The Young Man Returns — Chapter Twenty-Two: A Bloody Close-Quarters Battle

Inside the prison hall, corpses lay scattered everywhere. Under the flickering candlelight and amidst the whistling cold wind, the scene appeared increasingly eerie and terrifying.

The burly man’s face was half in shadow and half in light. He raised his head and demanded, "Are you the Yi Heng who defeated my brother, Tian You, and dragged him back here?"

The man was massive and sturdy, resembling a towering mountain. His shoulders were broad, his back thick, and his barrel-like chest seemed capable of withstanding the charge of a thousand troops. Muscles bulged on his thick arms, as if they held infinite power. Just by standing there, he exerted an intense sense of oppression.

His name was Guo Shan; he was a martial artist and also a demonic cultivator. He had come specifically to rescue his brother, Tian You.

Yi Heng did not answer. He crouched beside a young prison guard, touching the pulse point on the man's neck. Sensing that the guard’s breath was extremely faint, he feared the man would die in the next instant.

"Thank goodness there is still a pulse. He can be saved!"

With a wave of his hand, a small wooden box appeared on the ground. Yi Heng took out silver needles and proceeded to apply them in order, piercing the Yamen, Laogong, and Sanyinjiao acupoints.

In the distance, Guo Shan watched the youth apply the needles. Guessing that the boy was trying to save someone, he folded his arms and watched with curiosity, not in a hurry to strike.

So, this brat was also a physician!

He thought to himself: Although he had only used two parts of his strength in that previous punch, it was not something an ordinary person could withstand. Unless a miracle-working doctor were alive, no one could save him, and he certainly did not believe this young lad was such a master.

Seeing the youth apply several needles without any reaction, Guo Shan muttered, "That man is about to kick the bucket. Don't waste your effort; no amount of needles will bring him back. Get up and fight me."

Yi Heng did not give up, continuing to place three more needles into the Yongquan, Taixi, and Zhongwan points.

"I’m asking you, are you a fool? Even if your medical skills were heaven-defying, you couldn't save someone who has already stepped one foot into hell." Seeing Yi Heng drenched in sweat, holding his breath to channel his inner energy, Guo Shan mocked him ruthlessly.

"Shut up!"

Yi Heng roared. Concentrating his mind, after inserting the eighth needle, he grasped the guard’s hand and administered the final one, piercing the Hegu point an inch and a half deep.

The tail of the needle vibrated continuously, like a chick pecking at rice—the manifestation of "obtaining the qi" as described in acupuncture medicine.

In an instant, as if a miracle had descended, the young man suddenly opened his eyes, spat out a mouthful of stagnant blood, and returned to the living.

"Done. Finally, I’ve pulled him back from the gates of hell."

Yi Heng’s face lit up with joy. He withdrew his inner energy, his forehead covered in sweat. Knowing his efforts had not been in vain, he disregarded the massive expenditure of energy and spirit, his heart filled with the joy of saving a life, which is said to be equivalent to building a seven-storied pagoda.

Seeing the youth use his inner energy to save the dying guard with just nine needles, Guo Shan asked with curiosity, "You actually saved him. What is the name of the technique you used?"

Yi Heng stood up and said, "This technique is called the Nine Needles of Returning Yang. It has the power to bring the dead back to life."

"The Nine Needles of Returning Yang! Truly impressive."

The burly man’s gaze was like a torch, his body exuding a piercing aura as his large hand gripped the hilt of the giant sword beside him. The massive blade, broad and shimmering with cold light, was currently buried three inches deep into the floor.

He raised his head, staring coldly at Yi Heng, and said in a low, hoarse voice, enunciating every word:

"I will give you half an incense stick of time to recover your breath, and then you shall fight me. In this battle, the winner lives, and the loser dies!"

"To kill you, I have no need to recover."

Yi Heng slowly raised his head, a cold glint flashing in his eyes as he replied icily.

Yi Heng was truly enraged now. He had only been meditating for a single cycle, yet this man had broken into the prison and slaughtered these innocent people. Even for a notorious demonic cultivator, this was unacceptable.

Guo Shan grinned, pulled out his giant sword, and pointed it at Yi Heng. "Good! Since you are so eager to die, let the battle begin!"

Yi Heng placed the young prison guard to one side and said to the head jailer, "Take care of him for me. I will be back soon."

The head jailer nodded and said, "Young Master, go. Kill that man and avenge my brothers."

"I promise."

Yi Heng touched the Yintang point on the head jailer’s forehead, injecting a trace of his Nine-Mysteries inner energy. The jailer shuddered, feeling a warmth flowing through his body. He felt full of strength and peace of mind, no longer afraid.

Yi Heng stood up and walked toward the exit. "It is too cramped in here to move freely. Follow me outside!"

"Fine!"

Guo Shan dragged his giant sword behind Yi Heng as they exited the corridor.

...

On the long street, everything was silent. The night was as thick as mist, and a few strands of moonlight pierced the clouds, casting mottled shadows on the blue bricks.

Yi Heng and the burly man stood three zhang apart, locked in a silent standoff. The surrounding air seemed to freeze due to the tense atmosphere.

"Draw the long blade on your back!" the man shouted, his voice like a booming bell, piercing the silent night.

He raised his giant sword high, the blade shimmering with an eerie blue light, pointing directly at Yi Heng. A powerful sense of oppression washed over him.

"To kill you, why would I need a blade?" Yi Heng replied coldly.

He flexed his fingers and twisted his neck, his joints popping with crisp sounds.

Before the words had even faded, his figure vanished, leaving only a blur. In the blink of an eye, he appeared before the man. Clenching his right fist and channeling the energy from his Dantian, he struck out with a sharp sonic boom, his fist carrying immense power toward the man.

"Well fought!"

The man shouted, quickly dropping into a horse stance, as steady as a mountain. His massive fist, imbued with vigorous inner energy, smashed toward Yi Heng’s like a crashing waterfall.

"BOOM!" A thunderous sound shook the ground violently. Houses along the street rattled, and dust billowed into the air.

Both figures were sent flying backward like kites with broken strings, dragging long furrows in the ground for over a zhang before regaining their balance.

Yi Heng knelt on one knee, suddenly raising his head with burning battle intent in his eyes. He roared, "Again!"

As soon as he spoke, he vanished again, darting across the night sky like an arrow, appearing before the man once more to throw a punch.

The man reacted with lightning speed, side-stepping to easily dodge the lethal blow.

"Continue!"

Yi Heng did not stop. His fists rained down on the man like a storm, shadows of blows filling the air accompanied by whistling wind.

Guo Shan remained calm. Using his massive physique and the combat skills honed through endless slaughter, he easily deflected every attack. A confident smile remained on his face, as if he held everything under control.

In contrast, although Yi Heng’s attacks were fierce, his breathing grew rapid, and sweat beaded on his forehead, shimmering under the moonlight. He was clearly at a disadvantage.

But!

Only Guo Shan, who was receiving the blows, knew how powerful the youth’s fists truly were. He followed the training path of a martial artist of the demonic lineage.

This method was unorthodox and extremely insane.

When training, he had to place himself in desperate situations, using the power of rivers, waterfalls, and volcanoes to forcibly break his physical limits. Every time he trained, his muscles, bones, and meridians were ruthlessly torn apart and reshaped. The agony far surpassed any worldly torture, and anyone with a weaker will would never have survived.

Yet, through sheer tenacity, he endured the endless pain, constantly transforming his body into the powerful vessel it was today.

Because this demonic training method was so extreme, its practitioners lived only half as long as ordinary martial artists, but they were invincible at the same level.

The youth before him clearly did not follow the path of a pure martial artist, yet his physique was no worse than his own. On the contrary, as they fought, the youth seemed to be using him as a whetstone; those fists were becoming increasingly sharp and fierce.

Every time he blocked those iron-hard fists, it felt like enduring the strike of a hammer. Not only did the man feel his energy flow disrupted, but he also experienced a sense of pain he hadn't felt in a long time.

This stinging sensation acted like a spark, igniting the madness in his blood. He roared, his shirt bursting apart to reveal skin flushed red, like a bronze statue forged in blood. A terrifying aura erupted from him.

"Die!"

He kicked out, shattering the blue bricks, and threw a punch that created a thunderous explosion in the air.

Now, every move he made was more ferocious, like a humanoid beast transformed from a demon, capable of crushing all things.

Yi Heng sensed the change in the man but felt no fear. Instead, he grew more excited, a flush rising on his delicate face as he swung his fists at his opponent.

"Come again!!!"

...

The sleeping citizens in the surrounding houses, hearing the sounds of battle, could no longer sleep. Several people followed the moonlight to stand at their doorways or on their balconies, watching the two figures fighting on the street.

The sight of fist meeting flesh ignited the people’s blood. They were filled with such fervor they wished they could join the fray themselves.

Some of the women watching were stunned; the pure intensity of the battle between the men left them unable to look away.

BOOM!

The burly man finally lifted the sword that had been buried in the ground and slashed at Yi Heng. The blade struck Yi Heng’s chest, but instead of the expected scene of the chest being severed, the youth was sent flying away, landing in the unmelted snow on the street, his fate unknown.

"Ah!"

The women watching screamed, startled by the sight of the youth being struck by the giant blade, frightening the birds perched on the branches in the courtyards.

Guo Shan dragged his heavy sword, the blade scraping against the blue bricks with a harsh sound, leaving a deep groove.

He walked forward, step by step.

He panted heavily, beads of sweat rolling down his face. Though exhausted, his eyes remained fierce. He raised the giant sword, pointing the tip directly at the fallen Yi Heng. "You are not a pure martial artist, yet you chose close-quarters combat—truly unwise. But to force me to this extent with only your fists, you are the first of your generation."

"To show my respect, I will cut off your head, cook it, and eat you, letting you become a part of my strength."

The man’s tone was insane, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

As he finished speaking, he raised his sword high. The blade shimmered with cold light, the veins on his arm bulging as he exerted all his strength to strike at Yi Heng’s neck.

This strike carried both his fury and his respect, moving with extreme speed and carving a sharp arc through the air.

Just as the blade was about to sever the neck in that split second...

Two slender, fair fingers appeared out of thin air, steadily catching the edge of the blade. The fingers looked fragile, yet they held immense power, preventing the man’s sword from advancing even a fraction.

Guo Shan was shocked, instinctively taking a step back. His face filled with horror, he gasped, "You didn't die!"

His eyes were filled with disbelief. He had thought victory was in his grasp; he never expected the severely wounded Yi Heng to still be able to unleash such power.

Yi Heng slowly raised his chin, his eyes filled with disdain and resolve as he stood up. "I am a person who values promises above all else. Since I promised someone I would kill you, how could I die so easily?" His voice was not loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the silent night, carrying an irresistible power.

With that, Yi Heng vanished again, leaving behind a trail of afterimages. The next moment, he appeared before the man, his inner energy surging wildly to form a massive vortex.

He raised his right fist high, his aura condensed upon it until the surrounding air hummed with pressure.

"Die!"

Yi Heng roared. His fist, carrying the weight of his massive energy, descended like a river flowing backward with terrifying force toward the man’s chest.

The wind of the punch whistled, stirring up dust until it formed a small sandstorm.

The man’s eyes widened in fear. He wanted to dodge, but Yi Heng’s attack was too fast. He had no choice but to gather all his energy in his chest, attempting to block this lethal blow.

"BOOM!" With a deafening sound, Yi Heng’s fist collided with the man’s chest, releasing a powerful wave of energy that rippled outward like a surging sea.

The street collapsed, leaving a shocking, cavernous crater in the ground.

Fragments of shattered blue bricks flew like dense arrows, imbued with massive power, shooting in all directions. Some pierced deep into thick tree trunks, others embedded themselves into heavy wooden doors, and some sank into the soft soil.

The people in the distance screamed and ducked, fearing the debris would injure them.

On the street, Guo Shan felt as if his chest had been struck by a mountain. He was sent flying backward like a broken kite, tracing a long arc through the air before slamming into the ground dozens of zhang away, spitting out a large mouthful of blood that stained the earth red.

Just when everyone thought the battle was over and the youth had won, the blood the man spat out began to coalesce into an eerie mist, shrouding him.

From within the blood mist, a low growl could be heard, as if an ancient beast was awakening.

The man’s body trembled violently. His remaining tattered clothing was shredded by an invisible force, and dark red demonic patterns surfaced on his skin, writhing like twisted snakes. His hair turned blood-red in an instant, dancing wildly without wind.

He slowly rose to his feet, his eyes filled with insane, violent crimson light. Wherever he looked, the air hissed as if it were being set ablaze.

Thick demonic energy surged from his body. Wherever it passed, the ground cracked, flowers and plants withered, and life rapidly faded.

Under the crescent moon, he spread his arms and roared at the sky. His endless resentment and fury caused the street to tremble.

Yi Heng knelt on one knee, panting slightly. Watching the scene before him, his expression grew increasingly grave.

High upon a distant roof, a figure in a grey robe wearing a conical hat watched the changes on the street in silence.

The ugly man who had been locked in the prison was now standing beside the figure in the hat, holding a silver needle in his hand—the very needle Yi Heng had used to seal his Dantian and obstruct his inner energy.

He gloated, "Big Brother, that bastard actually forced Guo Shan to undergo demonic transformation. He will surely be pounded into meat paste by Guo Shan’s iron fists this time!"