Chapter 39: Striking the Wrist
Following the spirit path, Nan Ke arrived at a spot several dozen zhang before the stone platform. Looking at the scene in front of the mausoleum’s main gate, her mood shifted slightly. Xu Yourong’s eyes were closed, her somewhat pale face bearing a serene expression, as if the impending events had nothing to do with her. This posture represented her absolute trust in someone. That someone was, naturally, Chen Changsheng standing at the edge of the stone platform.
Nan Ke turned her gaze to Chen Changsheng, somewhat puzzled. Even if he was Xu Yourong’s fiancé, how could he make her trust him so completely? Chen Changsheng was also looking at her. That morning, by the lakeshore dense with reeds, he had only exchanged a single glance with Nan Ke before turning and entering the grasslands. Dozens of days had passed since then before he saw this terrifying demon girl again.
Calling her a girl wasn’t even accurate. Her childish features looked no more than ten or so years old. The space between her eyes was slightly wider than usual, making her forehead seem somewhat broad. Her gaze was indifferent, or perhaps dull, giving her a wooden, slow-witted appearance. This was precisely because the peacock soul in her brow was too powerful. He confirmed that he hadn’t been mistaken back then—this little girl was indeed sick. He thought it over, said nothing. Having fled through the grasslands for so long, he had long since figured out that “cross-eyed” wasn’t a nice thing to say. Besides, he was very nervous right now. The hand gripping the short sword’s hilt wasn’t sweating, but his knuckles were turning white.
—He now knew that Nan Ke was the demon race’s princess, and according to rumors, she was the one with the highest bloodline talent among all the Demon Lord’s children. Even more terrifying, she was the only disciple of that mysterious and powerful demon military strategist, Black Robe. Back then by the lakeshore, he couldn’t even defeat her two maidservants. Even if his swordsmanship had improved greatly since, how could he possibly be a match for her?
A true battle never had an opening speech. This battle on the mausoleum’s stone platform would decide the ownership of Zhouling and the ultimate success or failure of the demon race’s grand conspiracy. Naturally, there would be no verbose dialogue or probing. Without any delay or warning, as the wind rose around the mausoleum, the battle began.
Jade-green wings unfurled behind Nan Ke, fluttering in the wind. With a soft *hum*, the air rapidly deformed and was pushed aside. Her petite figure vanished from its spot in an instant, and the next moment, she was before Chen Changsheng. She extended her slender index finger, carrying a terrifying aura, and thrust it straight at his brow.
She came too fast, her movements too quick. Even Chen Changsheng, who had been building his momentum and pushing his sword stance to its peak, had no time to draw his sword. With her wings, her speed was simply too fast, unimaginably so. Across the entire continent, she probably ranked among the very fastest. Apart from someone like Jin Yulu, who could keep up?
At this moment, any counter Chen Changsheng might attempt—drawing his sword, holding it horizontally, thrusting, slicing, chopping, or sweeping—was already too late. He couldn’t match Nan Ke’s speed or rhythm. If he tried to make any move, her fingertip would surely pierce his brow first.
Her finger was very slender, looking quite ordinary, but the aura it carried was terrifying. Anyone could imagine what would happen if that finger struck.
So he could only do nothing but retreat rapidly backward, then step into a void.
The soft *hum* came from Nan Ke’s fingertip. That terrifying force condensed but didn’t release, failing to touch Chen Changsheng’s brow, yet it seemed to nearly split the space at the edge of the stone platform.
Chen Changsheng vanished before her eyes, which finally caused a change in her wooden expression.
This was a very hard thing to understand, but it didn’t make her think too much, nor did it make her wary. Because she understood it, yet didn’t care at all.
Chen Changsheng’s figure had just appeared at another spot on the stone platform when she appeared almost simultaneously, still pointing at his brow. This fact, however, caught Chen Changsheng off guard. She could keep up with his steps? This had little to do with speed; he was using the Yashil Step, the most mysterious and elusive technique for short-distance evasion.
His figure vanished again, and Nan Ke’s figure vanished with it. The next moment, his figure appeared before the mausoleum’s main gate, and right behind him, Nan Ke’s figure appeared there too. On the high platform before the mausoleum, there was no howling gale, only a gentle breeze. The two figures flickered in and out of sight, making no sound, eerie to the extreme.
Chen Changsheng had no way to shake her off, no way to escape that slender finger drawing ever closer to his brow, no way to escape that terrifying aura and the taste of death.
With one step, he moved from Xuesu to Tuzhen, dodging that finger, only to find that Nan Ke had driven him to the edge of the high platform’s cliff.
In the Grand Examination and by the lakeshore, the Yashil Step had turned defeat into victory countless times, but for Nan Ke, it clearly meant nothing.
But at least it bought him some time.
In the silent, eerie flickering of their figures, time moved forward in short fragments, but it still moved enough to give him a chance to draw his sword.
Across that slender finger, his gaze fell on her brow, his expression utterly focused.
*Swish*—a dazzlingly bright sword light appeared at the edge of the high platform, as if it could illuminate the dim sky.
It was still the National Academy’s Mountain-Toppling Staff.
This was the staff technique—or rather, sword technique—he knew best and liked most, so it was the fastest.
But… it still wasn’t as fast as Nan Ke. Or rather, Nan Ke was too strong, strong enough to casually break this strike.
To draw a sword, at least one needed to move the wrist.
To bend a finger, one only needed to move a fingertip.
Nan Ke’s finger, aimed at his brow, bent slightly, and her fingertip struck his sword body with pinpoint accuracy.
*Clang*—a clear ring, like a newly cast clay bell struck by a black pebble carried in a swallow’s beak.
Chen Changsheng’s short sword was knocked upward. A force that was vast and unbearable for him traveled along the blade to his shoulder.
If it had been an ordinary sword, Nan Ke’s finger would have shattered it.
If it had been an ordinary human cultivator at the upper level of Tongyou, Nan Ke’s finger would have crippled his shoulder.
Fortunately, this short sword was no ordinary blade, and Chen Changsheng’s body, bathed in dragon blood, was more perfect than a perfect marrow cleansing.
As Nan Ke’s finger continued toward his brow, the short sword in his hand swung back like a reed stalk.
It was still the National Academy’s Mountain-Toppling Staff, but this time it wasn’t a thrust—it was a smash.
The short sword in his hand came smashing down toward… Nan Ke’s wrist.
He didn’t attack Nan Ke’s brow, because he had confirmed that the root of speed was still strength, and his speed couldn’t surpass hers.
He could only choose the method with the shortest attack distance.
This movement was small, requiring a twist of the wrist, and looked very casual.
At this moment, the sword was no longer a sword, but a teaching staff, or rather, a real pointer.
He was no longer using sword techniques, but the true Mountain-Toppling Staff.
He wanted to strike Nan Ke’s wrist, like a teacher punishing a naughty student.
*Slap*—a sound rang out.
He hit her.
(When writing fight scenes, I have to simulate them in my mind to make sure they’re feasible. Now I realize this is really tiring. Shaking my head. The next chapter will take a very long time to write.)