SS CH17

Bu Xueyao’s movement was so swift that the heroes watching dared not claim to be his equal.

As his slender, pale fingers were about to brush against Ye Fusheng’s neck, a smiling voice echoed from behind him: “Beauty, take care!”

Bu Xueyao’s expression shifted. He had grasped nothing but empty air—it was an afterimage!

Ye Fusheng had already flashed behind him, lifting a leg to strike at his back. Had the kick landed, Bu Xueyao’s momentum would have sent him tumbling into the pond. With a coy laugh, Bu Xueyao folded his upper body, braced his hand on a plum blossom stake, and whipped his right leg back. The two legs collided with a dull thud, both utilizing the recoil to pull back.

Bu Xueyao landed lightly on a stake on one foot, while Ye Fusheng settled steadily onto a tilted lotus leaf.

Three moves had passed, but the onlookers on the corridor had only just blinked.

“So fast!” Lu Mingyuan closed his white paper fan, his eyes filled with awe. “Bu Xueyao’s ‘Dust-Gazing Steps’ have been unmatched for seven years. I didn’t expect this knight to be a split second faster!”

Xie Wuyi’s grip on his sword hilt loosened, his gaze softening, though his heart sighed. If this man were not blind and crippled, that kick just now would not have been so easily dodged. Alas, heaven is often jealous of talent, forcing flaws upon the gifted.

Xue Chanyi’s eyes widened, and the handful of peanuts Xie Li had just been handed by Ye Fusheng scattered to the floor.

“Sweet-talking gentleman, good skill,” Bu Xueyao teased, his lips curled in a naturally seductive pout. Had this been any other man, his heart would be racing, but it was all wasted on a blind man—like playing the lute for a cow.

Ye Fusheng held his wooden blade horizontally before him, tilting his head toward Bu Xueyao with a smile. “I am delighted to be complimented by a beauty.”

Before the words were finished, Ye Fusheng leaped. The lotus leaf barely trembled as he shot forward like a loose arrow. The wooden blade sliced through the air with the sharp ring of clashing steel. In a flash, he grazed Bu Xueyao’s neck, cutting a lock of hair and leaving a shallow red line.

“The sweeter the man’s mouth, the more ruthless his heart…” Bu Xueyao slapped the wooden blade aside with his palm, his left leg hooking around Ye Fusheng’s waist like a snake. With a sudden burst of power, he flung him away.

Mid-air, Ye Fusheng found no leverage. He rotated his wooden blade to deflect a follow-up palm strike, landed, and swept his blade tip into the water, hurling an arc of pond water at Bu Xueyao’s face. Bu Xueyao’s sleeves swirled like clouds, catching the droplets. As the screen of water vanished, the sound of tearing silk echoed—the wooden blade pierced through his sleeve, aimed straight at his throat!

The tip was inches away, but Bu Xueyao’s eyes sparkled with a playful, mischievous glint.

Ye Fusheng stepped on his own foot to pivot, swinging the wooden blade downward and retreating. As he did, he snatched a lotus leaf from the surface.

Suddenly, a tiny green snake—as thick as a chopstick and fat as an earthworm—burst from the tear in Bu Xueyao’s sleeve. It crawled onto the wooden blade, aiming for Ye Fusheng’s hand. The descending blade sliced it in two, but the upper half continued to lunge with lightning speed toward Ye Fusheng’s face.

Fortunately, the lotus leaf was faster. Ye Fusheng’s hearing was peerless; he slammed the leaf in front of the snake’s head, twisted his wrist to wrap it into a ball, and channeled his internal energy to crush it into pulp.

“Oh my, that ‘Little Jade’ was my beloved pet. Why must you be so heartless, my sweet gentleman?” Bu Xueyao clutched his chest, drifting two yards away before closing the distance again. His fingers formed claws, reaching for Ye Fusheng’s shoulders. Ye Fusheng shoved his palms between the claws, twisting and locking them—crack! Bu Xueyao’s right shoulder was dislocated.

Cold sweat broke out on Bu Xueyao’s forehead. His upper body went numb for a moment, but he leaned in closer, wrinkling his nose. He smelled a faint, exotic fragrance.

A gleam lit his eyes. He recoiled, avoiding a kick, and landed on a stake, laughing lightly.

Ye Fusheng’s left hand was going numb. He used his last ounce of strength to crush the hair-thin silver needle hidden in his palm into dust.

Though blind, he turned toward Bu Xueyao. Both men moved their lips silently, uttering the same two words: It’s you.

A month ago, outside Jinghan Pass, inside the tent of the Northern barbarian general Hutal, Ye Fusheng had infiltrated the camp disguised as a barbarian soldier. He had caught Hutal rolling on a rug with a man, apparently about to do something untoward.

He had struck with 70% of his power, certain of success, only for the seemingly frail man to catch his blade with bare palms. Ye Fusheng had been forced to switch to his “White Rainbow” style to cut the man’s chest, forcing him back, which gave him the split second needed to behead Hutal.

That move left his back wide open, but he had no choice.

In the chaos, Hutal was dead, but a fine needle had pierced his own back, resulting in the same numbing sensation he felt now. If he hadn’t slashed that man’s shoulder, he never would have escaped the camp. Back then, the man had worn a red veil; he hadn’t seen his face clearly.

Now, the enemies stood face to face.

Bu Xueyao rolled up his red sleeve, revealing his bare arm. “Li Feng was right—someone like you would never sleep soundly. My ‘Dark Dream’ poison has been suppressed by you for this long. But, sir, you haven’t had a real night’s rest since then, have you? Aren’t you tired?”

“Dark Dream” gradually stole the five senses, clouded the mind, and forced the victim to relive their greatest joys and sorrows until they couldn’t distinguish reality from illusion, eventually sinking into an eternal sleep. It wasn’t Bu Xueyao’s deadliest poison, but it was his favorite.

“To suppress this poison for a month without it reaching your heart and lungs—you truly have great internal skill. But why cling to life so miserably? Why not stop struggling and let me send you into a long, dreamless sleep?”

Bu Xueyao lunged, grabbing Ye Fusheng’s shoulder. They crashed into a pillar, terrifying the onlookers. Ye Fusheng, hampered by his blindness, took a heavy blow to the head, blood trickling down. Bu Xueyao used the impact to force his dislocated shoulder back into place, then wrapped his arms around Ye Fusheng’s neck, intending to snap his spine!

With no time to think, Ye Fusheng tapped his finger against Bu Xueyao’s wrist. A burst of internal force exploded; Bu Xueyao’s arm went limp, and his grip loosened.

They fought on the water, dancing between lotus leaves and stakes, trading countless blows. The crowd was dazzled. Xie Li grabbed Xue Chanyi’s arm, breathless. “Will… will he win?”

Xue Chanyi shook her head. “Hard to say.”

Xie Wuyi stood up. His gaze swept the battlefield, and he reached out to take the Crimson Snow Ribbon from Xue Chanyi.

Ye Fusheng’s internal energy was in turmoil. The “Dark Dream” poison, previously suppressed, surged forward, bringing fragmented, snowy memories of the past flooding into his mind. He faltered. Bu Xueyao ignored a blade-strike to his shoulder and clawed into Ye Fusheng’s abdomen, tearing away a chunk of flesh.

Blood flowed, but the pain failed to wake Ye Fusheng; his mind only grew hazier. Bu Xueyao grabbed his throat—one more ounce of force and he would be dead.

The crowd watched, frozen. Bu Xueyao even began to laugh.

But the next instant, the laughter died.

A single finger tapped his hand like a bolt of lightning. Bu Xueyao’s arm went numb, and Ye Fusheng vanished from his sight. The plum blossom stake Bu Xueyao stood upon suddenly shattered!

Ye Fusheng had recovered, sweeping across the surface of the water. He chopped his hand against the stake, snapping the log-thick wood in two. Bu Xueyao was forced to retreat, searching for a new footing.

But in that retreat, Ye Fusheng caught him.

Despite being blind, he had calculated Bu Xueyao’s retreat perfectly. Bu Xueyao collided with him, and before he could turn, Ye Fusheng’s hand locked onto his throat.

Their lips moved, mere inches apart. Bu Xueyao could only hear Ye Fusheng whispering, like a hazy, incoherent dream.

Then, Ye Fusheng somersaulted and kicked Bu Xueyao hard into the water!

He had wanted to strike again, but his internal wounds flared, and he tumbled into the water with him. Thankfully, a red ribbon swept out, coiling around his waist and dragging him back to the corridor, sparing him the humiliation of a bath.

“Cough, cough… Many thanks, Manor Lord.”

“Knowing you have a chronic illness and still showing off—you truly are tired of living,” Xie Wuyi said, letting go of the ribbon. His words were as sharp as ever.

Ye Fusheng shrugged, ready to ignore him, but was immediately force-fed a cup of pungent ginger tea, coughing until his lungs felt like they would burst.

“Less nonsense. Sit!”

Xue Chanyi slammed the empty cup down, her face full of disdain and impatience. Xie Li couldn’t help but snicker behind them. This ginger tea had been personally ordered by Manor Lord Xie that morning—boiled with four old ginger roots; anyone who drank it would choke.

Those who bully others with ginger are bullied by ginger in return—a classic cycle of karma.

Bu Xueyao crawled back onto the corridor, coughing up a mouthful of blood, which seemed to clear his chest. He whispered something into Li Feng’s ear. The general’s cold eyes brightened, then dimmed again.

He summoned a subordinate, gave an order, and the man retreated. Li Feng stood up, his blade in hand, and leaped onto a plum blossom stake.

“Since the outcome is not yet decided,” Li Feng announced, “I shall request the final battle myself. Manor Lord Xie, please!”