped into mid-air, targeting the man's eyes. Two mud pellets flew out silently and without a trace. The sudden change came abruptly. The hunchbacked old man was originally full of glee, as if he had already foreseen the Forest Keeper's death, but in the very second before his triumph was complete, two mud pellets flew unexpectedly before his eyes. Qin Youming lay prone on the tree stump, his Adam's apple bobbing, unable to swallow his saliva. The cold wind rushed in, making his throat feel as if it were being cut by a knife. Yet he paid no heed to anything else, staring fixedly at the situation on the field. Wind and snow surged, flying frost swept past. The Forest Keeper shook his right arm, and the dwarf's body immediately flew out with a cracking sound, like a piece of tattered cloth. Simultaneously, his left hand formed a fist like a hammer, and a violent, domineering fist strength smashed viciously down upon the schoolteacher's crown. One after the other, the Forest Keeper's freed right fist, in a posture difficult for ordinary people to imagine, struck upward toward the sky, his entire right arm seeming boneless, and smashed down upon the shepherd's right foot. In an instant, time seemed to freeze at this moment. Three figures rose and fell, crisscrossing. The shepherd had his eyes tightly shut, as if struck by lightning. A series of cracking explosions came from his body as his bones shattered, and he fell to the ground, face ashen. "Cough... haha, worthy of being Yang Cangchan's grand-disciple, what a domineering Taiji Hammer!"

Yet on the snowy ground, only two figures remained standing. Qin Youming felt a surge of joy at first, seeing the schoolkeeper maintaining his posture of elbowing and leaning before slowly collapsing, clearly already dead. But his heart was soon in his throat again, for he saw that on the Forest Keeper's chest, aside from the sword wound piercing his heart and lungs, a large portion had caved in. Even so, the old man could still breathe, and he could still move.