Dawn hadn't yet broken.
Sha Lifei had stumbled back to his room hours ago, sprawled across the bed in his clothes, clutching a wine jug. His snores roared loud enough to rattle the walls.
Across the hall, Wang Daoxuan sat cross-legged, eyes shut, deep in meditation.
The small courtyard lay shrouded in gloom, silent as a grave.
Li Yan stood firm in his horse stance beside the war drum.
He'd trained without rest through the night, finally syncing the drum's rhythm with the echoes of his chanted mantra—a perfect harmony.
But this was just the beginning.
True mastery meant turning his body into the drum, unleashing the sound of cloud and thunder.
That step, though, remained out of reach.
A full day of relentless focus had drained him. His mind was foggy, his body screaming with exhaustion, teetering on collapse.
His eyes drooped, half-closed, as if he'd already slipped into sleep.
The cold of the late night crept into his bones, leaving his legs stiff and trembling, ready to give out.
Yet Li Yan refused to call on the Great Luo Dharma Body.
He'd been here before, time and again.
Whether honing inner strength or perfecting techniques, the real challenge was breaking through the wall.
It was like a marathon—only by pushing past your limits, again and again, could you find smooth ground.
Using the Dharma Body now would ease his pain, but it'd mean quitting halfway, forcing him to start over.
So he waited for the moment.
At last, a faint glow of dawn touched the horizon.
The first light pierced the darkness, splitting the sky into shades of deep blue and black.
That glimmer sparked a shift in his clouded mind.
Now!
Without a second's doubt, seizing the moment, Li Yan lost himself in the act. His hands slammed down, abs tightening, chest heaving as he roared: "Hong—!"
Boom!The drum's pulse fused with his mantra, a sound like rolling thunder.
The war drum beneath him shuddered and split apart.
His chest quaked, his whole body resonating like a drum, from muscle to marrow, a tingling surge coursing through him.
The Divine Drum Cloud-Thunder Sound—he'd done it!
But he was spent. The force that shook his organs was too much. His chest tightened, a sweet taste rose in his throat, and he crumpled to the ground.
The drum's echo, like a thunderclap, jolted everyone within a hundred meters.
"Whoa!"
Sha Lifei, dead asleep, flailed awake, still clutching his jug, and crashed off the bed with a thud.
Wang Daoxuan's focus shattered, his meditation nearly breaking.
"What the hell? Earthquake?"
Sha Lifei barreled out the door in a panic.
Wang Daoxuan steadied himself and stepped into the courtyard to investigate.
Seeing Li Yan sprawled unconscious, Sha Lifei rushed to help him up, while Wang Daoxuan knelt to check his pulse.
"I'm fine," Li Yan murmured, stirring awake. He waved them off with a weak grin. "Got any food? I'm starving…"
As he spoke, the Great Luo Dharma Body kicked in.
His minor injuries faded, exhaustion swept away in an instant.
…
"Still got an appetite, huh?"
Zhang Shitong strolled into the Daoist temple to find Li Yan wolfing down a massive bowl of oil-splashed noodles, paired with cold beef, crouched at the doorstep.
The guy could never just talk straight. He smirked, "Makes sense. Tomorrow's a fight to the death—might be your last meal."
"Later, I'll treat you to something nice at Qingfeng Tower."
"Save it for yourself," Sha Lifei shot back from nearby, scoffing. "Can't talk right? Mouth been dirty for three years?"
"Hah, takes one to know one."
Zhang Shitong chuckled coldly, rolling up his sleeves.
Li Yan rubbed his temples at the two bickering idiots and cut in, "Where's the fight set?"
"Shen hour, Paifang Street crossroads."
Zhang Shitong got serious. "It's near the docks—brothels, gambling dens, inns, crawling with martial types."
"Zhou family's feeling cocky, huh? Planning to crush you in front of a crowd to settle their grudge."
Li Yan shrugged. "Rules?"
"Three-zhang-high wooden platform," Zhang Shitong said grimly. "No weapons, no techniques, just fists and feet. You're out if you die or fall off."
"Size?"
"Ten-meter square."
Li Yan smirked. "Hong Fist thrives on agility, and Monkey Fist is the best of them. A platform that small? Zhou Bai's looking to brawl head-on."
Zhang Shitong nodded. "My father thinks so too. Zhou Bai hit Dark Strength last year—he's got an edge on you."
"If you're dodging and weaving, it's not the show Zhou Pan wants. Bet Zhou Bai comes out swinging, trying to overwhelm you."
"My father says to dodge his opening moves. His skill's not deep; he can't keep up Dark Strength forever. Wait for him to tire, then hit hard for a shot at winning."
"Thanks for the tip. Tell Senior Zhang I appreciate it."
Li Yan's face stayed calm, his eyes steady.
…
Zhang Shitong delivered the message and left quickly.
This duel wasn't just a fight anymore—it carried heavier stakes.
The bad blood between the Li and Zhou families, the Divine Fist Society's gripes with Zhou Pan, even the power plays simmering in Chang'an…
Plenty in Xianyang were itching to see the Zhou family take a fall.
Zhang Shitong wouldn't spell it out.
But Li Yan, with two lives' worth of wisdom, saw it all clearly. He'd expected as much.
The life-or-death duel wasn't a whim.
His father used to say that in the martial world, reputation wasn't just for show.
This world had no mystical energy. No one could hide in the mountains for years, emerge, and dominate.
Legends like the Sweeping Monk were fairy tales. Skill alone wasn't enough—without real-world experience, you'd get outplayed by seasoned fighters.
Wang Daoxuan said the same of the Mysterious Sect.
No matter your talent, you had to face the world, meet its people, to find yourself.
A public duel had another perk.
In the martial world, fame could stir trouble, but it was also a kind of armor.
The catch? He had to win.
Boom! Boom! Boom!The drum echoed through the courtyard again.
Unlike yesterday, Li Yan had mastered the Divine Drum Cloud-Thunder Sound.
Each beat synced with his thunderous chant, his chest vibrating with the drum's rhythm. Every strike sent a jolt through his muscles and organs, electric and alive.
He tempered his force, practicing carefully.
One, to avoid wrecking the remaining drums.
Two, the technique was brutal—lose control, and he'd tear his muscles, forcing him to rely on the Dharma Body to heal.
Even a treasure like that couldn't be squandered.
Dark Strength wasn't built in a day. It took relentless grind, gradual changes in the body, to wield it with precision.
Li Yan's goal was to sharpen his skill before tomorrow's fight, ready to unleash it when it counted.
"Overpower me?" he muttered, thinking of the Zhou family's plan, a cold smile flickering. He shifted, his right palm slicing out.
Thirty-Six Push Hands: Overlord at Ease.
Boom!A stone water trough shuddered under his strike, sliding half a meter.
The water inside surged only after it stopped.
"My fish!" Wang Daoxuan wailed, rushing over.
But when he peered in, he was stunned—the red fish swam happily, untouched by the impact.
Outside, deep in the old alley, a short man crouched by the wall, eavesdropping on the drumbeats. Growing restless, he finally slipped away.
…
"Drumming?"
In a private room at Yuhe Tea House, Yuan Qu raised an eyebrow.
"Nonstop," said the short man who'd been spying, grinning obsequiously. "I wouldn't lie to you, Chief Yuan. Neighbors say he's been at it since yesterday, like he's lost his mind."
"Enough, scram!"
A tall man nearby waved him off irritably.
Dark-skinned, in a red robe with a flower-pinned cap, it was Zheng Heibei, head of the Iron Blade Gang.
After the spy left, Zheng Heibei shot Yuan Qu a look. "What's this kid playing at?"
"Heard he's with some big-shot sorcerer. Maybe he's messing with spirit possession?"
"What, you scared?" Yuan Qu teased, sipping his tea.
They'd trained under the same master, but their gangs ruled opposite sides of Xianyang, always at odds. Their personalities didn't help—they couldn't stand each other.
Yuan Qu's jab lit a fire in Zheng Heibei. "Scared? Meng Haicheng's the idiot who stirred this up. If he'd told me sooner, I'd have gutted the kid, and we wouldn't be here."
"Forget the duel," he growled. "Tonight, I'll hire a sorcerer to curse him dead."
His words were reckless, but his eyes were sharp, studying Yuan Qu for a reaction.
Yuan Qu smirked back. "Testing me? Think I don't know about that Jiangzuo sorcerer you've got stashed?"
"Those stunts you pulled? The pros saw right through them. They just let it slide for our master's sake."
"And picking fights with the Beggars' Gang at the mass graves? This is a duel now—any dirty moves will just screw things up."
"Save your preaching," Zheng Heibei snapped.
Yuan Qu's eyes flashed with irritation. "Zheng, don't mess this up. I'm not bailing you out."
He stood, walked to the window, hands clasped behind him, staring out. "If that old man falls, we're both done for," he muttered. "Xianyang's waters run deep."
Below, at the Paifang Old Street crossroads, dusk was settling in. Carpenters hammered away, a towering platform taking shape, surrounded by a buzzing crowd.
Two roughnecks joked among them:
"Old Third, who's winning tomorrow?"
"Pfft, who cares? As long as it's a good show."
"Yeah, best if they beat each other's brains out…"
*(End of Chapter)*