Chapter Seventy-Eight: The Union of Strength and Gentleness

A muffled thud sounded.

Fist and palm collided—not loudly, yet the impact sent faint ripples through the air.

Such was the force of the shockwave.

Immediately, the figure in a black T-shirt staggered backward…

With a harsh scrape, both feet dragged across the ground, leaving two deep grooves as he retreated seven or eight steps.

Zhang Shu fell to the ground. He paid no mind to his own pain; his heart, instead, sank.

“This is bad. Xiao Nan’s strength is far inferior to Han Zhang’s. He was sent flying by a single punch—could he have been seriously injured?”

He knew well the power of Han Zhang’s palm strike—shaped like an axe or a blade, but in truth, it was a sword technique.

It was fundamentally different from the Tiger Claw technique Han Zhang would casually employ. This move was drawn from the Po Jun Sword Style.

Using the palm as a sword, focusing all strength into a single point, its offensive power was tremendous.

That was precisely why Zhang Shu, upon seeing Han Zhang unleash this attack, immediately realized he meant business.

Among the martial artists of Yuanjiang City, everyone was generally aware of one another’s preferred techniques.

Han Zhang’s Po Jun Sword Style was, in fact, an advanced form of the military martial art known as the Ten Bloodletting Sword Moves.

This sword style was known for its ferocity and raw power, a path of sheer force.

While Han Zhang hadn’t mastered it to perfection, he was certainly skilled and proficient, his every move carrying an air of unyielding might—a willingness to die a hundred deaths without regret.

He’d spent a fortune and years of effort learning it at the Lixue Martial Hall—rumor had it he’d spent three years just currying favor with the old master.

In truth, for an independent martial artist to advance was truly arduous.

Especially when lacking connections or opportunities.

As Zhang Shu watched with growing concern, Xiao Nan halted his retreat, straightened, and drew a deep breath. His bones gave a series of sharp cracks, and a flush of red swept across his face, only to be replaced by renewed vigor.

“What tremendous strength. As expected of a peak First Rank. Captain Han, do you still intend to keep us here?”

Though the words sounded like praise, Han Zhang detected the underlying mockery.

So what if he was only First Rank? He acted as if he were a grandmaster—his skill unimpressive, yet his temper astonishing.

To resort to violence at the slightest provocation—who had given him such confidence?

Han Zhang said nothing, his face flushed crimson, as if from anger.

But Xiao Nan knew better.

Their clash had been a straightforward contest of strength—no tricks, no feints.

He hadn’t used any force-dissolving techniques; instead, he blended hardness and softness, using the Xingyi Crushing Fist stance to channel a fierce, concealed power directly into Han Zhang’s body.

On the surface, Han Zhang’s fifteen hundred pounds of force seemed to far surpass Xiao Nan’s nine hundred.

But combat was not simply a contest of raw strength—there was the art of issuing power, neutralizing force, penetration, vibration, and countless other techniques.

In his previous life, Xiao Nan had fought countless battles, drawing freely from the styles of many schools. When it came to blending hardness and softness or surviving adversity, Han Zhang was utterly outmatched.

In short, Xiao Nan could extract far more effect from every ounce of his strength.

Though his power seemed to fall short of Han Zhang’s, the gap was not as vast as it appeared.

Of course, despite all his skill, he had still been forced back seven or eight steps by the Po Jun Sword palm.

By retreating, he’d dissipated the force of the blow and suffered no internal injuries or damaged tendons.

Thus, though his body tingled and his bones and muscles cracked under the pressure, he had withstood the strike and his fighting ability remained largely intact.

Han Zhang, however, fared differently.

Too proud to retreat, he stood firm and imposing—but Xiao Nan’s soft force had traveled up his arm and into his internal organs.

His face now flushed—not from rage, but from the need to cough up blood.

He was holding it in with all his might, terrified that opening his mouth would result in a mouthful of blood, humiliating himself before his men and his opponent.

Compared to the day he had faced the Bear Savage, he had indeed grown much stronger.

When he took a punch from that brute, even after using force-dissolving techniques, his arm had fractured and half his body was crippled.

Han Zhang’s palm strike just now was hardly less powerful—he had, after all, used a special technique. Yet Xiao Nan had emerged unscathed.

He was satisfied with his progress and saw no need to tangle further with these men.

He still had beasts to hunt in the meadows, after all…

Truth be told, he had little desire for pointless life-and-death struggles with arrogant, ruthless martial artists.

Victory would mean nothing and offer no advantage for his test.

Noticing Zhang Shu staring at him with amazement and gratitude, Xiao Nan shook his head and called out, “Let’s go. Is your injury alright?”

Zhang Shu’s wrist had been slashed by Han Zhang’s blade-like palm and was bleeding.

It seemed his right arm would be useless for a time, but the issue was not severe.

“Wait. Who said you could leave?” With a metallic ring, Ge Feipeng drew his long blade, pointing it at them.

Xiao Nan lifted his gaze, his eyes growing cold.

He reached for the sword strapped to his pack. “Think carefully. I don’t seek trouble, but I don’t fear it either. If you force my hand, you’ll bear the consequences.”

With sword in hand, though the blade remained sheathed, a fierce, razor-sharp aura radiated from him, locking onto Ge Feipeng.

If the man persisted in provoking him, Xiao Nan would have no qualms about killing.

“Enough. Let them go.”

Han Zhang, having caught his breath and lost the flush in his face, cast a shadowed glance at the sword in Xiao Nan’s hand and held Ge Feipeng back.

“Captain…”

Ge Feipeng protested, eyes full of malice as he glared at Xiao Nan.

In his eyes, Xiao Nan had been sent flying by the captain’s punch—his skills seemed unimpressive, yet his arrogance was sky-high.

To let him go unpunished felt intolerable.

“I said, let them leave!” Han Zhang’s voice was even colder, and he shot Ge Feipeng a scathing look.

Ge Feipeng could only retreat, swallowing his frustration.

“Haha, Captain Han is wise indeed. Farewell, then… If the mountains do not meet, the rivers will. Perhaps we’ll see each other again someday…”

Laughing heartily, Xiao Nan turned and strode toward the main road.

Zhang Shu, clutching his wrist, glanced around.

He wanted to toss out a few harsh words and make a grand exit, but didn’t dare.

He hurried after Xiao Nan, marveling at how extraordinary this newly acquainted “uncle” truly was.

“Xiao Nan, you were amazing just now. You actually intimidated them. For a moment, I almost believed you were a real master. With a sword in hand, invincible and radiating killing intent…”

Where did you see me intimidating them?

Clearly, Han Zhang dared not act, afraid of losing or being mutually wounded, thus jeopardizing their mission.

Xiao Nan was speechless.

Still, this fool was offering praise.

Given that he’d chosen to leave with Xiao Nan and had kept his word, Xiao Nan decided to let it pass.

“Captain, is there something strange about that young man? Your qi and blood seem unsteady, as if you’re injured.”

Watching Xiao Nan and Zhang Shu’s figures vanish around the bend, Zhou Cheng finally broke his silence.

“We’ll look into his identity when we return… His qi and blood aren’t strong, nor is his power, yet he managed to blend hardness and softness, transmitting force through the air.”

Han Zhang’s gaze was dark as he exhaled deeply.

He’d failed to establish dominance, had to swallow his anger, and been overshadowed by another—what a bitter taste.

“Blending hardness and softness? Captain, you mean that kid?” Ge Feipeng’s eyes widened. “Impossible! Only a Second Rank Refined Tendon martial artist can even begin to grasp the transition between hardness and softness. It’s not until Third Rank Bone Tempering that you can truly blend the two. He’s not even a martial artist…”

He was incredulous but did not doubt Han Zhang’s word.

The captain might be harsh, but he never lied.

The only explanation was that the young man was exceptionally gifted, having realized the essence of technique ahead of time, enabling him to fight above his level.

No wonder the captain had stood silent for so long—it was to suppress a mouthful of blood.

He must have been caught off guard and suffered internal injury.

Remembering how close he’d come to drawing his blade against that youth, Ge Feipeng suddenly felt a chill at his neck.

What a narrow escape!