Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Battle with Tu Mian — Part 2

Beating Tu Mian was not merely something Tu Cong Wen lacked confidence in. He knew he would lose.

Yet in the ancestral hall, Guest Elder Zhao had quietly passed him a message: no matter what, he had to fight Tu Mian.

Even without her urging, Tu Cong Wen would have stepped onto the platform. The Zuo Tu line had come in force. How could he let the family head face them alone?

If his death could settle today’s matter, then let his blood stain the dueling platform and block the road for those who would seize his home.

Tu Mian saw the resolve in his eyes and nearly laughed. So you want to die and smear me with the name of kin-slayer? Fine. Death is easy. I’ll show you what it means to live wishing you were dead.

Both youths held banners.

The Tu Family was known for banner arts: white banners for support, black banners for battle. Each of them carried a black banner, but Tu Mian’s had a handle of glossy bone, far more radiant with spiritual light than Tu Cong Wen’s black-jade shaft.

Tu Mian struck first. He lifted a hand and sent a repelling spell crashing into Tu Cong Wen’s right ribs, forcing him back three steps.

Then he surged in, fighting at close range. Fists and legs hammered down until Tu Cong Wen could barely raise an arm to resist. Blood streamed from his ears, nose, and mouth.

Tu Cong Wen had known there was a gap between them—he hadn’t known it was this vast. He couldn’t even react before the next blow came straight for his face.

Those of the main family watching couldn’t help but feel sickened and pained at the sight. But unless the duelist himself called a halt, no one could concede defeat on Tu Cong Wen’s behalf.

“This is going too far,” Tu Cun Chan snarled below, eyes bloodshot.

Tu Mian did not use banner arts at all. He fought with his bare body, as though a mortal had thrown aside a weapon to kill with empty hands. It was a brazen display of strength—and a deliberate humiliation.

Even if Tu Cong Wen survived, this would scar his Dao heart. Unless he could claw his way out by his own will, he would almost certainly be unable to advance again.

Zhao Chun watched the exchange, her certainty hardening with every strike. When Tu Mian’s heavy punch was about to smash into Tu Cong Wen’s face, she drew the Crimson Edge Dagger, kicked off the ground, and shot up onto the platform.

She brought the blade down in a clean, violent slash aimed at Tu Mian.

No one expected her to intervene. The entire crowd fell into stunned silence.

Tu Mian’s eyes widened. He twisted away and retreated in a flash, ripping distance between them. The speed of his withdrawal was far beyond what a third-level Qi Refining Stage cultivator should have been capable of.

“Guest Elder Zhao!” he barked. “What are you doing?”

Zhao Chun didn’t answer. She drove her footwork and pressed him relentlessly, the Crimson Edge Dagger carving through the air as she attacked again and again.

The Zuo Tu side snapped into motion, shouting that the main family’s guest elder did not know the rules and had disrupted the fairness of the duel. Tu Cun Chan, however, stared as if struck by lightning, muttering under his breath, “So that’s it… so that’s it…”

Tu Mian dodged left and right, forced into an awkward scramble. When Zhao Chun slashed again, he raised a hand and swatted aside her blade light.

“Enough,” he said, eyes dark with malice. “You saw through it. I underestimated you.”

“You thought you were flawless,” Zhao Chun replied coldly, blade still poised. “In truth, your seams are everywhere.”

She advanced step by step, her voice low but sharp. “You are Tu Cun Zhi’s grandson, yet he shows you no warmth—only fear.

“You’re a disciple of the Tu Family, yet you fought barehanded. The insult was the surface. The true aim was to hide the fact that you cannot use banner arts, wasn’t it?”

Her questions came like hammer blows. “Why won’t you use banner arts against me now?”

“Why can someone at the third level of the Qi Refining Stage block my blade?”

“Why are you so desperate to inherit as family head?”

“Say it,” Zhao Chun hissed. “Do you dare?”

She tilted her head, gaze cutting. “That repelling spell—how long have you practiced it? It looked like something a child just entering the path would throw: all shape, no substance.”

“Then I’ll kill you!”

Tu Mian finally snapped. He lunged, hands clawing out to seize Zhao Chun’s throat.

Zhao Chun had been ready. With Serpent-Form Step, she vanished from his grasp and reappeared five paces away.

Tu Mian didn’t stop. Two crimson centipedes slid from his sleeves and swelled to the size of civets, rushing at her with murderous intent.

“Male and female centipede gu!” Tu Cun Chan roared, face twisted with fury. “You truly are of the Ren Yang Sect!”

Zhao Chun might not have recognized them, but Tu Cun Chan did. He whipped his head toward the seats. “Tu Cun Zhi! What audacity—to betray the main sect and try to hand the Tu Family to outsiders!”

Caught and exposed, Tu Cun Zhi lurched to his feet in frantic rage, moving to strike at Tu Cun Chan.

He never made it.

A small blade—no longer than an inch—whistled in from afar and severed Tu Cun Zhi’s head in a single cut. Blood sprayed upward in a scarlet arc.

“The traitor is dead!” Zhao Chun shouted. “Family Head Tu—cleanse your house. The rest is yours!”

She couldn’t afford to spare even a breath more. Tu Mian was not merely at the third level—he was a fifth-level Qi Refining Stage cultivator, and with two gu at his command, she found even defending herself a brutal strain.