Chapter 052: A Simple Gesture

Because everyone made a living in the Daba Mountains, some of the mountain strongholds were not far from each other. Occasionally, conflicts would break out, or one stronghold would seize the target of another, leading to a web of grudges.

Fang Xian sat on the dais, watching, but paid little attention to the bouts between ordinary martial artists. His gaze swept around, observing the strongmen from the surrounding strongholds.

"Hahaha, why bother with these little tricks? Old Zhu, if you don't put up some stakes, the real experts won't bother getting on the stage."

As the afternoon wore on, a loud laugh suddenly echoed, shaking the entire martial arena.

"Old Zhu, let's each put up three thousand taels of silver and see which of the top experts is the strongest?" Another voice rolled like thunder, making Fang Xian's ears buzz.

"Since Brother Tang and Brother Lei are in such high spirits, I shall join in as well. All the heads of the strongholds, if you're interested, feel free to enter the ring. I'll round up the sum—whoever emerges victorious will be rewarded with ten thousand taels of silver." Immediately after, a clear, bright laughter followed, as if the speaker were conversing right beside everyone, yet without the least disturbance.

"Welcome, three chiefs!" At this, the people of Nanli Stronghold all shouted in unison.

"Welcome, three chiefs!" People from the other strongholds also raised their hands respectfully toward the sky, honoring the grandmasters among them.

With the crowd's roar, three figures appeared at the top of the dais simultaneously. In the center stood a refined middle-aged man; on his left, a short and stocky fellow; on his right, a tall and burly man.

"Hahaha, Chief Fengling, long time no see! You're more beautiful than ever. What a pity you won't come to my Peach Mountain Stronghold, or you'd be my chief's wife without question!" The short, stocky man was none other than Tang Zhi, chief of Peach Mountain. The moment he saw Fengling, his eyes lit up as he laughed and joked.

"Chief Tang, don’t tease. Peach Mountain Stronghold is the strongest among the five; I dare not aim so high. Chief Lei, Chief Zhu, it’s been a while." Fengling smiled, steering the conversation away, then greeted Lei Potian and Zhu Jiu Chong with a cupped fist.

"Please, everyone, be seated. The three of us have put up ten thousand taels of silver. If any stronghold chief wishes to test their skills, you’re welcome to try. Anyone who wins five matches in a row can claim the prize." As the host, Zhu Jiu Chong nodded with a gentle smile.

The three chiefs then took their seats at the center of the dais. Fang Xian, Fengling, and Zhu Shimei sat off to the right, while more than a dozen other stronghold heads also occupied seats on the dais. Some who preferred to watch the excitement gathered close to the ring.

"What? The three great chiefs have put up ten thousand taels as the prize? Who will be the lucky one to win it?"

"It won’t be easy. There are twenty or thirty top experts among the strongholds, but few can outshine them all. Hmm, Chief Feng of Flying Phoenix Ridge is one; I wonder if she’ll compete?"

"Heh, you may not know this, but Chief Zhu’s younger sister, Zhu Shimei, is a disciple of the Daoist Sect. Though young, she’s already a top expert. Coming from such a prestigious background, she may well outmatch everyone else."

"That’s not certain; if Chief Feng doesn't use her divine weapon, there are still quite a few who can stand against Zhu Shimei."

"I think the final contest will be between Chief Feng and Zhu Shimei—it all depends on which of them prevails."

Beside the ring, hundreds from the various strongholds had gathered. With Nanli Stronghold's people added, nearly a thousand spectators pressed around for a closer look. Now, with the three grandmasters present, the martial artists who’d been fighting earlier cleared the stage, awaiting the clash of the top experts.

Yet, the two most favored contenders, Fengling and Zhu Shimei, did not step forward. Instead, they sat on the dais, chatting and laughing, seemingly uninterested in the ten thousand taels of silver.

"Let me go first. Fat Han, come up here and spar! I've wanted to beat you up for ages." At last, a stronghold chief leapt into the ring, challenging another chief with whom he had an old grudge.

"I’ve been wanting to thrash you too, Turtle-face Zhao! Whoever begs for mercy today is the grandson!" Fat Han jumped up, shouting at his challenger.

The two charged at each other, swords and sabers flashing, quickly locked in fierce combat. Though it was a contest, these bandit chiefs fought viciously, every move aimed at vital points, each wishing to kill the other.

"Keep the fighting to the point—don’t let it get out of hand," Zhu Jiu Chong interjected in time, lest some of the duels ended in death.

Clang, clang, clang…

A contest between true experts was nothing like the flashy moves of lesser fighters; it was real, deadly combat. If one’s strength or experience was lacking, injuries could be severe—perhaps not fatal, but grave enough.

Boom!

Fat Han and Turtle-face Zhao were evenly matched, exchanging dozens of moves. In the end, Zhao used a trick, feigning an opening to lure Fat Han to the edge of the ring. Suddenly, his blade flashed; Fat Han fell from the ring, coughing blood from internal injuries.

"Hahaha, thank you for letting me win," Zhao said smugly, cupping his hands. Fat Han, landing below, acknowledged defeat, so angry he spat another mouthful of blood.

"Zhao, I can't stand scoundrels like you. I'll take you on." Another chief leaped into the ring, an old man with a goatee, wielding a two-foot-long smoking pipe as his weapon.

"Chief Han, are your injuries serious? I know a little medicine and have some healing pills with me. Would you like me to take a look?" As Fat Han was helped aside to rest, a gentle voice sounded at his side. Looking up, he saw a young man with a friendly smile.

"And you are?" Fat Han realized he didn’t know this man and hesitated.

"I am Fang Mingda, cousin of Chief Feng of Flying Phoenix Ridge. I came along to see the sights. Your injuries are not light, and if internal wounds aren’t treated promptly, they may affect your organs and, over time, your martial cultivation." Fang Xian smiled as he spoke.

"Then I’ll have to trouble you, Brother Fang." Fat Han agreed hesitantly.

Fang Xian took his pulse, used a wisp of mysterious energy to clear his meridians, and gave him a hemostatic healing pill. Soon, Fat Han felt much less pain.

"Thank you, Brother Fang," he said gratefully.

"Think nothing of it. As a healer, I can’t bear to see others suffer injury or illness. Whenever I see it, I do what I can. There’s no need to think more of it." Fang Xian nodded, waved, and left.

"Big Sister Feng, what’s your cousin doing?" On the dais, Zhu Shimei noticed Fang Xian had vanished and searched below, only to find him among the injured contestants.

"Oh, my cousin is skilled in medicine. He must be helping treat the wounded," Fengling said, though she wasn’t entirely sure of his intentions, she had seen what he was doing.

"Is he really so kind-hearted? Or is he trying to make a fortune?" Zhu Shimei blinked her large eyes, watching as the injured all cupped their hands in thanks to Fang Xian.

"Perhaps he’s just bored," Fengling replied.

But Fang Xian was not bored—he was taking the opportunity to win people over. With his medical skill, he could quickly help injured fighters recover. Most of these fighters were men of loyalty and honor; they would remember what he had done for them.

Not only did he help those hurt in the current bouts, but also those injured earlier. Soon, he had eased the pain of many, earning their deep gratitude.

"Thank you, Master Fang." Gradually, everyone from the various strongholds came to know of the warm-hearted healer Fang Mingda, whose superb skills could ease pain in a short time—earning widespread admiration.

"Don’t mention it—it’s just a small favor. We’re all brothers here, men of honor. No need to dwell on it," Fang Xian replied with a smile, winning the respect of the injured and their friends alike.