Chapter 118: Life for Life

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I couldn't grasp the intricacies—after all, insiders see the nuances while outsiders only watch the spectacle. When I watched Li Qing fight, I could sense his elegance and grace, but Han Kunlun's spear gave me the impression of seamless, relentless precision, each thrust striking directly at vital points, aiming to kill. From the moment he moved, his dance of thrusts, flicks, and stabs flowed fluidly, every move steeped in lethal intent. If it were anyone else, perhaps they could dodge one attack, but escaping the immediate follow-up was impossible.

"As expected, the Storm Pear Blossom Spear technique—like a torrential rainstorm, it comes so fast it allows no respite," muttered the fat man beside me.

When I saw the spear thrust toward my brother just as he landed and hadn’t yet regained his footing, my heart leapt to my throat. My brother had struck many times before, but this was the first time I saw him nearly powerless to retaliate.

In truth, just as my brother steadied himself, the spear’s cold gleam arrived again, aiming straight for his throat.

Then I opened my mouth in shock—my brother, cornered with no way to dodge, actually extended his hand and blocked the spear’s tip.

The middle-aged man in white shouted, “Looking for death!”

He tightened his grip and drove the spear forward faster. I heard the sickening sound of flesh being sliced. The palm my brother used to block was instantly splattered with blood, the spearhead shredding his hand before piercing through his flesh.

His hand only held off the spear’s advance for two seconds, but those two seconds gave my brother just enough time to shift his body. The spear didn’t pierce his throat but grazed the skin on his neck, leaving a bloody gash just below his ear.

I was about to rush over, but the fat man gripped my waist, saying, “Don’t move. One spear from him and you’re down. You going over there will only distract him. Today, Fatty guarantees your brother’s life—even if Sun Zhongmou loses, Fatty will protect him.”

Hearing the fat man’s words, I turned to him and said, “I beg you, Fatty!”

At that moment, I noticed the fat man’s eyes locked intently on the two figures in the arena. To me, my brother was clearly defeated—he hadn’t landed a single blow on Han Kunlun, and now his palm was pierced. How could he still be a match? But when I looked back, I caught my brother’s cold smile.

He was smiling mockingly at Han Kunlun.

The next instant, the usually calm Han Kunlun’s expression changed. Suddenly, he raised his hand to pull back the spear lodged in my brother’s palm.

But it was too late!

Despite being pierced, my brother’s palm still gripped the spear!

Then he took a slight sidestep.

His body began to press forward.

The spear had struck his hand, yet he held the spear firmly. Han Kunlun tugged repeatedly but couldn’t shake him off. As my brother advanced, his hand moved forward along the shaft.

His movement was lightning fast.

In the blink of an eye, he reached the spear’s handle.

The situation on the field changed drastically. Han Kunlun retreated, my brother advanced, but my brother’s speed surpassed Han Kunlun’s.

Finally, Han Kunlun abandoned his spear and began to drift backward.

My brother was relentless. I’d seen this move before—Chen Dongfang called it “sticking to the mountain,” a technique embodying raw power and ferocity. The last time my brother used it was during Li Qing’s provocation.

As Han Kunlun dropped the spear, my brother’s body surged forward, his shoulder ramming into Han Kunlun’s chest.

All this happened within three seconds from the moment I turned to see Han Kunlun’s body shoot forward like a released arrow.

Han Kunlun crashed to the ground. He tried to rise but coughed up blood. My brother withdrew the spear from his palm, now stained red with blood.

My brother tossed the bloodied spear back to Han Kunlun and beckoned him once more. “Still able to fight?”

Han Kunlun propped himself up, picked up the spear, but instead of striking back, he cupped his fist toward my brother. “Defeat is defeat. Han admits his skill is inferior, fully accepting it. But young man, you’re still young—don’t gamble your life recklessly every time; it only harms you.”

“What’s the use of harm when you’ve lost your life?” my brother smiled at him.

“Han Kunlun, enough nonsense! Why don’t you fight?” Liu Lao shouted from the sidelines.

Han Kunlun glanced at Liu Lao and cupped his fist in return. “This brother here spared my life—I have no face to continue. Han Kunlun has lost and will take nothing this time. Liu Lao, until we meet again.”

With that, Han Kunlun bowed to my brother. “Brother, if you ever need anything, come find Han Kunlun in Shandong.”

He picked up his spear, summoned the young man who had held it for him, and turned to leave. After a few steps, he could barely keep standing and nearly collapsed. The young man caught him, helping him away with difficulty. They soon got into a car and vanished in a cloud of dust.

After Han Kunlun left and I witnessed a true duel between masters, silence fell over the scene. None of Tang Renjie’s men dared approach anymore. My brother was stained with blood when he came over and looked at me. “Has the tea gone cold?”

I burst out laughing, wiping away tears that had welled up. “Look at you! I’ll just brew some fresh tea if it’s cold.”

I stepped forward, patted his shoulder, gave him a thumbs-up, and began to prepare the tea. Actually, I still worried about Liu Lao. The last time Tang Renjie set a trap, Liu Lao had witnessed my brother’s skills firsthand. That’s why this time he brought Han Kunlun, an expert. Now that Han Kunlun had lost, and with Liu Lao’s determination to win, there was no way he’d just give up.

Sure enough, just as I lit the stove for the tea, a group from Liu Lao’s side drew their guns. I remembered what Xiao Wang said: orders had come down not to intervene no matter what happened near Fudigou today. This meant the area had effectively become a lawless zone. So it wouldn’t be surprising if Liu Lao actually opened fire.

Just when I feared the three of us would be cut down by bullets, the fat man stepped out and faced Liu Lao. “Are you really going to shoot?”

My brother had said today the fat man would reveal his true identity. Fatty himself claimed that even if my brother lost, he could guarantee his safety. Fatty wasn’t one to speak empty boasts—his confidence likely stemmed from a true identity even Chen Dongfang didn’t know but deeply feared.

“Stop right there!” the black-clad man holding a gun ordered.

Fatty pointed to his own chest. “Go ahead, shoot here—shoot at Fatty.”

With that, he began walking toward Liu Lao.

Then a gunshot rang out, loud but the bullet struck the ground at Fatty’s feet. Liu Lao stared at Fatty. “Are you really looking for death?”

“Is that so?” Fatty sneered. Then he pulled something from his pocket and tossed it to Liu Lao. Liu Lao’s men thought it was a hidden weapon and caught it instinctively.

I saw it was a bronze-looking badge shaped like a dragon’s head. It reminded me of the imperial token—back in ancient times, such a token meant one was an emissary of the emperor. Though there was no emperor now, nor the supreme leader, such a token was out of fashion.

“Liu, do you recognize this?” Fatty asked coldly, standing his ground.

Liu Lao glanced at the token, his expression shifting oddly. Then he reached out and took a phone from one of his men. He scanned the token, seemingly sending an image to someone, then made a quick phone call. After a brief conversation, he hung up, his face darkening. He looked at Fatty silently, saying nothing.

Fatty stared back. “Confirmed? If confirmed, why not return it to Fatty?”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Tang Renjie shouted, pointing at Fatty.

Liu Lao grabbed a water cup and smashed it onto Tang Renjie, cursing, “Get lost! Is this who you’ve dragged us into? You think you can control them?”

Then he signaled his men. “Give it back!”

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