The source of all evil, the number one target of the Alliance Against Evil, appeared right as the alliance was being formed. Outside, thousands of martial artists watched and waited; inside, top-tier fighters like George Kwok and Helen Wong stood ready. For anyone else, this would be a dead-end situation. But Jade Hawk Johnson? He just stepped right up. The look on his face was pure colonial conqueror—staking a flag on a deserted island and claiming it like he owned the place, bold as brass.
Jade Hawk Johnson? That guy finally showed up!
But everyone hesitated—nobody rushed to start a fight or yell for blood right away.
Some folks in the front row thought: After all, Jade Hawk Johnson was hiding out just fine, and that wanted poster looked nothing like him—nobody would've recognized him. It's like the Alliance Against Evil dug a pit, but he never even fell in. With things so calm, a normal person would just watch from the sidelines and mind their own business. But now he's jumped out himself—something's definitely up.
Others in the front row thought: That Jade Hawk Johnson just dunked a pretty tough old monk into a manure pit for the foundation—he doesn't look easy to mess with. Better hang back and let someone else test the waters first.
Most people in the back row thought: What happened up front? Why isn't anyone moving? We're too far away to see or hear clearly—what's going on? Oh well, if nobody else is moving, I'm not moving either. No need to look like a fool by making the first move.
So, the whole scene quieted down for a bit. Even the attacks on the other wanted folks slowed. Everyone circled but didn't attack, just sizing things up. All eyes were glued to this standoff, waiting for the next move. Only the monks, priests, and nuns were shooting Jade Hawk Johnson some seriously nasty looks—they were itching to jump him, hypersensitive to his name now, and ready for a brawl at any second.
"See? You don't have to make a flashy entrance from outside. Just throw a sack over your head and toss it on the ground—it works just as well." A certain demon king took the chance to whisper a lesson in the art of making an entrance to a certain demoness. Meanwhile, Helen Wong stood up tall. In a situation this unexpected, it was up to the old guard to steady the scene.
"Young man, you're Jade Hawk Johnson, right? I figure you heard some rumors and got spooked about being framed, so you came here to clear things up?" Helen Wong was sharp—she figured it out in a flash. "Mr. Johnson, and everyone else, please stay calm. We won't frame the innocent, but we won't let the guilty go either. Let's take some time to get the facts straight before we do anything drastic."
"That's right." Jade Hawk Johnson nodded emphatically. "Anyone who tries to frame me—none of them are getting away with it."
Lady Simone tugged at Jill Young’s sleeve and whispered, “Boss, shouldn’t you explain yourself a little?” I mean, we haven’t really done anything wrong—well, maybe founding the Alliance Against Evil is a disaster for the ages, but besides that, we haven’t exactly harmed society. Why’s everyone pointing fingers at us? Jill just smiled, aloof and silent, so Simone puffed up and shouted, “My boss wiped out Serenity Abbey, but only because they were rotten to the core! Go check out Greenridge Mountain yourselves—those fake Daoists built secret dungeons and locked up innocent women for their twisted cultivation!”
“Silence, you witch!” A woman in her mid-thirties snapped. This was Phoebe Kwok—Grace Kwok’s big sister, eldest daughter of George Kwok and Helen Wong, wife of Kevin Kee, and legendary for chopping off Gabriel Yang’s arm. “Not only did you wipe out an entire sect, you dare slander the righteous! You shameless harpy, consorting with that villain—what more is there to say? I bet you’re behind the Shaolin massacre too! What are we waiting for, everyone? Time to purge the evil!”
"Charge!" Led by Daoists, monks, and nuns, martial artists surged in like a tidal wave. With the main villain right in front of them, these hot-blooded heroes went wild, giving it their all. Grace Kwok felt her heart tighten with worry—she didn’t even know why, or for whom. By all logic, she should be on the side of justice, but something about Jade Hawk Johnson felt strangely familiar...
“Ha! I don’t need to lie to you losers, because I don’t even see you as a threat!” As the mob rushed in, Jill Young threw shade at the whole crowd, then grabbed Lady Simone’s hands.
(This chapter isn’t over yet ^.^ Click next page to keep reading!)
“Attack!” Seven or eight heroes slashed and stabbed from all sides, like a rugby scrum trying to bury their target alive. But then—zap!—a flash of purple light, followed by a barrage of crackling hits. The attackers were blasted away as fast as they’d charged in. Screams rang out as people clutched their faces, bellies, and—well, you name it. The chaos was a spectacle.
Once the dust settled and the crowd parted, everyone stared—the Demon King and the Witch were locked in a tango pose. Left hand holding right, right hand on the waist, striking a classic dance stance. Their eyes met, and Lady Simone could feel Jill Young’s breath. Simone’s waist, held tight, grew warm and soft, her feet almost went numb.
She remembered Jill’s advice: Relax, go with the flow—let me lead.
Alright, boss. I’ll follow your lead.
The whole crowd tensed up at their bizarre pose. The fallen fighters groaned and stayed down—clearly, they’d been KO’d in one shot. “What just happened?” “Did anyone see?” “That’s weird magic—watch out!”
Whoosh! Purple light swirled around the pair. Lady Simone unleashed her full power—eighty years of cultivation—all channeling through her grip into Jill Young’s meridians. Jill took it, controlled it, made it her own.
"Three, two, one." Jill Young tapped her toes on the ground in rhythm, like the opening beat of a masquerade ball. When she finished counting, her wrist snapped, her whole body followed, her feet spun: "Let’s dance!"
How do you make sure no one recognizes your fighting style? Easy—use moves nobody’s seen before. How do you avoid being ID’d by your punches? Simple—use techniques you never use, and probably never will again. Sounds easy, but it’s a pain in the butt to pull off. Unfamiliar moves? Sure, the other world’s got plenty. That trick just now was a hidden weapon move from the Flower Goddess’s Seven Styles—fooled everyone!
But the second part—your fighting rhythm—is way harder to fake.
Everyone’s got habits, especially martial artists who’ve trained the same moves a thousand times. It’s like personality—the more unique you are, the harder it is to hide. Take the Skyward Immortal move: when Jill Young does it, it’s nothing like when Loneleaf does it.
If you spend a fight trying to hide your style, your power drops and you start looking awkward—real masters spot it right away. Even the mighty Blood King Wind couldn’t fool Jill Young and the Hidden Blade the first time they met.
For most martial artists, it’s an unsolvable problem.
But for Jill Young, there’s a super simple solution: just use a style you’re comfortable with, but that doesn’t look anything like your usual moves. That tap-dance routine on the monk’s head? Total inspiration. Tonight, yours truly is busting out the perfect dance moves!
All the flashy, recognizable Supreme Skills get tucked away; even the Dragon Elephant technique gets a makeover. Lady Simone’s power comes from another world—her energy’s totally different. It’s not magic or battle aura, but for martial artists here, it’s pure weirdness.
Plus, Lady Simone’s a master of disguise and sneak attacks—she’d rather throw hidden weapons than fight head-on. If she doesn’t show off, even top-tier experts can’t tell she’s got any internal power.
So tonight, bringing Lady Simone along was a must. One, she’s the blue potion; two, she’s the dance partner.
"Slow, slow, quick-quick-slow, nice, good, relax and follow me~~" Suddenly, Jill remembered her college days. Maybe most people forgot, but let’s bring it up again—Jill Young was a campus dance king back in the day.
Think back—those sweaty workouts by the Han River, the grueling practice, the wild passion, the dream of winning. Remember those slow waltzes, quicksteps, rumbas, sambas, chachas, jives, foxtrots, tangos—every move smooth and natural, every gesture perfectly timed. Remember the champion who trained every muscle from head to toe and finally took the national trophy.
Jill Young—a name that once shone like a star, now faded after graduation. But those moves? Burned into muscle memory. The moment the music plays, her body just goes with it. The memories are packed like a powder keg, or like a fistful of four-of-a-kind in poker.
One spark—boom!—and it all explodes into action!
Let’s go—save the world with song and dance! It’s ridiculous, but this Dance King martial art is unbeatable against cannon fodder—Burning Floor, activate!
Light swirled, purple mist spread, and the Demon King and Witch danced like a dream. Fast or slow, still or moving, each kept an eye on the other’s back—no sneaky attacks here. Hands, shoulders, feet, waist, even the wind moved—nobody could follow their steps. The attackers were just punching bags: one kick, one flick, one twirl of the skirt, and a whole crowd went flying.
“Hmph, just cheap tricks—don’t let them steal our momentum! Anyone weak, fall back! The rest, with me!” Six old Daoists led the charge, and Kevin Kee—eager to redeem himself—was first to respond. The wind roared, palms flew, and the two sides clashed fiercely.