Chapter 293 — What's Yours Will Not Be Withheld
Years of Heartflutter · Page 1 of 4
Yang Cenbin's Yang Family Flying Kick was something Yang Ce had developed back when he refused to study properly and spent his days brawling with anyone who crossed him. There was no technique to it, no method at all—it was sheer brute force hammered into his body through raw repetition.
Martial artists, of course, turned their noses up at such a crude trick. True, one could launch the first kick in midair, pause a beat, then snap out a second one with equal lethality—but the lingering consequences of unleashing such a move were simply too severe.
Whoever used it would find both legs dangling in empty air, center of gravity wholly lost, and come crashing down flat on his backside. And if that flying kick failed to finish the enemy in one blow, the aftermath was truly disastrous: once sprawled on the ground, he could not scramble up quickly, and would the opponent, seizing such an opening, ever let it pass?
So no one in his right mind would casually resort to such a dangerous move. But Yang Jiyan was a man who sought victory amid peril, and he had honed the Yang Family Flying Kick to the brink of perfection. This was hardly the first time it had served him at a critical juncture—countless prior successes lay behind him—so Yang Moxi was confident one kick would be enough to finish Tian Long.
And had Yang Ce not already located Tian Long's vital weak point?
So it was that, with Tian Long completely off guard, Yang Ce used the first kick as a feint to scatter his attention, then drove the second viciously into his vital point—the blow dealt to Tian Long could well be imagined.
Anyone who practiced such hard qigong carried a vital weak point on his body; once that point was struck with sufficient force, all his martial arts would collapse. Tian Long was naturally no exception.
Eyes wide with terror, Tian Long glared at Yang Ce, yet there was nothing he could do. He knew he was finished, powerless to struggle against Yang Ce any longer. He had been utterly defeated.
In that brief instant, Tian Long finally understood what it meant to plummet from the heights of joy to the depths of grief. Only moments before he had stood there in arrogant swagger, certain he had won great merit in the eyes of the boss behind the scenes—and in the blink of an eye, Yang Ce had shattered his power, and he was about to become a prisoner.
"Someone! Come here, now!" Tian Long was no fool. He knew that if he lingered, Yang Ce would keep attacking, and with his martial arts broken, how could he possibly be Yang Juehuan's match?
So the instant his senses cleared, he began shouting for help at the top of his lungs.
Zhang Jinguo had been waiting nearby all along—how would he dare wander far? Hearing Tian Long's shout, he rushed in at once, but the scene before his eyes left him somewhat at a loss.
There was Yang Ce, sitting on the ground in the most undignified posture imaginable, as though he had slipped and landed flat on his rear. Tian Long's expression, meanwhile, was even stranger—face ashen, drenched in sweat, clutching the doorframe and gasping for breath as though in terrible agony.
Just as Zhang Jinguo stood there not knowing what to do, Yang Jiyan spoke: "Jinguo, go find some rope and tie him up."
"Ah... right away!" After a moment of blank astonishment, Zhang Jinguo grasped the situation. Tian Long had surely been crippled by Yang Ce! Though at this moment Tian Long was standing and Yang Ce was sitting, Tian Long's face was all dejection and pain, while Yang Jiyan looked utterly relaxed and pleased.
Comparing the two, Zhang Jinguo knew Yang Ce had won—though it could only be called a hard-won victory, a pyrrhic one at that. But no matter; a win was a win, pyrrhic or not. So Zhang Jinguo cheerfully agreed and ran off to find rope.