荒墟牧神 - 第13章 木棍百擊斷生機 - 雲海書庫

were very common in the ruins, and so—"Never leave your enemy any chance," Granny Zhu said to him with great gravity. Senior Brother Qu's corpse made him uneasy, but the ruins were exactly such a place: the strong preyed on the weak and the fittest survived. Shen Mu had grown up here, used to seeing strange beasts fight and kill one another in the ruins; Qu's corpse was no different from any other beast's corpse. He was still steadying his breathing when footsteps suddenly sounded. Shen Mu strained to turn his head toward the sound and was startled to see Senior Sister Qing limping his way, a sword in her hand and her face swollen like a pig's head, beyond recognition. He struggled to rise, but every limb, joint, and muscle ached and swelled, so he could only stop and pant, silently driving the Three-Pellet Mystic Body Art. His vital essence slowly grew lively, welled up, and flowed toward aching muscles and torn sinews and bones. Where it passed, the swelling eased, but his senses sharpened and a fiery, scorching pain rushed in. Senior Sister Qing kept limping closer. This woman had fought Shen Mu with her leg arts, and he had kicked both her legs half to ruin; her face had taken no one knew how many kicks, and the worst had been the final one, which Shen Mu had delivered with all his strength. That kick had been like a poisonous dragon lashing its tail, flattening her pretty features, and now her face was swollen, puffed up like overnight dough left to rise. The teeth in her mouth had likely all been knocked out; from the corners of her lips saliva mixed with blood was dripping endlessly. But her hand was steady, and the sword in it still shone with cold light. Clearly her heart held towering hatred, and she wanted to cut Shen Mu into ten thousand pieces. Shen Mu quickened the Three-Pellet Mystic Body Art, trying to recover some strength, but the fierce battle had left his body far too worn out. Only one who had opened the Spirit Embryo Wall and absorbed the Spirit-Soul Palace could be called a true martial artist. He was not yet a true martial artist, yet he had been able to beat a martial artist like Senior Brother Qu to death—that was already an extraordinary accomplishment. But no more than that. He had no strength left to go on fighting Senior Sister Qing. At last Senior Sister Qing reached Shen Mu. She tried to speak, but her mouth and throat were too swollen to make a sound, so she raised the sword and drove it viciously down at him! "What an adorable little girl. Granny has taken a real fancy to you." Senior Sister Qing's body suddenly froze; the sword hit an invisible obstruction and could not come down. Terror appeared in her eyes as she saw a little old woman with a basket on her arm, tottering over on tiny bound feet. Shivering from head to foot, Senior Sister Qing retreated, when a resonant voice sounded from behind her: "Mu-er, my Beast-Butchering Saber Art became a little wooden stick in your hands! It took you five thousand four hundred and seventy-six strokes to bring this boy down, and the one who finally killed the little bastard was a sword!" Senior Sister Qing turned her head with difficulty and saw several misshapen people approaching: a blind old man holding a staff to feel his way, a lame old man with one leg missing, a freak with all four limbs hacked off, and a burly, ferocious-faced man who was nothing but an upper torso. The torso man had been packed into a bamboo basket and carried all the way, while the limbless freak had been borne along by the others. Every one of them looked horrifically mangled. The only one who appeared normal was the middle-aged man carrying the bamboo basket, but his face had been completely destroyed, the skin pared flat, making him the most ghastly and savage sight of all. The one who had spoken was the torso man, ferocious-faced, sitting in the basket. He was so angry that his beard bristled and his eyes bulged, and he began to scold Shen Mu from across the distance: