Chapter 133: Roar of the Blazing Dragon

The aura of the Flying Flower Technique suddenly intensified. Clearly, at this moment, Flower Butterfly was exerting her full strength, casting aside all other thoughts to focus solely on the struggle. It was as if she only truly discovered her own brilliance when forced to the brink. This was perhaps her most intuitive realization; under the influence of her spiritual energy, she felt inexplicably lighter than ever before. Her movements began to flow in tandem, and as she spun and leaped, the fierce, murderous edge of her technique vanished, replaced by an ethereal grace. From afar, it would not have seemed like a fight, but rather like a fairy dancing under the hazy moonlight—a sight of breathtaking beauty. This was the true essence of the "Flying Flower": she who moved was more delicate than the blossoms themselves, drifting across the sky, stirring a longing in those who beheld her. Only now had she truly reached the pinnacle of this art.

Regardless of the discipline, any martial art pushed to its limits possesses a unique power. Shen Wansan was no stranger to this technique, having clashed with it before, yet this display caught him off guard. His aggressive lunges and the illusions he conjured seemed suddenly rendered useless; before he could even touch her, he was buffeted away by the sweeping currents of her aura. Caught off balance by his own momentum, he struggled to steady himself, only to find his sleeve torn and a significant portion of his beard sheared away, the hairs fluttering before his eyes as he retreated. A surge of irrepressible anger flared on Shen Wansan’s face, yet beneath it, a sense of genuine admiration took root.

Having suffered a significant setback, he did not rush to counterattack upon regaining his footing; nothing served his current state better than composure. The agreement was for ten moves. If the preceding eight had been mere sport, the ninth was a strike of true substance. He had expected to force a surrender with that blow, but the outcome had been entirely different. This meant the final move would decide the victor—a prospect Shen Wansan had not desired, yet now found unavoidable. If he was to strike again, the blow had to possess even greater power than the last; without breaking through her defense, the contest would be meaningless.

"Incredible, truly incredible. To think that a young girl like you possesses such talent—you are a prodigy of the martial arts. In this, you resemble my godson. Years ago, when I crossed blades with your master, Wuji, she had not attained this level. She had steeped herself in the Flying Flower Technique for twenty years and never unlocked this 'Sky-Filling Petals' form. I had assumed this move was a myth, but it seems I was wrong. To witness it today fulfills a lifelong wish. If your master could see this from beyond, she would surely be proud."

His words were calm, carrying a note of heartfelt praise. To receive such an accolade from a man of his stature was a dream for many, yet Flower Butterfly felt no joy. She could not; the final move remained. She knew Shen Wansan’s character well—one could take his life, but one could never make him concede defeat. Indeed, before the word "proud" had even faded from his lips, his expression shifted sharply, his tone turning sinister. "However, thinking you can withstand ten of my moves with this technique alone is an impossibility. Let me show you the true killing strike of my Moonlit Villa!"

A killing strike? By definition, no one lives to know it, for all who have seen it are dead. Flower Butterfly understood this better than anyone. In an instant, she felt the pressure bearing down upon her shift in essence, becoming unimaginably heavy. The fallen leaves on the forest floor, and even those still clinging to the branches, seemed caught in its wake, swaying and emitting a continuous, whistling shriek. The wind rose to a gale, stinging her cheeks as it whipped past. Yet that was nothing compared to the blades of leaves swirling around Shen Wansan. Even more incredible were the loose stones and pebbles on the ground; pieces as large as fists were sucked into the vortex, converging upon Shen Wansan’s position. In a heartbeat, they formed a dragon-like shape. If the initial pressure had been overwhelming, this sight was more spectacular than any natural tornado. As the saying goes: "The wind rolls the scattered clouds like a roaring fire dragon; high as the ninth heaven, it shakes the earth!"

Softness overcomes hardness—the adage is true, but it depends on the degree of softness and the intensity of the hardness. In this comparison, Flower Butterfly felt like a lonely sail lost in the ocean. No matter how skillfully the helmsman steered with the waves, against such a monstrous, surging tide, she felt hopelessly small, unable to find any force to leverage. As the dragon roared toward her, a sudden urge to surrender overcame her. Her dancing form slowed to a halt, her spiritual energy retracted, and she closed her eyes. Waiting, perhaps, was also a way to face the end.

As the strike drew closer, its intensity mounting, the initial reluctance and fear she had felt began to fade. With the passage of time, everything seemed to lose its weight. The distance between them was short, and Shen Wansan’s speed was blinding; in an instant, the collision should have occurred. Yet in the depths of her mind, the moment stretched into an eternity. She had time to reflect on her past, to recall those she had known—her parents, her brother, or that Dao Tianfeng, or the middle-aged man who always stood outside the wooden hut. These people made up the majority of her memories. But there was one person—the more she tried to recall, the more elusive he became. It had been three and a half years since they last met. Time truly could make one forget so much; she knew he was important, yet his face was a blur.

"Tan Yi, have I truly forgotten you? And yet, if I have, why do I feel you are so close? You are clearly... but if I haven't forgotten, why can I not recall your face? Never mind, never mind. Wait for me, just wait a little longer. I will find you on the other side soon. Once I find you, I can just ask you, can't I?"

As she thought this, the turmoil in her heart turned to calm. It was as if she could see that familiar figure standing right before her. A faint smile touched her lips, as if her closed eyes were witnessing that reunion. But the feeling did not last. Fear suddenly gripped her again, and the impulse to reach out and embrace the vision vanished. Another voice seemed to scream in her mind: "Flower Butterfly, oh Flower Butterfly! Have you forgotten why you went to the Qilian Mountains? If Han Tanyi fell to such a fate, was it not by your hand? If not for your and her calculated arrangements, how would Shui Linglong have known of Old Man Su? How would he have been taken back to the Blue Lotus Cult, and how would all that followed have come to pass? He was merely a pawn to facilitate Dao Tianfeng. Even if you see him, what can you say? A simple apology? Or will you mock yourself for being nothing more than a pawn as well?"

The more she imagined the scene, the more it crumbled. Suddenly, she no longer felt so willing to accept death. It was not a lack of resolve, but the terror of facing the truth, a desperate attempt to escape. She let out a sharp cry, her retracted spiritual energy exploding outward. Her eyes snapped open, blazing with the will to resist. The instinct for survival is universal, and to Shen Wansan, her reaction was not surprising. However, at that moment, a look of profound shock crossed his face, as if he had seen something that should not exist. As for Flower Butterfly, her own astonishment was no less than his. She stood frozen, her eyes wide, her surging spiritual energy vanishing in an instant. Her body trembled, and as she blinked, her eyes grew even wider, as if trying to verify what she was seeing. After a long, stunned silence, she finally whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief: "Why are you here? Could it be that I have already...!"