Chapter Sixty-Three: Fierce Battle

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After Hua Wuque entered Cloud City alone, he immediately sensed something was amiss.

The broad main street was in utter disarray. The stalls that once lined the road had been overturned, and amidst all sorts of scattered debris lay corpses that had been dead for days.

Judging from the style of their clothing, most were ordinary townsfolk, followed by members of the city guard, with a few from the Four Great Institutions mixed in. The autumn wind swept through, and this city, devoid of any human voices, appeared all the more desolate. As far as the eye could see, there was not a single living soul.

Taking in this scene, Hua Wuque walked further along the main street, hoping to see if anyone was still alive to question.

He had no idea how far he walked, but with his senses keenly focused, he suddenly heard the sounds of fighting and shouts not far away.

At the sound, Hua Wuque's spirit stirred. Gathering his inner energy, he leapt onto the rooftops and swiftly moved toward the direction of the commotion.

Soon, Hua Wuque arrived near the source of the noise.

Standing atop the roof, he could take in the surrounding scene at a glance.

In a large courtyard not far away, two groups of people were locked in fierce combat.

One group wore plain, ragged clothes and wielded mostly long staffs, though there were also short knives, longswords, and an endless variety of other weapons. Hua Wuque, raised amid the martial world, recognized them at once—the Beggars’ Sect.

The other group wore standardized uniforms, resembling military attire but without armor, and carried uniform long sabers. They didn’t look like any known martial world faction, nor could one tell which country they belonged to, but since this place bordered Western Xia, Hua Wuque quickly drew his own conclusion.

Having formed an idea of the situation, Hua Wuque was about to intervene when the scene in the courtyard changed again.

Two figures clashed in midair from a distance, landing in the courtyard. The shockwaves from their confrontation were strong enough that Hua Wuque could tell both were accomplished grandmasters.

As soon as the two entered, the fighting in the courtyard ceased. The two groups stood clearly divided behind their respective leaders, facing off.

The leader of the Beggars’ Sect appeared to be about thirty years old, tall and robust, with a square face exuding authority, thick eyebrows, and large eyes—truly an impressive figure, though now his gaze was fierce with anger.

Although Hua Wuque had grown up in the cold halls of the Floral Palace, even he could not help but secretly admire this man.

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Looking at the man opposite, the other had disheveled hair and a twisted, menacing face, his age indeterminate—though the occasional silver hair betraying his years when stirred by the breeze. His robe’s hem was exceedingly long, concealing what lay beneath, but the two steel staves in his hands gave a clue.

Though Hua Wuque did not know this man, his appearance matched the notorious villain often spoken of in the martial world—Duan Yanqing.

With the sudden change in the situation, Hua Wuque did not act in haste, choosing instead to observe.

“As expected, fame is not unearned. Southern Murong, Northern Qiao Feng—their reputations are well-deserved.”

The two in the courtyard faced each other, neither opening their mouths, yet their voices echoed strangely throughout the courtyard, indistinguishable as real or false.

Hua Wuque was curious at first, but recalling descriptions of Duan Yanqing in the martial world, he realized what was happening—it was ventriloquism.

“Merely a shallow reputation, granted by the martial world. You villains have thrown your lot in with Western Xia, helping them establish the Yipintang. I, Qiao Feng, have no right to interfere. But now you help Western Xia slaughter and pillage Jing Country—this, my Beggars’ Sect will not allow!”

The Beggars’ Sect leader’s voice was deep and rugged, radiating a wild charisma.

As soon as his words fell, the Beggars’ Sect members behind him clenched their fists and breathed heavily, their eyes locked on the enemy, ready to strike at any moment.

Clearly, this man commanded great loyalty within the sect.

Duan Yanqing, upon hearing this, thought briefly before concluding that his mission was accomplished, and from their earlier exchange, he knew he was at a disadvantage—he could not risk a head-on clash.

“Withdraw,” Duan Yanqing ordered, and the men of Western Xia’s Yipintang slowly retreated.

Duan Yanqing himself did not leave. He had to cover the retreat for Yipintang—not out of nobility, but because, one-on-one, a grandmaster could hardly be held back if he wished to escape, and such actions would win him further loyalty. Why not?

Seeing Duan Yanqing covering the retreat, the Beggars’ Sect leader wisely refrained from ordering a pursuit.

Just as both sides believed matters for the day were settled, the unexpected occurred.

Several anguished screams suddenly erupted at the entrance. In the blink of an eye, several members of Western Xia’s Yipintang were hurled over Duan Yanqing from above, crashing to the ground, blood streaming from every orifice—dead beyond any doubt.

With this sudden turn, all eyes shifted to the entrance.

A white-robed man strode in expressionlessly, ignoring the armed men of Yipintang on either side. Looking straight at Duan Yanqing, he said, “You come and go as you please? After all the atrocities you’ve committed, do you not think to pay your respects to the master of this place?”

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“Who are you? What do you want?” Duan Yanqing narrowed his eyes, speaking through ventriloquism.

“Who I am is unimportant. What matters is, you cannot leave. It’s time you paid a visit to the master of this place.”

The white-robed man was none other than Hua Wuque, and the master he referred to was, of course, Zhu Yu.

As soon as Hua Wuque finished speaking, Duan Yanqing channeled his inner energy and lunged at Hua Wuque, sweeping his steel staff horizontally.

Seeing the staff coming straight for his head, Hua Wuque remained calm. Leaning back slightly, he tapped his foot on the ground, and the two slid parallel to each other, moving outward.

Noticing Duan Yanqing’s attack, which bore the mark of a sneak assault, the Beggars’ Sect leader instinctively raised his arm to help, but upon seeing Hua Wuque’s effortless response, he realized he had misjudged—mistaking Hua Wuque for a sheltered young lord new to the martial world. From the ease of his movements, it was clear he was a true master.

He immediately abandoned any thought of intervening.

Meanwhile, as the leader pondered, Duan Yanqing and Hua Wuque had already exchanged several moves.

Hua Wuque felt no particular pressure, but Duan Yanqing, aware that Qiao Feng was still watching closely, knew he had to resolve the fight with the white-robed man quickly.

In a flash, Duan Yanqing leapt into the air—one staff sweeping horizontally to force Hua Wuque back, the other channeling the Yiyang Finger technique, striking at Hua Wuque from a distance!

The entryway was narrow to begin with. Forced back by Duan Yanqing’s assault, Hua Wuque could neither dodge nor evade—he had no choice but to meet the attack head-on.

Yet Hua Wuque did not panic. With practiced ease, he unleashed the Crushing Heart Palm, a secret art of the Floral Palace.

In midair, the force of the Crushing Heart Palm met the power of the Yiyang Finger.

Their energies collided, each matching the other perfectly.

It was not that their forces canceled each other out, but rather, after a brief stalemate, the finger force of Yiyang pierced through the palm force and shot toward Hua Wuque.

Meanwhile, the power of the Crushing Heart Palm, only partially offset, continued to strike toward Duan Yanqing.