Granny Yao let her white hair fall over her brow, hunched upon her staff as she led the horse. Covering her face in tears, she suddenly vaulted into the saddle. With a sharp "Hyah!" she rode off without a backward glance.
Ling Xian'er was already weeping like a pear blossom in the rain. Li Qian and Zhao Rou came to her side, gently patting her shoulder and speaking softly to comfort her. Liu Yun, however, felt only embarrassment—emotions surged within her like a tide, and she sighed to herself at the twists of fate. A poem says:
Graceful the willowy form,A maiden fair to see;Anger and anger meet—Who knew we were family?
Wu Tong raised his voice: "The sun is sinking—we must mount at once!" Though the four had a thousand words left unsaid, they set them aside for the moment, hurriedly mounted, and rode on. The sun dipped in the west; the horizon burned like blood; homebound birds cried in the dusk. Before night fell they spurred their horses into a walled town, found an inn, and took rooms to rest.
At dawn the next day, after a simple breakfast, they set out again. After some twenty li along the official road, they saw up ahead a large crowd with a constant clamor—the sounds of a fierce fight. Lately the martial world had converged in these parts; black and white alike swarmed in, and old enemies clashed day after day. Curious, the party urged their horses closer to see.
The air in the clearing was taut as a drawn bow, two sides facing off with blades nearly bared. A loud voice rang out:"Henan's bully Huo Bing! Hebei's fiend Wang Yu! Hedong's old freak Mo Jian! Long time no see! We of the Four Freaks of Northern Shaanxi have specially invited the Tianchan Eccentric, Hen Buping, to win justice for our four brothers today!"
The speaker was the eldest of the Northern Shaanxi Four Freaks, Ke Wen, about thirty-five, his expression severe. At his side stood the second, Qian Da, pale and of medium build, around thirty; the third, Jian Shao, dressed like a scholar, around twenty-five; and the fourth, Wang Hu, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with a fierce bearing, also about twenty-five.
Hebei's fiend Wang Yu, a burly, bearded middle-aged man, stepped forward and called out:"So this Tianchan Eccentric who boasts of his Heaven-Crippled Divine Skill—how is it he's fallen to playing hatchet man for the Four Freaks of Northern Shaanxi today?"
The Tianchan Eccentric—name Hen Buping ("Resents Injustice")—leaned on his cane with his crippled legs and said:"I am no one's hatchet man. I came today only to ask the three of you for instruction."
Hen Buping's name matched his nature. Crippled in the legs since childhood, he had to rely on a cane of forged black iron to move—but the body's lack never broke his will; it drove him deeper into the pursuit of martial mastery. Taciturn, solitary, and strange in his ways, he wore indifference like armor, yet in his heart smoldered an unquenched resolve.
His right hand never left that cane—ink-black and seemingly ordinary, but full of hidden devices. It supported his steps and extended his art: with it he had forged the peerless Heaven-Crippled Divine Skill, a style uncanny and lethal, its methods unlike any other. He turned limitation into advantage, creating tricks that struck from impossible angles.
His face was hard, his eyes knife-keen, a trace of killing air between his brows. A curl of disdain often touched his lips, as if the world itself weren't worth his notice. He spoke little, but every word cut to the bone, his tone carrying an authority that brooked no doubt.
Though maimed, he moved with startling speed; the cane in his grip answered like a living limb, his figure flickering as quick as lightning. His inner strength ran deep; his palm force was terrifying. Even surrounded by masters, he remained composed and at ease. His very existence defied fate—proof that a broken body could still carve a place in the rivers and lakes.
No one knew his lineage, nor why he pursued the martial path with such ferocity. Some whispered of vengeance; others of pride. Whatever the truth, his arrival always stirred a storm. The name Tianchan Eccentric inspired dread: a tribute to his skill and a warning of his temper. Like a double-edged blade, he was both feared and respected—a legend none could ignore.
Hedong's old freak Mo Jian, eldest of the three villains, was bald and bent, his manner unhurried. He sighed with weary irony:"If that's the way of it, which of us three will you honor with a bout? We've nothing pressing today. Since you've come to pick a fight, we'll oblige—else we'd disgrace the title of the Central Plains' Three Great Evildoers."
Hen Buping's face did not change; his eyes flashed, and he answered in flint-hard tones—five words, tossed like nails:"All three of you."
Henan's bully Huo Bing, a towering, broad-framed middle-aged brute, strode out with a snort:"Bold words. The three of us trading off against one—you may find yourself outmatched."
A faint, mocking smile tugged Hen Buping's mouth."You misunderstand. I intend to fight the three of you at once."
The Three Great Evildoers stared at one another. Seeing that Hen Buping was only about twenty-five, Mo Jian bristled:"Arrogant whelp! You don't know heaven's height or earth's depth. If you die to a single palm, you'll have only yourself to blame!"
Hen Buping said,"That's not your concern. I worry only that if I strike too hard, I'll send the three of you to the Pure Land by mistake."
Huo Bing barked:"Enough talk—let's send you west!"
He drew a deep breath; true qi pooled in his hands. With a long shout he sprang up, his right palm chopping down. Hen Buping stood like a mountain. Only when the blow was upon him did he glide two steps aside—swift as a shooting star. His right-hand cane flicked; his body angled; the palm scythed past empty air. Huo Bing roared and wheeled, chopping again. Hen Buping's left palm traced a half-arc and snapped forward—so fast it blurred.
Crack!They met palm to palm. Huo Bing staggered back, feet skidding; his body wavered twice and nearly toppled—an astonishing sight. He had been driven back by a single strike.
Huo Bing bared his teeth."Old Freak! Fiend! This one's got real skill—he's come to poke us in the eye!"
Hebei's fiend Wang Yu's face went cold with murder."Poke us in the eye, is it?"
Impetuous by nature, he attacked first, a howling palm straight for Hen Buping's chest. Hen braced with his cane and thrust out his left palm. Smack! At the first clash Wang Yu reeled, feet stumbling, body pitching as he fought not to fall—utterly discomposed.
Hedong's old freak Mo Jian didn't idle. With a bellow he leapt in. Hen Buping snapped his cane up—and cane met palm with a drum-like thud. Mo Jian's body flipped away, tumbling through the air before he could bleed off the force of that hidden inner power. He hit the ground swaying, face gone pale. That was close, he thought. I barely escaped intact.