Section Forty-Six: The Underhanded Tactics

Upon seeing the three upright and heroic young men, Xia Fuyao exclaimed in admiration, “Truly, since ancient times, heroes emerge from the youth!”

Having spent many years with Hong Xiaoshui, he knew better than most how formidable the Three-Handed General was—her strikes were swifter than lightning, and even the most seasoned heroes and champions could rarely gain the upper hand against her.

Yet these three young men had, in one stroke, ruined the long-standing reputation Hong Xiaoshui had built. Their strength already surpassed that of many famed warriors!

“May I ask the names of you three young gentlemen?”

“My name is Feng Xiaobao! This is Cheng Boxi, a descendant of Lord Cheng, one of the founders of the nation. And this is Yang Chengxian, son of the General of the Left Imperial Guard,” Feng Xiaobao replied.

Cheng and Yang both had powerful backgrounds, while Feng Xiaobao stood between them. Xia Fuyao praised them once more, then asked, “Where is my seventh sister now? What have you done with her?”

“She’s being held captive, waiting to be reunited with you all,” Feng Xiaobao answered with a mocking smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Very well! Very well! Very well!” Xia Fuyao repeated three times before turning to Right Courage Commander Xu Wenfeng. “How do you wish to fight?”

“Single combat! Single combat! Single combat!” the ranks of the knights cried in unison. They were no ordinary soldiers—they sought fame and fortune, and what could bring greater renown than slaying bandits before a crowd?

Indeed, battling bandits was the perfect way to build prestige. Reputation was more valuable than money; with reputation, wealth would follow, but having money didn’t guarantee renown.

“Very well!” Xu Wenfeng agreed readily. “Single combat!”

...

Lü Yingbu was the first to step out. Astride a white horse and wielding a silver halberd, he galloped back and forth, his posture flamboyant and striking—worthy of his nickname “Little Lü Bu.”

From the bandits’ side, a mounted warrior emerged as well: “Serpent Spear” Zhang Yongping. His eyes lit up at the chance for combat, and with Xia Fuyao’s permission, he rode forth.

Thus, two heirs to the legendary heroes of the Three Kingdoms clashed fiercely. Lü Yingbu, brash and vigorous in youth, pressed the attack with ferocity, while Zhang Yongping, seasoned and skilled, responded with steady, powerful blows.

“Take this—my halberd!” Lü Yingbu shouted, swinging with all his might in a sweeping arc.

The force was immense, the speed astonishing. The halberd sliced through the air, its shaft bending slightly from the velocity.

It crashed heavily against the serpent spear.

“Crack!”

Zhang Yongping and his horse staggered back, but he immediately counterattacked. The serpent spear flicked like a giant python, swift and deadly, seeking every opening. Lü Yingbu used all his skill to defend, parrying left and right, crying out in exhilaration, “Splendid!”

One wielded a halberd that danced like falling snowflakes; the other, a spear that surged forth like a dragon emerging from the sea. The clashing of their weapons rang out endlessly, their murderous aura palpable even from afar, sending chills down the spines of those brothers who stood nearby to support them.

Zhang Yongping, with more years in battle, displayed formidable technique, but Lü Yingbu’s agility and precise halberd-play gave him the edge.

They fought through a hundred bouts, both growing weary but persisting out of sheer will. The seasoned fighters watching knew that even the victor of such a battle would likely suffer grave injuries—winning by harming oneself almost as much as the foe.

Thus, Lü Yingbu’s friends called for the combat to end. Xu Wenfeng, the Right Courage Commander, secretly regretted it but ordered the signal to cease the duel.

Alas, there was no bloodshed—neither from the knights nor the bandits, though Xu Wenfeng longed for it.

On the other side, Xia Fuyao also ordered a retreat, and both sides sounded their gongs at the same time.

Zhang Yongping sneered, “You get to live today, but next time you won’t be so lucky!”

Lü Yingbu replied with equal respect, “We call a truce for now, but next time, your life will be mine!”

The duel was a spectacle for both sides, and Lü Yingbu became famous with a single battle!

...

From the bandits of Xindu Mountain, a dual-bladed warrior leapt out—it was “Twin Swords” Tian Anding. His hair was wild, his face fierce, his waist short and legs stumpy, but his arms were long, making him look like a big-headed ape. He shouted, “Feng Xiaobao, get out here!”

Their greatest grudge was the capture of Hong Xiaoshui. If they did not avenge her, they were unworthy as comrades. Best of all would be to capture Feng Xiaobao alive and exchange hostages.

Is he calling me? Feng Xiaobao pointed to himself in confirmation.

Among the knights, the older brothers exchanged disgruntled looks. The fact that Tian Anding had named his opponent meant they couldn’t step forward and make a name for themselves.

Their petty thoughts: Let Tian Anding quickly finish off that young man, and then we’ll all have our turn at vengeance.

Reputation is a strange thing. Feng Xiaobao, by capturing the Three-Handed Lady General, had made a name for himself, causing many veteran knights to lose face and damaging their prestige. Only if Feng Xiaobao was defeated could they regain their standing.

Feng Xiaobao stepped forward, brandishing a bright silver spear.

He approached slowly, stopping ten meters from Tian Anding. Though his face still bore traces of youth, his presence was as composed and steady as a mountain—far from an ordinary lad.

Tian Anding’s eyes narrowed. As a hardened bandit, he had fought many battles and could read people well. The youth’s aura rivaled that of some masters he’d faced before, unsettling him. Was this boy trained from the womb?

But there was no turning back—whatever his opponent was, Tian Anding had to fight.

With a burst of strength, Tian Anding charged, dust swirling around his feet, one blade forward and one back, attacking Feng Xiaobao with savage ferocity.

“Clang!”

Feng Xiaobao thrust his spear, but Tian Anding knocked the tip aside with a blade, trying to close in and exploit his twin swords’ advantage in close combat. Unexpectedly, Feng Xiaobao sidestepped, opening the distance and thrusting again, straight at his opponent’s throat.

In learning spear technique, he knew never to retreat unnecessarily—retreating was slower than advancing. Instead, he maneuvered laterally, attacking while moving, always using the long weapon’s reach.

An inch longer, an inch stronger. So long as he maintained the gap, the short weapons could gain no advantage.

Astonishingly, Feng Xiaobao kept sidestepping and widening the space between them. No matter how desperately Tian Anding pursued, he could never get close enough.

Was Feng Xiaobao running away? Not at all—he kept attacking from the side, his spear constantly threatening Tian Anding’s vital points.

I’m not avoiding the fight, I’m advancing my attack!

Watching from the sidelines, Yang Chengxian and Cheng Boxi laughed gleefully. “Let him taste Xiaobao’s speed and skill!”

They themselves had suffered much under Feng Xiaobao’s practice—many bitter memories indeed.

Tian Anding roared, leaping forward and slashing fiercely.

At this, Feng Xiaobao retreated three steps to avoid the blow.

The distance widened again. Tian Anding, no longer chasing, stood with his swords and sneered, “So all you can do is run?”

“Brother, you’re too slow! Do you have old man’s knees? Can’t run fast enough?” Feng Xiaobao chuckled, continuing his seemingly shameless strategy—keeping his distance and refusing to let those twin swords approach. Meanwhile, in the exchange, he grew ever more familiar with the feel of his spear.

The crowd hissed and booed—bandits and knights alike. They all hated this style of fighting, craving a bloody, decisive duel, not this sticky, cat-and-mouse game.

Yet, Feng Xiaobao’s tactics were perfect. “Twin Swords” Tian Anding was formidable in close quarters—even a commander of the imperial army would struggle at close range. Though Feng Xiaobao was gifted, he too needed time to adapt and develop.

After another ten rounds, Tian Anding grew impatient, while Feng Xiaobao, more confident with his footwork and spear, became ever more aggressive. Tian Anding found himself on the defensive, struck more and more often, the tide of battle shifting.

Watching him take blow after blow, unable to strike back, sometimes trying to close the distance—only to find his opponent even quicker—Tian Anding’s spirits began to flag.

As he retreated two steps, Feng Xiaobao’s energy surged; his spear twisted around Tian Anding like a coiling vine. Each step back brought immense pressure, a single misstep risking a lethal thrust.

Enraged, Tian Anding clapped his swords together, leapt forward—only to fall again into that same predicament, unable to land a blow, and too slow to escape.

“If you’re a real man, fight me head-on! Stop running!” Tian Anding bellowed.

“I’m not of age yet, haven’t made my coming-of-age vow!” Feng Xiaobao replied shamelessly.

He’d never intended his first battle to look like this—he’d hoped for a more heroic display. But had he faced Tian Anding head-on from the start, he might have been finished in a flash. The man’s hands were quick, but his legs were short—a glaring weakness Feng Xiaobao had grasped.

Training with friends was nothing like real combat. In practice, opponents held back; in a real fight, the enemy was a viper, and one careless move meant death.

So this “shameless” approach was forced by necessity—ugly, perhaps, but effective. The notorious bandit Tian Anding seemed unable to counter him.

Feng Xiaobao had three advantages: swift legs, swift hands, and a quick mind. Compared to him, Tian Anding was a clumsy bear—it was just his misfortune to meet Feng Xiaobao.

Frustration and anger clouded Tian Anding’s mind, sapping his strength and slowing his attacks and footwork. He didn’t notice, but the onlookers did. Xia Fuyao frowned, quietly instructing “Ghost Axe” Qiu Shenyang to prepare to assist.

Meanwhile, Yang Chengxian and Cheng Boxi exchanged glances, ready to support their friend.

...

Tian Anding tried to retreat again—but this time, Feng Xiaobao saw through his intent.

Previously, Tian Anding had tried feints—retreating only to lure Feng Xiaobao in and then counterattack. But Feng Xiaobao read him perfectly, or at the very least, relied on his own speed to avoid any trap. Tian Anding gained no advantage.

Now, with his true will to fight faltering, Feng Xiaobao’s momentum soared. He planted his feet, and his spear stabbed forth like a raging wind!

Light blazed across the battlefield—the spear was a dragon loosed into the sea, murderous intent radiating in all directions, the air itself swirling, the youth’s spirit soaring to the heavens. There was no trace left of the earlier, evasive style.

Like the rising sun piercing the darkness before dawn.

Like a tiger cub’s first roar, sending tremors through the forest.

His spear became a thousand serpents, raining down on Tian Anding’s head and shoulders. Under this onslaught, Tian Anding struggled desperately, his swordplay devolving into chaos.

Sweat poured from him—he was battered and exhausted.

“Not good!” Xia Fuyao realized things were dire and urgently ordered Qiu Shenyang to intervene. Across the field, Yang Chengxian and Cheng Boxi likewise rushed to aid their brother.

As both sides’ reinforcements drew near, Feng Xiaobao’s spear flashed like lightning, thrusting at Tian Anding’s throat.

Barely managing to parry, Tian Anding’s sword sliced nothing but air.

He felt a coldness in his chest and watched helplessly as that glint of silver withdrew.

Feng Xiaobao withdrew his spear and said calmly, “Is running all I can do?”