Martial King's Retired Life

Had the circumstances been different Ming Suwen would’ve had a back and forth with Feng Xue – more likely would’ve shut him down. Unfortunately for her, the term of address that came out of left field while her nerves were in a bundle painted her face rosy.

“Impish old man.”

“Ahahaha.” Feng Xue bound over to the jiao Hong Jiu just floored.

“Be careful, Elder,” Mount Daluo’s disciples cautioned.

Upon reaching Wazi’s mouth, Feng Xue tucked in to slip under Wazi’s jaw, a blind spot for Wazi’s mouth. He vaulted vertically, circling his arm and then uncorking it at the soft underside of Wazi’s chin. Mount Daluo’s disciples had their mouths agape as they watched Wazi take flight.

Though late, they figured the elder had to be Martial Paragon, one of their shifu’s mah-jong buddies. Evidently, age had nothing on Feng Xue.

“Jeepers creepers, you could move it in one hit when I couldn’t budge the bum. What the devil have you been doing if you can fight so well?” Hong Jiu griped.

Semantically, that was the first real attack Feng Xue performed in his match against Wazi.

Ming Suwen inspected the ground visually, hoping to glean information on Wazi from the traces left behind, then compare it with her knowledge. In short, she wanted to collect as much information as possible in a short window. Her current location allowed her to back up Feng Xue if he withdrew. There wasn’t much time left for them, and the clock was ticking away.

Ming Suwen and Feng Xue made eye contact, communicating intelligence and the urgency of the situation. Only they could understand the situation mandated Wazi’s execution. After all, they were the only ones who fathomed the ramifications of Ming Feizhen giving in to the Fengpeng’s energy.

Feeling pain when there shouldn’t be any pain was a real condition amongst martial artists, but it was a diagnosis relevant only to those who had mental traumas. Feng Xue didn’t suffer from such symptoms after losing his arms twice because it was only a drinking topic for him. The red eyes, hostility and abnormal behaviour Ming Feizhen exhibited at the end of their duel, nevertheless, were carved into Feng Xue’s memories. That was the one moment the thought of killing Ming Feizhen flourished in his mind.

Whether Ming Feizhen was kind by nature or his naivety was impervious to corruption was impossible to determine. One thing they could be certain on was that he had some pure thoughts. Else, there was no means of restoring his humanity. Feng Xue only left when he was sure the sleeping boy had suppressed the sinister power inside him, unaware of the salvation the boy felt from then onward.

Seeing as Ming Feizhen was physically, as well as mentally, stronger now, the only reason he’d rely on that sinister power again would be if his opponent was tougher than Wazi. The only entity Feng Xue could name given the context was the parent of Wazi.

Regardless of who won between Ming Feizhen and Pangu, whichever one of them emerged victorious would be an unstoppable walking disaster.

Feng Xue knew Emperor Yuansheng was still hiding aces up his sleeves. When it came down to it, Feng Xue could work with them, but even then, their chances of stopping the worst calamity to befall mankind would be less than fifty-fifty. If even one dragon descendant remained standing when either emerged, then the descendant would become nourishment for a perilous monster. In the end, annihilation would be all that awaited them. Had it not been for this predicament, Feng Xue wouldn’t have changed his approach.

Ming Suwen’s reason for insisting on slaying Wazi was nowhere as convoluted. Those who fight the dragon would become the sworn enemy of Pangu’s sons. If Pangu couldn’t win, he could summon his sons to aid him. Even if Ming Feizhen returned triumphant, he wouldn’t be in any state to win against the vengeful sons. No way was Ming Suwen going to increase Ming Feizhen’s exposure to danger. No way.

Feng Xue blitzed Wazi’s head, elbows, knees and feet’s soft spots without mercy, giving Wazi no time to don an electro armour. While the chief reason few ever beheld Feng Xue fight was owed to him gallivanting from place to place in Nanjiang, another reason was the lack of an opponent that required him to bother.

At the surface level, Feng Xue and Ming Huayu shared the same style – control and logic. Their natures, howbeit, were polar opposites. Feng Xue was born with an understanding of martial arts. At a glance, one might assume that his internal style was straightforward – the sort a learned man would prefer. When you watched him action, though, it was clear from his speed and ferocity that he was a man who had been in a lot of life-and-death fights. It was as if he had trained every part of his body and burnt the motions into his body if you watched how he flowed from one technique to the next. Ming Huayu, to the contrary…

“Please excuse my lacking performance.” Ming Suwen drew an unembellished sword out.

There was nothing visibly eye-catching about it, if too ordinary wasn’t something to brag about, yet Wazi flinched.

“Overarching Heaven!”