Volume 3: Ten Directions Dao Yi, Chapter 99: May 15

As May 15 drew nearer, a tidal wave of outsiders flooded into Bincheng, and all at once, the police found themselves busier than ever. The online commotion had now been blocked, but the incident had already gone viral, with millions aware of it—and powerless to do anything. Where the city had previously seemed spacious, it now became crowded overnight. Hotels, restaurants, and the tourism industry saw a staggering surge—business increased by over five hundred percent, if not more. The feeling was exhilarating, and the city government was suffering and rejoicing in equal measure.

Nanshan South had long since been cordoned off, still unreleased since the last incident. Neither the White-Clad Sword Saint Ao Tian nor Qin Yang could have predicted that after their duel, Nanshan South would become a tourist sanctuary, adored by countless fans and thrusting Bincheng into the ranks of first-tier cities, laying a solid foundation for its rise.

At this moment, Nanshan South was overflowing with people. The Dragon Squad had arrived three days prior to set up security. Police cordons encircled the area; only martial arts masters could ascend the mountain—ordinary folks didn’t even qualify. Police forces were reinforced, with the Bincheng military district sharing the duty. Officers stood armed and alert; no one dared make trouble.

The two had agreed on May 15, but no one knew the exact hour. Everyone came as if to watch a movie, clutching popcorn and snacks.

“Oh, seems we came too early—should’ve waited a bit,” someone nearby grumbled.

“If you hadn’t, just look behind you. Without coming early, you’d never even squeeze in,” another replied.

Was it really that terrifying? The man glanced behind him—an endless mass of heads, impossible to count, and more people streaming in from afar.

Nearby, a water vendor was busy handing out change and speaking into his phone. “Hello, this is Er Mao. Yes, I’m at Nanshan South. Send me a truckload of bottled water. No, two trucks. Yes, you heard right—two trucks.”

At the mountain peak, a cordon had been set up; everyone was kept at a distance. Martial artists who arrived stared at a long fissure below, their faces full of astonishment. This crack was no natural formation—it had been split open.

As Qin Yang’s exploits in Beihai became known, everyone widened their eyes. None had expected this was not the first place Qin Yang had issued a challenge.

By midday, a figure in white stood out brilliantly—fair skin, black hair fluttering, like a television star. Waves of cheers rose from below.

Ao Tian, meanwhile, was bewildered. What was this? Wasn’t it just a duel? Why had so many come?

How could one compete under such circumstances? With a light leap, Ao Tian soared directly toward the mountaintop.

“The White-Clad Sword Saint, Ao Tian!”

“It’s Ao Tian!”

“My idol—I finally see him in person!”

Young women shouted, swooning, while Ao Tian’s face darkened further. He wanted to tell Qin Yang to change the venue, but alas, he had no phone.

Riding with Ye Meier, he arrived at the street adjacent to Nanshan South, only to find the road jammed with cars—no way forward. Resigned, he got out. Was he even allowed to compete anymore? He’d have to walk the remaining ten kilometers or so to the peak.

This was no way to play. The closer he walked, the darker his expression grew. The road ahead was impassable—never before had he heard of a duelist being barred from the arena by enthusiastic fans.

Ye Meier followed, giggling nonstop, her ample chest bouncing, making him want to squeeze it and see if it was as soft as legend claimed.

He found a spot, lit a cigarette, and relaxed—since he couldn’t get through, he might as well take it easy.

“Qin Yang, just tell them you’re here for the duel—they’ll surely clear a path for you,” Ye Meier suggested, suppressing a mischievous smile.

That sounded doable. “Brother, I’m Qin Yang, here for the duel. Mind letting me through?” he said to a middle-aged man.

The man stared at him for a full minute. “Buddy, can’t you come up with something new? I’ve heard that line seven times already—the guy in front of me claims to be Qin Yang too.”

Really?

His face fell. What were the odds? He moved on, smoking, looking around.

“Tch, so many fakes nowadays, all claiming to be Beihai Qin Yang.”

“Exactly. Beihai Qin Yang? I’d say he’s got three heads and six arms, rides on wheels of fire, and wields steel rings.”

Are they comparing me to Nezha now? He glared at Ye Meier, who was laughing uncontrollably. “Keep laughing and I’ll eat you,” he threatened.

“Anytime you like,” she replied.

Qin Yang dared not respond—he’d never met such a formidable woman. Ye Meier was mature and alluring; if not for the location, he might not have been able to restrain himself.

“All right, enough fooling around. Go back and wait for me,” Qin Yang said, extinguishing his cigarette. He gazed at the peak and sprang upwards, soaring instantly.

Everyone turned to look, especially the middle-aged man who’d spoken to Qin Yang—his eyes widened. Could this guy really be Beihai Qin Yang?

A chill ran through him; after all, his words earlier had been anything but polite.

The commotion was huge. Everyone stared skyward. The rookie members of the Dragon Squad were thrilled.

“Damn, the Demon has arrived.”

“Yeah, last time there was a battle at the base, we didn’t get to see it. This time, whatever happens, we’ll watch closely.”

“I’ve heard this White-Clad Sword Saint Ao Tian is formidable. Do you think our instructor can beat him?”

Silence fell at that question. Demoness handed each of them a handful of popcorn. “Enough nonsense—keep order.”

Standing aside, Demoness was full of worry. But this was a martial artist’s oath—nothing could change it.

In the crowd, a woman watched the soaring figure, her brows furrowed. That silhouette looked so familiar. She shook her head—impossible. She’d investigated his identity; he was just an ordinary man.

Yet, for reasons unknown, the images of the two kept overlapping in her mind. A voice within insisted: this was him.

Cheers rolled out like waves, spreading ever outward.

Ao Tian rose, dusted himself off, and smiled. “You’ve finally arrived. You haven’t disappointed me.”

He pressed his hands down; the shouting crowd fell silent, and the surroundings became exceptionally quiet.

“Ao Tian, I almost couldn’t make it up here. I told them my name, but they accused me of being a fake. Isn’t that injustice?” Qin Yang said.

Ao Tian had expected Qin Yang to greet him, but instead he was hit with this. He nearly collapsed.

Brother, I concede. Deciding to fight you was a mistake.