This knife was fast, very straight, without any flair—just the simplest thrust. But precisely because it was simple, it was hard to defend against.
A senior in the jianghu once said: No martial art in the world is indestructible—only speed is unbreakable.
The knife tip pierced the air, emitting a faint hiss.
Nanxi used his crutch to block.
The wooden crutch collided with the steel knife, producing a muffled sound; a deep gash was chopped into the crutch, wood chips flying.
By common sense, the crutch should have been severed long ago, but fortunately, when the young man clashed with the steel knife, he had dissipated the force—thus not losing this crutch he had whittled for so long.
Nanxi borrowed the collision’s force to retreat half a step; the crutch then swept horizontally, striking toward Liu Qi’s waist.
Liu Qi retracted her knife to defend, holding the blade vertically at her side to block the sweep.
But she didn’t expect Nanxi’s sweep to be a feint; the crutch retracted the moment it touched the blade, then thrust forward like a venomous snake spitting its tongue, straight at her Shanzhong acupoint on her chest.
“Good!”
Liu Qi praised, sidestepping to avoid; her long knife flicked back, slashing toward Nanxi’s wrist.
The two thus fought on the beach.
Liu Qi’s knife techniques were indeed fierce—each strike went straight for vitals, angles tricky, speed extremely fast.
But Nanxi’s sword techniques were even more exquisite.
The Dao sect’s sword techniques emphasized circular fluidity, overcoming hardness with softness.
With his leg inconvenient, he minimized movement, mainly using small-scale dodges and blocks in place, counterattacking when spotting openings.
After over thirty moves, Liu Qi gradually grew irritable.
She found she couldn’t gain an advantage in techniques.
This kid’s swordsmanship was too superior—clearly with a crippled leg, yet always resolving her attacks with the least effort; his occasional counters even flustered her.
Couldn’t drag this out anymore.
A ruthless glint flashed in Liu Qi’s eyes. She suddenly retracted her knife and retreated two steps, gripping the knife with both hands, raising it overhead; a faint green glow appeared on the blade—that was the sign of infused internal energy.
“Kid, take this knife!”
She shouted loudly; the long knife chopped down.
Not chopping at Nanxi—chopping at the ground.
The knife qi slashed into the beach, exploding sand everywhere. The grains shot toward Nanxi like arrows, mixed with true knife qi; Liu Qi had infused her internal energy into the knife—with this chop, the knife qi spread through the sand dust, covering a three-zhang radius around Nanxi.
The range too large—unavoidable.
Nanxi gritted his teeth, also circulating his internal energy, infusing it into the crutch. He couldn’t dodge—Huang Muzhi was right behind him; he could only hard-block.
The crutch danced into a blur of shadows before him, blocking the incoming grains and knife qi one by one; the ding-ding-dang-dang sounds dense as rain.
Each block added a crack to the crutch; when the sand dust dispersed, the crutch in Nanxi’s hand was covered in fissures, ready to break at any moment.
And his own complexion didn’t look good.
That wave of blocking had consumed a massive amount of his internal energy; more importantly, the internal energy suppressing the dragon blood aphrodisiac poison in his body had weakened because of it.
Nanxi felt that familiar heat rising in his body.
Like countless ants crawling in his veins, or like fire igniting from his dantian, burning him parched and dizzy.
No.
It couldn’t flare up now.
He bit the tip of his tongue, using the pain to keep himself clear-headed.
Liu Qi saw his abnormality and laughed.
“What’s wrong, kid—internal energy failing? Makes sense—with that leg injury, fighting this long, you should be tired.”
She approached slowly with her knife, still muttering.
“Don’t worry—I won’t kill you; you’re too pitifully beautiful. I’ll just break your arms and legs, make you obedient—”
Before the words finished, Nanxi moved.
He knew he couldn’t drag it out anymore; the dragon blood aphrodisiac poison was nearly unsuppressible—if he didn’t use full power now, there’d truly be no chance.
He tossed aside the nearly shattered crutch.
Internal energy concentrated at his sword finger tips; cold qi condensed there.
If the earlier Nanxi was like a deep pool—calm but profound—now he was like an iceberg fully revealed, chilling one to the bone.
Seeing the mountain-like internal energy assault, Liu Qi’s face changed drastically.
But Nanxi gave her no chance to speak.
The sword fingers had already thrust over—fast to the point of unreactable.
No sound; even eyes couldn’t see clearly.
But Liu Qi felt a cold airflow rushing at her face; she instinctively raised her knife to block—the blade only halfway up when that airflow arrived.
She heard the sound of her arm bones shattering, then her chest, then her whole body.
She was like being smashed by an invisible giant hammer—her whole person flew back, crashing onto the beach ten zhang away; the long knife left her hand, stuck in the sand.
She struggled to get up, but countless bones in her body were broken—slight movement sprayed a mouthful of blood.
She raised her head, looking at the distant Nanxi; her eyes full of terror.
“Innate…… you’re innate……”
The words unfinished, her head lolled, breath gone.
The remaining pirates were stunned.
They looked at the fallen leader, then at Nanxi standing there, exuding terrifying aura.
Someone shouted first: “Run!”
The dozen or so scattered in a panic—not even wanting the ship—desperately running into the sea, swimming toward another ship waiting afar.
Nanxi didn’t pursue.
He couldn’t pursue, nor could he.
The moment Liu Qi fell, he could no longer suppress the aphrodisiac poison in his body; that heat erupted like a volcano, instantly sweeping his whole body.
His vision blackened, legs went soft; with a plop, he knelt on the beach.
“Young master!”
Huang Muzhi rushed over to support him.
Nanxi wanted to say something, but his throat felt blocked by fire—not a word out.
He felt his consciousness blurring bit by bit; his body growing hotter and hotter—hot enough to want to rip off his clothes and jump into the sea.
Huang Muzhi looked at him at a loss.
She saw Nanxi’s face abnormally flushed, eyes misty with water, breathing rapid, forehead full of sweat. His hands were scalding—frighteningly hot.
“Young master, what’s wrong? Don’t scare me……”
Nanxi barely opened his eyes, looking at Huang Muzhi’s anxious face; with his last strength, he said.
“Don’t touch me…… stay away from me……”
Then he knew nothing.
Huang Muzhi held the unconscious Nanxi, sitting on the beach; the pirates’ ship had fled far.
The village survivors began coming out gradually—some crying, some cursing, some collecting relatives’ bodies.
But Huang Muzhi heard nothing.
She looked at the person in her arms.
Nanxi was unconscious, brows tightly furrowed, face with abnormal flush; his white shirt soaked with blood and sweat, clinging to his body, outlining the young man’s slender yet firm lines.
Silver hair scattered on the beach, sparkling with fine light under the sun.
Huang Muzhi’s hands trembled.
She recalled Nanxi’s manner when killing—so calm, so efficient. Recalled his back blocking in front of her—so thin, yet so firm.
Recalled the words he said before collapsing.
Why?
Why not touch?
Huang Muzhi didn’t understand martial arts, didn’t understand internal energy; she only knew now Nanxi was unconscious, body feverish—needing care.
And here, only she could care for him.
She looked at Nanxi’s face—that face beautiful to breathtaking even in unconsciousness.
A certain thought in her heart quietly grew like vines.
If—if he stayed unconscious like this.
If he didn’t wake—then wouldn’t he……
Huang Muzhi was startled by her own thought; she shook her head, wanting to shake it out—but the thought rooted, growing clearer.
She recalled Nanxi’s expression when saying he would leave—so firm, so heartless.
Recalled the sharp pain in her heart when he said “I can’t take you with me.”
Recalled every day of these two months—every morning and dusk, every time he smiled at her, every time he taught her fists, every side profile of him sitting by the door weaving baskets.
She didn’t want to lose these.
Didn’t want to return to those old days—eating alone, sleeping alone, facing the whole village’s disdain and mockery alone.
Huang Muzhi’s hands slowly tightened.
She hugged Nanxi a bit tighter, lowered her head looking at his face—for a long, long time.
Then she made her decision.
She laboriously carried Nanxi on her back, step by step toward the thatched hut. Villagers on the way saw her—all fleeing far; even though the young man on her back saved them.
They wouldn’t be grateful to the young man; they’d only fear this monster who killed like slaughtering chickens.
Huang Muzhi carried Nanxi back to the thatched hut, carefully placing him on the bed; she fetched water, using a cloth to wipe the sweat and blood from his face, then changed him into clean clothes—her own clothes, coarse short shirt; it looked oversized on Nanxi, but at least clean.
After doing these, she sat by the bed, looking at the unconscious Nanxi.
The sky outside gradually darkened.
Cries came from the village; some cleaning up the aftermath—but the thatched hut was quiet, only Nanxi’s rapid breathing.
Huang Muzhi reached out, gently touching Nanxi’s face.
Very hot.
Her fingers retracted like scalded, but after a while, reached out again.
This time she didn’t retract, but slowly, carefully stroked his eyebrows, his eyes, his nose, his lips.
The touch was good.
Better than imagined.
“Young master… sorry.”
“But I really…… really don’t want you to leave.”
She leaned down, gently pressing a kiss on Nanxi’s forehead; then she kissed fiercely—on the young man’s face, neck; the woman followed her heart’s most primal desires.
The young man’s face still carried sickly flush; this time, the young man instinctively hugged the woman kissing him.
The poison ultimately overcame him.
The woman suddenly stood, walked to the door, and bolted it.
Then walked back to the bed, continuing to kiss the young man passionately.
The two kissed like this, until night fully fell, until the room was pitch black—only a bit of moonlight through the window.
The woman only knew kissing; she didn’t know the next step.
But the young man knew.
Moonlight shone on their faces; the young man’s face still exquisitely unreal in slumber. Suddenly, he opened his eyes—gaze dazed.
“…Master…… Little Xi…… can’t take it anymore…… love me quickly ❤️”
The young man began tearing at the woman’s clothes.
The woman looked at this scene; tears suddenly fell.
She knew she was wrong; she knew the one the young man loved wasn’t her.
But she couldn’t stop.
Like a drowning person grabbing driftwood—knowing the wood couldn’t carry her, yet clutching tightly, unwilling to let go.
She wiped her tears, actively tore off her own clothes, reached to encircle his waist, buried her face in his shoulder, following his movements.
Just like this.
She said in her heart.
Just one night.
Just let her pretend—this person belonged to her, this person loved her.
Even if the name he murmured wasn’t hers.
Just this one night.