Chapter 142: The Death of Fang Sheng

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“Puff! Puff! Puff!”

One Shaolin disciple after another was struck by arrows and fell to the ground. They had gathered too closely together, and none had shields to protect them.

The Shaolin side attacked according to the methods of martial-arts combat, while the Five Elements Banners fought as a military formation. The Shaolin disciples had no way to defend themselves and could only wave their weapons frantically, trying to ward off the incoming attacks.

But the Sharp Metal Banner wielded powerful bows and deadly arrows. The volleys were so dense that these mere two or three waves of arrows inflicted heavy casualties upon the Shaolin disciples.

“Fall back!”

At last, Fang Zheng had no time even to chant the Buddha’s name and hurriedly ordered a retreat. Once they had withdrawn and the casualties were counted, tears nearly fell from Fang Zheng’s eyes. In that single assault, more than five hundred Shaolin disciples had been killed or wounded, most of them lay disciples.

Fang Zheng and Fang Sheng felt as though their hearts were bleeding. Forcing down their grief, they called off the attack.

“Abbot, we cannot retreat! They destroyed our Buddha statues and killed our fellow disciples. How can our brothers’ blood be shed in vain?” the Shaolin disciples shouted in fury and madness.

“Do not panic. The blood of our Shaolin disciples will certainly not be shed in vain. Let these demonic wretches run rampant for one day. Tonight, I shall lead a force in a night raid!”

Fang Sheng, the Shaolin second-in-command, roared loudly, tears glistening in his tiger-like eyes. At last, he managed to quell the disciples’ fury.

“Junior Brother, you must not put yourself in danger so lightly,” Fang Zheng said solemnly.

“Senior Brother, I am not taking a reckless risk. As far as I know, there are no true masters among these demonic wretches. The strongest of them are Linghu Chong, Lan Fenghuang, the Yellow River Ancestor, and a few others. Tonight, I shall take the masters of our sect up the mountain through the secret passage and catch them off guard. Besides, I have no intention of fighting them in a pitched battle. I shall use my familiarity with the terrain to launch a surprise attack.

“As the saying goes, to capture the bandits, first capture their leader. They won a great victory today, so their defenses tonight are sure to be lax. What is more, I shall attack through the secret passage. Taking them down will be as easy as turning over my hand! Once these few people are captured, the demons will be left leaderless, and the danger facing Shaolin will be dispelled in an instant.”

Fang Sheng spoke with absolute confidence, as though victory were already in his grasp.

After hearing Fang Sheng’s plan, Fang Zheng nodded. He too felt that it was an excellent scheme and did not press the matter further. Instead, he selected the sect’s finest fighters and began preparing for the night raid.

Time passed quickly. Before long, night had fallen. The moon was dark, the wind was high—a perfect time for killing and arson. After eating and drinking his fill, Fang Sheng began meditating and regulating his breath, keeping himself in peak condition.

When midnight arrived, Fang Sheng suddenly opened his eyes. With a gesture, he led fifty of the monastery’s finest masters into the secret passage after exchanging a word with Fang Zheng. They employed their lightness skills and moved without making the slightest sound, racing toward the other end of the passage.

Fang Sheng was brimming with confidence, but he did not know that this world possessed a cheating ocular technique known as the White Eyes. Every move he made lay within Linghu Chong’s field of vision, and Linghu Chong had long since laid a net of traps at the opposite end of the passage.

Fang Sheng and the fifty masters reached the far end with ease. They listened carefully and found nothing amiss, nor did they sense any danger. Thus, Fang Sheng gave a signal and led the others out one after another.

But the moment Fang Sheng and his men emerged from the passage, Fang Zheng’s expression changed dramatically.

With a thunderous crash, the entrance to the passage collapsed. Boulders piled up and sealed the opening. Yet the stones blocking the entrance were, perversely, Buddha statues. Directly before Fang Sheng’s eyes was the enormous head of a Buddha. The Buddha smiled with a flower between his fingers, and now the stone face seemed to wear a faint, elusive smile—as though mocking Fang Sheng’s overconfidence.

This was the work of the Thick Earth Banner. It had long ago installed a mechanism at the entrance, much like a collapsing dragon gorge. The instant Fang Sheng and the others emerged, the mechanism was activated, cutting off their retreat.

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At the same moment the entrance collapsed, torches flared to life about a hundred yards ahead of Fang Sheng. One flaming arrow after another came hurtling toward them. Fang Sheng and the others instinctively dodged, only to realize that the arrows were not aimed at them at all, but at the ground directly before them.

Numerous piles of firewood had been stacked there, each one soaked in lamp oil. The flaming arrows struck the heaps with perfect accuracy, and with a roar, tongues of flame leaped into the sky, turning the darkness of night into daylight.

The firelight illuminated Fang Sheng’s livid face.

“Someone warned you?” Fang Sheng asked through clenched teeth.

Linghu Chong shook his head.

“You knew I would launch a night raid?”

Linghu Chong nodded.

“How could you know the exact time? Even lying in wait could not have produced such perfect timing!” Fang Sheng demanded unwillingly.

“Nothing Shaolin does can escape these eyes.”

Linghu Chong pointed to his White Eyes.

Fang Sheng froze and stared carefully at Linghu Chong’s eyes. In the firelight, both eyes were completely white, the pupils white as well. Veins bulged around them, making his face appear especially savage in the darkness and flames.

“Has Yang Xin arrived?” Fang Sheng suddenly asked.

“He has.”

“Where?”

“In the clouds.”

“At a time like this, you still dare deceive me?” Fang Sheng snarled through gritted teeth.

Linghu Chong shook his head and suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of tedium. Ever since Yang Xin had appeared and displayed one miraculous, mysterious method after another, the entire martial world had changed. It had become incomprehensible.

A single volume of the Evil-Exterminating Sword Manual had dragged the once lofty, untouchable masters at the pinnacle of the martial world down from their altars. One bottle of Maiden’s Tears had begun the requiem for Shaolin. A pair of White Eyes had seen through Shaolin’s arrangements for the night...

All these unbelievable events—especially tonight, when Fang Sheng, once the second most powerful figure in Shaolin, a man whose every footstep could make the martial world tremble, had become a turtle trapped in a jar—gave Linghu Chong an intensely unreal sensation.

Linghu Chong could no longer be bothered to argue with Fang Sheng. Debating right and wrong had long since lost its meaning. He had no intention of engaging Fang Sheng and the others in close combat. Instead, he merely waved his hand.

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“Whoosh!”

“Whoosh!”

“Whoosh!”

Wave after wave of arrows shot forth. Once the rain of arrows had passed, spears came flying through the air, followed at last by spinning hatchets that hurtled toward them.

Fang Sheng dodged the arrows, evaded the spears, and endured the flying hatchets. By the time it was over, his entire body was covered in wounds, while all fifty of the Shaolin masters who had come on the night raid lay dead upon the ground.

“I have brought this upon you!”

Tears filled Fang Sheng’s eyes, and blood seemed to weep from his heart as he let out mournful cries. He did not want to die—not because he feared death, but because he could not bear to die without meaning.

Thus, forcing down his grief, he opened his eyes wide in fury and roared, “I refuse to accept this! Linghu Chong, I refuse to accept this! If you truly consider yourself a hero, then fight me face-to-face!”

“As you wish,” Linghu Chong said indifferently.

He raised a hand and waved it once. The Sharp Metal Banner ceased its attack.

Fang Sheng was delighted. His provocation had worked. He immediately employed his lightness skill and lunged toward Linghu Chong.

Linghu Chong’s raised hand did not fall. Instead, it remained held out in the shape of a palm, seemingly frozen as it faced the charging Fang Sheng. When Fang Sheng came within thirty feet of him, he saw Linghu Chong standing there in a daze. A surge of joy rose in his heart, and he gathered the full force of his Vajra Palm, striking toward Linghu Chong’s head.

“Keep staring blankly... Just remain like that for three more breaths, Linghu Chong, and you will die by my hand...”

Unfortunately, those thirty feet had already become an insurmountable chasm.

Fang Sheng suddenly felt an immense force rushing toward him. Through the haze, he saw Linghu Chong’s lips move, while four words seemed to drift faintly into his ears:

“Eight Trigrams Empty Palm!”

Already gravely wounded, Fang Sheng could no longer withstand the blow. Linghu Chong’s palm struck his heart meridian, killing him instantly.

Linghu Chong had not originally intended to take Fang Sheng’s life. He had wanted to capture him alive, so that whether they advanced or retreated, they would retain some room to maneuver. But just as Linghu Chong was about to seize Fang Sheng alive, Yang Xin’s cold snort reached his ears.

“Kill him.”

Linghu Chong narrowed his eyes. He did not dare disobey Yang Xin’s command. Then he thought of the tenant farmers who had been beaten to death or driven to their deaths by Shaolin monks, and of the peasant girls sold into brothels by those same monks.

His heart hardened. Gathering every last trace of his chakra, he struck with the Eight Trigrams Empty Palm.

The blow sent Fang Sheng flying. When his body hit the ground like a torn sack, his breathing had already ceased.

“Cut off Fang Sheng’s head and hang it from a tall pole. Force Shaolin to fight us to the death!”

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