Chapter Thirty: Swift Sword Bai Fei

Yang Ze’s broadsword swept out in a wide arc, the roar of a tiger shattering every arrow that flew toward him. Seizing the brief opening this created, his body flickered forward and broke through the line.

He charged toward the stone wall on the left. He could not allow these attackers to keep loosing arrows—if he did, before long they would all be shot dead, just as the corpses lying on the ground so starkly proved.

With a few swift strides, Yang Ze reached the base of the wall, tapped his foot lightly, and sprang upward. Again, with a swing of his blade, he deflected several more arrows.

“Shoot him dead!” a masked man in black atop the wall bellowed. At once, numerous archers redirected their aim, sending a hail of arrows toward Yang Ze.

His scalp tingled. With dozens of arrows flying at once, even if he used his Tiger Descends the Mountain technique, he could not block them all.

He had no choice but to retreat. With a forceful push from his legs, he flipped through the air, dropping from the wall to the ground below. Before he could steady himself, another volley of a dozen arrows whistled toward him.

Quickly gathering his energy, Yang Ze swung his blade several times, managing to deflect most of the arrows, though one slipped through and grazed the skin of his left arm.

He gave silent thanks that these arrows were wooden—though sharpened to a deadly point, they lacked the power of iron-tipped shafts. Otherwise, after so many volleys, he would not have been able to withstand them.

“Damn it! How many arrows did these people prepare? Why hasn’t it ended yet?” Yang Ze was powerless to deal with the archers atop the wall and could only keep retreating and deflecting. In the brief chaos, two more guards fell.

There was nothing to be done. Even martial artists at the entry level of Qi Drawing were stronger than ordinary men, but not infinitely so. Against overwhelming numbers and armed foes, this gap could be closed.

“Second Young Master, I’ll draw their fire for you—go finish them off!” In the crisis, Old Xie stepped forward.

“Old Xie, stay where you are! Who told you to go? What can you do alone? If we go, we go together!”

Yang Ze’s eyes flashed as he shouted, “Brothers, charge together! Don’t let them pick us off one by one!”

At his call, everyone surged forward under heavy fire, all aiming to scale the wall.

Yet, just as Yang Ze and his men moved, the assault from the black-clad attackers intensified, making it impossible to advance.

“Push harder! They’re at the end of their rope—they can’t hold out much longer! Shoot them dead!” the leader atop the wall shouted. The black-clad archers, weary moments ago, were suddenly galvanized, firing with renewed ferocity.

Forced back again by the rain of arrows, Yang Ze found himself right where he had started, exhaustion creeping over him. “Damn it, am I going to fall here today?” His face was grim—for all his endurance, his strength was nearly spent.

He had not trained long enough; his power could not compare to those who had honed their bodies for years. Clearly, he needed to focus more on strength in the future.

As he retreated again, he saw another guard fall. Rage surging, he unleashed Tiger Descends the Mountain, batting aside a number of arrows. In a single leap, he reached the fallen guard—he could not allow his men to be slaughtered.

Fury and frustration welled within him. The attackers’ strategy was too cunning—first, they wore them down, then targeted anyone who made a move.

In this situation, they could not storm the wall, and if they tried to flee, they would all be shot in the back.

While he wracked his brain for a solution, a sharp, overwhelming force suddenly filled the air. The moment it appeared, even Yang Ze felt deeply oppressed—it was a pressure greater than the encirclement itself.

A powerful warrior had arrived! Yang Ze realized that this was someone on par with Yang Yuanzhen.

Then, a figure in white entered his field of vision—a man whose hand gripped a long sword.

A sudden wind swept through the western city passage. For a heartbeat, even Yang Ze’s movements slowed.

In that instant, he saw the white-clad man spring into action. Sword drawn, he leapt atop the left wall and thrust his blade forward.

A brilliant flash of sword light burst forth, and blood sprayed. Below, Yang Ze, still struggling to fend off arrows, was momentarily stunned.

He saw only the sword tip dancing ceaselessly, reaping life after life. Each flicker of the blade claimed another victim.

In the span of a few breaths, thirty lives had already fallen to that sword.

The man in white stood alone, the gentle breeze ruffling his long hair, making him appear especially aloof and cold.

“The Swift Sword Bai Fei, leader of the Flying Sand Gang!” At this point, if Yang Ze still couldn’t recognize who this man was, then all his time in the underworld had been for nothing.

In the western city, only Bai Fei—the renowned swordsman and one of the five greatest experts of Yuyang City—could claim such skill, slaying so many with a single sword.

“Second Young Master Yang, so you recognize me. Sharp eyes. But these people have none at all. They knew I was in the western city, yet still dared set up this ambush. Did they really think I, Bai Fei, am so easily trifled with?”

With the last word, Bai Fei struck again. Though the black-clad men tried to prepare, all they could do was struggle a few moments longer.

One after another, the masked attackers fell. In no time, half lay dead.

The survivors at first tried to rally and kill Bai Fei, but seeing his overwhelming strength, their courage broke. One after another, they tried to flee.

Bai Fei gave chase. Yang Ze joined in, and Old Xie and the others did not stand idle. Having been suppressed for so long, now that the chance came, how could they sit and watch?

These black-clad men were not highly skilled. Once they lost their advantage, Yang Ze’s group quickly finished them off.

“Many thanks for your timely aid, Master Bai. I, Yang, will come in person to thank you another day!” Yang Ze cupped his fists, his body already marked by several wounds.

Bai Fei merely smiled faintly, but before he could reply, a voice sounded from the distance.

“It’s been a while, Master Bai. Your swordsmanship remains as stunning as ever—my admiration!”

“Yuan Heng!” Bai Fei’s usually calm eyes flashed with energy as he turned to look at Yuan Heng, who was approaching from the end of the cobblestone street.