Chapter Sixty-Nine: A Heart Like a Fierce Tiger

Han Feng felt both humiliated and secretly pleased when Che Wuyou challenged him to a duel. He had been waiting for this chance, the opportunity to cripple Che Wuyou, and never expected it would come so swiftly, so effortlessly. Che Wuyou had delivered himself right to his door... If he were to refuse now, would that not be spurning such a generous invitation?

A wicked smile curled on Han Feng’s lips, his eyes glinting with bloodthirst. This man who had once groveled before him like a worm now dared to challenge him—truly, his courage was commendable...

Gazing at Che Wuyou, Han Feng could not help but recall the humiliation he had suffered during the recent Alchemy Tournament. Murderous intent surged within his eyes—if not for this man, how could he have become the laughingstock of everyone, forced to skulk in shame? If not for him, how could even his little junior sister—once so affectionate—have grown cold and distant? If he did not kill this man, he feared he would never forgive himself.

“Wuyou, your injuries haven’t healed yet. Why not let me take your place?” Liu Lanzhi, seeing the murderous air about Han Feng, could not help but worry.

Normally, Liu Lanzhi would not have been concerned. Che Wuyou still had the lower-grade treasured sword he had intended as a gift for Duan Xiaoyuan. With such a weapon, Han Feng would not be able to harm him no matter how skilled he was. But ever since the night when their senior brother had gravely wounded Che Wuyou’s meridians, his injuries had never healed. In his current state, even with a treasured sword, he would no longer be Han Feng’s match.

“No need. I’ll handle this myself.” This was perhaps the first time Che Wuyou had refused Liu Lanzhi; his voice was icy cold, so much so that even she was startled, never having heard him speak to her in such a tone.

She stared at Che Wuyou in a daze, finding him now cold and unfamiliar, as if he had become a different person entirely, dangerous intent flickering in his eyes... Liu Lanzhi was reminded of the night their senior brother died—Che Wuyou had looked much the same then.

“Could it be he wants to truly teach Han Feng a lesson?” Remembering the years of enmity between Han Feng and Che Wuyou, Liu Lanzhi sighed inwardly. It seemed Han Feng had become a knot in his heart; if they did not have a proper confrontation, it would become a lifelong regret for him. Since he insisted, she would let him be. With her watching from the side, nothing too disastrous could happen.

Seeing Che Wuyou’s eagerness, Han Feng’s sneer grew more pronounced. Truly, ignorance bred fearlessness. Though he had recently suffered many setbacks, fortune had come with misfortune, allowing him to break through to the peak of the Violet Palace stage and become a true first-rate expert in the Miao Clan stronghold.

Even if he did not count his current strength, he could have taken down Che Wuyou in moments with his prior skills. Now, Han Feng was convinced Che Wuyou would not last three exchanges at his hands.

In the snow, the two stood facing each other in silence. Compared to Che Wuyou’s indifference, Han Feng appeared utterly at ease, for he felt there was no need to treat this battle seriously.

Han Feng’s wrist flickered; his sword became like a living viper, its shadow eerie and ominous amidst the falling snow.

“Draw your sword, boy,” Han Feng said, holding his attack, feigning the bearing of a master surveying the world.

“To deal with you, there’s no need to draw my sword. Wouldn’t that be bullying you?” Che Wuyou replied coldly. Though his face showed no trace of mockery, his words, paired with his indifferent expression, were cuttingly sarcastic.

Han Feng nearly choked in outrage. He always prided himself as one of the Miao Clan’s finest, whether in swordplay or alchemy—especially now, having reached the peak of the Violet Palace stage. Yet, facing Che Wuyou, the man universally acknowledged as the clan’s weakest swordsman, he was told he did not even deserve for his opponent to draw a blade. Han Feng was instantly incensed.

“Very well, you’ve got guts. I hope your skills match your sharp tongue. Don’t beg for mercy later,” Han Feng spat, his gaze dark and chilling.

Suddenly, sword-light erupted—a flurry of sword shadows mixed with swirling snow, surging with a momentum that could freeze the heart, enveloping Che Wuyou. Han Feng attacked first, eager to see Che Wuyou panic, to let him taste death in fear. He detested that cold, indifferent face more than anything.

With a crash, the barrage of sword-light shattered as a thick sword sheath crashed against Han Feng’s attack. Though Che Wuyou was sent flying by the force, Han Feng’s expression turned rigid—Che Wuyou had used only a sheath to break his killing move, thwarting several tricks he had concealed.

Che Wuyou staggered to his feet, not even wiping the blood streaming from his lips. His eyes burned red as he glared at Han Feng. Before Han Feng could move, he gripped the sheath with both hands and charged once more.

Another thunderous collision—simple, direct, and relentless—sent Che Wuyou flying even farther, inflicting graver wounds. Yet he climbed up again, charging at Han Feng in a frenzy.

Again and again, Che Wuyou seemed tireless, caught in a mad fervor. He smashed into Han Feng repeatedly, no technique, just sheer force.

Sweat began to bead on Han Feng’s brow. Che Wuyou was too strange—he anticipated every killing move, forcing Han Feng to meet him head-on each time. But what was most bizarre was his seemingly inexhaustible strength and indestructible body. Han Feng knew well the power behind his strikes; even a late-stage Violet Palace expert would have fallen, yet Che Wuyou withstood them all.

Han Feng grew uneasy. “I want to see how long he can last. I refuse to believe I can’t cut him down.”

Che Wuyou was drenched in blood, staining the snow crimson, but he never once retreated. His spirit was formidable, sensing Han Feng’s real and feigned moves with clarity, yet even so, his body sustained many wounds from Han Feng’s sword energy.

Since being injured that night, Che Wuyou’s nameless scripture had reached the mid-meridian stage—equivalent to the middle Violet Palace realm. But due to its unique properties, he was a match even for late-stage Violet Palace opponents, perhaps even stronger. Coupled with his mastery of the Hundred Herbs Technique at the peak of the Qi Refinement stage, he now possessed the strength to contend with Han Feng, though still not his equal.

No matter how Han Feng changed his attacks, Che Wuyou’s response was always the same—swinging the sheath with all his might, forcing Han Feng to break out in cold sweat. Han Feng had never faced such a style before; it was pure attrition, testing who could endure the longest.

As time dragged on, Che Wuyou’s momentum only grew. He seemed tireless, a machine unleashing wild, unrestrained energy. With every blow, he gave his all, reveling in the exhilaration and abandon.

Though he was gravely wounded, wounds upon wounds, he cared not. He even relished the sensation, this reckless state where nothing mattered.

“A madman, an absolute madman,” Han Feng panted, his arms nearly numb, his energy almost spent from the relentless clash. Yet, seeing the battered Che Wuyou, he was unwilling to yield, believing his foe must be faring worse, and if he could just hold out, Che Wuyou would fall first.

But as time passed, his confidence faded. Far from collapsing, Che Wuyou only grew fiercer.

“Enough! That’s enough for today!” Han Feng finally broke, unable to withstand Che Wuyou’s crazed gaze.

But the only response was another brutal blow—Che Wuyou had no intention of stopping. For the first time, Han Feng was forced back, and Che Wuyou gained the upper hand.

“Stop! I told you to stop, do you hear me?” Han Feng nearly roared.

But Che Wuyou replied only with another forceful strike.

“Junior Sister, make him stop! He’s lost his mind!” Han Feng, desperate, turned to Liu Lanzhi.

“Senior Brother Han, Wuyou doesn’t know swordplay. Teach him as you see fit—no need to hold back,” Liu Lanzhi replied, unconcerned now that she saw Che Wuyou in full control.

“You—!” Han Feng was speechless with rage.

With a final resounding crash, Han Feng lost his grip, his sword sent flying by Che Wuyou’s assault. Watching the blade land, skewered in the distant snow, Han Feng’s expression grew uglier still.