Chapter 34
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: Gambling Maniac
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Shaolin martial arts were originally based on external cultivation, and the essence of Shaolin's external arts lay in combinations of divine techniques and footwork, fist methods, palm methods, finger methods, and claw methods from the Vajra Qi lineage.
However, Kang Pyo had not mastered only the Arhat Qi Art, an external art among Shaolin's eighty-two supreme techniques.
He had also cultivated the Mahayana Prajna Divine Art, an internal cultivation method, achieving a realm where internal and external arts harmonized perfectly.
Thus, he was beyond reproach as the first contender for the Shenzhou Merchant House.
From the Xingyang Merchant House, So Myeongcho stepped forward.
The two exchanged clasped-fist greetings without a word and immediately entered the match.
The martial arts So Myeongcho displayed today were utterly different from his previous clash with Seonwoyong, exuding the dignified bearing of an upright faction master.
From the moment he drew his sword, he began with the starting form of the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Technique—iconic of Mount Hua Sect arts—and unfolded each form with exquisite beauty.
He employed no poison techniques like Blood Plum Needle, nor was there any trace of the Famous Blood Residual Demon Blade Method.
Kang Pyo countered mainly with the Vajra Subduing Demon Fist, one of Shaolin's supreme arts, aptly mixing in Subduing Tiger Palm and Tiger Claw Hand to face So Myeongcho. He resembled a fierce tiger of the mountains transformed into human form, his ferocity beyond description.
As it was a form-focused match, the spectacle was all the more dazzling. Each time Shaolin and Mount Hua supreme arts unfolded in sequence, the spectators erupted in cheers.
The prolonged exchange ended in Kang Pyo's victory.
Dodging So Myeongcho's longsword, Kang Pyo crouched low, and his Tiger Claw Hand reached So Myeongcho's Heaven Pivot acupoint.
In actual combat, that single move would have shattered So Myeongcho's neck bone, but both concluded the spar with utmost composure.
“This So Myeongcho is in awe of Hero Kang's divine arts.”
So Myeongcho sheathed his sword, clasped his fists in salute, and Kang Pyo returned the gesture with a polite clasped-fist bow.
“Thank you for yielding. This Kang Mo is humbly astonished by Young Hero So's martial prowess.”
As Jeonggwan Jinin of Zhongnan Sect declared Kang Pyo's victory, Noduk promptly drew his backsaber and entered the arena.
Since it was a form-only spar, it was only natural for the victor to face challengers in succession.
“Something's fishy. Who'd have thought that So Myeongcho would fold so limply...”
Despite his subordinate's win, Jin Ichang muttered without a trace of joy.
Seonwoyong sneered inwardly as well.
*Hmph. That fool's dumping it all on his pal Do-gwang.*
Noduk, too, went through the motions.
His forms appeared flashy, but he used none to overawe his foe, merely biding time before conceding the match by allowing Kang Pyo's fist to strike his Great Vermilion acupoint.
At last, the man called Do-gwang made his entrance.
His face was clean-shaven. Though he appeared barely in his early thirties, his overall look was pitiful.
His skin was ghostly pale, as if starved of sunlight for years, and the robe draped over him was filthy and threadbare.
At least the scholar's square hat atop his head was new and tidy, preventing him from looking completely slovenly.
He embodied perfectly the stereotype of a clueless deskbound scholar from a decayed scholarly clan, ignorant of worldly affairs.
Having secured two straight victories, Kang Pyo was in fine fettle. He clasped his fists formally toward Do-gwang in greeting.
“I am Kang Pyo, disciple of Shaolin. Pray tell me your esteemed name, Young Hero.”
But Do-gwang's demeanor—whether from arrogance or immaturity—was utterly absurd.
“Esteemed name? What drivel—like dog farts or dogs munching grass. Let's wrap this up quick.”
He mumbled the reply with his head bowed to the dirt, then rummaged two daggers from his sleeves.
Even on the cusp of the match, Do-gwang kept his head down.
Without drawing the blades from their sheaths.
Kang Pyo perceived this attitude as outright contempt.
Anyone would have.
“Here I come. Take care.”
Offended, Kang Pyo issued a curt warning in icy tones and launched straight into long fist strikes.
As expected, Vajra Subduing Tiger Fist and Tiger Claw Hand.
Infused with Kang Pyo's ire, the whipping fist winds were brutally fierce, his tiger claws razor-sharp.
Yet Do-gwang's martial arts were truly bizarre.
Staring squarely at one's foe is the foundational step of any martial art—but not for him.
Head bowed, eyes fixed on the ground, he effortlessly evaded and deflected every incoming assault from Kang Pyo.
Then, in a flash.
With bodywork ethereal as drifting smoke, he infiltrated the maelstrom of Kang Pyo's fists and kicks, flicked his left dagger in a short arc, and withdrew to his spot.
Still head bowed.
Before Kang Pyo could grasp what happened, Jeonggwan Jinin raised his hand.
“Do-gwang wins.”
Only then did Kang Pyo sense the tiny speck on his Forward Center acupoint.
The Forward Center was a vital among vitals, right beside the heart.
For the foe to have dotted it with his sheath tip undetected.
Kang Pyo felt both incredulous and a chill run down his spine.
“This Kang Pyo has learned a profound lesson from you today. My thanks for the guidance.”
Ever honorable, Kang Pyo conceded cleanly and offered a clasped-fist salute.
But Do-gwang's attitude remained unchanged.
Dismissive of Kang Pyo's courtesy, as if annoyed, he merely flicked one hand lazily.
Then, head still buried, he fished a small porcelain vial from his bosom, lightly dipped the sheath tip of his used dagger in black ink, and stowed it away.
Seonwoyong, who had watched it all, broke into a smile.
*What a guy. How many in the jianghu today wield such finesse?*
Unlike Seonwoyong's serene smile, Jin Ichang and Sa Hongcheon's expressions were somber.
Sa Hongcheon then stepped forward.
“Fellow Taoists. This Sa Hongcheon came today to spar, but I declare myself no match for the man standing yonder. I concede defeat forthwith.”
The arena stirred at this unforeseen turn.
“What's this? That's Clear-Eyed Swordsman Sa Hongcheon—the Shenzhou Merchant House's top hand, in no way inferior to Pavilion Master Jin, right?”
“Tell me about it. Outrageous. Losing before the fight even starts.”
“Nah, word is he already tangled with him once and ate total humiliation...”
“Guess it's true, then. If even Pavilion Master Jin couldn't handle him...”
“Yeah. Live and learn—jianghu rumors can be spot-on, haha.”
“So what now? Do-gwang solos and we're done for the day?”
“Nah, one guy's left. That kid over there.”
“Come on, he'll match up? If Shenzhou Divine Fist Jin couldn't.”
As spectators babbled every which way, silence reigned beneath the Shenzhou Merchant House canopy.
“See here, brother-in-law. Just like we figured. It all hinges on you now.”
Jin Ichang murmured low to Seonwoyong, who gave a slight nod.
As Seonwoyong advanced to the clearing's center, the arena hushed once more.
Do-gwang showed zero interest in his foe, hands tucked in both sleeves, staring groundward with a sigh.
Seonwoyong likewise crossed his hands into his sleeves and gazed downward.
The pair stood stock-still.
“What in blazes are they up to?”
“Yeah, a whole quarter-hour gone already...”
Murmurs swelled as time ticked on.
Only after another half-quarter-hour did Do-gwang raise his head.
His gaze locked on Seonwoyong, who lifted his own.
Their eyes met.
Seonwoyong grinned at Do-gwang.
Incredibly, Do-gwang grinned back at Seonwoyong.
Do-gwang slowly drew daggers from both sleeves.
Seonwoyong produced a folding fan from one sleeve.
As one, they hurtled toward each other like thunderbolts.
Footwork and bodywork so swift, common eyes couldn't track them.
Every expert present drew in a sharp breath.
Then, at velocities where limbs and weapons vanished, they assailed each other's vitals.
Speeds of the utmost extreme.
The verdict came in a blink.
They had returned to their starting spots.
Composure so total, one wondered if anything had transpired.
Do-gwang's eyes gleamed.
His daggers were already pocketed in his sleeves.
Head high, he stared fixedly at Seonwoyong.
“I lost.”
Do-gwang spat the words and spun on his heel, quitting the clearing.
Silence blanketed the arena.
Jeonggwan Jinin strode out slowly to declare Seonwoyong's victory.
Truth be told, even he couldn't fully discern the ins and outs of their clash.
But victory was plain, leaving only the matchups of Seonwoyong against Noduk and So Myeongcho.
After a hushed conference beneath the Xingyang Merchant House canopy, Noduk advanced with backsaber in hand.
“Familiar faces already—it must be fateful ties binding Young Hero and me.”
He gripped his saber's hilt two-handed in a clasped-fist salute.
“Fateful indeed. Let's hash out this fate proper.”
Seonwoyong grinned, clasped fists in reply, then raised his fan upright.
The signal to start.
Noduk unfolded his signature ultimate art, Seven Plum Saber Method, from its inaugural form.
Originally the Seven Ultimate Plum Blossom Sword Technique transposed to saber, its edge remained keen.
Seonwoyong's counters shed all playfulness from before.
Among countless arts he had honed and wielded since times immemorial was fan technique.
Now, wandering with naught but the fan his cherished wife had gifted him long ago, he resolved to favor that art.
In a form-only venue like this, he yearned to enact the fan method in its pristine postures and motions.
Feather Fan Method.
The fan method Seonwoyong now deployed.
Its originator: some three centuries past, Song Dynasty era, Hainan Sect's legendary master Mae Neungpa.
For one tour of unrivaled spars dominating the Central Plains, he earned the moniker Sword-Slaying Evil God and reigned supreme among that age's mightiest warriors—then retired to Hainan Island, never treading中原 soil again.
In dotage, attaining a swordless realm, he kept solely a fan for companion. The Feather Fan Method was his invention, wielding the fan as sword surrogate.
Grounded in Hainan Sect's freakish, razor-edged, blindingly swift swordplay, it too was swift, feather-light, ethereal.
What heft have feathers or fur of fowl and beast?
Fans rank lightest among armaments.
Hence, no direct weapon clashes.
Fundamentals: close maximal to assail weapon-wielding wrists and critical joint acupoints with strikes, thrusts, slices—core tenets speed and angle.
Four ounces toppling a thousand catties, power-borrowing axioms, went without saying.
Seonwoyong's fan whipped like a feather true.
Not the fan alone—his very bodywork was feather-light, feather-soft.