Chapter Forty-Two: Crossing Swords

“Ha.”

Zhang Wujia exhaled, his momentum-worn right fist suddenly retracting. With a subtle shift of his body, he spun half a turn in place, unleashing a long-anticipated punch from his left hand in a sweeping arc.

Unable to retreat in time, Liu Ji could only raise his elbow to block the blow head-on.

Bang!

As their arms met, Liu Ji felt as if his limb had been seared by a red-hot iron tong. He dropped into a squat, bracing one foot and kicking at his opponent’s shin.

Zhang Wujia staggered back repeatedly, his right foot digging into the ground to halt his retreat. The anger in his eyes burned brighter, yet his mood gradually steadied. This young garrison commander was no mere reputation; he would have to handle him carefully.

Unbeknownst to him, Liu Ji was even more astonished. That kick should have been enough to send Zhang Wujia stumbling—if his balance had wavered even slightly, he wouldn’t have escaped Liu Ji’s follow-up attack. Yet Zhang had only retreated two steps before firmly planting himself.

“Well done!”

In just a handful of moves, the two soared and swooped like eagles and harriers, dazzling the spectators. The laymen watched for excitement, while those with discernment saw the subtleties, and voices rang out in acclaim—not limited to either side.

“Excellent! Once more!”

This time, Liu Ji made the first move. He didn’t bother with a formal stance. His legs crossed as he advanced, and just as Zhang Wujia’s gaze fixed on his feet, Liu used his left leg as a pivot, powered his waist, and, leaning sideways, drew his right leg in a half-elliptical arc straight toward Zhang’s chest.

Zhang Wujia intended to block with his elbow, but the force behind the kick made him hesitate. It was too late to retreat; he could only lean his upper body back to dodge the incoming foot.

Unexpectedly, Liu Ji’s kick was a feint. As his foot barely reached Zhang’s chest, it whipped upward, then chopped down like a blade.

At that moment, Zhang Wujia had lost his balance, his upper body suspended. Just as Liu’s foot made contact with his chest, Zhang brought both hands together and, in a split-second, seized Liu’s ankle. His body continued falling backward under the pressure, but his calves were locked straight like iron pillars, his knees braced, slowly absorbing the force.

Iron Bridge!

In both his lives, Liu Ji had never seen anyone block his kick in such a manner. At least, the onlookers were so stunned that they couldn’t even cheer.

“Rise!”

“Go!”

Zhang Wujia exhaled again, flipping his hands forcefully in an attempt to throw Liu Ji and stand up himself.

Liu Ji had anticipated this. He twisted midair, landing on his right leg, while his left leg lashed out like a whip—a high roundhouse kick striking Zhang Wujia’s back just as he stood.

“Ugh!”

Zhang Wujia felt his chest churn, almost ready to vomit. He staggered backward, pressing down the surge of blood with the momentum. Seeing Liu Ji withdraw his leg and not pursue, his gaze turned obscure and inscrutable.

They had exchanged fewer than ten moves. Liu Ji’s strength was less than Zhang’s, but his techniques were endlessly varied, all unfamiliar. Clearly, Liu Ji recognized the disparity and wouldn’t try to match raw power.

Is this unfair? On the battlefield, only life or death matters; fairness is irrelevant. He understood this truth at fifteen, his first time in battle. Thirty years and a hundred skirmishes—what enemy or peril hadn’t he faced? This was nothing.

The anger in Zhang Wujia’s eyes faded. He slowly untied his battle sash, tossing it and the belt to the ground, then ripped off his war robe, revealing his bare upper body. Liu Ji and those around were stunned.

It wasn’t because Zhang Wujia had any peculiar tastes, nor because his physique matched modern standards of fitness. His arms showed clear, segmented muscle; his chest wasn’t large but each muscle stood out like iron blocks; his abdomen was flat, the muscles aligned like furrows in a field, visible with every breath.

What truly shocked them were the scars covering his body—long ones stretching from shoulder to abdomen, like fierce serpents crawling across him; short ones crisscrossing like a spider’s web; and the faded, darkened pits unmistakably from arrow wounds.

This was a veteran of the Western Frontier, bearing the scars of thirty years of bloodshed—a man whose greatest pride was these marks of honor.

In that instant, Liu Ji was filled with respect. He too removed his shirt, exposing a much younger body, with far fewer scars.

“Commander Zhang, please.”

He made a gesture with his left palm and right fist.

“Forgive me.”

Zhang Wujia charged straight ahead, no flourish—a punch to the chest, still fierce as ever, wide and bold, suited to breaking formations in battle.

This time, Liu Ji didn’t intend to rely on cunning. His left palm was ready, meeting Zhang’s fist and absorbing the force. It was like a giant stone pressing down; only by using his waist and legs could Liu Ji barely withstand it.

In pure strength, Zhang Wujia was just shy of Darnangqi, but not by much.

With his punch blocked, Zhang Wujia didn’t use his left hand. He pressed in, feet staggered, twisting his waist downward, left arm bent, closing the distance in an instant.

Shoulder Elbow!

Liu Ji realized Zhang’s intention—to engage in close combat, minimizing Liu’s space to evade and forcing him to match strength.

He ducked to avoid the elbow, grabbing Zhang’s waistband with his free right hand, stepping his left leg back, and surging forward—a knee strike to Zhang’s thigh. Though the proximity prevented full force, it was enough to loosen Zhang’s stance.

Liu Ji immediately released Zhang’s fist, wrapped his arms around his waist, and powered through—a sudden back throw, slamming Zhang heavily behind him.

“Bravo!”

As Liu Ji dusted his hands and straightened, thunderous shouts erupted.

Zhang Wujia slowly got up. Though the throw wasn’t heavy, it was clear before everyone’s eyes who had won. This time, Liu Ji had met him head-on, using no tricks. Wrestling was a military skill as well; Zhang had no reason to complain.

On the battlefield, even a slight misstep meant death.

“I’ve lost.”

“Thank you for the match,” Liu Ji replied without a hint of arrogance, clasping his fists. “Commander, if you wish to try weapons, pick any you like.”

Zhang Wujia shook his head and went to retrieve his clothing. “You’re a disciple of Master Tian—neither sword nor spear can match you. There’s no need to subject myself to further humiliation.”

Truth be told, Liu Ji couldn’t even recall learning any weapon skills from Tian Zhen, but he wouldn’t admit it now.

“I’ll go to Officer Duan for removal from duty, expulsion, and return home.”

With that, Zhang Wujia pushed through the crowd without a backward glance, leaving Liu Ji standing there in a daze. He had never intended to drive the man away.