Chapter 11: A Temporary End

Zhao Ying charged forward, sword gleaming as she slashed toward Mei Qinghe. Mei Qinghe tilted her head and stepped in, her palms seizing Zhao Ying’s wrist with a twist, trying to wrest the sword away. Zhao Ying retreated a step, the sword reversed and swept toward Mei Qinghe’s arm. Mei Qinghe intended to press her attack, but a bodyguard beside her suddenly hacked at her waist. She withdrew her right hand and pressed against the blade, dissipating its force.

Yet Zhao Ying seized the chance, grabbing Mei Qinghe’s left hand and thrusting her sword straight at Mei Qinghe’s chest. In that tight space, Mei Qinghe faced her foes barehanded, unable to block, and with more bodyguards closing in behind, there was nowhere to retreat.

Suddenly, a cloud of dust exploded from the ground, billowing into Zhao Ying’s face. Mei Qinghe withdrew her kicked leg, broke free from Zhao Ying’s grasp, and dodged the weapons attacking from all sides, escaping the encirclement.

In the world of martial arts, numbers matter; only those with formidable defensive skills can disregard the difference in numbers. Especially since Mei Qinghe had abandoned her sword, with most of her martial prowess diminished—when weapons threatened her, she could only dodge, not block. Zhao Ying’s skills rivaled Zhao Dehua, and with the bodyguards attacking in concert, Mei Qinghe could only avoid direct confrontation.

But this didn’t mean Mei Qinghe was helpless.

She dashed to where the crowd was thickest, deflecting the weapons swung at her, and seized a man, her hands rapidly tapping points on his body.

“Ah!” The man tried to resist, but after Mei Qinghe’s taps, his limbs went limp.

Mei Qinghe grabbed the man’s clothes and shielded herself with him. The bodyguards hesitated, fearful of harming their companion; their weapons could only threaten the exposed parts of Mei Qinghe, greatly reducing their danger.

Taking advantage, Mei Qinghe kicked the man's long blade away. The knife whistled through the air and struck another man’s face. He tried to block with his weapon, but lacking strength, only managed to slightly deflect it—the blade pierced his shoulder with a sickening sound.

Blood gushed forth; the wounded man cried out, clutching his injury and crouching, unable to fight further.

At that moment, Zhao Ying came at her again. Her sword point aimed for Mei Qinghe’s arm, but Mei Qinghe used her human shield, forcing Zhao Ying to withdraw her attack. Zhao Ying switched to target Mei Qinghe’s legs, but was again blocked.

The man used as a shield realized he’d become a burden. Gritting his teeth, he shouted, “Second Chief, don’t worry about me! Avenge the Chief!”

Zhao Ying knew blood had already been spilled; it was no time for hesitation. She gritted her teeth, found an opening, and stabbed her sword through the man’s upper arm toward Mei Qinghe.

Mei Qinghe was relentless, striking the man’s arm hard and deflecting the sword. Then she kicked the man at Zhao Ying, forcing an opening, darted aside, and seized another, this time sealing his speech point and using him as a shield.

With one hand blocking Zhao Ying, the other snatched weapons from her attackers and hurled them away. In just a few exchanges, three or four men fell to the ground, crying out in pain.

Zhao Ying realized her bodyguards’ skills varied; if they couldn’t hold Mei Qinghe for a few moves and delay her until she arrived, they were just a hindrance.

---

She shouted fiercely, “All who’ve been guards for less than five years, withdraw! Go fetch the lassos!”

Bandits often worked alone, and the escort agency had ways to deal with solitary experts. The lasso was a fine cord soaked in tung oil and interwoven with boar bristles, nearly impossible to break free once ensnared.

Zhao Ying held nothing back now, avoiding Mei Qinghe’s shielded hostage and pressing forward.

Mei Qinghe’s human shield lost its effectiveness, slowing her down instead. She struck the man’s shoulder, breaking it, and threw him aside, then engaged Zhao Ying directly.

Several veteran guards encircled her, occasionally sneaking an attack.

The less-skilled withdrew, now wielding lassos and constantly flinging them. The lassos couldn’t ensnare Mei Qinghe, but lay on the ground, waiting for her to step on them.

Facing many opponents, unless one had overwhelming strength, agility was vital—using the chaos to create one-on-one opportunities and defeat them individually.

But those still in the fight could delay Mei Qinghe for a move or two; before she could gain advantage, Zhao Ying would seize the moment.

The ground was strewn with lassos; stepping on one meant being trapped. Weapons threatened from all sides, with Zhao Ying closing in relentlessly.

No matter how strong her internal energy, Mei Qinghe needed a moment to recover. Surrounded, she was in constant peril.

Running out of breath, Mei Qinghe struck out, forcing Zhao Ying back and seeking an opening to recover.

Suddenly, her foot tripped, her stance faltered, and the breath she sought eluded her.

A clever guard on the perimeter, instead of waiting for Mei Qinghe to step on the lasso, timed his throw perfectly, tripping her just as she retreated.

Zhao Ying pressed forward immediately.

Without time to recover, Mei Qinghe’s strength would wane, unable to hold out much longer.

Just then, a sword fell from above, landing at Mei Qinghe’s feet.

Wang Hai called out loudly, “Miss Mei, don’t be stubborn.”

“In matters of life and death, anything goes.”

“If you hesitate after blood has been spilled, you’ll lose your life in vain—wouldn’t that betray your master’s teachings?”

At his feet lay several bodies, all alive, though their limbs twisted and flesh torn. Most were unconscious from pain; only two or three writhed and screamed in agony.

Mei Qinghe had claimed responsibility for the incident and Zhao Ying had agreed, so no one had been spared to attack Wang Hai, only a few watching to prevent him from interfering.

Earlier, as Wang Hai bent to pick up a sword, those few attacked, but in just a few moves he laid them out.

Mei Qinghe glanced at Wang Hai, who remained still, showing no intention of joining the fight.

Mei Qinghe was stubborn and rigid, lacking adaptability.

She had hoped to subdue Zhao Ying barehanded, tap her acupuncture points, and leave, without exposing her martial school. But it was her first time venturing into the martial world, and she lacked experience, unaware of the escort agency’s tactics against lone bandits, nearly falling into peril.

Wang Hai, meanwhile, hoped to temper Mei Qinghe’s stubbornness by watching from the sidelines.

No matter how obstinate, Mei Qinghe wouldn’t throw her life away.

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She sighed, forced Zhao Ying back, kicked the sword into the air, and drew it from its scabbard mid-flight.

A clear, ringing sound echoed from the blade.

The sword was an ordinary long sword, hastily sharpened, neither keen nor bright.

Yet it sang with a resonant note.

Sword in hand, Mei Qinghe’s entire aura changed.

Her martial skills were all tied to her sword—internal energy, footwork, strength, and technique, all dependent on the blade.

Li Miao had once said she was barely a first-rate expert.

What was a first-rate expert?

Mei Qinghe raised her sword and struck!

It was the “Sword’s Cry Across the Cold River,” a technique from the Huashan Sword Art!

With this unmatched thrust, Zhao Ying could not parry—it pierced her left shoulder, and her sword fell from her grasp.

Mei Qinghe spun, executing “Swallow Returns to the Sun,” sweeping aside the weapons of several veteran guards.

Then came “Three Falls of Yuntai,” carving swathes of crimson across their bodies.

They clutched their wounds and collapsed, unable to rise.

Three moves.

Just three moves, and all those who had tangled with her lay defeated.

Zhao Ying tried to force herself up, but Mei Qinghe’s sword struck her right shoulder, rendering her arms powerless—she could no longer fight.

Seeing Mei Qinghe finally wield her sword, Wang Hai stopped watching. He stepped forward, grabbed a man and snapped his arm, then another, moving through the crowd like a tiger among sheep.

Soon, only Wang Hai and Mei Qinghe remained standing.

Mei Qinghe sheathed her sword and mounted her horse.

Her two strikes had pierced the meridians of Zhao Ying’s shoulders. Even if she recovered, her internal energy would remain, but her sword skills would be greatly diminished.

Mei Qinghe did not wish to one day be forced to kill Zhao Ying, nor to be killed by her. So she severed Zhao Ying’s hope of seeking vengeance through martial arts.

Without another word, Mei Qinghe spurred her horse and departed.

Zhao Ying, her hands powerless and her men wounded, could only watch Mei Qinghe ride away.

“Three Falls of Yuntai… I can’t be mistaken, that’s Three Falls of Yuntai, Huashan Sword Art!” She stared after Mei Qinghe’s departing figure, murmuring under her breath.