Chapter Fifty-One: A Fist for a Sword

As expected, after his arm was slashed, the barbarian grew even more enraged. He threw his head back and let out a furious howl, then reached out and tore apart a nearby low bookshelf. With a sweeping motion, he hurled it.

A great wind howled as the solid wood bookshelf, accompanied by a storm of flying books, crashed toward the retreating Xiao Nan with a thunderous roar. The books fluttered like butterflies, filling the air with the sound of rushing wind. One hapless customer, caught in the chaos, didn’t even have time to cry out before the shelf struck him, his bones audibly cracking as he was flung aside, spinning wildly. His body was twisted at grotesque angles, as if he’d been hit by a speeding truck.

Worst of all, the shelf had barely slowed, still bearing down like a mountain, books and all.

“What strength,” Xiao Nan thought, his brows twitching violently. Backing away, the “Moonlight” sword in his hand danced urgently, swift and delicate as silk, like spring rain melting into the earth. No fancy technique would do at a time like this—there was nowhere to dodge, only wave after wave of deflection.

Swordlight flashed like a silver ribbon. Books were sliced to shreds, scattering in all directions and obscuring vision. Amid the flying splinters, Xiao Nan was sent hurtling backward, crashing through the bookstore’s massive floor-to-ceiling glass wall with a resounding smash, landing hard on the street outside.

Passersby shrieked in terror. Through the shattered glass, they saw the towering beast-man stride out, clutching a portly man in his grasp. With a casual tug, he tore off an arm and stuffed it into his mouth, biting through with a sickening crunch, blood smeared across his jaws.

“Scatter! Everyone scatter!” A shrill whistle pierced the air as two uniformed officers rushed over. Someone must have called the police, and they had arrived in haste. Crouching low as they ran, they fired their pistols in rapid succession.

The barbarian, who had been about to pursue Xiao Nan, halted and raised an arm to shield his face, turning slightly to the side. Bullets tore through his clothes, thudding into his flesh with dull, heavy sounds, but left barely a trace of blood. Most of the bullets lodged harmlessly in his muscles.

“Skin like drumheads, muscles like walls—handgun bullets can’t hurt him,” thought Xiao Nan, finally managing to steady himself after being knocked back. His legs gave way and he half-kneeled on the ground, feeling a numbness in his arm and a dull ache deep within his body.

He couldn’t help but sigh. For someone like him, who relied on finesse, nothing was more troublesome than a foe with impenetrable defenses.

A flash of murderous light appeared in the barbarian’s eyes. He crouched low, then suddenly leapt several meters, like an old ape in the forest, landing before the two officers. With a sweep of his arm, as if swatting away two baseballs, he sent them flying. Their bodies were already bent and twisted in midair—clearly dead before they even hit the ground.

With one swing, two officers were slain. The barbarian, driven to a frenzy, spun and charged at Xiao Nan once more. The blood-red glint in his eyes made it clear he hadn’t forgotten the sword wound from earlier.

Xiao Nan did not retreat. In fact, at this point, even if he wanted to, there was nowhere left to run. The barbarian wasn’t only strong and resilient—his speed was formidable as well. In a contest of speed, Xiao Nan doubted he could win. Besides, even if he dodged, how long could he keep it up? The street was crowded with people, and to the barbarian, they were nothing but snacks—one careless collision, and many would die. How could he justify weaving through the crowd, putting others in harm’s way?

As the barbarian charged at him, fierce and unstoppable, a surge of mortal danger flooded Xiao Nan’s heart. His mind boiled with frantic energy; his temples throbbed violently. The birthmark on his chest burned hot.

In that split second, it felt as if a sharp needle jabbed his brain, and the torrent of people around him seemed to slow. The oncoming foe’s movements became markedly sluggish. Amid the swirling dust, Xiao Nan could discern the trajectory and timing of the barbarian’s attack, from the swing of his arm to the moment it would strike.

It was as if his spirit had detached from the world, everything around him unfolding in crisp, layered detail, as though the heavens and earth had laid out a new tableau before his eyes.

“The State of Forgotten Self!”

“My spiritual cultivation has broken through again,” Xiao Nan realized, a flicker of joy rising in his heart despite the life-or-death peril pressing down on him. He had sensed this breakthrough coming—the golden filaments within his mind held mysterious power he had yet to fully explore. To have it happen now, though, gave him a fighting chance.

Holding his sword level in his right hand, Xiao Nan drew a deep breath, gathering all his focus. His spirit, as calm as a placid lake, reflected every detail around him. Instantly, countless strategies unfolded in his mind.

“Against a brainless brute like this, guile is better than force—trickery is the best weapon.”

A fist shot through the air at his chest, like a runaway train, exuding an unstoppable pressure. Xiao Nan grabbed at the debris—splinters of wood and shards of glass—then tossed them with a flick of his wrist.

With a rush of wind, the projectiles, empowered by Xiao Nan’s concentrated strength and unique throwing technique, shot toward the barbarian’s face like arrows. Faced with this sudden assault, the barbarian let out a furious cry, forced to close his eyes and throw up his arms in defense. No matter how tough his body, his eyes could hardly be bulletproof.

Moreover, Xiao Nan had already noticed that, for all his ferocity and might, the barbarian’s fighting skills were crude, lacking any systematic training. He was like a wild beast in the mountains—hunting and killing by instinct. When threatened in the eyes, what does animal instinct dictate? To shut them tight and protect them.

In traditional martial arts, the first lesson in real combat is not how to wound or kill, but how to master one’s own reflexes—not to blink in the face of danger. Clearly, the barbarian had never learned that lesson.

“Now’s the time.”

With such underhanded tactics as tossing debris at the eyes, Xiao Nan had no intention of running. Attack was always the best defense—this principle was etched into his bones after a decade of life-and-death struggles. Even in a new body, he had not forgotten it.

The instant the splinters and glass flew, Xiao Nan sprang forward like a leopard. His body surged, left leg bent, right leg taut as a bow, his form sinking low and kicking up dust. With a sharp cry, his sword blazed into a shrill arc—a flash of white—aimed straight for the barbarian’s unguarded chest and heart.

He was gambling that the barbarian would not dare let himself be stabbed again—the pain from the cut on his arm still fresh in his memory.

The barbarian, enraged to the extreme, found this pesky little man infuriating—he wasn’t that strong, but could always threaten him at the worst moments.

With a furious roar, the barbarian’s left hand shot out to snatch at the sword, as if snatching a fly from the air—so fast it defied description. Meanwhile, his right hand pulled back, then punched forward with explosive force, the air cracking in its wake, a white ripple trailing in the punch’s path.

He calculated that at most, he would suffer another scratch, yet with one punch, he could reduce this little man to a bloody pulp. He hadn’t yet decided whether to eat his foe or tear him apart when suddenly, he felt his grasping hand plunge into a net of silk, weightless and slippery, yielding no purchase at all.

Alarmed, he tried to summon more strength, only to find the blade’s white light splitting into countless shimmering threads, bursting into dazzling sparks like misty rain in the forest.

The instant the light struck his eyes, just as his right punch landed, the barbarian’s vision exploded in pain. A streak of blood arced through the air.

Xiao Nan twisted his left arm into a curve, soft as boneless flesh, draping it over the oncoming fist to borrow and dissipate its force, his body flipping backward. The blow shattered his bones and left half his body numb, blood spurting from his mouth. But his right hand swept the sword across the barbarian’s brow, slashing open those red eyes, blood spraying everywhere.

Tumbling across the street, Xiao Nan, wracked with pain, nonetheless laughed aloud.

“Now that you’re blind, let’s see you act so tough!”

From afar came the barbarian’s earth-shaking roar as he flailed blindly, smashing his fists into the air with thunderous crashes, but striking nothing—he was now completely blind.

“To take a blow just to blind him?” Hearing Xiao Nan’s laughter, Zhang Xiaorou was torn between worry and relief. She hurried over, wanting to help him up.

Can’t you stay quiet for a moment? You’re already hurt, don’t draw the blind brute’s attention again.