Slap of shame

The intensity in Feng Qingyang's eyes was palpable, and Song Qingshu, despite sensing the danger, found himself more intrigued than frightened. He yearned for the challenge that lay before him.

With a fluid motion of his left hand followed by a forceful strike from his right palm, Song Qingshu propelled himself towards Feng Qingyang, unleashing the mighty "Kanglong Regrets" technique from the eighteen palms of Jianglong.

Observing his opponent's distance and the deceptive nature of his previous maneuvers, Feng Qingyang decided to remain steadfast in the face of any change. Silently, he channeled his innate sword energy into his fingertips.

Before his previous move could even fade into memory, Song Qingshu swiftly drew another circle with his left hand, seamlessly transitioning into yet another palm strike with his right. Once again, the resounding echoes of "Kanglong Regrets" reverberated through the air.

The combined force of both palms surged forward like an unstoppable tidal wave, akin to an invisible barrier of air crashing into the serene breeze.

Feng Qingyang felt his breath grow labored, prompting him to hastily employ his sword technique, meeting the incoming onslaught head-on.

Exploiting the momentum generated by his initial strike, Song Qingshu vaulted into the air, seamlessly blending the "Flying Dragon Soars in the Sky" from the eighteen palms of the dragon with the third palm of "Kanglong Regrets." The gusts howled with an indomitable might.

Finally, Feng Qingyang's demeanor shifted. He had underestimated Song Qingshu's strength all along. The innate sword aura of his right hand had proved sufficient to shatter the first two palms. Yet, to his astonishment, Song Qingshu managed to unleash the third palm in the blink of an eye. The combined power of his palms intensified exponentially, overwhelming Feng Qingyang's initial defense. Helplessly, he had no choice but to dodge, retreating several feet away.

Feng Qingyang's expression betrayed a hint of embarrassment. After all, it had been countless years since he had been compelled to wield his sword defensively against an adversary. And now, that opponent happened to be a mere junior, Song Qingshu. "Jianglong Sandielang! Are you Qidan Xiaofeng?" he inquired.

"If King Xiao were here, Feng Lao would not have enjoyed such leisure while facing me," Song Qingshu replied with a touch of irony. Privately, he marveled at his own stroke of luck. He possessed a deep understanding of the principles behind the Dragon Eighteen Palms and the exceptional techniques of Xiao Feng. With a valiant effort, he had managed to execute them flawlessly. However, there still existed a significant disparity between the raw power, angle, and timing of his strikes, which necessitated employing the "Flying Dragon Soars in the Sky" to deliver the final blow.

"Who are you, really? You possess the authentic martial arts of Wudang Xuanmen and Emei's wicked techniques of Jiuyin and White Bone Claws. Among the entire Beggar's Sect, only Xiao Feng and Guo Jing could pose a challenge to you. The other elders pale in comparison," Feng Qingyang astutely remarked, his keen eyesight allowing him to discern Song Qingshu's martial prowess.

"You can refer to me as Doggie," Song Qingshu glanced back at the stunned Mu Wan, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. But deep down, a sense of unease gnawed at him. He couldn't shake off the guilt of his actions towards Zhou Zhiruo. If she were to arrive at his doorstep upon hearing the news, he had no clue how to handle the situation.

"The exchange is over. If you're not willing to speak, then stay silent," Feng Qingyang's anger simmered, his fingers gripping the sword technique as he launched an attack.

The sword's blinding speed left Song Qingshu in awe, and in a desperate rush, he resorted to the agile technique of the snake-like turning raccoon, rolling along the ground to evade Feng Qingyang's fierce blade.

However, the first opportunity had slipped away. Feng Qingyang's sword energy surged relentlessly, one strike following another, leaving Song Qingshu with no choice but to evade, devoid of any chance to retaliate. Moreover, his opponent intentionally narrowed the gaps in their movements.

Song Qingshu realized that if this continued, he wouldn't last ten exchanges before suffering defeat. Yet, he hesitated to resort to the eighteen palms of Jianglong as an immediate counterattack. Through the previous test, he had discerned the overwhelming strength of Feng Qingyang's sword energy. Having already suffered a setback, coupled with the disruptive style of Dugu Nine Sword, regardless of the palm's power, it would crumble like paper.

With equal force, the surface area of impact from a palm strike was much larger than the pinpointed innate sword energy of the opponent's fingertips. Damn the laws of physics! Song Qingshu inwardly cursed, realizing that the other party had seized his face with a pinpoint strike, rendering his palms utterly suppressed.

Casting a quick glance at the opening, Song Qingshu surged his inner energy, propelling the wooden sword behind him into his right hand. With a few swift slashes, he initiated a counterattack.

Feng Qingyang had long taken notice of the wooden sword, assuming it to be a mere decoration. Little did he expect that Song Qingshu had achieved a state of swordlessness at such a young age, even exhibiting a faint layer of Sword Qi on the wooden sword's surface. The sword techniques he employed were identical to those engraved on the wall, yet executed with an unconventional approach. Several ordinary Wu Sacred sword techniques were interwoven, each move executed with unwavering strength, implying countless variations, waiting for Feng Qingyang's response to change at any moment.

Stepping back, Feng Qingyang retreated a few feet, employing the Seven Stars footwork. While Song Qingshu's initial three moves had been astonishing, they paled in comparison to the current display. In disbelief, Feng Qingyang questioned, "With just a few glances, you understood the intricacies of these sword techniques on the wall?"

Song Qingshu's expression turned slightly bashful as he shyly replied, "It seems... so."

Feng Qingyang nearly spat out a mouthful of old blood upon hearing his response. He, a legendary swordsman who had honed his skills for decades, able to traverse the world with a sword at the tender age of thirty, was dumbfounded. Glancing at the engravings on the wall and seamlessly integrating the sword intent—how could this young man, who had barely practiced the sword for three years, achieve such parity solely through his realm? Feng Qingyang couldn't help but feel astounded.

"Be it a farce or a genuine display, one must experience it firsthand to truly understand," Feng Qingyang's disbelief persisted, leading him to resolve to give it his all.

Song Qingshu quickly regained his focus, channeling his luck into the wooden sword as he prepared to face the forthcoming clash.

The cave crackled with the clash of sword energy, as Feng Qingyang relentlessly attacked while Song Qingshu found himself constantly on the defensive. Though Song Qingshu often found himself in precarious situations, he maneuvered like a boat in a tempest, skillfully guarding his position. His ordinary Five Sacred Mountains swordsmanship stood undefeated against Feng Qingyang's formidable Dugu Nine Swords, occasionally launching counterattacks that forced Feng Qingyang to shift his focus to defense. If word of this duel spread throughout the martial world, it would undoubtedly cause a sensation.

Yet, Song Qingshu harbored a bitter self-awareness. While he could hold his ground against Feng Qingyang for a hundred exchanges, he knew that the moment Feng Qingyang ceased holding back and allowed his sword aura to penetrate, it would spell certain death for him.

Despite this knowledge, Song Qingshu remained willing to engage, resorting to a peculiar sword technique and bellowing, "Witness my move—Ten Thousand Swords Return to the Clan!"

Feng Qingyang was taken aback. This young man had continuously surprised him. He genuinely feared losing Jingzhou and sustaining injuries from Song Qingshu's unconventional maneuvers. He tightened his grip on the sword, poised to react.

Seizing the opportunity, Song Qingshu didn't hesitate. He unleashed the full potential of his agile footwork, propelled by Tasha Wuhen's lightness skill, and scooped up the bewildered Mu Wanqing. "Quickly!" he urged, as they streaked out of the cave like a shooting star.

Feng Qingyang was dumbfounded, his fury mounting. He swiftly employed his own lightness skill to give chase, but he had lost the initial advantage. Song Qingshu's body, bolstered by Tasha Wuhen's exceptional lightness skill and burdened by carrying another person, gradually distanced itself from Feng Qingyang.

Realizing that he had finally shaken off his pursuer, Song Qingshu gently set Mu Wanqing down, breathing a sigh of relief. "Lady, it's fortunate that you're agile and light. Otherwise, we wouldn't have escaped," he remarked with gratitude.

Unexpectedly, Mu Wanqing's response was a resounding slap across his face.