Fierce Years Ablaze with Wrath

Zhang Ling regarded the young man before him with evident surprise, responding only in a low voice. Her gaze then shifted to the woman curled up timidly in the corner. She glanced once more toward the figure outside the alley, rose, and ran straight toward him, nestling herself in his embrace. The tension and fear melted from her face—her long-awaited lover had finally arrived.

The young man beside her, Song Linjie, looked at Mu Shaoyang and scolded, “Mu Shaoyang, a year ago I taught you a lesson when I was out training—seems you haven’t learned from it! Now you’re up to your old tricks again, even daring to meddle in the affairs of my Song family.”

Mu Shaoyang curled his lip into a look of hatred, his features contorting as he snarled, “Song Linjie, do you really think the City Lord’s Mansion fears your Song family? It’s about time we settled our accounts from last year.”

He flashed a sinister grin and turned to the elderly man at his side, who, though imposing, lacked true martial bearing. “You only rely on a bit of martial skill. This is my Mu household’s guest officer—a second-rank expert. Today, I’ll make you understand what happens when you cross me—”

Apparently, Song Linjie had run out of patience. He swung his fist at Mu Shaoyang, who instinctively ducked behind Yu Quanqun. Yu raised his arm and with a hidden force met Song Linjie’s punch, gripping the young man's fist tightly. Song Linjie responded instantly with a knife strike, forcing Yu to release his grip and retreat hastily.

“Yu—”

Mu Shaoyang, having already dodged to the side, was about to call out, when suddenly a foot flew in from nowhere, sending him sprawling. Zhang Ling delivered several kicks in quick succession until Mu Shaoyang could no longer rise, then withdrew her foot. “You’d better keep your mouth shut.”

She turned to the dueling pair and asked, “Song Linjie, what rank are you? Can you win?”

Focusing on his opponent, Song Linjie replied, “Just entered third rank. Whether I can win, I don’t know.”

Zhang Ling, uneasy, glanced toward the mouth of the alley where the man was gently comforting the weeping woman. Interrupting, Zhang Ling called, “You two, save the lovey-dovey moment for later—go call for help from the Song family!”

The man, understanding the gravity of the situation, left swiftly with the woman. Zhang Ling’s gaze returned to the tense confrontation. Though Song Linjie’s short blade allowed him to evade danger, Yu Quanqun pressed him relentlessly.

The old man had earlier glanced their way, intending to break free to protect his young master. But seeing the two had gone to fetch the Song family, he paid Mu Shaoyang no further heed. If the Song family arrived, Mu Shaoyang, as the City Lord’s son, might yet be spared, but as a mere watchdog of the Mansion, Yu himself was doomed. Even as a second-rank expert, one could only avoid the great families.

Yu Quanqun’s attacks intensified; he aimed to finish the matter quickly and escape. The two combatants drew apart, sizing each other up. Yu’s expression remained calm, eager for more, but Song Linjie was already flagging—though he hadn’t lost ground, it was clear he couldn’t hold out much longer.

Suddenly, Song Linjie leapt, using the wall beside him to propel himself higher. With inner strength flooding his legs, he pounced like a tiger, blade slicing down with force. Yu Quanqun snorted, bracing with an elbow and palm against the ground, then kicked precisely at Song Linjie’s side. The blade’s momentum broke, and Song Linjie staggered back, nearly losing his footing.

Yu steadied himself, advancing with a swift, air-rending punch. Song Linjie barely managed to parry with his knife.

When their fists met, as expected, Yu Quanqun stood firm, his presence undiminished. In contrast, Song Linjie was forced back seven steps and would have retreated farther if not for Zhang Ling, who stepped behind him, a hand steadying his back.

Seeing Yu Quanqun pause, Zhang Ling asked, “How much longer can you hold on?”

Wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, Song Linjie gritted his teeth. “This old man is fierce. I doubt I’ll last ten more moves.”

Without further words, Zhang Ling drew her short sword, exhaled slowly, and said, “Give me the knife.”

Puzzled, Song Linjie handed it over. “You know how to use it?”

Zhang Ling stepped forward, shielding him. “I don’t, but I should be able to block a few moves—then you can take over again.”

She raised the sword across her chest and let the knife hang at her side, eyes fixed on Yu Quanqun.

Meanwhile, two newcomers watched from the shadows, noting every move.

The elder among them, his gaze unwavering, said, “Yutian, aren’t you going to step in?”

The other replied calmly, “The boy has improved a lot in a year. He’ll place first in the clan competition, no doubt. But I want to see what Zhang Ling is really made of, to have earned Qin Yi’s favor.”

The old man nodded, saying nothing more.

Zhang Ling did not wait for Yu Quanqun to approach but charged first—if she let him make the first move, she’d have no chance to counter. Her sword struck empty air, as expected. She turned the knife to block Yu Quanqun’s punch, retreating step by step out of the alley. At some point, the street had emptied, leaving only the echo of their battle.

With space to maneuver, Zhang Ling no longer engaged head-on. Her sword and knife served only to parry, circling to buy time rather than win. She retreated several steps, always evading Yu Quanqun. Even when he closed in, she skillfully blocked with both weapons. More than twenty exchanges passed in this way.

Yu Quanqun, regaining his composure, shook off Zhang Ling’s rhythm. He suddenly shifted his stance, intercepting her intended retreat. His fist surged with strength, striking toward her abdomen.

Zhang Ling crossed sword and knife before her, thrusting them out as quickly as possible. The forceful punch landed precisely at the intersection, but she was still sent flying by the aftershock.

Her weapons separated, neither able to muster much resistance. Yu Quanqun’s fist was already upon her.

In that instant, as Zhang Ling prepared to block another blow, an unseen force nudged her backward. A figure, not particularly robust in build, stepped between them and effortlessly swept Yu Quanqun aside.

Yu Quanqun halted, recognizing the newcomer. He tensed, every nerve on edge.

The man before Zhang Ling sneered, “What difference does it make? Even if you leave Flowing Wind City, if I want you dead, you won’t escape.”

Song Linjie hurried out, grinning shamelessly, “Father!”

A stooped figure followed, and Song Linjie pressed close. “Great-uncle!”

The old man, delighted to see Song Linjie, held his tongue, waiting for the family head to speak.

Clearly, the two were Song Yutian and Song Jingguo. Song Yutian nodded to Zhang Ling, then turned to Song Linjie, patting him lightly. “You really can’t give your father a moment’s peace! Barely back, and you’ve stirred up trouble again.”

Yu Quanqun dared not so much as twitch, afraid that any movement would spell his doom.

Song Linjie chuckled, “Father, it’s not my fault! That brat kept harassing Sister Dangu. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

Song Yutian, unperturbed, had clearly learned the details beforehand. He looked coolly at Yu Quanqun. “Did you really think Mu Tiandong’s position as City Lord gives him free rein in Flowing Wind City? If he truly angers me, I won’t hesitate to wash his neck with my blade.”

Yu Quanqun’s heart was unmoved by these words; he knew disaster had finally come for him.

In a flash, Song Yutian was upon Yu Quanqun, shattering his energy core with a single blow, rendering his martial skills useless.

A battered figure emerged from the alley, never seeing sunlight again—a flash of the blade ended everything before the dawn could break.