Chapter 55: Spring Breeze of Triumph
Chen Ping'an imperceptibly twisted his left and right feet against the ground, as if still adjusting to his lighter legs.
He noticed that Ma Kuxuan had picked up a total of five pebbles, four clutched in his left hand and one in his right.
Ma Kuxuan wore a calm expression as he looked at the out-of-town girl with an empty sword scabbard and an empty knife sheath, chuckling. "Let's get this straight—right now it's just me and Chen Ping'an having a one-on-one fight. According to the stories my grandmother told me when I was little, in those tales of martial heroes, when two great generals clash on the battlefield, whoever calls for help isn't a true hero. If you manage to behead the enemy general, it boosts the army's morale, and the battle is as good as won..."
Ning Yao found Ma Kuxuan utterly irritating. She had never seen anyone so deserving of a beating. Song Jixin from Niping Alley was also deep and cunning, loved to show off his bookish knowledge, and always put on the airs of a young scholar—but at least he looked the part of a bookworm. This short, scrawny boy in front of her had skin no fairer than Chen Ping'an's, eyes that were unnaturally large, and an overall vibe that was just weird. Paired with his clumsy, stilted attempts at literary elegance, it was like an old woman slathering half a catty of powder onto her bark-like face, feigning coyness—truly a tragedy beyond compare.
Chen Ping'an didn't bother with harsh words toward his peer from Xinghua Alley. He crouched slightly, then suddenly exploded forward, charging straight ahead like a galloping horse.
So fast!
Watching Chen Ping'an's rapidly receding back, Ning Yao couldn't help but marvel. It wasn't that his speed compared to other children his age across the world was particularly astonishing—chasing down hares and foxes wasn't the point. What truly impressed her was that here, in this cage of a world, Chen Ping'an had managed to temper his body to this level solely through years of grinding, painstaking effort.
Ning Yao thought for a moment. Could it be that enduring hardship was also a kind of talent?
The distance between the two boys had halved in an instant.
Chen Ping'an could already clearly see the subtle shifts in Ma Kuxuan's expression—a flicker of surprise, followed by a hint of panic, then a rapid return to calm. Without hesitation, Ma Kuxuan's arm snapped up with explosive force.
Chen Ping'an, who had been fixated on the movements of Ma Kuxuan's right hand, stopped charging straight ahead and swerved to the right in the blink of an eye.
Ma Kuxuan's arm paused almost imperceptibly, then his wrist flicked, and the stone shot toward Chen Ping'an's new trajectory.
The pebble flew with ferocious momentum—not as terrifying as the Mountain-Moving Ape of Zhengyang Mountain, but still not to be underestimated. Instead of flustering, Chen Ping'an kept moving, twisting his waist and tilting his upper body. The stone zipped past right before his eyes, stirring the fringe of hair on the straw-shoe boy's forehead.
Ma Kuxuan lightly flicked his left hand, transferring one of the remaining stones into his right palm.
This short boy from Xinghua Alley didn't seem to think his second shot would finish Chen Ping'an off. Instead of staying put, he started moving toward the right while casually flinging the second stone.
Chen Ping'an suddenly bent low, his hands nearly touching the ground. The stone skimmed over his back, tearing through his thin shirt. It looked gruesome—skin split open—but the wound was actually shallow.
By now, the gap between them had halved again.
Although Ma Kuxuan realized he should create distance, Chen Ping'an's relentless forward charge was so lightning-fast that Ma Kuxuan's hurried repositioning felt like an ox pulling a broken cart. As Chen Ping'an's dark face drew closer, his resolute, bright eyes became especially piercing. In stark contrast, Ma Kuxuan showed a hint of hesitation. Should he abandon the stone-throwing tactic and simply retreat? Or gamble everything on the third stone to decide the outcome?
Ma Kuxuan's indecision stood in sharp contrast to Chen Ping'an's unstoppable advance.
At this moment, the straw-shoe boy had none of the "nice guy" image from Niping Alley.
In this life-or-death moment, Ma Kuxuan took a step back and swung his arm again.
Clearly, Ma Kuxuan believed in his stones.
This solitary boy—who had never even argued with anyone, let alone fought—had always disliked being around his peers. More than Chen Ping'an or Gu Can, he was like a lone wildcat. He liked to grab a handful of pebbles and toss them as he walked, with just enough force to seem like careless play. No one paid it any mind. But when Ma Kuxuan was alone under the covered bridge by the shore, he would practice skipping stones. Thin pebbles would often skip a dozen times across the water before smashing into the stone arch on the opposite bank with a loud crack. The strength of his arms and the precision of his wrist were formidable.
Ma Kuxuan also liked to squat on the back of the green ox and throw stones at fish swimming in the water. Whether he hit them or not, the stones almost never made a splash.
So in the ancestral home courtyard of Xinghua Alley, or on the rooftops, dead birds often lay—bloody and mangled.
Now the two boys were only a dozen paces apart. In dodging Ma Kuxuan's first two stones, Chen Ping'an had moved with agility and lightness, revealing no trace of his underlying strength. He had been like a drifting leaf. But as he and Ma Kuxuan were about to collide, Chen Ping'an finally showed his "heavy" side. Three rapid strides—both fast and powerful, full of tension. Each footfall was like a hammer striking a sword, and lifting his foot was like uprooting the base of a mountain.
Three steps brought him within arm's reach.
Ma Kuxuan still hadn't managed to throw his stone. By all logic, he had lost the advantage.
But Chen Ping'an's heart jolted unexpectedly. Even so, he didn't retreat. The situation was too urgent to pull back; he might as well leap forward and gamble.
A corner of Ma Kuxuan's mouth curled up in a sly smile. He opened his left hand, dropping the remaining stones, and his raised right hand had been clenched into a fist all along. So he just threw a punch.
He had set a trap for Chen Ping'an from the start. The pretended hesitation, the deliberate invitation for Chen Ping'an to close in—even the choice of stones as a weapon—all part of the crafty plan from this "silly boy" of Xinghua Alley. His goal was to feign weakness, lure the "mud eel" that had slipped away from the old ape, and make Chen Ping'an walk right into his trap!
An arm's length was a punch's distance.
Chen Ping'an, a not-so-obvious lefty, met Ma Kuxuan's right fist head-on.
The moment their fists collided, both boys lashed out with a kick toward the other.
Chen Ping'an and Ma Kuxuan were sent flying backward at the same time, crashing heavily onto the muddy ground.
Now twenty paces apart again, Ma Kuxuan got up, knelt on one knee, and gasped for breath. He raised his arm and opened his fist. The stone had never left his palm, so now his hand, though not completely bloody, was a raw, red mess.
Ma Kuxuan grinned, rubbed his stomach, and shouted with blazing eyes, "Chen Ping'an! You dare go again?!"
Chen Ping'an's left hand was in worse shape. Before, in the alley, when he killed Cai Jinjian of Cloud Gorge Mountain, a piece of broken porcelain had cut his palm deeply. Although he had been applying the secret herbal medicine passed down from the Yang Family Shop, healing bones and sinews takes a hundred days. No matter how tough a boy's body might be, he wasn't a cultivating immortal who could revive the dead and regrow flesh. So this exchange of one punch and one kick had cost Chen Ping'an more.
Chen Ping'an's left hand, wrapped in cotton bandages, was trembling involuntarily. Blood seeped through the cloth, dripping one drop at a time onto the wild grass at his feet.
He deliberately took a deep breath, feeling the sharp pain in his abdomen. He needed to gauge how much this level of injury would affect his next moves.
It was habit.
Chen Ping'an had grown up poor. Because he owned so little, he was meticulous about everything. In contrast, rich brats like Song Jixin and Lu Zhengchun would never bother counting the copper coins in their pockets—they could afford not to. Chen Ping'an could not. So his impression had always been one of restraint, mildness, and forbearance. The youthful vigor that should come naturally to a boy was scarce. As for this inexplicable Ma Kuxuan, who had popped up out of nowhere to fight Chen Ping'an and Ning Yao to the death, he was simply an irrational freak. At least Ning Yao could be described as sharp and striking, but Ma Kuxuan was completely unfathomable.
Without turning around, Chen Ping'an waved a hand behind him, signaling to Ning Yao that he was fine.
Ma Kuxuan slowly stood up. Before rising, he grabbed a handful of weeds and casually wiped the blood from his palm.
Chen Ping'an also stood.
Ma Kuxuan made the first move, leaving two muddy pits where his feet had been.
This wiry, monkey-like boy moved with incredible speed. He leaped high, driving a knee toward Chen Ping'an's face.
Chen Ping'an's fist smashed into Ma Kuxuan's knee, forcing it down, but Ma Kuxuan, leaning forward in midair, struck lightning-fast with a fist that smashed into Chen Ping'an's forehead with a thud. Then Ma Kuxuan's legs, which had been curled, straightened instantly, and he stomped hard on Chen Ping'an's chest as the latter leaned back.
Chen Ping'an felt as if a hammer had struck his head and a battering ram had hit his chest: he fell backward almost straight as a board.
Ma Kuxuan somersaulted in the air, landed, and charged forward with a savage grin. In a flash, he was upon Chen Ping'an, who had just managed to crouch. Ma Kuxuan kicked.
Chen Ping'an crossed his arms in front of him—left arm on the outside, right inside—to protect his heart and face.
The kick sent Chen Ping'an flying backward again, but he kept his center low and his vitals shielded, so there was no bloody scene.
He rolled across the ground.
Ma Kuxuan, not letting up, continued his charge.
When Chen Ping'an finally stopped rolling, he had, unconsciously or deliberately, ended up on one knee, bent over in a starting crouch.
Ma Kuxuan's expression froze.
In the next instant, Chen Ping'an shot forward like an arrow from a fully drawn bow, closing the distance to Ma Kuxuan in a blink. His speed was a world apart from before.
Feigning weakness.
Chen Ping'an knew that trick too.
This time, Ma Kuxuan didn’t even have time to throw a punch. Chen Ping'an slammed his shoulder into Ma Kuxuan's chest. Ma Kuxuan staggered back, and a sharp pain shot through his abdomen. He instinctively bent over, and then Chen Ping'an's arm swept across his left temple—a heavy, powerful blow. The boy from Xinghua Alley, who had been dominating the fight, flew sideways, his feet leaving the ground in a twisted trajectory.
Chen Ping'an grabbed Ma Kuxuan's ankles, spun him around, and with a fierce shout, hurled the ninety-odd-pound boy far away!
He was aimed straight at a half-shattered seated statue, over four feet high. If nothing intervened, Ma Kuxuan would be in a very sorry state.
But Ma Kuxuan, without any outside help, created an "intervention" himself.
Both his feet kicked off the statue's head simultaneously. His legs bent and straightened instantly, using the massive rebound to launch himself back toward Chen Ping'an on the ground—a mirror of Chen Ping'an's earlier trick.
But Ma Kuxuan's eyes widened in horror.
Chen Ping'an stood still, one arm raised high. In his hand was a short blade that had appeared out of nowhere, its tip pointed straight at Ma Kuxuan as he hurtled forward.
"It's like people say: 'running right into your own death,'" that described this perfectly.
Even though Chen Ping'an's hand trembled violently, it was enough to drive the knife through Ma Kuxuan's body. The only question was whether the entry point would be an arm, a head, or the chest.
Cornered and terrified as he was, Ma Kuxuan didn't give up. He twisted his body with immense effort, even if only by a hair, to shift his vital points away from the knife's tip.
At that moment, a tall figure appeared between the two boys.
A middle-aged man, with a long sword on his back and a tiger tally hanging at his waist.
Without any visible movement from him, Ma Kuxuan seemed to have the world turned upside down—his feet touched down, and he stood upright beside the man.
Then the sword-carrying man turned his head toward the knife-wielding boy, who had retreated a step. His eyes held undisguised approval and admiration. He said softly, "The two of you fought well in this exchange."
Blood was seeping from the corner of Chen Ping'an's mouth. He took another step back.
The man laughed it off, then proposed, "I saved Ma Kuxuan's life, so I owe you one. After we get out of here, I'll convince the Mountain-Moving Ape of Zhengyang Mountain to drop his pursuit of the two of you. How about that?"
Ning Yao came to stand beside Chen Ping'an.
The martial arts cultivator from Zhenwu Mountain gave the girl a long look, then said to Chen Ping'an, "You're in no position to bargain. Nod if you agree, or stay silent if you don't. If you think it's unfair, if you're unwilling, or if you somehow manage to escape the old ape, then after you leave this town, you can come to Zhenwu Mountain and find me to demand what you think is justice."
Chen Ping'an put away the Suppressing Garment Knife that Ning Yao had lent him, tucking it into his right sleeve. He nodded toward the Zhenwu Mountain man. "If I get the chance, I will."
Ma Kuxuan was about to speak, but the man said coldly, "Dead people don't get to talk tough to the living."
Ma Kuxuan pressed his lips into a tight line and, obediently, said nothing.
The pair—master and disciple from Zhenwu Mountain—gradually walked away.
Chen Ping'an collapsed onto the ground.
Ning Yao quickly crouched beside him, worried. "How are you? Where's the worst injury? Do you need that prescription Daoist Lu gave you?"
The bruised and battered boy with internal injuries smiled wryly. "It's okay. As long as I know where it hurts, it means it's not too serious. By the way, if the old ape shows up now..."
"Then let him come!"
The girl sat down on the ground as well, her brows flying high. "You were here a moment ago, and I'm here now—what's there to fear?"
Chen Ping'an had to swallow the second half of his sentence.
Ning Yao suddenly broke into a bright smile, raised both hands, and gave the straw-shoe boy two thumbs up. "Awesome!"
Before this, the boy from the humble alley, who had never thought much of himself, tried hard to suppress the smile tugging at his lips, making an effort to appear more nonchalant.
But it was obvious to everyone how elated he was.
The spring breeze boy was very proud.
(Three-Seven Chinese Literature)