Chapter 128 — Cloud Traces, Sparrow Marks

Shen Mu laughed aloud. With a shake of his body he flung Xue Hu'er flying, sank into a crouch on bent knees, then suddenly sprang up, both hands thrusting at the sky, charging to meet the great Buddha that came pressing down, dragons coiled about it and elephants seated beneath!

The sixth stance of the Eight Thunderpeal Arts: Ten Thousand Buddhas Pay Homage, Thunder Coiled Within!

BOOM!

In midair the thunderbolts crossed and clashed; of the two figures, one shot skyward, the other plunged earthward.

A mad light came into Shen Mu's eyes as he raised his head, waiting for that figure to fall. Yun Que had barely touched ground when thunder rolled at his ears, and Shen Mu's fists came crashing at his face, each punch bursting with thunder, boom after boom, seizing the soul.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Shen Mu's steps were heavy as a giant elephant's on the earth; every sinew in his body leapt and worked, muscle upon muscle, driving his strength to its uttermost.

Their fists met. Yun Que's face changed; he felt the other's vital essence surging vast and boundless, crushing his own as though grinding it underfoot.

He stumbled back in haste, fending off Shen Mu's fists like a madman as he retreated, and found that every trick he had, every exquisite move, every technique honed to perfection, could not be brought forth at all; he could only meet fist with fist.

There was no time for his moves and spells; there was no way to use them.

"Lotus Seat Seal, Lotus Treasure Body! Precious Vase Seal!"

Yun Que roared, and golden light suddenly blazed from his whole body. He struck out a palm, and a lotus throne appeared beneath his feet; Sanskrit characters circled his body without cease, forming the shape of a precious vase, and Yun Que hid himself within the vase.

Shen Mu's fist came crashing, thunder detonated, and golden bell, lotus throne, precious vase, all shattered. Yun Que's fist was smashed to pulp; blood sprayed out and fell on his spotless robe, bright red, like plum blossoms one after another.

But the plum blossoms soon vanished; his white robe must be a treasure too, for no stain clung to it.

Yun Que's arms went weak and sore, he could barely lift them, his moves slowed, and he thought, This is bad. Then Shen Mu's fist smashed into his face. With a smack he was pinned against the jade wall of the broken cliff, then slid down and lay senseless.

"So the Grand Academy does have its experts."

Shen Mu felt light in body and mind; only, he had barely warmed up and had not yet had time to stretch his limbs when the white-robed monk was knocked out, which left him somewhat regretful. He thought: "A monk who just happens to run out can take so many of my blows. The Patriarch was right. There are some truly skilled people in the Grand Academy; one must not look down on the natives of the Kingdom of Jingping."

"Young Master, is it over already?"

Xue Hu'er had only just steadied herself and had not had her fill of watching when the fight ended. Somewhat disappointed, she hurried forward and began rummaging through Yun Que's clothes, searching for anything of value.

After a moment the little fox said indignantly, "A penniless monk!"

"Ling'er, his robe is fine work; it should be worth something," Shen Mu kindly reminded her.

Xue Hu'er stripped the monk's robe off him; sure enough, the garment was spotless and could not be torn. The little fox was delighted: "This monk will surely pay a good sum to get this robe back! By the way, Young Master, what's his name?"

Shen Mu leapt up onto the jade cliff and walked toward the Scholars' Lodge, shaking his head. "How should I know? I asked him just now and he wouldn't say. Probably afraid of losing face after his defeat. That monk does have a bit of spiritual foresight; he knows himself well."

Not far off, Yue Qinghong suppressed her shock and came over with the wolf slave, looking down from the cliff. Yun Que lay at the foot of the cliff in nothing but bloodstained white shorts, still unconscious.

His white shorts were not so precious as the monk's robe; they were made of common cloth.

"Yun Que was useless. He couldn't even force out Shen Mu's full strength. But this Shen Mu is indeed very strong. Wolf slave, how do you compare to him?" Yue Qinghong asked.

The wolf slave's eyes flashed with keen light, and he said in his rolling tongue, "I have the demon blade art, blades of slaughter from the battlefield. I can force out his full strength! But I can hold out only ten moves; after ten moves I will surely lose."

Yue Qinghong's eyes lit up. "Go."

The wolf slave bowed in assent, reached both hands behind him, and with two hisses the paired curved blades crossed on his back left their sheaths. Two blades of a dull black without a trace of any other hue, as though forged from the blackest metal.

And these two blades were more than ten feet long, narrow and curved.

The wolf slave strode forward, his steps quickening, then suddenly released his hands; threads of vital essence flew out, and he drove the blades by essence. The two demon blades flew through the air without a sound, slashing at Shen Mu!

Just as the two demon blades were about to strike Shen Mu, their light suddenly blazed: one blade swept horizontally along the ground, the other swept horizontally at his waist!

As though he had eyes in the back of his head, Shen Mu's body suddenly contorted into something exceedingly strange, his whole frame becoming like a flat fish: one foot stamped down on the demon blade sweeping below, the other kicked the demon blade sweeping above. It was hard to imagine a human body could fold into such a posture.

The upper demon blade was kicked away; the lower one he stamped with one foot into the mountain rock.

The wolf slave was startled, and saw Shen Mu flicker like a ghost, charging at him.

The wolf slave's essence threads quivered; the two demon blades came shrieking back, black light weaving up and down around Shen Mu. He wielded the demon blade art of the Kingdom of Langjuxu to the fullest, yet not one blade touched Shen Mu, who slipped past them by a hair's breadth.

His blade art was no common blade art but a killing skill of the battlefield: no superfluous moves, only the single purpose of cutting down the enemy!

Even so ferocious a blade art could not touch Shen Mu at all.

Yet Shen Mu too was forced by the blade light so that he could not advance; not only could he not advance, he was steadily retreating.

Shen Mu's retreat was like an azure dragon winding along its way. The wolf slave's pupils shrank: this was no retreat. This was a dragon coiling!

A dragon can be great or small, can stretch out or coil; when a dragon coils, it is preparing a killing pounce.

The wolf slave had originally been a personage of standing in the Kingdom of Langjuxu; captured on the battlefield by Yue Qinghong, by the customs of Langjuxu he became her wolf slave and served her. Yet his strength was not much inferior to Yue Qinghong's own.

Moreover, he had long endured the battlefield, had passed through life-and-death struggles one after another, and his combat experience was exceedingly rich.

Shen Mu's retreat felt to him exceedingly perilous, as though he were being eyed by a savage primeval beast!

His demon blade art grew fiercer still, but Shen Mu had gathered his force to the limit. Suddenly Shen Mu struck out a fist, breaking past that limit, and at once dragon roars rolled out in a mighty surge; the two demon blades lost control and came shrieking back at the wolf slave!

With the demon blades came Shen Mu's own fist, vast and domineering, its fist-intent taking the form of a ferocious, malevolent great dragon that lunged straight at him.