Chapter Twenty-Seven: Protecting Oneself, Guarding the Path

The bandits huddled together in a confused mass, most of their attention fixed on the villagers ahead and the fierce battle raging not far off, scarcely aware of Chen Yu pressed against their rear right flank.

A muffled cry abruptly silenced, he released his grip from the man's neck, having twisted the bones, and moved swiftly to another. His club, wielded according to the martial techniques recorded in the Cloud Crane manual, struck out. At first, his movements were a touch clumsy, but with each blow landing on the bandits’ heads and shoulders, he grew ever more adept, mastering the timing and force with increasing ease.

These men were no more than a ragtag mob, and Chen Yu treated them as moving targets, striking again and again, occasionally adjusting his strength to test blocking and countering techniques. The disparity was too great; these bandits, already exhausted from earlier exertions, were dispatched with only a couple of moves, collapsing softly to the ground, lifeless.

Though the commotion was not overwhelming, the numbers dwindled steadily. Chen Yu subdued and broke the necks of those on the outskirts one by one; a few suffered crushed skulls. Before long, others noticed something amiss.

The bandits surged furiously toward the unexpected intruder!

With a crack, Chen Yu tossed aside a limp corpse, stepped forward, and his short club crashed down with tremendous force, splitting the air and striking a man. Bolstered by internal energy and nourished by spiritual elixir, his strength was formidable; the blow reduced half the man’s body to a limp heap, who quickly expired.

He glanced at the two still locked in combat in the field, the burly bandit chief pinned by the swordsman in azure, unable to break free. Even if he noticed the changing tide at the village entrance, he could not lend aid in time. The swordsman’s unhurried posture suggested he had yet to realize what was unfolding at the village gate.

Truth be told, neither Liu Bao, the burly chief, nor the young swordsman in azure noticed—both were experts of the internal energy realm, engrossed in a life-and-death struggle, with no attention to spare for the chaos dozens of paces away.

At the edge of Ma Family Village, the melee continued.

Thud!

A fist shot out, slanted and swift, bending the jaw of the bandit before him; blood and teeth sprayed, eyes rolling white with pain.

Chen Yu seized the ragged shirt of another nearby, transformed fist to palm, pressed it to the man’s chest, and sprang into the air, single arm supporting his body several feet above the ground. The next instant, his legs kicked out like a storm, thunderous and swift, sweeping over the bandits who rushed at him.

In a flash, four or five men were sent flying, raising clouds of dust.

Landing, Chen Yu’s left hand became a palm again, striking with a surge of force that knocked down the man clinging to his clothes.

It was indeed easy; by the time most bandits realized what was happening, their comrades were already groaning on the ground or dead.

The villagers, incensed, saw that a young swordsman had joined the fray and raised their clubs and pitchforks, striking at the remaining bandits.

The battle shifted instantly.

Chen Yu leaped from the circle, weaving through the chaos, intervening whenever a bandit made a desperate stand or a villager fell into danger.

His short club flew, striking a bandit’s chest and sending blood spraying. He stepped forward, arm sweeping with force that seemed to gather mountains and seas, crushing another man’s chest.

Lifting and exerting force, he squeezed the man’s bones until they burst, skin turning purple and swelling rapidly.

After the fight, Chen Yu not only felt no discomfort, but grew fiercer, nearly every move lethal.

Only then did he realize why the old Daoist repeatedly warned against confusing training with combat techniques. He had thought that cultivating the Dao meant nurturing body and mind, that whether training or fighting, it was simply for health. But now he saw the former truly cultivated the body, while the latter was meant for killing and self-defense. Training alone was useless; combat was essential.

Yet this did not mean actively seeking slaughter—quite the opposite. It was for protecting the Dao, acting as circumstances demanded.

Thus, in today’s Daoist schools, martial arts are called the “arts of protecting the Dao.”

What are the arts of protecting the Dao? When someone blocks your pursuit of the Way, you use these methods to resist and remove obstacles.

Did these bandits block his path?

Chen Yu quickly concluded: they did!

To live in this world is to seek a clear conscience—a principle especially valued in the Pure Bright sect. If he saw wrongdoing and turned away, letting the bandits rampage, his heart would not rest, his spirit unsettled.

His mind calm, his hands never paused.

Now, some bandits, realizing Chen Yu’s martial skill far exceeded theirs, seeing their comrades fallen, began to waver. Most were swept along by circumstance, useful when the tide favored them, but now, with the tide reversed, thoughts of fleeing took hold.

Others, quick-witted, saw this was no foe they could defeat and began calling out loudly to their chief, Liu Bao, who was still locked in battle in the field.

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“Sir!”

“Help, sir!”

“There’s a warrior here too!”

Several shouted as they retreated.

Villagers stepped over shattered fences and corpses, eyes blazing as they surrounded the remaining bandits.

Their expressions were terrifying, as if ready to devour their enemies.

Some women lay prostrate on the ground, clutching rough-clad bodies, wailing in grief, cries tearing through their lungs.

Villagers wore faces of sorrow.

The two swordsmen had only just arrived when these accursed bandits burst from the woods; many villagers were cut down during the melee, blood staining the village gate.

In the distance, the two combatants clashed repeatedly.

Liu Bao heard the shouts—indeed, he’d sensed trouble behind him for some time—but the swordsman in azure knew he could not let him escape, fighting fiercely, sword flashing, bodies dancing and shadows crossing.

At the village gate, Chen Yu watched coldly.

“Such deep evil—deserving death!”

Without waiting for their chief’s return, he darted forward, leaping half a yard with a kick, both hands spread in midair, ten fingers poised like daggers, the last reserves of internal energy surging in his palms, drawing a mournful sound, as if the wind itself wept.

Bang!

His palm struck, missing the spikes of the wolf-tooth club by a hair’s breadth, landing squarely on the gaunt, terrified face before him.

Like a mountain collapsing, like earth splitting, a dull sound echoed as the nose broke into powder, blood gushing.

The force sent the head crashing to the ground, scattering earth and dust. Body flopped, struggled, then slowly stilled.

Palm red with blood, Chen Yu barely paused. Behind him, a gust of wind whistled, a cold weapon poised to strike. He turned, eyes flashing, his aura so fierce the attacker stumbled back.

Mercilessly, he struck with a fist and sent the man tumbling.

As the slaughter raged, the battle in the fields began to resolve.

Clang!

Long blade swept the sword, sparks flying. Liu Bao, older by many years, hardened by countless battles, was shameless enough to use any trick.

Seizing a moment of mutual exhaustion, he shook his sleeve, tossing out a handful of grayish powder!

Not poison—just ashes dug from a kitchen hearth after the massacre.

Thrown in the swordsman’s face, obscuring vision. Though he’d been wary, he hadn’t expected the other to be even more shameless, using such tricks in a duel of internal energy.

Another blade swung, whistling through the air. The swordsman barely dodged, but it was only a feint—Liu Bao’s thick, bear-like hands struck his ribs with force!

Crack! Bones split.

Hiss—

Seeing his opponent only draw a sharp breath and retreat calmly, Liu Bao realized killing him would take longer than hoped, so he withdrew as well, striding toward the village gate.

There, Chen Yu had just finished kicking down the last bandit, sparing his life but breaking a leg to leave an interrogatable captive.

Not a bloody amputation, but a bone-twisting technique.

He considered himself not so bloodthirsty; apart from hands and feet, his clothes bore little blood.

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“Well, you’ve returned.”

Liu Bao charged forward, Chen Yu ready.

Had this been the beginning, facing such a ruthless fighter, he would have stood no chance. Even now, after using countless bandits as practice and mastering Cloud Crane’s killing moves, he was no true match for Liu Bao.

Chen Yu knew this well.

But now, look at the burly man—his armor shredded by the swordsman’s blade, arms, abdomen, and back scored with blood, wounds clearly severe. Especially around his lower belly, a bruised, blood-soaked lump made the injury obvious.

Of course, the swordsman in azure was no better, crouching to catch his breath, hoping to lend a hand.

Facing a cornered foe, Chen Yu remained vigilant but was no longer unsure.

He could fight, and if he lost, his footwork would let him escape easily.

With that assurance, there was nothing more to say.

Swapping for a wolf-tooth club, Chen Yu gathered internal energy and strode forward to meet his adversary.

Another fierce bout ensued. Though his force was not as great as the two others, the spiritual elixir he drank before battle was working, speeding recovery of muscles and bones, so after some rest he was halfway restored.

Unlike the other two, still struggling to recover.

Yet things took an unexpected turn. Liu Bao, the burly chief, seemed to realize the handsome young man before him was not to be trifled with, and decided to skirt around him, striding toward the nag.

“Brother! Don’t let that villain escape!”

From afar, the swordsman drew his sword, disregarding his depleted energy, and rushed over.

Chen Yu had no intention of letting him flee either—who knew if a stronger enemy might come seeking vengeance? Better to finish it cleanly.

Quickening his step, he covered ground swiftly, twirling the wolf-tooth club and hurling it at Liu Bao as he mounted the horse.

Liu Bao dodged, but the delay allowed Chen Yu to catch up. He grabbed the man’s leg, yanking him down, and with his other hand struck the horse’s head with all his might.

The nag screamed, staggered, and finally fell.

Thud, thud!

Chen Yu pressed his advantage, landing two heavy blows on Liu Bao’s chest, dazing him and scattering his energy, leaving him unable to rise.

A flurry of blows left Liu Bao’s face bruised and swollen.

“Brother, don’t kill him!”

A voice stopped Chen Yu’s flailing fists. Turning, he saw the swordsman in azure limping over, sword in hand.

He smiled warmly despite his battered clothes, still radiating the demeanor of a refined gentleman.

A true hero of the righteous path.

Chen Yu nodded and rose, bowing in Daoist salute.

The swordsman paused, surprised by the gesture.

“Brother… cough, may I ask which immortal abode the Daoist hails from?”

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