Chapter Seventy-Nine: Once

“This scene, truly bears a striking resemblance to our first meeting years ago. All these years, I thought you had changed, but it turns out you were merely hiding your depths, deceiving my eyes. After all, with your fierce desire to win back then, how could you have easily changed? In that moment of stalemate, the four eyes met, and in front of others, of course, one had to appear modest. But if there were true modesty, there would be no need to fight. Since they had come to blows, all pretense was rendered irrelevant. Shen Wansan’s face showed a hint of disappointment. He spoke in a voice so soft that only Dao Tianfeng could hear. His tone was not for expressing displeasure; he was a master, and a supreme one at that, knowing his own weaknesses—and knowing that they were his opponent’s weaknesses as well. To disrupt the heart is the most direct means; once the heart is disturbed, martial arts and techniques will follow, and victory or defeat is no longer in doubt.

“No, you are truly mistaken. Our first duel was merely for the fame of victory, but since Sister Yao passed away, fame and status have meant little to me. That’s why I’ve lived in seclusion at the foot of the Qilian Mountains, caring nothing for the affairs of the martial world. But this time is different. The Blue Lotus Demon Sect has returned, and our enmity is irreconcilable. Knowing what kind of man you are, Shen Wansan, I must have the position of Alliance Leader. The Blue Lotus Demon Sect must be wiped from the face of the earth!” His reply was resolute, as unwavering as Dao Tianfeng’s countenance, without a trace of hesitation or retreat. Even the spiritual force radiating from his palm was stronger than before, shifting the evenly matched situation slightly in his favor.

This was not a good omen. Shen Wansan realized that his attempt to undermine his opponent’s resolve had failed; instead, he had provoked the hatred hidden deep within Dao Tianfeng’s heart. Indeed, the urge to compete and leave one’s name to posterity were fine motives, but they pale in comparison to hatred. In this moment, even Shen Wansan felt a slight wavering in his heart. Though his spiritual force surged, he was clearly losing ground in terms of momentum. Silently cursing his luck, he suddenly steadied himself, channeled his energy into his palm, and leaped several feet back. Perhaps this was the best option for now: at first it was only a contest of spirit; such retreat was not far from admitting defeat. Of course, it wasn’t a true surrender—at most, a loss of face. At least this way, there was a chance to regain ground later. If he pressed on stubbornly, his disadvantaged position would only worsen, and in the end, defeat would be inevitable.

Clearly, Dao Tianfeng hadn’t expected Shen Wansan to act this way, and he was somewhat surprised, unable even to withdraw his advancing spiritual force, which carried his body forward a few steps before he managed to stop. His eyes betrayed his astonishment; such behavior was near to admitting weakness, which was completely contrary to Shen Wansan’s reputation and temperament. Yet he had done it. In that moment, Dao Tianfeng realized that it wasn’t only he who had changed—such people were truly formidable.

“You wish to win, but it won’t be so easy. Mingyue Manor has grown to its present state; how could it be content to fall behind? What I, Shen Wansan, desire is the title of the greatest under heaven. The Four Great Sects and the Four Heroes of the Martial World—none of them are the ultimate. That is not what I seek!” Perhaps this was his truest answer. Really, even if he hadn’t said it, Dao Tianfeng understood. He himself once held such thoughts. But after the battle of the Three Wolves, he changed, while the other still clung to the original fervor.

“What you once yearned for, you still do today. Time can alter our features and thoughts, but it is hard to change our nature. You have not changed—and perhaps that is for the best. Were it a few days ago, I wouldn’t mind yielding the Alliance Leader’s position to you. But today, I must have it. Once I have dealt with the Demon Sect and avenged my wife and Brother Dongfang, I will have no trouble giving the title to you.” This was Dao Tianfeng’s most genuine thought. Though he spoke, he did not pause; his figure suddenly surged forward, swift as a tiger, fierce and relentless, showing none of an old man’s restraint. Of course, Shen Wansan would not simply concede. He had schemed for this moment, and now that the time had come, he could not easily give up. Moreover, anger now surged within him, hard to restrain—not because he had lost in the contest of spirit, but because Dao Tianfeng’s words had touched his pride. To yield, perhaps, was harder for him to accept than to suffer a crushing defeat.

His blood surged and he met the attack head-on, without any thought of dodging. At that instant, both men fought with all their strength. Though neither used weapons, their contest was no less dramatic and perilous. Every strike was imbued with spiritual force; the palm winds, like great blades, swept and chopped, while the wrist’s dexterous twists were even more agile than a spinning blade. Palm winds filled the platform, enveloping it completely. As for the fist, though less nimble than the blade, every punch carried a tremendous impact, easily breaking through any net of palm winds. No matter how tightly Shen Wansan tried to lock Dao Tianfeng in, the force of the fists battered open the defenses.

“Their martial arts are truly impressive! I’ve been in the Central Plains for some time and met many martial artists, but none can compare to these two!” Zola Weiyang was a devotee of martial arts. Though not overly invested in the outcome, his gaze lingered on the platform and his fellow disciples. Naturally, he couldn’t ignore the duel, and the longer he watched, the more thoughts he had, which spilled out unbidden. Others might not have noticed him, but Qiu Wan’er heard him clearly. She knew his skill better than anyone, and to receive his praise was no easy feat. Even if he wasn’t speaking of her, as his disciple she was proud nonetheless, and her words carried a hint of smugness: “Of course! You should see who their master is—how could they not be incredible?”

Zola Weiyang was momentarily at a loss for words. Usually, one would say the master is great, so the disciple is great; but this girl’s logic was reversed: the master’s greatness comes from the disciple’s greatness. What kind of reasoning was that? But now wasn’t the time to argue. To debate with her would only bring himself trouble, so he kept his eyes on the platform, continuing, “Yes, yes. In my view, your master is not only skilled but also shrewd. Watch and see—if this keeps up, within ten rounds your master will surely defeat Shen, the Manor Lord. Then, as the Alliance Leader, you’ll not only show off in front of me, but everyone on this plaza will look at you differently!”

At this, Zola Weiyang’s tone suddenly paused, and his gaze swept over Qiu Wan’er, prompting a chuckle. His actions were rather odd; never mind his words, Qiu Wan’er didn’t quite understand him, and his manner deepened her confusion. Her proud demeanor faded, replaced by uncertainty, her eyes wide as if searching his face for answers. Her lips pursed as she asked, half annoyed, “Old man, what are you laughing at? How do you know my master will win within ten moves? And even if he does, what does being Alliance Leader have to do with me? Why would I want to show off?”

She spoke with bravado at first, as if trying hard to argue, but by the end, even she felt unsure, as though she really did harbor such hopes. Her tone softened accordingly. Seeing her reaction, Zola Weiyang suddenly understood why, after meeting countless martial artists—even the talented ones—he felt the urge to take this girl as a disciple. Before him now, she was just like he once was; it was as if the past had returned. Dawa Zhuoma’s face was before his eyes, yet this girl resembled his former self even more.