Murong Bo was brimming with confidence. The ‘Great Cosmic Transformation’ was the Murong Clan’s greatest treasure in the martial world, excelling in group battles and overcoming stronger opponents. If the enemy failed to grasp its intricacies, they could easily be exhausted to death. Although Song Qingshu’s displayed prowess was somewhat alarming, Murong Bo remained fully confident of ultimate victory.
However, his smile soon faded. No matter how he exerted ‘Great Cosmic Transformation’, he found it impossible to deflect Song Qingshu’s force. The latter’s attack was deceptively simple—just a single finger thrust—yet it carried an overwhelmingly fierce and domineering sword Qi.
Years ago, Murong Fu had suffered a setback at the hands of Duan Yu’s ‘Six Meridians Divine Sword’. Murong Bo had taken note of this, and now he finally understood why. While ‘Great Cosmic Transformation’ could redirect all manner of fist and palm strikes, it was powerless against the razor-sharp, intangible sword Qi.
In the brief moment of hesitation, Song Qingshu’s finger drew closer. Murong Bo had already missed the best opportunity to evade. Left with no choice, he unleashed his trump card—’Convergence Finger’!
The Murong Clan was renowned for mastering countless martial arts, but its two supreme techniques were ‘Great Cosmic Transformation’ and ‘Convergence Finger’. Once mastered, the latter could strike targets over twenty meters away, killing invisibly.
In terms of finger techniques, it surpassed even Shaolin’s ‘Animitta Kalpa Finger’, Maha Finger, Pattra Finger, and Flower-Pinching Finger. It combined the softness of ‘Flower-Pinching Finger’, the hardness of ‘Pattra Finger’, the subtlety of ‘Animitta Kalpa Finger’, and the power of ‘Maha Finger’. Theoretically, it even surpassed the Dali Duan Clan’s ‘One Yang Finger’.
However, techniques themselves had no superiority—the user’s skill was paramount. Murong Bo’s cultivation was undoubtedly high. ‘Convergence Finger’ was his last resort, never to be used unless absolutely necessary. Yet Song Qingshu’s relentless sword Qi had forced his hand. With no other option, he channeled the full power of ‘Convergence Finger’ and thrust his finger forward to meet Song Qingshu’s.
Their fingers collided. Song Qingshu shuddered slightly, but Murong Bo let out a strange cry and staggered back several paces, his hand trembling inside his sleeve. His face twisted in agony.
Song Qingshu felt his blood and Qi churn, his finger throbbing with a dull pain. Yet he was certain Murong Bo had fared worse. Suppressing the discomfort, he took another step forward.
Murong Bo’s pupils contracted. Just then, Ouyang Feng suddenly appeared between them and said to Song Qingshu, “Brother Song, Murong’s earlier offense against Elder Song and the others was merely following orders. Must you press the matter so relentlessly?” Though reluctant to intervene, Ouyang Feng and Murong Bo were both under Prince Hailing’s command. If Murong Bo were harmed, he would have no explanation for it.
Song Qingshu’s expression was icy. “Brother Ouyang, do you wish to fight me?”
Ouyang Feng chuckled awkwardly. “We’ve fought before and became acquainted, but let’s not do so again. The palace guards are converging here, and that Da Xingguo is hailed as the Dynasty’s top martial artist. If we both suffer heavy losses, won’t others reap the rewards?”
When Song Qingshu remained silent, Ouyang Feng added, “Earlier, you mentioned owing Young Master Murong a great debt. Though you’ve repaid it, if his father were injured by your hand, wouldn’t you regret it someday?”
Song Qingshu’s ears twitched—he could hear guards approaching from the direction of the Renzheng Hall. The palace had finally noticed the disturbance. With the unpredictable Da Xingguo lurking, it would be unwise to remain and clash with Wanyan Liang’s men.
“Very well, I’ll grant you this favor,” Song Qingshu said, pausing before turning to Murong Bo. “But remember—third time’s the limit. Tread carefully, Murong.”
Murong Bo snorted, his lips twitching, but he refrained from retorting.
Song Qingshu then gathered Zhao Yingluo, Song Yuanqiao, and the others to escort the Song Dynasty princesses along the planned escape route. Seeing their targets taken away, Prince Hailing’s warriors looked to Ouyang Feng for guidance. He merely shook his head slightly. Once Song Qingshu’s group had departed, he waved his hand, ordering the execution of the remaining Laundry Courtyard members poisoned by ‘Paralyzing Ten Fragrance Powder’. Then, he led his men away in another direction. The once-bustling Laundry Courtyard fell deathly silent in an instant.
“Thank you for your assistance today, Master Ouyang,” Murong Bo forced a smile on the way back.
“No need for formalities,” Ouyang Feng replied. “How are your injuries?”
Murong Bo’s expression flickered briefly before he masked it. “A minor wound. Nothing serious. Thank you for your concern.”
“Glad to hear it.” Ouyang Feng’s gaze lingered on the bloodstains near Murong Bo’s feet.
Upon returning to Prince Hailing’s residence, Murong Bo skipped meeting Wanyan Liang entirely and retreated to his quarters. Only after shutting the door did he shakily extend his hand—his fingers were mangled, the tips of his index and middle fingers entirely gone!
“Song Qingshu… I will repay this debt tenfold!” Murong Bo snarled through gritted teeth.
*****
Once outside the palace, Song Qingshu’s group found carriages waiting in a secluded spot. After helping the princesses change into prepared clothing, the convoy set off toward the city gates. Despite the closed gates, Empress Pei Man’ token ensured their safe passage.
“Is your hand alright?” Zhao Min, seated beside Song Qingshu at the lead carriage, anxiously inspected his fingers.
“Nothing serious, just hurts like hell,” Song Qingshu hissed.
Zhao Min paled. “Could the bones be damaged? Should we return to the city for a physician?”
“No need.” Song Qingshu suddenly smirked. “Though if the esteemed Princess were to blow on it for me, the pain might vanish.”
Realizing she’d been teased, Zhao Min tossed his hand aside. “Hmph! In your dreams.”
Song Qingshu sighed dramatically. “You’re so fickle! Back in the palace, you were calling me ‘Brother Song Qingshu’ so sweetly.”
Zhao Min’s cheeks flushed. “We were in the lion’s den then. A helpless maiden like me had no choice but to borrow your tiger skin.”
“’Helpless maiden’?” Song Qingshu rolled his eyes. “But since you admit to borrowing my ‘tiger skin,’ does that make you the fox?”
“So what if I am? Foxes are clever.” She wrinkled her nose, looking smug rather than offended.
“Not just clever—a stunningly beautiful fox spirit!” Song Qingshu marveled at her radiant face.
“Ugh, your flattery is as crude as ever.” Zhao Min laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
“By the way, any progress on the ‘Three Corpse Brain Holy Pill’ antidote?” Song Qingshu asked, suddenly serious.
Zhao Min’s expression turned resentful. “You’ve been too busy gallivanting with other women to care about my life.”
“Misunderstanding! There’s nothing between me and Miss Yang,” Song Qingshu protested.
“Miss Yang? So that’s her name…” Zhao Min muttered, then scoffed. “I never mentioned anyone. Your guilty conscience betrayed you.”
Song Qingshu fell silent, regretting his slip. Arguing with women was a losing battle.
Knowing when to stop, Zhao Min switched topics. “After we parted, I returned to the Ruyang Palace and mobilized all resources, but found no trace of Murong Jingyue. Only recently did I hear he might be in Daxing Prefecture, so I came to investigate.”
Her words were half-truths. While she sought Murong Jingyue, her mission also involved stirring unrest in the Dynasty—a fact she omitted.
“Murong Jingyue is here?” Song Qingshu frowned. Having lived in Daxing as Tang Kou Bian, he’d seen no sign of the man.
“I’m not certain, hence the investigation,” Zhao Min admitted.
Meanwhile, Zhao Yingluo, listening to the princesses’ tales of suffering in the rear carriage, fought back tears. Spotting Song Qingshu and Zhao Min chatting intimately up front, her mood soured. She dismissed the pang of irritation as mere nationalistic bias against a Mongol.
Stepping gracefully to their carriage, she announced, “Young Master Song, we’ve left Daxing. There’s no need to escort us further.”
“We’ve only just exited. Let me accompany you a while longer,” Song Qingshu offered, as previously agreed.
Zhao Yingluo hesitated. Though reluctant to part, the sight of him with Zhao Min unsettled her. “No need! The Wudang heroes are sufficient.”
As Song Qingshu wavered, a voice as clear and cold as ice cut through the night:
“With beauties in both arms, you truly live a life of envy!”