Chapter 3: Duel to the Death

Zhao Dehua moved with the speed of a rabbit and the swiftness of a magpie, closing the distance to the masked woman in a flash, both hands forming claws and striking straight at her vital points!

Don’t be fooled by his earlier amiable demeanor, thinking him easy-going or weak. An old hand in the martial world remains calm when nothing’s amiss, but when forced to fight, every move is lethal. The moment his hands lashed out, a gust pierced the air, as if he meant to tear off the woman’s head and gouge out her eyes.

Faced with such a perilous attack, the masked woman dared not underestimate him. She formed her fingers into a palm and blocked Zhao Dehua’s arms.

Bang!

Their arms collided with a muffled thud, both clearly using their full strength.

Zhao Dehua’s gaze sharpened—this was not good. He had assumed the masked woman was younger, her internal and external skills surely inferior to his own, so he started off with an aggressive, overpowering approach. But their very first exchange revealed her strength was not beneath his.

The masked woman blocked Zhao Dehua’s arms and her hands darted for his joints. Naturally, he would not let her seize him. The two exchanged several grappling moves, fingers and palms probing for each other’s vulnerabilities, only to be deflected again and again. Both nearly out of breath, they simultaneously exchanged a fierce blow and withdrew, separating.

Standing apart, the masked woman’s arm bore several claw wounds, blood dripping steadily. Zhao Dehua’s right elbow had been jabbed by her fingers and now throbbed, swollen. Though it seemed the masked woman was more severely injured, Zhao Dehua was the one at a disadvantage. Her wounds were superficial, barely hindering her movements, but his injury was to the bone and sinew—his right arm would surely be less agile, and continuing the fight would put him at a disadvantage.

But blood had been drawn, and tempers were aflame. The masked woman’s murderous intent was unwavering, and with his daughter and companions lying behind him, Zhao Dehua could not retreat or let the matter drop.

They exchanged a glance, caught their breath, and prepared to throw themselves at each other once more, determined to settle the matter.

Just then—

A soft crack.

Both turned at the sound. Li Miao was half-reclining on the ground, propped on one hand, staring unblinkingly at them, the other hand holding split sunflower seed shells.

The masked woman and Zhao Dehua couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of absurdity. It wasn’t so much that Li Miao hadn’t succumbed to the knockout smoke—that wasn’t particularly remarkable. The masked woman’s smoke was tailored for Zhao Dehua’s group, not passing strangers like Li Miao. In this world, martial arts came in endless forms, masters abound—who knew if Li Miao had unique internal skills or exceptional martial prowess? If he stayed out of their fight, so be it.

But why was he eating sunflower seeds? And cracking them loudly, no less! Such disrespect! Did he take them for street performers?

Their life-and-death struggle was not meant for his entertainment.

With Li Miao munching away, the heavy, vengeful atmosphere instantly became almost comical, and their resolve to fight to the death diminished.

The masked woman, unsure of Li Miao’s intentions, saw it was futile to continue, and without a word, slipped out the door and vanished.

Zhao Dehua knew well not to pursue a desperate opponent, so he didn’t give chase. He turned and walked to Li Miao, cupped his fists, “Thank you...sir.”

That pause after “thank you” was because he truly didn’t know what to say. To thank him for assistance? Li Miao had done nothing, merely watched as if it were a spectacle. Was he supposed to thank him for being an audience? But the masked woman had left because of Li Miao’s interruption, so some thanks were warranted. After a moment’s hesitation, Zhao Dehua squeezed out, “Thank you, sir.”

Li Miao waved it off. “No need.” He rolled over and lay back down.

He was by nature lazy and indifferent. With the excitement over, he had no interest in conversation and went right back to sleep.

Zhao Dehua was left awkwardly standing there, thinking, What kind of person is this? It’s as if he doesn’t even see me as human.

But there was no sense in dragging him up, either. Li Miao’s martial prowess was hard to gauge, but he’d inhaled the knockout smoke that had felled the Tiger Might Escort Agency and remained wide awake—this alone marked a difference. If he tried to drag Li Miao up and a fight broke out, what then?

So Zhao Dehua returned to his companions, administered antidotes, assigned duties to guard against the masked woman, and continued until dawn.

By morning, Li Miao and his two companions rose and washed. Zhao Dehua did not greet them, but packed up and departed first.

There was an unspoken rule among folks of the martial world: when two groups meet by chance and don’t know each other’s backgrounds, it’s best not to travel together. When parting, the larger group should leave first, and the smaller group later.

The logic was clear. Strangers traveling together must always be on guard against sudden attack—a waste of energy. Numbers generally indicate strength; if the smaller group leaves first, the larger one could easily follow their trail.

Zhao Dehua understood this and took his party away first.

Li Miao and his companions didn’t mind in the least. Last night’s fight between Zhao Dehua and the masked woman had already revealed everything to Li Miao. Zhao Dehua’s natural ability was average, but his age and years of training gave him middling martial skills—about the level of a second-tier master in the martial world. He practiced claw techniques, favoring ruthless tactics, which contrasted with his peace-seeking manner.

Such fighters were, in Li Miao’s eyes, little better than riffraff.

Naturally, Li Miao felt no urge to hurry on the road. He waited for Zhao Dehua to leave, ate breakfast, and then set out unhurriedly.

The three rode hard all day, finally reaching a county city just before sunset and the closing of the gates.

Li Miao walked leisurely at the front, hands clasped behind his back. Wang Hai led the horses behind, whispering to Xiao Si and making her giggle quietly.

After a while, they found an inn to rest for the night.

As they entered, a group at a nearby table exclaimed in surprise.

Li Miao glanced over and chuckled softly.

It was Zhao Dehua and his party, the voice belonging to Zhao Dehua’s daughter, Zhao Ying, who was now staring at them in astonishment.

Despite deliberately taking separate paths, both groups had ended up at the same inn.

Seeing Li Miao’s trio enter, Zhao Dehua grew uneasy. These three were strange—was it mere coincidence they met two days in a row, or was there some hidden motive?

Once the suspicion arose, it could not be quelled.

Already on edge from the masked woman’s attack the previous night, Zhao Dehua’s nerves were taut. Encountering Li Miao again only deepened his unease.

Wang Hai saw things clearly—pretending not to know them would only make them more suspicious. Li Miao was utterly unconcerned, and Xiao Si was just a young girl; so the duty of hospitality fell to him.

He stepped forward and greeted them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, fate has brought us together again.”