Chapter 2505: Burning the Tower (18)

Xu Tong snatched up the short knife from the ground and dropped into a fighting crouch. Legs bent, feet shoulder-width apart, he settled into a modified boxing stance. His left hand floated in front as a shield while his right gripped the blade in a standard hold, tucked against his waist where his chest and forward arm concealed its killing intent. He drew his torso inward and advanced without hesitation.

This contradicted what martial arts instructors always taught—never lead with the knife hand within striking distance, lest a single blow disarm you and end any hope of victory. But a wasp only extends its sting when fighting for its life. Close-quarters knife work often ends in seconds. In battle, resolve matters more than technique. Mindset determines who lives and who dies. When steel flashes, instinct screams to flee and hide. Only warriors who can stare down blood and embrace pain maintain the will to fight through to the end. They neither yield nor retreat. Facing danger, they answer with fury.

An old hand, Xu Tong thought warily. That stance held no wasted flourish.

The two men circled like fighting cocks, each measuring the other. Neither would carelessly enter the opponent's reach. They probed with feints, launched futile strikes, testing and retreating. After a tense stalemate, the big man suddenly lunged forward, his knife hand shooting out in a probing thrust.

Xu Tong held his ground, rhythm unbroken. His sense of distance told him it was a feint—just outside killing range. Had he misjudged and flinched, the moment his opponent retracted, Xu Tong would have committed to a counter: stepping in hard, arm extended, body leaning forward to bridge the gap. Such overreach could destroy his balance, shatter his defensive posture. And once exposed, the enemy would close and drive the blade home again and again, deciding victory in a single breath.

After another frozen moment, Xu Tong exploded forward, plunging into striking distance. He bobbed and weaved, driving hard for the man's right flank. The sudden advance startled his opponent. The big man's body twisted rightward on instinct, his knife stabbing out reflexively. Xu Tong flowed with it—swayed right, feinted left, then cut the opposite direction like a basketball player breaking past a defender, slicing into the dead angle on his enemy's left.

I've won. The thought blazed through him.

Seizing the left was the decisive move in knife fighting. With the opponent's left hand extended for defense and his knife hand cocked at the waist, his left flank stood exposed. Whoever captured that position seized control.

Xu Tong's left hand shot toward the man's eyes, fingers hooked like claws. At such close range, his opponent couldn't help but flinch—eyes squeezing shut, head jerking back, left hand dropping to shield his ribs. In that instant, Xu Tong's striking palm reversed into a grab, clamping onto the man's left sleeve at the elbow. He wrenched and twisted, hauling his enemy's body around to expose his entire left side: kidney, lung, heart—all vulnerable.

Xu Tong clung to his last shred of control. As he drove the knife forward, he flipped his grip at the final moment, reversing it so the four-edged metal striker on the pommel led. He hammered it into his opponent's kidney, then his lung—no pause, no mercy, blow after blow without stopping.

The man screamed, voice breaking as the air was beaten from his lungs. But pain alone couldn't kill his fighting instinct. Even as the strikes landed, he struggled to turn, to break free. Xu Tong's grip on the sleeve held iron-fast, dragging the man's body with him. When he'd worked around to his opponent's back, he brought the knife pommel crashing down on the exposed spine.

The big man crumpled. The knife flew from his hand. He stumbled forward several steps, clutching the back of his neck.

Xu Tong hurled his own blade aside almost simultaneously. Then he unleashed his fists.

They fell like hammers. Blood sprayed in crimson bursts, each impact drawing fresh flowers of red in the air. Xu Tong poured out every ounce of terror he'd swallowed while dancing on death's edge. The big man swayed like a broken puppet, lurching left, toppling right, utterly helpless. Xu Tong's upper body coiled tight, every muscle loading with explosive force. He held for a frozen instant—then erupted. A savage uppercut detonated against the man's jaw. Bone shattered with an audible crack. The big man's body lifted off the ground, feet dangling inches in the air, consciousness already fled. He hung suspended at a forty-five-degree angle for a heartbeat, stiff as timber, then crashed down and lay still.

Xu Tong stood bare-chested, his skin caked with incense ash. Rivulets of sweat and blood traced strange patterns down his torso, mottling him like a Rakshasa risen from hell. The surrounding noise had vanished. Only the wind remained, rustling through the leaves.

He raised his eyes slowly. They burned with killing light. He swept his gaze across the silent crowd and asked, his voice low and ragged: "Who else?"

The field held its breath. Even time seemed to congeal. Xu Tong waited, motionless. Every eye fixed on him—some approving, some doubtful, some cold, some seething with hatred. Many stood frozen, struggling to process what had just happened, weighing their reactions against their allegiances.

A sheen of sweat broke out on Li Baiqing's forehead. His mouth twitched. Someone needed to speak for Xu Tong. Men who lived by the blade valued capability and rules. Endless jungle law led only to mutual destruction; only limited codes of conduct allowed coexistence. Someone had to set the tone, give Xue Tu an excuse to let this slide. Otherwise, the old man might ride the momentum and eliminate Xu Tong entirely.

Even as the assassin was falling, Li Baiqing had grabbed the sleeve of a Mutual Defense Association clansman beside him and whispered urgently. The man blinked, hesitated, glanced at Li Baiqing—then looked away.

The silence stretched.

Then a rough voice bellowed from the edge of the field: "Ganging up on one man—where's the honor in that?"

It was Li Baiqing's clansman. The words hit like a stone hurled into still water, sending ripples crashing outward. The crowd erupted. Most joined the chorus: "A true man!" "Real hero!" "Incredible skill!" But other voices cut through: "He slaughtered fellow members—execute him under family law!" "Kenshiro, you and I have blood between us!"

Xu Tong hurled his short knife to the ground. The blade bit into the soil with a soft thunk. Without a word, he strode toward Xue Tu. Several knife-wielding guards immediately rushed forward, forming a protective wall around their leader. Xue Tu made no move to stop them. He only narrowed his eyes and watched Xu Tong approach in silence.

Xu Tong halted several paces away. He dropped to one knee with a heavy thud, cupped his hands, and called out in a ringing voice:

"Brothers of every family bear witness. I, Li, signed a life-and-death covenant to fight Sun Gang. Out of respect for fellowship among members, I had no wish to cause serious harm. Yet Sun Gang's master and disciples twice tried to murder me before all your eyes. I acted only in self-defense, and in doing so, I may have exceeded proper bounds. Since ancient times, without righteousness one cannot win hearts; without fairness one cannot govern great affairs. My conduct has been upright. How each man has acted, every brother here has seen. Justice lies in the hearts of all present. I humbly ask the Marshal and Witness Senior Brother Ge to render fair judgment."

He swept his cupped hands in a slow arc, acknowledging all four directions.

Xue Tu waved away his guards. He did not address Xu Tong's plea. Instead, he said slowly: "Brother Li. Raise your head."

Xu Tong looked up, careful not to trigger any sensitive nerve in the man before him. He studied Xue Tu's expression intently.

At this moment, his life—and the success or failure of his entire mission—hung on the whim of this "monkey in a hat." To call Xue Tu a short-sighted country bumpkin would be no exaggeration. But his cunning and viciousness ran deep, making him impossible to predict.

Xue Tu's lips pressed into a thin line. His right index finger tapped unconsciously against the armrest of his round-backed chair—a tell that signaled pressure and uncertainty. Xu Tong knew he was the cause. His actions had disrupted Xue Tu's carefully laid plans, throwing everything into chaos. Events were spiraling beyond anyone's control.

Xue Tu was calculating. To hold a group together, the first priority was preventing fractures. He wavered on how to handle Xu Tong. The guards glanced between the two men, but Xue Tu remained silent, refusing to commit.

Xu Tong held his gaze steady. The power imbalance between them was obvious. Confrontation would only deepen his danger. Submission—giving the man what he wanted—might soothe that volatile temper.

Xue Tu spoke suddenly: "Li Jian. Look at me. Are you truly a spy for the Kun rebels?"

The accusation came without warning, blunt and jarring. Xue Tu fixed Xu Tong with a challenging stare. Though he knew nothing of formal psychology, years of jianghu experience had taught him that guilt and fear destabilized a man's composure. When blindsided by such questions, the guilty showed it: facial stiffness, darting eyes, avoidance, rapid blinking.

Xu Tong met his gaze without flinching. His face remained relaxed, natural. His eyes held only the frank humility of one submitting to greater strength. That satisfied some small part of Xue Tu's vanity.

"Marshal," Xu Tong answered carefully, "I came to Guangzhou Prefecture only to escape trouble elsewhere. When I arrived, I didn't even know what 'Kun rebels' meant—how could I possibly spy for them? My background is an open book. If the Marshal has doubts, I will gladly submit my identification card. I hold a number in the Green Dragon Society. Send any brother to Jiangnan to verify, and the truth will be plain. Since arriving in Guangzhou Prefecture, I happened to encounter the Kun rebellion—"

Xue Tu stroked his beard slowly, eyes narrowing to slits. A long moment passed.

Then he rose abruptly from his chair, let out a booming laugh, and stepped forward to help Xu Tong to his feet.

"What nonsense is this, Brother Li? How could I, Xue, ever doubt you? That was merely a small jest. Sun Gang failed to cultivate virtue—how could anyone blame you for his fate?"

(End of Chapter)