The three old men on horseback—one fat, one thin, and one of average build—were all rather unflattering in appearance, but their martial skills were nothing to scoff at. The man of average build leapt from his horse and lunged at Grace Kwok with a palm strike, the force of his Ironhand Technique surging through the air. Grace met him head-on with her own Ironhand Technique. With a loud smack, their palms collided. She realized that while his technique was unremarkable, his internal strength was formidable—he must have trained for nearly forty years.
On top of that, his arm strength far exceeded that of ordinary people, and with one blow, Grace was forced to a standstill. Her left hand, which had been poised to fling her short sword at the thin old man's back to make him drop the rattan box, was now unable to move at all.
If Grace weren’t a second-generation hero, raised with all the best tonics for strength, and hadn’t spent the past year diligently practicing the Muscle and Bone Reinforcement chapter from the Nine Yin Manual, she’d have been sent flying by that palm strike. (Note: The original version never explicitly stated whether Grace Kwok learned the Nine Yin Manual; this is an alternate interpretation.)
Clang! The fat old man drew a treasured sword from beside his saddle. With a flash of steel, he thrust it mercilessly at Grace’s chest and stomach. Grace responded: her left hand unleashed the Falling Blossom Sword, a move she’d learned from Master Huang, while her right hand executed the Falling Blossom Palm. She tangled with the two old men at once. Earlier, when facing Master Wuse, she’d mixed and matched techniques to hide her origins, so her true power wasn’t obvious. But now, focusing solely on the Peach Blossom Island sword and palm techniques, her strength soared.
Grace moved like the wind, weaving left and right, holding her own against two opponents at once—a testament to her experience in the martial world. Still, her strength was lacking, and after forty moves, she began to lose ground. The tall, thin old man with the rattan box, seeing there was no one else around, just Grace, burst out laughing and charged back into the fray. With a clang, the thin old man smacked Grace’s short sword with his palm. The force was so great that she couldn’t hold on, and the sword flew high into the air, disappearing who-knows-where.
The three old men shouted in unison and attacked Grace from all sides.
In the heat of the moment, Grace switched to the Empty Fist technique, her moves soft and elusive, absorbing force without resistance. She dodged and redirected, using softness to control strength, barely managing to stay unharmed. After three exchanges, both sides retreated to opposite ends.
“Hmph, you think a couple of weird tricks are enough to beat us old men?” sneered the tall, thin old man.
“What’s there to be proud of, being such shameless thugs? I thought you lot came from the Western Regions and might have something to teach, but you’re nothing special—just kidnappers, no better than those Tartars!” Grace raised her fists. “As long as I’m here, I won’t let you get away with this!”
“How did you know we’re from the Western Regions?” The tall, thin old man frowned, clearly caught off guard by Grace’s words.
"Don't waste time talking to her. Let's finish this quickly and head up the mountain," the chubby old man urged.
The skinny old man was about to nod when Grace Kwok shouted angrily, "This is Shaolin, the most righteous sect in all the land! Aren't you afraid the Shaolin masters will hunt you down for your mischief? I advise you to let the child go and confess your crimes before it's too late!"
As soon as Grace mentioned 'Shaolin,' the three old men exchanged glances, their expressions shifting subtly. The average-built old man grinned wickedly, "Brothers, we can't let this get out. If we hesitate, we'll only bring trouble on ourselves. There's no one else here—why hold back? Don't show any mercy—kill!"
The word 'kill' was uttered, and murderous intent filled the air.
The three old men leapt from their horses, attacking with sword, palm, and fist—each move deadly and ruthless. Grace's eyes narrowed; she didn't understand why mentioning Shaolin made them so vicious, but she had no time to ponder. She braced herself to fight while scanning her surroundings for anything she could use.
Just as the three old men closed in, a sword suddenly flew out from the nearby woods. Whistling through the air, it shot toward the old men with powerful force. They dodged, and with a clang, the sword embedded itself deep in the stone steps of West Summit—it was the very sword Grace had just lost.
"Miss, you lost your sword. I happened to find it and came to return it," said a white-robed scholar of about thirty, emerging from the woods. This refined speaker was Howard Dao.
"It's you?" Grace exclaimed in surprise. She hadn't noticed anything special about this odd man before, but now she realized Howard Dao was a true master.
"Indeed," Howard Dao replied, ignoring the three old men. He flashed Grace a charming smile: "Ever since I met you, inspiration has struck. I composed a song just for you—would you care to listen?"
Before he could finish, the three old men roared and attacked. Howard Dao frowned and engaged them, the sounds of palm strikes echoing. Despite being outnumbered, Howard Dao showed no sign of weakness, his effortless style hinting at a breakthrough to grandmaster level. With help arriving, Grace felt reinvigorated and drew her purple sword from the stone steps, joining the fray—two against three.