Why do I have so many masters?-Chapter 433 - 103: Reunion with an Old Friend, the So-Called Jianghu (1/2)
In the midst of the ritual hall.
Wang Anfeng recognized the person across him, but the latter’s mind seemed somewhat unclear at the moment, clouded by murderous intent and intense emotions, combined with the impression left by Wang Anfeng’s previous manipulation of the ’vigor’ of this place, he subconsciously regarded him as an enemy.
Upon hearing Wang Anfeng’s words, he took it as a confirmation of his own identity being exposed and did not stop his attack; rather, it seemed he was throwing caution to the wind. He drew a short sword from his waist, held the sword handle upside down, and slashed upwards, aiming to chop off Wang Anfeng’s fingers gripping the sword blade.
Fierce and swift.
Being in a desperate situation, he exhibited far more power than usual.
Wang Anfeng frowned, let go of the sword blade, letting it fall, and with a flip of his wrist, as heavy as a thousand jin and as if a mountain were toppling, he struck ruthlessly at the other’s wrist, causing the latter’s expression to contort with intense pain.
Wang Anfeng’s strike carried a trace of Thunder Vigor, paralyzing the nerves; even though he could endure the pain, he temporally couldn’t hold the weapon, and it clanged to the ground.
Yet, the young man’s martial fierceness was triggered; although half of his body was numb, he clenched his left fist and continued to attack Wang Anfeng.
The young man raised his hand, using the posture of Shaolin Changquan to block his left arm, and stepped forward with his right foot, using his shoulder as the point of force to directly ram into the young man’s body.
The blast passed through the latter’s back, resonating with a thud.
All the coffins in the room shook slightly, and the bright yellow silk cloth in front of the statues fluttered, increasing the sense of emptiness and remoteness that inspired fear in one’s heart.
This follow-through move, although not using much inner strength, was strong since Wang Anfeng’s martial arts far surpassed the young man’s; the young man’s face turned pale, his eyes lost focus, and his body was sent flying out of the ritual hall, falling in the courtyard.
He tumbled awkwardly a couple of times before he managed to kneel on the ground, breathing rapidly, barely lifting his eyes to see Wang Anfeng standing before him.
The vigorous qi surged, causing the paper money to flutter wildly.
The young man, wearing a white garment, had his clothing flapping, his left hand holding a sword behind his back, his eyes contained the shine of a bright moon; his right hand’s fingers joined together like a sword, seemingly slow but actually fast, directly touched the young man’s forehead, who, despite his strong inner strength, found himself unable to move at all at the moment.
At that moment, Wang Anfeng had already revolved his inner strength, sketching out the surrounding Heaven and Earth.
Reciting the Buddhist Scriptures, holding the Vajra Power, he invoked the Buddhist principle of ending afflictions, his eyes darkly luminous, he opened his mouth and roared:
"Wake up!!!"
It was as though thunder rumbled, but the sound arose only next to the young man’s ear.
The white banners frantically flapped, and the courtyard’s paper money rose up, fluttering uncontrollably…
Inside the ritual hall, an old man in white garments who should have been deeply asleep opened his eyes, his face shook as if he had sensed something incredible, and he looked out the window.
The yin energy within him suddenly surged from a dead calm to boiling at this moment.
It nearly reflexively erupted, like ice water poured into a hot oil pan.
That young man outside…
The young man’s eyes were empty, stagnant for several breaths, his stiff body lost strength, and rationality slowly returned to his eyes.
Wang Anfeng inwardly sighed in relief, slowly withdrawing his fingers. Although his body’s inner strength had not suffered much, he felt inexplicably tired, as if he had been fighting hundreds of rounds.
The young man’s gaze shifted slightly; just then, the moon broke through the clouds, allowing him to clearly see the young man’s face in front of him. His expression changed, hostility faded, he sat back on the ground, yet felt as if the ground beneath him was insubstantial, as if in a dream, he murmured:
"Mr. Wang...?!"
Wang Anfeng looked at the young man before him, who still appeared rugged and unkempt, a stark contrast to when they had last met, and he quietly sighed, saying:
"Have you finally recognized me?"
"Brother Feibai..."
The voice paused slightly, then softly continued, as if making casual conversation,
"Since we parted in the village, it has been two months, I had not expected to meet here."
Hong Feibai opened his mouth but merely smiled faintly.
That smile was paler than the swirling paper money around them.
The young man before him was the first person from Jianghu that Wang Anfeng had encountered after two years of secluded cultivation. Back then, Wang Anfeng was living in a secluded village, practicing martial arts while teaching the village children to read and write.
On the first snowy night of the Great Yuan Era’s third year, he had brought back the injured man, who was being pursued, into his house.
He had helped him by repelling those Jianghu people.
Later, Hong Feibai left the village to return to his sect.
And Wang Anfeng, too, left the small village where he had lived for two years and wandered through Jianghu, seeking Yan Ling and Meng Yuexue’s traces, never thinking that today they would meet here.
Nor had he imagined it would be under such circumstances.
Hong Feibai, reminded of these past events, coughed while struggling to his feet, clutching his chest, saying:
"Indeed... I had never thought that I would see you here, sir."
"May I know why you are here, sir?"
Wang Anfeng said:
"Waiting for you."
"Waiting for me?"
Wang Anfeng nodded, the sword in his hand resonating as he thrust it into the ground still sheathed, raised his palm, rested it on the hilt, slightly furrowed his brows, and looked towards Hong Feibai, saying:
"Since you have killed, I have been waiting here for you."
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"I had no idea you would also harm an innocent woman..."
Hong Feibai opened his mouth, his expression changing, seemingly astonished, seemingly sorrowful, yet he eventually laughed out loud.
Without offering a rebuttal, he was the first to speak, saying:
"May I ask, sir, if the deceased was about sixteen years old, wearing a lotus-colored garment, approximately this tall?"
He stretched out his hand and measured about an inch below his shoulder.
His movement was extremely familiar, as if in the past he had made this gesture countless times, as if beneath his palm, instead of the slightly cold winter air, there was truly a delicate girl existing; but despite the familiarity of the gesture, his palm trembled slightly.
It hardly seemed like the hand of a swordsman.
Upon seeing this, Wang Anfeng suddenly thought of another possibility, his expression subtly changing, looking at the swordsman who no longer held his former spirited demeanor, he remained silent.
But Hong Feibai had already known the truth.
Even though he had suspected this before coming here, even though he had prepared for the worst, at this moment he still felt as if his flesh and bones were being torn apart, his complexion turning pale.
After a moment of silence, he reached behind to take off his sword scabbard and threw it over, Wang Anfeng caught it in his hand, sweeping his gaze over it, then his eyes slightly narrowed, and his doubts dissipated.
This scabbard was identical to the one the woman had been wearing.
At that moment, he finally recalled why he felt the woman’s sword was so familiar yet couldn’t remember where he had seen it before. When he had taken the injured Hong Feibai back to his village, there was a sect emblem on the hem of the young man’s vigorous attire, exactly resembling the shape of this miniature sword.
Wang Anfeng fell silent; he could only be silent.
Hong Feibai covered his chest, smirked, and said:
"Now... sir, may I see my younger martial sister?"
His tone was calm.
Wang Anfeng nodded, stepped aside to reveal the wooden door behind him, and Hong Feibai walked slowly past, brushing against Wang Anfeng, who closed his eyes slightly, whispering softly:
"Brother Feibai, mourn...
Hong Feibai paused slightly in his steps, did not speak, and entered the room.
Wang Anfeng merely stood outside the door, looking up at the quiet night sky, feeling somewhat uneasy. Two months ago, even though deeply trapped in a desperate situation, the jianghu swordsman who had heartily laughed and invited him to visit, now appeared disheveled, as if he had lost his soul.
The deceased was his younger martial sister.
From inside the house came the sound of a coffin being opened, followed by a deathly silence.
As if behind the young man was a realm of ghosts, an abyss, a place where no sound should exist, after the continuous silence, Wang Anfeng heard in his ears a sob, repressed to the limit, very faint.
There was only one sound, and then it abruptly ceased.
Almost making one believe it was an illusion.
The elder inside the house had a somewhat complex expression, his sleepiness now gone; he lay dumbfounded in the eerie room, as though lying in a coffin, he looked up at the window. He did not recognize the young man outside, but he could empathize, memories swirling, he sighed softly after a moment of silence.
His words seemed very heavy, yet to others, it seemed ordinary.
Just ordinary, he said:
"Jianghu..."
Wang Anfeng looked up at the deep night sky, breathed out white air, his expression becoming distant, in this moment, he truly felt a sentiment that could be described as how much things had changed, with myriad words in his heart, but upon reaching his lips, he found he knew not what to say, his eyes slightly closed, and he softly spoke just one phrase.
Just said:
"Jianghu..."
PS: After some thought, it’s better to end this chapter here...
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