Flower Stealing Master

Chapter 812: An Unexpected Invitation

Pucha Qiucao stood there in a daze, as if she hadn’t fully processed Yang Guo’s rejection. When she finally snapped back to reality, her eyes instantly reddened. Without a word, she turned and ran, wiping her tears as she went. The faint sound of her sobbing lingered in the air.

No one present had expected such a turn of events. They exchanged bewildered glances, their eyes wide with surprise. Pucha Ahute’s expression darkened, but as a composed and experienced man, he made no outward reaction. 

His younger son, Pucha Shijie, however, couldn’t stand seeing his sister humiliated. He strode up to Yang Guo and said coldly, “I’ve long heard of Brother Yang’s fame as a top martial artist among the Han. But the Han have always been weak—how much of that reputation is truly deserved? I, Pucha Shijie, would like to test your skills and see if you’re truly worthy of your name!”

Yang Guo gave him a calm glance, showing no intention of accepting the challenge. “My reputation is indeed undeserved. There’s no need to fight—I’m no match for you.”

Pucha Shijie wasn’t pleased by this admission of defeat. It was clear from Yang Guo’s tone that he wasn’t truly conceding—he simply didn’t want to fight.

“We won’t know who’s stronger until we fight,” Pucha Shijie retorted, then threw a punch without hesitation.

Yang Guo’s heart tightened. Even before the fist reached him, the violent wind pressure forced the bystanders to stagger back, some even struggling to keep their eyes open. 

Seeing the fury in Pucha Shijie’s reddened eyes, Yang Guo knew this was no mere spar. He couldn’t afford to gamble on whether his opponent would hold back, so with no other choice, he raised his palm to meet the attack.

Fist met palm. Pucha Shijie’s body shuddered, while Yang Guo was forced back several steps before regaining his footing.

“Such immense strength!” Yang Guo flexed his numb wrist. Among all the fighters he had encountered, Darpa, the disciple of the Monk Jinlun, had been considered a natural powerhouse. Yet this man’s strength surpassed even Darpa’s.
“So much for being a top martial artist of the wulin,” Pucha Shijie sneered.

Though recent events had left Yang Guo somewhat dispirited, his pride still burned fiercely within him. Provoked by Pucha Shijie’s taunt, his competitive spirit flared. “Likewise.”

Enraged, Pucha Shijie roared, “Again!” and lunged at Yang Guo once more.

“How did things escalate into a fight? Today was supposed to be Qiucao’s special occasion. What if something goes wrong?” Gebi frowned as she watched the two men clash.

Song Qingshu reassured her, “Don’t worry. They’re both skilled fighters—they know their limits. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Who do you think will win?” Gebi suddenly turned to Song Qingshu.

Caught off guard, he answered instinctively, “Pucha Shijie is born with divine strength, and judging by his breathing, he’s also trained in an advanced internal art. Each of his strikes carries the force of a dragon and an elephant. Yang Guo may have lost an arm and appear frail, but his palm techniques were honed against storms and tidal waves of the wulin. In terms of raw power, he’s not inferior to Pucha Shijie. Plus, he’s studied many formidable martial arts. If the fight drags on, I’d favor Yang Guo.”

As he spoke confidently, a shadow passed over Gebi’s face, and she sighed quietly to herself. But by the time Song Qingshu turned back to her, she had already masked her emotions with a smile, as if nothing had happened.

“It seems your prediction is coming true,” Gebi remarked in surprise. The battle between the two men had reached a fever pitch, and even someone like her, who knew nothing of martial arts, could see the trend.

Though Pucha Shijie’s strikes were powerful, Yang Guo’s Qinggong was exceptional. He dodged seven out of every ten attacks and effortlessly deflected the remaining three. Meanwhile, Pucha Shijie had to block every one of Yang Guo’s counters. The prolonged exchange wore even his prodigious strength thin.

“What kind of hero hides and dodges? If you have the guts, let’s settle this with one strike!” Frustrated, Pucha Shijie seized an opening to leap back and issue the challenge.

Yang Guo didn’t pursue him. Stirred by youthful pride, he agreed without hesitation. “Fine!”

Pucha Shijie took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and his bones cracked ominously. Even before he struck, his aura surged dramatically, drawing gasps from the onlookers. Whatever came next would be earth-shattering.

In contrast, Yang Guo simply raised his palm before his eyes and closed them, sinking into a state of absolute tranquility.

“Shijie’s full-power strike is something even Chief Eunuch wouldn’t dare take head-on. Brother Yang is underestimating him,” Gebi fretted, clutching her handkerchief.

Song Qingshu chuckled. “Yang Guo’s move is called the ‘Heartbroken Palm.’ Its power lies in the wielder’s emotional state, not the outward display. But its force is immense—if anything, I’m more worried for Pucha Shijie.”

He was inwardly stunned. In just a short time, Yang Guo’s skills had improved dramatically. The aura radiating from him now was imperceptible to ordinary people, but Song Qingshu could sense it clearly. Within a three-foot radius of Yang Guo, the air itself seemed to slow, as if he were standing in thick water rather than empty space.

‘Perhaps learning about his origins deepened his sorrow, aligning his emotions with the Melancholic Palms’ essence and boosting his power,’ Song Qingshu mused.

“Heartbroken Palm…” Gebi murmured the name, her expression suddenly mirroring Yang Guo’s desolation. Had anyone been watching closely, they would have noticed the eerie resemblance.

Song Qingshu, however, was focused entirely on the duel. With a thunderous roar, Pucha Shijie charged like a raging bull. Yang Guo’s eyes snapped open—for a brief moment, they seemed to blaze with an intense light.

Fist and palm collided.

The shockwave sent bystanders tumbling, and the nearby tables rattled as cups and plates cracked.

This time, it wasn’t Yang Guo who was forced back. Pucha Shijie let out a cry as his body was hurled through the air toward a distant tree. Pucha Qiucao, who had been watching nearby, panicked. Her brother had fought for her sake—if he crashed into the tree at this speed, he’d be severely injured. Without thinking, she rushed forward, hoping to catch him midair.

Yang Guo’s expression changed instantly. With a single step, he shot forward like an arrow, intercepting Qiucao before she could reach her brother. He swept her into his arms, twisted midair, and shifted sideways just in time to avoid the incoming Pucha Shijie.

Cradled in Yang Guo’s embrace, surrounded by his masculine scent, Qiucao looked up at his handsome face, now so close, and blushed furiously.

“Let me go! I need to save my brother!” Flustered by the onlookers’ stares, she struggled and pounded weakly on his chest.

“Your brother is fine,” Yang Guo said calmly.

“Huh?” Confused, she followed his gaze and saw Pucha Shijie climb to his feet after slamming into the tree, seemingly unharmed.

“Don’t worry, little sister. I’m completely fine. This Yang fellow’s palm strength isn’t all that impressive,” Pucha Shijie declared, though his face burned with humiliation. As the top young warrior of the Jin, renowned for his divine strength, being sent flying in a direct clash was a blow to his pride. Hearing his sister’s concern only made it worse.

But no sooner had he spoken than a loud crack echoed behind him. He turned in horror to see the massive tree—the one he had just crashed into—slowly toppling over, split cleanly down the middle.

Even a martial arts novice could tell Yang Guo had held back. He had redirected the force of his palm into the tree rather than Pucha Shijie’s body. If that strike had landed fully, even a tree thick enough to require multiple people to encircle would have snapped—how could flesh and blood possibly withstand it?

Qiucao finally understood. Her impulsive attempt to save her brother had been incredibly dangerous. If not for Yang Guo’s intervention, she might have been killed.

‘I misjudged him.’ Her heart raced even faster as she stole another glance at Yang Guo, but he had already released her and walked away silently.

The warmth of his embrace lingered in her memory, leaving her with a hollow ache. ‘I shouldn’t have struggled…’

“Hahaha! Both young masters displayed exceptional martial prowess—what a thrilling duel! And Young Yang’s heroic rescue was the perfect finale!” Wanyan Zongxian, seated at the head table, seized the moment to applaud, diffusing the earlier awkwardness.

His lead was quickly followed by others, and the tense atmosphere from Yang Guo’s rejection of Qiucao gradually eased. Pucha Ahute also stepped in, tactfully avoiding any mention of the incident, allowing the matter to fade away. Many present breathed silent sighs of relief.

With Qiucao’s dance now considered done, the event moved into the free-dancing segment.

Upon learning that others were expected to dance as well, Song Qingshu’s scalp prickled. Unlike the Han, the nomadic tribes were all skilled in song and dance—men and women alike. But he had no idea how to perform a Jurchen dance. Even in his past life, he had never been much of a dancer.

‘Please, don’t let anyone ask me to dance,’ he prayed, stealing a glance at Gebi.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

No sooner had he finished his plea than a soft, sweet voice reached his ears:

“Uncle Tangguo, may I have this dance?”