Chapter Forty-Six: The Brawl

Pei Min had never encountered such a situation before. He steadied his mind, entering a state of tranquil clarity, his heart devoid of joy or sorrow, surprise or fear.

He sensed the presence of his opponents, the momentum of their weapons as they approached.

Fang Qing’s spear was the swiftest—a thrust that combined speed and power, making it exceptionally hard to defend. Cen Jie’s Tang broadsword followed close behind. The Tang sword blended the advantages of both blade and sabre, its movements unpredictable, capable of both hardness and softness; Cen Jie’s swing traced a curved arc, fierce yet agile. The slowest was Wei Ning, whose massive iron whip was as thick as a child’s wrist and weighed at least fifty catties. Such a weapon required extraordinary strength merely to wield, let alone use in combat. If struck squarely by that descending blow, one would be reduced to pulp.

A swift spear, an agile sword, a mighty iron whip—they attacked from the front and both flanks, each from a different direction, each with a distinct technique, yet their coordination was astonishingly seamless.

A defense that could block the spear’s speed might not withstand the sword’s agility; should one evade the first two, the iron whip’s raw force would follow relentlessly.

Imagining themselves in such a predicament, those around felt a chill down their spines. They knew they could not withstand such an assault and thought: with no one behind, retreating would be the wisest course.

Yet Pei Min’s actions drew gasps of astonishment. Facing simultaneous attacks from all three, he chose neither to dodge nor evade.

Fang Qing’s spear arrived first. Pei Min raised his sword level, tilting it forward, and with a deft twist of the wrist, employed a brilliant technique of borrowing force—guiding and redirecting. He drew the spear toward Cen Jie. Cen Jie was startled, a fleeting thought flashed through his mind—could Fang Qing know this youth and be aiding him rather than seeking fortune? He tried to shift his stance to defend against Fang Qing’s spear, only to find Pei Min’s sword already entangling his broadsword like a malignant growth. Suddenly, he realized that his own strength was trapped—he could not pull back. Worse still, an external force drove him forward, and, along with Fang Qing’s spear, he was propelled sharply toward Pei Min’s position.

Pei Min took a step back. Fang Qing’s spear and Cen Jie’s sword crashed violently against Wei Ning’s descending iron whip.

In terms of sheer strength, Wei Ning far outmatched either Fang Qing or Cen Jie. But the combined force of Fang Qing and Cen Jie, amplified by Pei Min’s redirection, merged into a power far greater than Wei Ning’s alone.

Wei Ning’s arms went numb from the shock, the skin between his thumb and forefinger split open. Fang Qing and Cen Jie fared little better—the clash of forces was mutual. Pei Min withdrew in time, avoiding a direct collision with Wei Ning’s brute strength, but they could not retreat so swiftly. The backlash from the iron whip, combined with the force of three men, nearly wrenched their weapons from their hands.

All three were renowned local fighters, seasoned in countless battles. Yet now, forced into attacking one another, they stared in confusion, unable to comprehend how it had come to this.

Before they could react, Pei Min’s long sword struck out, landing heavily on the backs of their hands. The broadsword, spear, and iron whip clattered to the floor almost simultaneously.

This time, not a single soul spoke in praise. The onlookers stood dumbfounded. To defeat three at once, and in a single exchange, decide victory—this youth’s martial prowess and uncanny techniques defied belief, truly shocking.

Wei Ning, Fang Qing, and Cen Jie exchanged glances, each letting out a long sigh of shame as they withdrew.

Not a soul dared step forward now. Each regarded the youth before them with a mix of awe and hesitation. Fifty gold coins was a tempting prize, but one needed the strength to claim it.

Jiang Bo was suddenly struck by a sense of a hero past his prime. He recalled joining Princess Taiping’s household in his youth, full of pride, moving between Chang’an and Youzhou, spending gold like water, admired and courted by all. Lately, two young girls had left him uneasy and anxious, and now, a youth had come unbidden to his door, single-handedly defeating his best men. Frustration welled up in his chest, and he could not refrain from shouting, “Take him! Fifty gold coins for each man!”

Fifty gold coins—in less turbulent times, before prices soared—would provide a comfortable family with ten years of food and clothing.

No one could defeat this youth alone, nor three together—what of five or ten? Surely numbers would prevail.

Those around were itching to try, but pride kept them from making the first move.

At last, someone yielded to temptation and struck out, and once one attacked, the others followed.

More than a dozen men in front of the hall—excluding those like Zhao Ming and Su Pei who had previously lost to Pei Min—joined the fray.

Pei Min, having just bested so many adversaries, was at the peak of his vigor. Seeing the crowd surge toward him, he felt no fear. His Autumn Water Sword flashed in a myriad of shadows as he darted left and right, weaving through their ranks, never allowing himself to be surrounded. No matter how many pressed in, none could approach closer than three feet to his gleaming blade.

Still, the opponents held the advantage of numbers. Especially those attacking from behind—the human blind spot—no matter how vigilant, Pei Min’s offense could not cover every angle. Even when he spotted openings, he lacked the means to exploit them and bring his foes down. After a fierce struggle, though he was far from defeat, he could not injure anyone.

Zhao Ming, Wei Ning, Fang Qing, Cen Jie, and the others who had fallen to Pei Min earlier at first believed his victory was unremarkable—one had underestimated him, others were caught off guard by his bizarre techniques. They all thought that with another chance, the outcome might be different. But as they stood aside and observed, they began to appreciate the profound ingenuity in Pei Min’s swordsmanship. Even the most unremarkable, commonplace moves became miraculous in his hands, and each felt deeply inferior by comparison.

Jiang Bo grew ever more alarmed as he watched. In the past, Gongsun You and Gongsun Xi, the two daughters, had battled more than twenty of his personal guards, but only a handful were true experts; the rest were ordinary men. Today, in his own stronghold, with more than a dozen local champions, they could not overcome a single youth. Observing Pei Min grow bolder and more formidable with each exchange, the restlessness and anxiety that had plagued him these days unexpectedly gave way to calm. The situation was already a tangled mess, his very life hung in the balance—there was no point in complicating matters further.

“Stand down!” Jiang Bo finally shouted, dismissing his men.

Pei Min caught his breath, a hint of fatigue showing. He had intended to fight to his heart’s content and call out Xue Na, but did not expect his opponent to concede first.

“Young man, impressive skills!” Jiang Bo’s face still bore traces of anger, but he had regained his composure. “Tell me, what grievance do you have with me, Jiang Bo, that you would storm into my residence so brazenly?”

Pei Min called out, “Where are the Gongsun sisters? Did you capture them? If you don’t hand them over today, I, Pei Min, will not let this go!”

Pei Min—it was Pei Min!

If anyone in Ji City was currently in the limelight, it was none other than Pei Min.

He had bested Gongsun Xi with his sword and captured Li Wuyi by force.

Everyone present had heard his name, though none expected Pei Min to be so young.

Especially Jiang Bo—upon hearing Pei Min’s name, his expression changed dramatically. Recalling Princess Taiping’s schemes and connecting them to Xue Na, who stood behind Pei Min, it was as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him in the dead of winter—chilling him to the bone.