The Silent Palm and the Shadow in the Cave

“This truly was an ideal hiding place. Not only would it be difficult to discover, but its defenses were formidable. Blockading this single entrance would ensure that no matter how numerous the enemies, they would be forced to enter one by one.” Tilting my head slightly to bask in the sunlight filtering through the slanted opening, I murmured to myself, my mind already resolved. I would leverage this strategic advantage to temporarily evade those senior students from the Green Forest Academy, specializing in the Five Tigers Breaking Door Blade technique.

Even as I darkly pondered whether to lay some traps near the cave entrance, just in case those five nuisances actually found this place later, to lighten my burden of fending them off, suddenly, a wisp of wind sliced past my ear—a sound so sharp and fierce it caught me completely off guard. I, who had been weighing the safety of hiding needles in the entrance versus digging traps outside, had no time to react. I could only brace my shoulder to absorb the whistling palm strike that followed the gust of wind. Yet, to my utter astonishment, this attack—launched with such stealth, arriving silently, and unleashing its power only at the last, unavoidable instant—landed with remarkable lightness. It felt almost devoid of internal energy, a stark contrast to the thunderous roar of wind I had initially heard.

Consequently, I, who had braced my shoulder and elbow, channeling my internal energy to my right shoulder, found myself striking completely at empty air. The precious, scant internal energy I had painstakingly gathered from my Dantian had been utterly wasted.

Without a moment to ponder, I shifted my footwork, my body pivoting from facing away to directly confronting my assailant. Just as I expected, no sooner had one palm strike passed than another followed suit, a precise replica. The accompanying wind indicated the same pattern: initially silent, only to erupt with force as the palm neared its target.

This time, however, I was prepared. I channeled all the energy from my Dantian, executing the ‘Fuyao Steps’—a technique passed down solely from my father—to its absolute maximum speed. I barely managed to evade that palm strike. Yet, no sooner had my body twisted and flashed to the right than another palm, utterly devoid of warning, materialized and struck my chest, squarely hitting my vital ‘empty gate.’

In my shock, I immediately strained to extract what little true qi remained in my Dantian, swiftly drawing it upwards to protect my heart meridian with that meager energy. To my surprise, the spot where the palm had landed on my chest felt utterly empty, as if nothing had occurred. Only in the instant of impact, a gust of potent wind seemed to surge from the collar of my casual shirt, inflating the already loose-fitting T-shirt with a sudden billow.

Though I was unharmed, a profound dread swelled within me at that moment. I had never heard of a palm technique that began silently only to suddenly unleash its power. More astonishing still was the skill involved in dissipating all the internal energy from the palm at the very last moment—it was utterly unprecedented. If the one who delivered this strike was truly a practitioner of martial arts, then their internal energy must be immensely powerful, and their control so precise as to almost rival the forces of creation!

Yet, to my knowledge, purely in terms of internal energy, even the current principal of Tianwu University—the esteemed elder Dugu Wushuang, said to be the successor to the legendary Sword Demon Dugu Qiubai, renowned as the foremost martial artist under heaven—likely did not possess such profound mastery.

Could it be that the one who wielded this palm strike was not human, but rather a god, a celestial being, or even a demon?

A fresh wave of surging terror washed over me with that thought. Nevertheless, at this juncture, I could only steel myself and gaze towards whatever lay within the vast cavern behind me.

Despite the meager sunlight filtering through the slanted opening, the cave’s interior remained shrouded in a dim, murky gloom, making it impossible to discern anything clearly. Squinting intently, I could only vaguely perceive a figure seated cross-legged deep within the cavern, at a considerable distance from me.

My mind raced through various approaches before I finally bowed deeply and respectfully, addressing the profound, unfathomable darkness. “I—erm, this junior’s surname is Liu, given name Fang. My father is Liu Buping. May I inquire after Senior’s esteemed name? This junior is ignorant and, in fleeing from enemies, has trespassed into this cave, thereby displaying a lack of etiquette. This junior offers Senior a thousand apologies, and humbly hopes Senior, with their magnanimous nature, will forgive this junior!”

However, the dark silhouette, shrouded in the faint gloom, remained utterly motionless. Only when I mentioned my father’s name did it seem to stir ever so slightly. This minute tremor did not escape my notice, and I sensed that my father’s reputation might be a breakthrough. Thus, I bowed deeply once more and softly continued, “Senior, if you will not consider the monk’s face, then consider the Buddha’s face. And if not even the Buddha’s face, then please consider the humble reputation my father holds within the Jianghu martial world. I earnestly beg Senior to forgive this junior’s trespass.”

The shadowy figure, indistinct in the darkness, pondered for a long moment. Upon hearing my words, it stirred subtly again. After a considerable pause, a voice—neither distinctly male nor female—asked indifferently, “Judging by your attire, the clothes you wear on your upper body, you must be a student of the Celestial Martial Arts and Technology University, am I correct?”

I offered an awkward chuckle. Before I left home, my father had specifically instructed me to wear clothing that showcased our school’s culture for my training. This was partly to provide some subtle publicity for the university and partly so that, should I encounter any misfortunes or difficulties, I could use my identity as a Tianwu University student to seek assistance from other martial artists. After all, Tianwu University’s alumni were spread far and wide; encountering a senior or two was only natural.

As it turned out, I hadn’t managed to ‘seek assistance.’ Instead, everyone who recognized my identity seemed to be trouble, and they were all intent on making things difficult for me!

Alas, at this point, with two clear lines of text emblazoned on my back: “Nurturing Jianghu Elites, Forging a Universal Academy,” and the university emblem on my chest accompanied by the smaller inscription: “Celestial Martial Arts and Technology University,” denying my affiliation was impossible. So, I braced myself and nodded, saying, “This junior is indeed a freshman at Tianwu University this year. May I ask what advice Senior has for me?”

Despite my words, inwardly, I was fervently praying that this shadowy senior held no old grudges or past animosities with Tianwu University, my father, or anyone of their ilk. I also hoped they didn’t subscribe to twisted doctrines like ‘a son must repay his father’s debts’ or ‘a life for a life.’ Otherwise, if some new or old enmity were to be laid at my feet, with their unfathomably profound internal energy, I wouldn’t even have a chance to flee. I’d likely be swallowed whole, flayed alive, tendons ripped out, and my bones ground to dust.

Upon hearing my words, the other party paused, then suddenly let out a sinister, cackling laugh. A shiver of dread ran down my spine, and my legs felt weak. However, constrained by the opponent’s evidently profound internal energy—likely an esteemed martial arts senior—I couldn’t very well blurt out, ‘What the hell are you laughing at?’

After an indeterminate period, the shadowy figure’s sinister cackle abruptly ceased. Then, the gender-neutral voice deepened, followed by a frantic series of coughs and gasps. The hacking was so desperate it sounded as if they were trying to cough up their very lungs.