Chapter 86: Hong Yuan Vs Song Yinglong
Just past noon, the prefecture city streets, which were usually noisy and bustling with crowds surging like dragons on carriages and horses, were now almost devoid of people.
Even the most dull-witted person could sense something was wrong.
“Unrivaled Startled Swan” charged alone with his spear into Jinming Ward in the south of the city.
The prefect yamen was attacked, and Prefect Xiang was abducted by strongmen in broad daylight, his life or death unknown.
The White Scale Guard in the northeast district suddenly mobilized, charging to the city center to clash with the Iron Wall Guard.
One shocking piece of news after another spread explosively, compounded by the sudden appearance of chaotic soldiers on the streets and the faintly audible shouts of killing and roars.
Not to mention ordinary folk trembling in fear and huddling inside their homes, unwilling to show their faces—even the great families and gang bosses closed their doors and windows, withdrew their men, mobilized all available guards and attendants, and strengthened their defenses.
Cold winds rustled.
A murderous aura permeated the air.
A group of dozens of riders galloped recklessly down the long street, their horses’ hooves pounding the green stone slabs, producing intense tremors as sand and fallen leaves were kicked up in swirls.
The knights on horseback were all dressed in tight-fitting clothes, each carrying weapons, with both men and women among them, their expressions varied; leading them was none other than Song Yinglong.
Song Yinglong did not lead thousands of troops to overwhelm them.
First, the White Scale Guard and Iron Wall Guard had just been subdued, their loyalty unsteady, requiring intimidation and suppression, so it was not suitable to mobilize troops immediately.
Second, this opponent was no small fry—one spear piercing two thousand troops; how many men would he have to throw in?
And that still presupposed the opponent fought to the death without fleeing, which was simply impossible.
Given the dense layout of houses and streets in the prefecture city, and that man’s superior martial arts, escaping would be effortless.
But Song Yinglong was not going alone either; dozens followed him, each with decent skills, but against a “Gang Body” level expert, they were truly inadequate.
Song Yinglong knew these dozens were of no use, but he brought them anyway—not for anything else, but for the boss’s show of force.
When a boss travels, even without thousands of troops and horses flanking him, there must at least be attendants before and behind.
In no time, they passed through the severely damaged yamen, the dozens whistling by, whipping up a gust of wind, heading straight for the south gate.
After galloping down another street, Song Yinglong suddenly reined in his horse; the horse let out a long neigh, and the others halted in unison, their gazes turning to the opposite side.
Clop clop clop!
Another set of urgent horse hooves sounded, dust billowing as dozens of riders approached from the opposite direction, the clanging of weapons and armor ringing out.
“It’s the Golden Soup Camp troops.”
A burly man beside Song Yinglong eyed the uniforms of the opposing knights, hand on his steel saber, a ferocious grin on his face: “Looks like that kid and the manor lord had the same idea. If we’d known, we could’ve waited in camp for them to deliver themselves.”
As he spoke, the Golden Soup Camp’s dozens of riders had already arrived within ten zhang, led by Tao Gongwang and his son Tao Jingxing.
The two suddenly raised their hands, and the dozens of riders came to a stop, staring intently at each other.
“Hm? That Hong kid isn’t here?” The burly man drew his steel saber, scanning the Golden Soup Camp soldiers, puzzled as he asked.
Though he had never seen Hong Yuan in person, he had carefully memorized the man’s portrait.
“No! He’s already here!”
Song Yinglong said calmly, his gaze shifting to the four-story teahouse on one side.
Atop the towering rooftop ridge sat a man leisurely, one hand holding a wine pot, the other pinching a wine cup, pouring and drinking by himself, utterly at ease.
The man wore a well-tailored black tight-fitting outfit of fine fabric, with a silver spear casually placed beside him. He raised his cup remotely toward Song Yinglong, his clear voice drifting down: “Manor Lord Song, I’ve long admired your fame. From the first day I heard your esteemed name, I felt you would one day accomplish something that shocks the world—and today it has come true.”
Clang!
The martial artists around Song Yinglong all drew their weapons, eyes fixed on the unusually young youth on the rooftop, their faces full of wariness.
A man’s reputation, a tree’s shadow—they could follow Song Yinglong and participate in this major event because each had a unique skill; they were not like fledgling hotheads who would think the opponent was all hype.
Song Yinglong waved his hand, narrowing his eyes to meet Hong Yuan’s gaze, saying calmly: “Song has schemed for a dozen or twenty years to barely achieve today’s success; compared to you, young brother, I am deeply ashamed. In just two short months, young brother has shaken an entire prefecture and become famous far and wide. In terms of speed of gaining fame, not just in Linjiang Prefecture, but in all of Mingzhou—or even the whole world—few can match you.”
Hong Yuan chuckled in amusement.
Song Yinglong said indifferently: “What is young brother laughing at?”
Hong Yuan drained the wine in his cup, tossed it aside casually, somehow produced another wine cup, slowly filled it, and laughed: “Manor Lord Song’s praise has me feeling a bit dizzy. If I don’t toast you, it would be too rude.”
As he spoke, he flicked his finger lightly on the wine cup; the cup of wine arced through the air in a clear trail, shooting straight toward Song Yinglong from above.
Splash!
Song Yinglong casually reached out and caught the cup steadily in his palm, not a drop of the full wine spilling; at this sight, the martial artists behind him all cheered.
Song Yinglong eyed the wine cup, shook it gently, then brought it to his lips and drained it, proclaiming loudly: “Fine wine!”
Hong Yuan clapped in admiration: “Manor Lord Song has such bold spirit. Aren’t you afraid I poisoned the wine?”
Song Yinglong toyed with the now-empty wine cup, his expression calm. “Judging by young brother’s style, Song believes you wouldn’t do such a thing. Besides, even if poisoned, there’s no poison in this world that can harm me.”
His words brimmed with powerful confidence.
Hong Yuan clapped again, laughing: “Worthy of being the lord of Crouching Tiger Manor—no wonder you can gather so many heroes under your command, truly like dragons and tigers, with soaring heroic spirit.”
He let out another long sigh, shaking his head: “If it were me, I wouldn’t dare drink wine handed over like that, poison or no. Worst case, it might be laced with something unclean.”
“You! Bastard!” Someone among Song Yinglong’s martial artists shouted angrily.
Song Yinglong’s expression shifted slightly, but he kept his composure.
Hong Yuan pressed down with his hand, tone relaxed: “I wouldn’t do something so tasteless as ruining fine wine.”
“Manor Lord Song, rest assured!”
Song Yinglong said: “Young brother is a youthful hero of noble character; Song has no worries. Speaking of which, though we meet today for the first time, you and I are already connected— no need to be so formal…”
Hong Yuan raised a brow: “What does Manor Lord Song mean by that?”
A faint smile played at Song Yinglong’s lips as he said calmly: “From the Tiger Subduing Sect, Martial Brothers Wu Duxiong and that Yang Lie kid have been training and visiting at my manor these days. Especially that Yang Lie kid—I see much of my younger self in him, so I’ve taken him as a disciple. In a way…”
He toyed with the wine cup, staring at Hong Yuan: “Since I’m Yang Lie’s master, and young brother calls him brother, you should address me as uncle too!”
So Wu Duxiong and Yang Lie had left the Yang Family Martial Arts School and entered Crouching Tiger Manor these days…
But it seemed they got implicated by him, targeted by Song Yinglong—easy to enter the manor, hard to leave.
Hong Yuan’s mind turned, and he smiled: “So my martial uncle and Yang Lie ended up at Crouching Tiger Manor. I really must thank the manor lord for taking care of them. As for Yang Lie being taken as a disciple, that’s his good fortune. I’ll prepare a gift shortly. By the way…”
Hong Yuan changed tack: “Does the manor lord have any heirs?”
Song Yinglong frowned: “What do you mean, young brother?”
Hong Yuan sighed: “A disciple is half a son to the master. With your vast estate, manor lord, heirs or not, someone will inherit it someday. To speak bluntly, at your age, who knows when you might not wake up. I have to think ahead for my brother Yang Lie, see who might compete with him for the inheritance then. Don’t blame me—I’m straightforward.”
The Crouching Tiger Manor martial artists were furious, but Song Yinglong burst out laughing: “Young brother is forthright; Song won’t blame you. Since you’re so concerned for Yang Lie, why not join Crouching Tiger Manor directly? After all, we’re half family.”
“If young brother agrees, your position would be second only to mine.”
Hong Yuan shook his wine pot, smiling: “Sorry, I hate standing below others the most.”
“In that case, we’ll have to beat you into submission first…” Song Yinglong’s smile faded, his face hardening again as he said flatly: “Coincidentally, there are three things I dislike most in life, one being someone talking down to me from on high.”
His eyes suddenly chilled, a faint crimson-golden hue flickering; he spun the wine cup in his hand, and with a sharp whoosh, it shot out like a strong bow’s arrow.
“Come down!”
This ordinary wine cup, empowered by Song Yinglong’s force, instantly pierced the air, emitting a shrill whistle.
Hong Yuan pressed his palm, sending his wine pot flying through the air too; in the next instant, they collided midair with a boom like an explosion.
Porcelain shards turned to sand-like grit, scattering in all directions and pelting the crowd below; infused with powerful force, even a yellow bean-sized fragment had the power of an arrow, instantly piercing deep wounds into flesh.
As cries of alarm rose, Song Yinglong grabbed with his palm, now holding a long spear; his other hand pressed the horse’s back as he prepared to leap up.
Fierce winds bore down, mingled with the rattling of fragments.
Hong Yuan acted faster; as he threw the wine pot, the Life-Snatching Throat-Locking Spear was already in hand, sweeping up like a storm, instantly rolling up the rooftop tiles like a mat.
Hong Yuan leaped down like a great bird from several zhang high, swinging his spear; in a flash of silver lightning, this strike was not a thrust but a smash!
A fierce smash!
Force like thunder, momentum like a falling meteor; the biting wind spread out, making the Crouching Tiger Manor crowd pale in horror.
As the mount neighed madly, a long whistle rang out like a tiger’s roar and thunder, shaking the heavens, making windows in buildings on both sides of the long street buzz and tremble; people hiding inside let out terrified screams.
Song Yinglong thrust his long spear skyward, wind and thunder roaring as it met the blow head-on.
