“So what?” Li Yaonan sneered in despise. “Yes, I’ve lost a hand—but you’ve lost your eyes, maybe losing your life soon.” Wei Yuqing was shocked, a sudden cry tore from his throat as he dropped his sword and clutched at his face. Now he could not stand well.

　　Li Yaonan said. “This kind of poison is especially for destroying eyes. Even without touching, just looking from three inches, you will be hurt your eyes.”

　　Zhang Wentong rushed to hold the faltering Wei Yuqing. Sima Qing and Meng Feiqing also followed them to give a hand. But then Li Yaonan rose to his feet and shouted loudly, “I can fight on!” He could continue the battle, Wei Yuqing failed. Sima Qing gently moved Wei Yuqing’s trembling hand from face. Blood was smeared across his palm and his face. When Meng Feiqing’s fingers brushed lightly against his eyelid, Wei Yuqing could not stop screaming.

　　Sima Qing said. “I see, on the hidden weapon there is the venom of the Luminous Snow Serpent. It is a most potent toxin.”

　　“Is there any hope?” Zhang Wentong asked.

　　Sima Qing exhaled slowly. “As far as I know, no medicine will help. Only one solution we can try, we will use profound inner strength to help him get rid of poison.”

　　Zhang Wentong frowned. “Then we must get a grand master with great inner strength.”

　　Sima Qing nodded. “Exactly. But none of us possess such power to do it.”

　　By then, Duan Zhengyan and the other ones had gathered around. Cui Shiqing, though always having a good appetite, now put down the food; he was always ready to sacrifice for his friends.

　　Clinging to a thread of hope, Duan Zhengyan pressed a palm to Wei Yuqing’s back and began channeling his inner force in an attempt to subdue the toxin. But within moments, he withdrew, shaking his head in defeat.

　　After a brief silence, he turned to Duan Yichang. “Yichang, please take Lord Wei to the Chongsheng Temple as soon as possible. Let your royal uncles take care of him. Go now!”

　　Without any delay, Duan Yichang lifted Wei Yuqing into his arms, called a few attendants going with him and departed in a hurry.

　　While the guys of Western Xia were still warping Li Yaonan’s wound, Zhang Wentong leapt forward. His judge’s brushes pointed across thirteen opponents and he declared, “Show your tricks to me!” One of the female warriors, Li Jinghua stepped forward to him, with nothing in her hands. Zhang Wentong was surprised she bore no weapon.

　　Li Jinghua gave him a charming smile and said, “What a lovely brush! Will you use it to touch me? Which part?” As she spoke, she twirled gracefully, her pink skirts fluttering like petals in the wind.

　　Zhang Wentong instinctively stepped back. He raised the sharp-tipped brush in his left hand before him and held the blunt-tipped one across his chest to guard against a sudden strike. Yet, the lady did not attack him at all. All she had brought forth were two objects—neither of which could be considered weapons: a comb and a mirror.

　　She tilted the mirror and gazed into it, slowly running the comb through her silk-like hair. With each stroke, a faint, enticing fragrance wafted through the air. Fortunately, Zhang Wentong, who is over forty years old, was not so easily swayed. His heart remained still and he also looked serious.

　　Li Jinghua angled the mirror slightly, revealing half of her lovely face. Her smile lovely and said, “Would you like to see yourself in the mirror?” she purred. As she spoke, the mirror began to rotate outward. Every word, every gesture of hers made the muscles in Zhang Wentong’s arms twitch involuntarily. He could not tell where the strike would come from, whether in a movement, or hidden behind her coy voice.

　　But he did not focus on the mirror only. He knew very well that the most eye-catching object was often the least dangerous. True threats hid where one least expected them. Like her comb—it had lingered in her hair for some time now and been hidden behind the mirror. That was where his attention lay—behind the mirror, even though he could not see it.

　　He couldn’t see what lay behind, but he could see the mirror itself. And now, in its surface, he saw a face—his own, aged and stern. The mirror hadn’t yet fully turned, but it didn’t need to. Because the moment it tilted to a certain angle, his eyes could no longer stay open. When the mirror faced you directly, it was just a mirror. But when it turned just slightly off-axis, it cast a light as sharp as a blade. This light of “blade” seemed to come from the full moon itself—piercing straight into the eyes.

　　The mirror was like a moon: round, brilliant, and deadly. Its maker was not an ordinary craftsman, who might possess not only a hand of divine skill, but also the mind of a mathematician.

　　Flowers were not seen in the mirror; the “flowers” bloomed behind it.

　　From back of the mirror, the comb rose. Its row of fragrant teeth, slick with the scent of hair, resembled the jaws of a shark, though it was merely an ivory comb.

　　Zhang Wentong retreated step by step. The shimmering patches of light on his face refused to fade. His judge’s brushes spun and danced wildly through the air.

　　Li Jinghua advanced in measured steps, not urgent to attack. She was patient until the moment he would tire. As a result, this duration of the battle was longer than the total time of the two previous bouts.

　　A smile bloomed across Li Jinghua’s face, as radiant and delicate as a flower. Zhang Wentong’s brushes was waved slowly… more slowly… and then stopped. The mirror held its precise angle, still casting its dazzling arc of light toward him. He could open his eyes, but only if he turned his face away from the light. He did it in this way. He turned around and opened his eyes. Eventually he halted his retreat.

　　But was it useful to open one’s eyes at such a moment? The comb descended toward his forehead, not with force, but with the softness of a woman preparing to tidy his hair.

　　Among the group from Dali, warriors had already get prepared for quick action. If the comb dropped another three inches, all of them would rush to grab it. They could afford to lose another battle, however they could not lose another member. Those from Western Xia began to laugh, they were celebrating their victory.

　　But their celebration came too soon. The comb fell two inches, then frozen in midair.

　　Not only the comb, but Li Jinghua herself stopped, motionless as a statue. The mirror slipped silently from her hand. In that instant, Zhang Wentong’s blunt-tipped judge’s brush struck, tapping eight key acupoints on her body in the blink of an eye. Then, with a final motion, he knocked the mirror from her grasp. With the mirror gone, he could finally look at her directly.

　　Zhang Wentong looked straight at her. His sharp-tipped brush stood upright before her eyes. There was no triumph in his gaze, only intensity. Victory had come, but it did not bring joy.

　　No one smiled. Neither the winner or the loser was happy. However, the victor was understood making laugh of the loser. Tensely, Zhang Wentong said, “You can use this as a mirror.” His judge’s brush, forged of pure steel, gleamed at the tip with a bright silver sheen, just reflective enough to show a face, if one’s eyesight was sharp and patience sharper.

　　Li Jinghua looked at it and saw her own profile. The smile had vanished from her face. And in that moment, she understood why Zhang Wentong’s brushes were acting like having sensors in them. The brushes guided his eyes, one acted like a mirror, and the other struck like a seeker of weakness.

　　Zhang Wentong drew a line through the air with his sharp-tipped brush, finally pointing at Li Jinghua’s throat.

　　He asked in a lower voice, “do you think I’ll kill you or not?”

　　Li Jinghua’s expression changed sharply. She forced herself to answer, “I… don’t know.”

　　“Neither do I,” Zhang Wentong replied.

　　Behind him, Shi Shutong and the others shouted in unison, “Kill her! Kill her!”

　　Zhang Wentong said, “Would one of you go to see Bro Ming in the rear hall?”

　　“I’ll go,” said Sima Qing.

　　“Please stop,” came the deep voice of Hook-Nose Hu Wenchang. “Brother Ming is already dead.”

　　Dali team was silent. They trusted Hu Wenchang’s word without doubt, because he possessed a gift different from everyone else. Within a half-mile radius, he could tell with terrifying precision how many livings … and how many died.

　　Those Western Xia people whose faces paled in shock. None of them had seen Hu Wenchang leave, nor had they imagined that his nose was of such powers.

　　They called it the “Dog Nose”, in truth, it was ten times keener than dos, and three times more sensitive than even a pig’s snout. It was said that a pig’s nose could outmatch a dog’s one in scent. If that were true, then today both dog and pig would have smelled something, something definitely strange.

　　But beasts did not recognize medicine. Men did.

　　The scent reached them faintly on the wind, wafting from behind the great hall. It was layered, bitter and mixed, it should be the smell of potent medicine. The imperial physicians had done their best. They had used every drastic remedy, but it had not worked out to save Ming Wenzhang.

　　He was dead.

　　Zhang Wentong turned back to Li Jinghua and said calmly, “You see?” Her face turned deathly pale. Ming Wenzhang was dead and that meant she was next one.

　　Just then, Li Zhaoyun leapt into the air, a chained spear drawn from his waist, the weapon swirling into a silver bloom as he shouted, “Please release her!” Shi Shutong roared in reply, “Life or death, no regrets!” His iron spear shot forward to meet the chain weapon head-on.

　　Zhang Wentong took a step back, his judge’s brush thrust forward once more. Blood splattered across his chest as he withdrew, leaving the two men locked in fierce battle upon the hall floor.

　　Seen from the battle, Zhang is Masculine, Li is of gentle style. And when two powerful warriors battle, it was not always the braver one who wins.

　　Though Shi Shutong fought with raw force, Li Zhaoyun’s chained spear did not yield. Its flexible shaft slipped and twisted, striking at awkward angles, feints that almost struck true. As the duel was on, Li Zhaoyun began to tire. She started to falter, and soon fell behind. Then She changed his tactic, circling around Li Jinghua’s body to avoid direct confrontation. Shi Shutong, getting impatient, gave a thunderous shout and swept his spear in a wide arc, striking Li Jinghua’s corpse and sending it flying across the hall. She crashed against the wall and slid down, leaving a vivid red smear across the pale white surface.

　　Li Zhaoyun let out a cold laugh “Heh!” and lashed his chained spear forward like a silver serpent. The weapon danced midair, shifting and bending with deceptive speed and countless variations.

　　Shi Shutong had fallen into a trap. The wild sweep had been drawn out by provocation, an overreach that cost him dearly.

　　A bloom of blood appeared on his chest.

　　This time, even those Dali people could say nothing. Yet already, tears had welled in more than one pair of eyes. Zhang Wentong was filled with sorrow and regret. Had he kicked Li Jinghua’s body away the moment he won, Shi Shutong might still be alive.

　　Duan Zhengyan's thought they had now lost three members but won only one. Morale was crumbling. The only way forward was to strike at the heart, defeat the enemy’s most prominent warrior and rally the troops.

　　With that in mind, he cast aside his dragon robe and stepped forward, standing directly before Li Yuanzhe.

　　“If I were to challenge one of the Generals, they might concern who I am, will not try their best to win me. But Your Highness,” he said, voice firm and clear, “please accept my challenge.” Li Yuanzhe knew well the power of the Dragon-Line Sword Technique. And now the challenge had landed squarely at his feet, reasonable and irrefutable. Duan Zhengyan, emperor of Dali, stood before him, his bearing as steady and dignified as his name implied.

　　Li Yuanzhe could neither deflect nor refuse. He accepted it.

　　His mighty palms stirred the air, sending gusts of chilling wind across the hall.

　　Though Duan Zhengyan hungered for victory, he dared not rush. As soon as they crossed hands, he felt the icy cold radiating from his opponent’s strikes and suddenly recalled Zhang Wentong’s warning.

　　He’s a disciple of Li Qianzhen!

　　A flicker of fear entered his heart. Li Qianzhen had not come in person, perhaps he believed his apprentice alone could defeat Dali’s famed Six Ding and Six Jia. If Li Yuanzhe could indeed overcome them, then he could very well break even the Dragon-Line Sword Technique.

　　How could Duan Zhengyan not be afraid?

　　Yet just as regret began to rise within him for having challenged too hastily, he noticed something. While the palm winds were chilling, the technique was unremarkable.

　　Half his fear dissipated. So long as he did not let him land a direct strike, he could win this.

　　His spirits surged. Sword light burst forth—one flourish after another—each aimed directly at the enemy’s bare hands. A bold strategy: offense as defense.

　　A man’s greatest strength often held his greatest weakness. For when that strength is broken, he was already half-defeated. Just as the tiger was nothing without its fangs and claws, or the eagle without its beak and wings, so too can a man be rendered prey once his finest skill is stripped away.

　　But men were not beast. Man knew how to bide his time and to hide his blade. That was why most save their ultimate moves for the end. But some… some had nothing beyond that single move.

　　Such people are like tigers whose fangs fall out at the first roar, like eagles who lose their wings before they fly.

　　Their so-called “final move” was often their only move and rarely worth the name.

　　Li Yuanzhe was just such a man. He had nothing but his “ultimate technique.” He never expected Duan Zhengyan to attack him like this bluntly, directly and relentlessly.

　　He panicked. His mighty palms, his pride and shield. And when you don’t know where to put your hands. One of them was bound to end up on the wrong end of a sword.

　　Steel pierced his hand. Li Yuanzhe was defeated.