Chapter Twenty: Schemes
As the smoke cleared, the battered figure of Lu Zheng was revealed. The garments on his upper body had been torn to shreds, hanging off him in tatters. His right arm was twisted at a grotesque angle, and his entire body was flushed crimson, as if blood were surging beneath his skin. Steam rose from him in the chill of autumn, as though his fury alone could boil the air.
“Refining essence within the inner palace!” Zhao San gasped in horror.
If one were to ask who possessed the greatest martial skill or the finest swordplay in the world today, any martial artist would have a few names in mind. But to casually name two or three renowned figures and debate their merits would inevitably lead to heated quarrels and even bloodshed, with no clear victor. This, above all, was because the martial world never judged by seniority alone.
Here, not a single veteran dared guarantee that some young, fresh-faced upstart wouldn’t one day overturn them, their fists hidden within, their outward appearance deceiving. Yet as the years passed, and through the explorations of many extraordinary figures, a path was gradually discovered.
Second-rate fighters are judged by proficiency of technique, mastery of forms, experience, and countering styles. Yet martial arts number in the millions, and even those who claim to know all there is to know could never vouch for complete mastery. The outcome of a duel can hinge on the weapon used, the combatant’s state of mind, or even the environment in that fleeting moment.
Only true first-rate masters—those whose six senses are keen, whose physical potential is pushed to its utmost by martial arts, whose every move transcends mere routine—can truly roam the world with freedom and dominance.
Advanced martial arts incorporate medical knowledge and techniques for health; whether cultivating the inner self or strengthening the body, every school ultimately converges on the same path: training the bones, sinews, flesh, and, most profoundly, the organs. “Refining essence within the inner palace” is the mark of one who has achieved mastery over the organs, the highest level. In other words, though Lu Zheng was barely in his twenties, he had, like Master Zhao and Old Lady She, ascended to the ranks of first-rate martial artists!
“How can this be?” Zhao San muttered, his world shaken. Though in his thirties, he doubted he would ever attain the realm so coveted in the martial world.
Lu Zheng coughed up several mouthfuls of blood, his gaze venomous as he glared at Zhao San. “Well, well, well! You actually had such a killing move! I misjudged you!” In truth, Zhao San’s Dead Dragon Counter was formidable, but had Lu Zheng not been so arrogant, his agility could have let him evade it. Yet there are no ifs in this world, and Lu Zheng’s rage was too much for Zhao San to withstand.
Lu Zheng took a single stride, seeming to compress space, and closed three yards in an instant. He unleashed the Red Lotus Sect’s secret technique, “Venom Fang Hand,” straight at Zhao San’s heart. Zhao San saw only a shadow descend upon him; with his right leg crippled, he could not dodge. His hand went numb, then a wave of pain, tingling, and itching swept over him, overwhelming even his iron will, forcing him to writhe on the ground in agony. Lu Zheng flicked his sinister black nails and sneered coldly. “This Venom Fang Hand is forged with over a hundred poisons, a secret of our sect. For the next seven days, you will be tormented: on the first day your skin will rot, the second you will go blind, the