Hao Nhien stood still on the deck.
The river wind brushed past his sleeves, carrying the chill of the late night. Behind him, Tieu Lan remained at the cabin doorway, the bowl of hot porridge in her hands tilted slightly without her seeming to notice.
Five men in black stood on the riverbank.
They were not far away. With a single burst of force, any of them could cross the distance and clear the side of the boat.
Hao Nhien's hand tightened slightly around the hilt of the Tieu Dao Sword as his gaze calmly swept over each of them.
The young man in the center was clearly the leader. He looked only eighteen or nineteen, yet his aura was steadier than that of the other four. The men behind him had split to either side, spaced just far enough apart to advance together without getting in one another's way.
It was not a casual formation.
At the very least, they were accustomed to surrounding people.
Black clothes.
Late at night.
They knew the name Quan Hao Nhien.
They knew exactly where the boat was anchored.
And they had mentioned the Quan Family.
That alone was enough for Hao Nhien to connect a few pieces. These people were very likely tied to what had happened to the Quan Family. Whether they were the same group that had once hunted the former Quan Hao Nhien's parents was still impossible to confirm.
And right now, one wrong assumption could cost him his life.
There were five of them.
He was alone.
And Tieu Lan was behind him.
The river lay beside the boat, the deck beneath his feet, and there was little room to escape. If all five attacked at once, he would have almost nowhere to retreat.
His third layer of Qi Condensation had only recently stabilized.
His three strikes and three steps had only just begun to take shape.
He had only just learned how to borrow a trace of Nhat Kiem Tieu Dao's sword intent.
And as for the Tieu Dao Sword itself, he could not even say he was familiar with it yet.
Hao Nhien exhaled.
Not deeply.
Only enough to settle his mind.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
The young man in black gave a faint sneer.
"If I told you who we were, would you even know?"
His gaze passed over the Tieu Dao Sword before returning to Hao Nhien's face.
"Come with us. You'll find out afterward."
He paused, the corner of his mouth curling upward.
"And remember to bring what your father left you. That'll save us the trouble of coming back again."
Hao Nhien's gaze darkened slightly.
At least one thing was now clear.
They wanted something connected to the Quan Family.
The Body-Soul Fist Art was very likely part of it.
But they had not attacked immediately.
That mattered more.
If they wanted him to go with them, then in their eyes, he was still more valuable alive than dead.
As long as they did not intend to kill him right away, he still had time.
Hao Nhien slid the sword back into its sheath, deliberately lowering the sense of threat he gave off.
"I don't have anything you want."
The young man raised an eyebrow.
Hao Nhien continued,
"If I really had some powerful cultivation art in my hands, I wouldn't need to stand here practicing the same punch over and over with a sword I only just picked up."
Half true.
Half false.
He truly did not possess any complete secret manual. The Body-Soul Fist Art existed mostly in the fragmented memories left behind by the former body.
But Hao Nhien did not need them to believe him completely.
He only needed them to keep believing he was weak.
When a strong person faced someone they considered weak, they rarely used everything they had.
And if these people held back even a little, he had a chance.
"Where are my parents?"
he asked.
Behind him, Tieu Lan shifted slightly.
Hao Nhien did not turn around.
His eyes remained fixed on the young man.
Eyes.
Mouth.
Breathing.
Any small change might reveal something.
Sure enough, the young man smiled.
"Your parents are in a very good place."
He dragged out the words very good with obvious malice.
"If we have you, perhaps they'll get the chance to leave that place too. Then your whole family can reunite. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"
Hao Nhien felt his heart slowly sink.
It might not be true.
But at the very least, the other side wanted him to believe that the Quan Family's parents were still alive.
That alone was worth remembering.
There was no need to rush into deciding where they were, who held them, or how much this young man actually knew.
Hao Nhien asked again,
"You need members of the Quan Family because of the Body-Soul Fist Art?"
The young man did not answer.
But the impatience on his face became clearer.
Hao Nhien noticed.
A faint smile suddenly appeared on his lips.
"If the Quan Family truly has something worth chasing all the way here for, the five of you actually dare to come and take it by yourselves?"
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Two of the men behind the leader immediately changed expression.
The young man narrowed his eyes.
Good.
An angry person wants to prove something.
And someone who wants to prove himself often leaves formation on his own.
Hao Nhien was not provoking them to win an argument.
If all five attacked together, he would lose.
But if they came one at a time, then each time he only needed to survive a single one-on-one moment.
The young man indeed lost some of his earlier composure.
"You still have a hard mouth."
He stepped forward half a pace.
"I don't care whether you want to come or not. My job is to bring you back."
His eyes regarded Hao Nhien like an object that already belonged to him.
"Are you coming down yourself, or do I have to send someone up to get you?"
He flicked his hand.
One of the men on the right immediately launched himself over the side of the boat.
He did not draw his sword.
He did not take a guard.
The instant his feet hit the deck, one large hand shot straight toward Hao Nhien's neck.
Fast.
But too direct.
Hao Nhien did not retreat.
His gaze locked onto the approaching shoulder and hand.
The man wanted him alive.
If he had meant to kill him, he would have used his sword or attacked the throat.
This grab was meant to restrain.
Seize the neck.
Force him down.
Lock his body.
And because the man believed himself stronger, he had not even protected his chest.
His aura was not especially powerful either. His steps were heavy, his shoulder rose before the hand came forward, and the circulation of true qi through his body was not particularly smooth.
Probably only the first or second layer of Qi Condensation.
The hand came closer.
Hao Nhien still waited.
One foot.
Then less.
Only when the fingertips nearly touched his collar did he move.
His right foot anchored into the deck.
His hips turned only slightly.
His shoulder stayed aligned.
His right fist fired straight forward.
No wide chamber.
No long windup.
The path was so short that his opponent almost had no time to realize the punch had begun.
Thud!
Hao Nhien's fist struck the center of the man's chest.
The sound was not loud.
But the man's body stopped instantly.
The difference was not that Hao Nhien possessed overwhelming strength.
It was how that strength arrived.
Foot, hip, torso, shoulder, elbow, and wrist had nearly become one line. All those days punching in the river, standing beneath the waterfall, letting resistance pull his shoulder out of alignment and correcting it, letting his muscles ache and recover—everything had served one purpose:
to keep force from leaking away through unnecessary motion.
The contact lasted only an instant.
The force arrived too quickly.
Before the man's chest could move backward and disperse it, before his shoulder could contract to protect him, the shock had already passed through the point of impact.
The man's eyes went wide.
His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
His large frame froze for a beat before collapsing onto the deck.
Thump.
The planks trembled lightly.
The riverbank fell silent.
Hao Nhien did not look at the man beneath his feet for long.
One successful punch did not mean he was stronger than the group.
It only meant his opponent had underestimated him.
And Hao Nhien had struck at the right moment.
The young leader stared at Hao Nhien's fist.
His surprise lasted only an instant.
Then something heated appeared in his eyes.
Greed.
"The Body-Soul Fist Art…"
he almost murmured.
"So it really is."
Hao Nhien heard him clearly.
The young man looked Hao Nhien up and down again, but this time there was something strange in his gaze.
"The Quan Family truly knows how to waste the blood it was born with."
Hao Nhien paused very slightly.
Blood?
"What do you mean?"
The young man seemed to realize he had said too much.
He only gave a cold laugh.
"If you want to know, come quietly."
Nothing more.
Hao Nhien did not ask again.
But he remembered the sentence.
The young man glanced sideways.
Another man immediately stepped forward.
This one moved faster.
His companion had just been knocked down.
The cultivation art was right in front of him.
Greed mixed with anger made him choose a powerful leap over the side of the boat, his right arm rising to stabilize himself before reaching down, his eyes fixed on Hao Nhien's arm.
At that exact moment, his center of gravity was still suspended.
His feet had no support.
The lower ribs beneath his raised arm were completely exposed.
Hao Nhien did not change techniques.
It was still the same low sweeping kick he had trained.
His left leg lowered his center of gravity.
His right hip turned.
His lower leg snapped out like a whip.
Thud!
Crack!
The sound of bone breaking rang clearly through the night.
The man screamed.
His body lost strength before he had even completed his landing.
But Hao Nhien did not stand there watching.
Not down meant not finished.
He stepped forward half a pace.
The distance collapsed.
His right elbow drove upward beneath the man's chin.
Thock!
The man's head snapped back.
Blood and teeth flew.
His body dropped onto the deck unconscious.
Two strikes.
Nothing beautiful.
Nothing wasted.
Another man was down.
The remaining two on the riverbank instinctively stepped back half a pace.
Hao Nhien could hear his own heartbeat clearly.
He was afraid.
But he had no time to think about fear.
They were stunned.
If another few breaths passed, they would understand that sending people one at a time was a mistake.
He had to strike the head of the group first.
Now.
Hao Nhien moved.
One step.
Then another, down from the boat.
No circling.
No extra distance.
Only enough to shorten the gap between him and the leader.
The days of training in water had changed this movement completely. There was no current pulling against him now, no sand slipping beneath his feet. His body surged forward more lightly than he had expected.
True qi followed the motion into his right arm.
Straight punch.
The leader reacted extremely quickly.
After only the briefest surprise, he punched back.
The two fists drove toward one another.
In that instant, Hao Nhien knew he had chosen wrong.
The other man was taller.
His arm was thicker.
The burst of true qi behind the punch was clearly stronger.
Hao Nhien's straight punch had not been built for a contest of brute strength.
But it was already too late to withdraw.
Thud!
Crack!
Sharp pain pierced through Hao Nhien's knuckles, ran along his wrist, and climbed all the way to his elbow.
For an instant, he almost thought his hand had fractured.
Hao Nhien immediately retreated half a step.
Short.
Balanced.
His left hand passed naturally over his right fist, his thumb quickly checking the joints.
Painful.
But not broken.
Still usable.
Those days of tempering himself beneath the waterfall had not suddenly made him stronger than someone a whole realm above him.
They had simply taught his bones, tendons, joints, and muscles to hold a stable structure when force arrived.
More importantly, his punch had made contact too quickly.
The two fists had not pushed against one another like two men struggling for position.
They had collided.
Within that tiny instant of contact, the opponent's body had no time to move back, his elbow had no time to yield, and his shoulder had no time to rotate and disperse the force.
The entire load drove through his fist and into a short section of bone almost all at once.
Like a stone capable of bearing enormous weight when pressure was applied slowly.
But a fast hammer strike was something else entirely.
Across from him, the young leader remained standing.
There was still viciousness in his eyes.
As though he were waiting for Hao Nhien to clutch his hand in pain.
One breath passed.
His expression changed.
His right arm slowly dropped.
He looked down.
Then sank onto one knee.
His left hand immediately seized his right forearm as his face twisted in pain.
The bone had broken.
Not because Hao Nhien possessed more raw force.
But because at the instant of collision, that force arrived faster than his opponent's body could distribute it.
The young man looked up.
The contempt was gone.
Now there was pain.
Shock.
And even more greed than before.
"So it really is…"
He gritted his teeth.
"It really is that cultivation art."
Hao Nhien said nothing.
He looked toward the remaining two.
They were still standing on the riverbank.
Staring at the two unconscious men on the deck.
Staring at their leader kneeling with a broken arm.
The hesitation in their eyes was obvious.
This was the best moment.
But at that exact moment, a question appeared.
What now?
Kill them?
The thought interrupted Hao Nhien's rhythm.
The three men before him were still alive.
He could break bones.
Knock them unconscious.
Fight back in a life-or-death situation.
But to draw his sword, walk over, and deliberately cut the throat of someone who could no longer resist—
his hand would not rise.
Let them go?
Impossible.
What if they returned with more people?
What if the next group no longer needed him alive?
What if they went after Tieu Lan?
Capture them?
He had nowhere to imprison them.
And he had no idea whether these five had companions nearby.
Only a moment.
A very short one.
But combat did not care whether hesitation came from morality or fear.
A lost beat was still a lost beat.
"You're dead, brat!"
The shout tore through the night.
Hao Nhien snapped back.
The final two men had drawn their swords.
This time they did not come one by one.
Together.
One from the left.
One from the right.
Two cold blades shot toward his eyes and neck.
They were no longer trying to bring him back unharmed.
Hao Nhien immediately dropped his center of gravity.
His right hip and glute tightened, pulling his upper body backward. He let his body almost fall on its own, dropping beneath the path of the blades before rolling sideways.
Whoosh!
One sword passed where his neck had been.
So close that the skin along his nape went numb with cold.
The other blade stabbed past his face, close enough that Hao Nhien could see moonlight reflected along the steel.
He rolled again.
The back of his robe scraped across the damp, cold deck.
In his inverted field of vision, the two men were already close.
They did not stop.
One stabbed downward.
The other cut horizontally.
They gave him no chance to stand.
Hao Nhien rolled again.
His heart felt as though a hand had closed around it.
Wrong.
It was not the fist.
Not the steps.
Not the technique.
It was his mind.
He had dropped three men in only a few exchanges, then buried himself in the question of what he was supposed to do afterward.
The swords came again.
Hao Nhien did not know whether there would still be room to evade when this roll ended.
Perhaps by the time his vision righted itself—
a blade would already be inside his chest.
In that instant, Anh Nhien's face flashed through his mind.
Then Tieu Lan.
If he died here—
what would happen to Tieu Lan?
What about the people he still had to find?
The things he still had to do?
And if he truly received one more chance, would he have the courage to finish his enemy before
his enemy finished him?
Shhk.
Shhk.
Two sharp sounds came almost at the same time.
Hot blood splashed across Hao Nhien's face.
The thick metallic smell flooded his nose.
He felt no pain.
He did not even have time to understand what had happened.
The entire world before him suddenly turned red.
Did the swords hit me?
Am I dead?
"Anh Nhien…"
"Tieu Lan…"
His voice was barely audible.
"I'm sorry."
Hot tears welled in his eyes.
Hao Nhien slowly closed them.