"Brother Jing, I've had the Beggars' Sect disciples widen the search. The moment Taoist Master Yin is sighted, you set out and join him to deal with Ouyang Feng together."
Huang Rong was desperate to find Yin Zhiping now.
This was an Innate-realm helper they were talking about.
Yin Zhiping alone could raise their odds in the coming defense of Xiangyang by a tenth at the very least.
More than that—he could shoulder some of the pressure her Brother Jing faced from the Mongol masters across the field.
This time the Mongols hadn't merely marched an army; a host of martial experts traveled with it, and the intent needed no spelling out: they had come for the Great Song's jianghu.
"Rong'er, didn't you already give those orders just now..."
Huang Rong slanted a look at Guo Jing—iron that refused to become steel.
Inwardly she sighed: my dear Brother Jing, are you truly a fool, or only playing one?
Li Zhichang, though, was delighted. This widened the odds of finding Senior Brother Yin.
And with Guo Jing helping—Senior Brother Yin and Hero Guo together—even Ouyang Feng would break and run.
"Thank you, Chief Huang."
Whatever Huang Rong's deeper reasons for the extra help, Li Zhichang accepted the kindness on the Quanzhen Sect's behalf.
"It's only right. And I won't hide it, Taoist Master Li—I too hope we find Taoist Master Yin soon and pull him free of Ouyang Feng. One more Innate-realm martial artist inside Xiangyang means that much better a chance of victory."
Huang Rong was clever. She knew the Quanzhen Taoists liked things straight and plain, so she laid her thinking on the table without a shred of cover.
"As it should be. Defending Xiangyang is the very task that brought us down the mountain."
And indeed, far from thinking Huang Rong mercenary, Li Zhichang admired that open, aboveboard way of doing things.
Senior Brother Yin had said it: a cultivator of the Tao should say what he means. A heart with no ghosts in it has nothing to hide—even when it's cursing someone...
Li Zhichang used to think Senior Brother Yin was full of crooked logic. But whenever he thought it through carefully, the logic held.
It suited the free, follow-your-nature temperament of a Taoist very well.
***
As Xiangyang drew near, Yin Zhiping couldn't help picking up his pace. He wondered whether his junior brothers had arrived.
He'd dawdled some; they should have made better time than he had.
But things refused to go smoothly—once again, Ouyang Feng dragged at his heels.
As if he sensed there was someone in Xiangyang he was at odds with, the closer they came to the city, the harder Ouyang Feng balked. He did not want to go another step.
"Where I'm going—Xiangyang—there's going to be a war. It will be dangerous. A great many people will lose their lives. And your mortal enemy is in that city. You killed my Martial Uncle Tan, but Master has said it himself: you've gone mad, and the past will not be held against you.
I don't know how much of that you can understand. I think this is where we part ways."
Yin Zhiping did not want Ouyang Feng in Xiangyang.
Not because he feared Guo Jing and Huang Rong might misread him—but because inside Xiangyang, Ouyang Feng would be no help at all, and very likely a disaster.
The tangled grudges between Guo Jing, Huang Rong, and Ouyang Feng couldn't be told clean in three days and nights.
Put the two sides in one place and they would detonate on contact.
The great battle not yet begun, and the commander already brawling over personal grudges—there was no telling of that story that sounded good. And if he took an injury? Wouldn't that wreck everything?
It would batter their own morale besides.
"A lot of people will die? Isn't that dangerous? Son, listen to your papa—let's not go to a place like that, all right? Papa will take you somewhere else, somewhere much more fun than this Xiangyang, all right?"
At the word "war," Ouyang Feng panicked at once. He considered Yin Zhiping his son now, and his whole heart bent toward the boy's good; naturally he wanted him nowhere near such a place.
Besides, his son had said his mortal enemy was there. And wasn't his mortal enemy his son's mortal enemy?
What if they couldn't beat him—and turned their hands on his son instead?
Ouyang Feng did have moments of clear thinking. He was not mad every hour of the day.
"No. I came down the mountain precisely to reach Xiangyang. My junior brothers are there. I led them down the mountain, and I will lead them back up—even if all that's left of one is a cup of yellow earth."
Not going was never an option. For the Quanzhen Sect's name, and for the junior brothers waiting in Xiangyang, Yin Zhiping would not follow Ouyang Feng anywhere.
"No! If you won't behave, then your father will just have to carry you off."
Ouyang Feng hadn't stayed lucid long; Yin Zhiping's refusal set the madness twitching again.
Yin Zhiping knew there was no talking through it, so he abandoned words altogether and simply walked on.
Once they reached Xiangyang, Guo Jing could deal with him. The man's strength was nothing to sneeze at—worst case, he'd be driven off. Nothing would happen to him.
"Son! No! You can't go."
But Ouyang Feng's fit had already begun.
He seized Yin Zhiping's right shoulder, meaning to wrench him back around.
Yin Zhiping's hand flipped over and caught Ouyang Feng's; true essence detonated, and caught off guard, Ouyang Feng was jolted back several paces. Yin Zhiping sprang into the air—he wanted no more tangling.
"Son, you're going the wrong way! It's not that direction!"
Ouyang Feng flipped onto his hands, launched into the Corpse Hop, and gave chase without pause.
This time he was straining every sinew—faster than any day before.
Within moments he had closed to half a zhang behind Yin Zhiping.
Yin Zhiping's heart was bitter. Grateful as he was for the sparring, this brand of paternal concern was a blessing he had no fortune to enjoy.
He was a Quanzhen disciple. Given the blood between Ouyang Feng and the Quanzhen Sect, they were fated never to walk the same road.
And he was certainly not going to betray the Quanzhen Sect to be Ouyang Feng's son.
Then Ouyang Feng's skyward right foot kicked at Yin Zhiping's right shoulder.
What is it with you and my right shoulder, exactly?
There was no choice left. Ouyang Feng was iron-set on carrying him off, so it would have to be settled with a real exchange.
His sword cleared the scabbard—one stroke of the Vast Billows Sword drove Ouyang Feng back—and then One Qi Begets the Three Purities stabbed straight for the crotch.
Yin Zhiping hadn't wanted to. But who told Ouyang Feng to keep fighting upside down?
Ouyang Feng had grown thoroughly familiar with Yin Zhiping's techniques by now.
His body spun, redirected in an eyeblink, and one sideways shift to the right slipped the blade.
Yin Zhiping felt no discouragement. He'd known it could never be so simple to land a hit on Ouyang Feng.
Next came the Yang-Steadying Needle—the green-steel blade thrusting again and again—and every thrust was dissolved by Ouyang Feng's footwork.
And so it went. One attacked; one dodged.
Under Yin Zhiping's deliberate steering, blow by blow, they pressed ever closer to Xiangyang.
***
"Report! Chief—three li west of the city, Ouyang Feng and Taoist Master Yin have been sighted. The two are trading blows!"
Late the next morning, Guo Jing and Huang Rong had assembled the gathered volunteers of every stripe, meaning to organize them.
Jianghu wanderers were free and loose by long habit, and on a battlefield of this scale that habit was fatal—easy to lose your own life, and drag others down with you.
So Guo Jing hoped a clear division of tasks would impose a little discipline.
He was halfway through when the Beggars' Sect disciple came running with the news: Yin Zhiping found—and fighting.
Guo Jing could not stay in his seat. Never mind Yin Zhiping—the mere appearance of Ouyang Feng was not something he could ignore.