Xiangzi’s Record of Immortal Cultivation-Chapter 86: When People Are Killed, They Die

Revenge demands strength.
Xiangzi knew this.
He was acutely aware of the chasm between himself and the Li family.
Even Ma Liu Rickshaw Yard, insignificant to Lin Junqing, was an untouchable colossus to him now.
This was why Uncle Jie, grasping his hand in his final moments, pleaded,
“No revenge.”
By all reason, a mere Blood Energy Barrier warrior like Xiangzi shouldn’t dream of vengeance.
Slow and steady is the way.
How could he not know?
The world was full of reason. If reason ruled, why did Liu Tang, a ninth-rank minor completion warrior, abandon his future to storm the Li family’s mining zone? Why didn’t Wen San take Li Gui’s bait and sell out Xiangzi and Master Tang? Why did Big Mouth Li and Old Xia sacrifice themselves to draw off the Li family guards?
In this chaotic world, Xiangzi truly didn’t grasp reason.
Suppressing his tangled thoughts, he fell silent, his smile fading into deadly seriousness. “Master Lin, I
will
have my revenge.”
“No matter how powerful the Li family is, they’re still human.”
“If I can’t kill them today, I’ll wait for tomorrow. If tomorrow fails, I’ll wait for the day after.”
His voice was soft, neither thunderous nor indignant.
It was calm, almost breezy.
But anyone could hear the icy resolve in the rickshaw puller’s words.
One day not enough? Two days.
Two days not enough? Three.
When people are killed, they die.
The Li family are people too!
Lin Junqing was stunned.
An unranked warrior, a lowly rickshaw puller, dared speak of toppling the centuries-old Li family?
Even at his own peak, such words would’ve seemed arrogant.
Yet this young man said them so calmly.
An ant shaking a tree?
The phrase flashed in Lin Junqing’s mind.
He felt a daze, recalling his younger self, resolute to step onto the arena.
Back then, all of Forty-Nine City must’ve seen him as that ant.
He glanced at his right leg, a pang of wistfulness rising.
Since his defeat years ago, some long-sealed emotion stirred at this young man’s words.
Pushing down old memories, Lin Junqing asked, “Xiangzi, I hear you’re skilled with spear and kicks?”
Xiangzi paused, clasping his fists. “Just crude techniques, hardly skill.”
Lin Junqing approached the weapon rack, flicking his foot. A wooden spear flew toward Xiangzi with a
clang
!
“Show me your spear moves. Attack freely!”
Xiangzi spun, catching the spear. “Master Lin, pardon my offense!”
The spear steadied, his shoulders sank, elbows dropped.
Once in hand, his aura shifted sharply.
Lin Junqing’s eyes sharpened—
such a solid spear stance. Has he really only trained a few months?
With that, the middle-aged warrior slid his right foot back, knees slightly bent, left toes forward, heel lightly raised.
Xiangzi’s eyes narrowed—an unfamiliar stance, yet exuding extraordinary power.
Its blend of void and substance held a surging explosiveness.
“Offense, Master Lin,” Xiangzi said gravely, wrist twisting, the spear slicing through the night like a dragon, a cold gleam bursting forth!
—
In the hazy night, two figures blurred into afterimages in the courtyard.
Time passed, and both stood still.
Xiangzi leaned on his spear, panting heavily.
Sweat dripped from his temples, brow, sleeves, and ankles.
His soaked clothes clung as if doused with water.
Sweat stung his eyes painfully.
A flicker of
unwillingness
flashed in his gaze.
Lin Junqing had suppressed himself to ninth-rank entry-level, yet Xiangzi, with spear in hand, couldn’t touch him!
Is this the gap?
The courtyard fell silent.
Moonlight bathed the middle-aged warrior.
Lin Junqing smirked. “What? Not satisfied?”
“I’m only at ninth-rank entry-level, and you can’t graze my sleeve.”
“Do you think the Li family, with their vast five-colored gold mine, lacks ninth-rank warriors?”
“Your blood and qi are impressive, but do you really think that’s enough to face them?”
“Truly a frog in a well!”
His words were icy, each a blade.
Xiangzi, too drained to speak, lifted his head, squinting.
His wrist shook, the spear’s momentum surging—his answer.
Lin Junqing’s lips curled with intrigue.
It’s been years since I’ve seen such an interesting youth.
—
A pinpoint of cold light pierced the thick night, blooming before Lin Junqing.
He nodded faintly, impressed by the spear’s sharpness.
Even with his blood and qi exhausted, this puller’s stance and spearwork remained flawless.
Lin Junqing stopped dodging with his superior footwork. His expression hardened, left foot grinding the ground.
With a stomp, he twisted his hips like an axle, his right fist bursting from his ribs, aimed two inches below Xiangzi’s spear tip.
Tonight, Lin Junqing struck for the first time.
A spear’s inch-long advantage is its strength
, yet few warriors dared face it head-on.
But Lin Junqing’s fist met it directly.
The spear moved first, but the fist arrived faster.
Xiangzi tensed, trying to flick a spear flourish to repel him, but his wrist faltered.
Too fast.
The fist came too swiftly, timed perfectly to catch Xiangzi’s waning breath.
Even with his enhanced vision from the tiger demon’s marrow, he could only glimpse the fist’s afterimage.
Is this truly ninth-rank entry-level fistwork?
The strength of a martial hall’s direct disciple?
A faint boom split the air.
The fist stopped an inch from Xiangzi’s face.
A fierce gust stung his eyes.
Unfazed, Xiangzi squinted, locked on the fist.
He saw clearly—Lin Junqing’s punch wasn’t a swing but a snap of shoulder, elbow, and spine.
How to describe it?
The fist was like an arrow, his spine the bow, his hide the string.
A human bow firing a fist?
No, not quite right.
The fist hovered before him, its thick calluses visible.
Suddenly, Xiangzi blurted, “Spear technique?”
Yes.
The body as a spear.
The fist as its tip!
This unstoppable, ferocious force, disguised as fistwork, was spear technique!