Chapter 42: Who Are You?
In the blink of an eye, the two began fighting fiercely in the courtyard.
Both attacked with blinding speed, exchanging lethal moves within inches of each other.
Chu Qing watched from the shadows, silently hoping that the Tianwu Guards would happen to patrol by and drive these two maniacs out of his courtyard.
Unfortunately, he had chosen this secluded spot precisely because it was remote. The Tianwu Guards patrolled the main streets of the city but couldn't possibly cover every hidden corner.
Neither combatant used large, destructive techniques. As a result, despite their intense battle, no one nearby noticed anything amiss.
From this exchange, Chu Qing gained a better understanding of Wen Rou's true skill.
Her techniques still stemmed from the Taiyi Sect's core martial arts—the three great disciplines of the sect.
Yet, the moves that appeared fierce and overwhelming in Chu Fan's hands became elusive and fluid in hers. The same martial art, when executed by her, carried an entirely different flavor—graceful, ethereal, and unpredictable.
In addition, she employed an exquisite finger technique interwoven between these major forms, always striking at the most unexpected moments.
Because of this, even after such an intense exchange, she and the Divine Sand Gang's Third Master remained evenly matched.
However, the main reason for this stalemate was that Wen Rou had never allowed Mei Qianluo to widen the distance between them.
The "Flying Cloud Sparrow Fan, Falling Leaves Thousandfold"—the first part referred to his mastery with the iron fan, while the latter described his deadly use of hidden weapons.
But in this close-quarters battle, Mei Qianluo had no chance to use his concealed weapons. The distance was too short—he couldn't even move his hands freely.
And since he'd switched to a folding fan instead of his signature iron one, its power was significantly reduced.
Still, one had to admit—the fact that a young girl could fight an experienced master to a draw was already a humiliating defeat for Mei Qianluo.
If this duel had taken place in public, he'd never have the face to continue fighting her.
But tonight was different. This was no sparring match but a fight to the death. Seniority and reputation meant nothing; only life or death mattered.
Suddenly, Mei Qianluo lifted his gaze and flicked his wrist.
With a sharp sound, his folding fan flew straight toward Wen Rou.
She swept her arm aside, and the fan circled gracefully around her before returning to his front.
She expected him to catch it, and had already prepared her next counter.
But instead, he flicked two fingers forward.
With a snap, the fan shattered into pieces, and his fingers darted out like lightning, aimed at her shoulder.
Wen Rou reacted calmly, her stance shifting as she punched forward—her fist met his fingers head-on.
A crisp crack resounded.
Mei Qianluo's fingers broke under the force.
Yet Wen Rou didn't smile. Something was wrong. Those two fingers hadn't been meant to kill. Why had he attacked that way?
Her face changed slightly, and a muffled groan escaped her lips as her body staggered backward.
Looking down, she saw a thin silver needle embedded in her fist.
The needle was coated with poison; her pale skin had already turned black around the wound.
Her expression stayed calm, though a slight frown appeared. Using her left hand, she pressed two fingers to the acupuncture point on her right arm.
Her inner energy surged, and with a faint whistle, the silver needle shot out of her palm.
"For a so-called senior of the martial world," she said coolly, "to resort to such vile tricks—shameful."
Even as she spoke, her tone remained indifferent, as though her own poisoned state barely mattered.
Mei Qianluo's face flushed red with guilt.
"Our current endeavor is of utmost importance. There can be no mistakes.
"A girl so young, yet with such strength… in ten years, I fear even I wouldn't be qualified to carry your shoes.
"But alas, you don't have ten years left.
"To use poison against a junior is beneath me, yet it must remain a secret known to none."
"Otherwise, the name Mei Qianluo would become a laughingstock in the martial world.
"Fortunately, once you're dead, no one will ever know what happened here."
As he spoke, Mei Qianluo stepped forward, inner force gathering in his palm. He was ready to crush Wen Rou's skull with a single blow.
But just as his hand rose high, he noticed Wen Rou's gaze fixed not on him, but somewhere behind him.
Her calm eyes shimmered faintly with a hint of confusion.
"Hm? Facing death and still trying to trick me?"
That clear, almost naïve look reminded Mei Qianluo of how she had fooled him earlier into revealing his name.
He refused to fall for the same trick again.
Just as he was about to strike, a sudden chill ran down his spine.
Something was wrong behind him.
He spun around sharply—and froze.
At some point, the tightly closed door of the nearby house had opened.
A young man in simple coarse robes had stepped out.
He seemed oblivious to both Mei Qianluo and Wen Rou.
Instead, he walked calmly to the body of the assassin Wen Rou had killed earlier and picked up the man's blade.
"You are…" Mei Qianluo hesitated, his instincts on edge.
Before he could finish, the young man's stance shifted. In an instant, he had crossed the distance between them.
The blade swept forth—swift, fierce, and utterly unpredictable.
The strike was clean and merciless, nothing like ordinary techniques. For a heartbeat, Mei Qianluo found no way to dodge.
He rolled to the ground in a desperate attempt to evade, barely escaping the killing arc.
But when he rose, he saw blood pouring down his side. Half of his left arm lay severed on the ground.
Mei Qianluo's face turned ashen. Stumbling backward, he stared in disbelief at Chu Qing.
"Who… are you?"
Chu Qing, on the other hand, felt strangely satisfied.
As expected, cutting people down was far more efficient with a blade.
He ignored Mei Qianluo and turned toward Wen Rou. "How are you?"
The silver needle had been too well hidden. Thinking back, it must have been concealed in Mei Qianluo's sleeve. When his fingers met hers, he had flicked his wrist and launched the poisoned needle with inner force, using the moment of contact to deliver maximum damage at the shortest range.
Even Chu Qing, who had been watching closely the entire fight, hadn't noticed it until Wen Rou was struck.
"…Not fatal," Wen Rou said quietly, studying him with a curious look.
"Who are you?"
Now that was unexpected.
Chu Qing blinked in mild surprise—she hadn't recognized him?
Wasn't she supposed to identify people by scent?
Could it be that because he had been bathing regularly these days, his scent had faded enough to confuse her?
But that didn't make sense. He had also bathed before visiting the Chu residence, and she had recognized him then.
Thinking it over, he realized the "scent" she mentioned might not refer to body odor at all.
Could it be… the aura of inner energy?
After all, the only thing that had changed recently was his transformation of the Clear-Void Sutra into the Purple Mist Clear-Void Sutra.
If that was true, her ability went far beyond mere smell—it was extraordinary.
Was she born with such a gift, or had she cultivated some mysterious technique?
The thought made Chu Qing rub his nose and chuckle.
"Not telling you," he said lightly.
"???"
Wen Rou blinked, confusion flickering across her face. Then she turned to glance behind him.
"He ran away," she said.
Chu Qing followed her gaze, seeing Mei Qianluo already vaulting over the wall into the darkness.
He smiled faintly. "Good. Let him run."
Wen Rou: "?"
(End of Chapter)
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