Chapter Thirty-Three: The Bone-Shattering Frost Palm

Across the street, in an upstairs tavern, a man dressed in black sat drinking. He cast a sidelong glance down at the street below.

He, too, noticed the little girl standing in the middle of the road. Just as he lifted his wine bowl to his lips, he abruptly set it back on the table. Under the astonished gaze of the waiter, he leapt from the window and soared down to the street below.

The waiter was struck dumb, mouth agape, forgetting he was pouring tea for another guest; the cup overflowed, yet he continued to pour.

After landing, the man in black darted toward the girl with impressive speed. Passing a vegetable stall, he struck with his palm, sending a carrying pole flying.

The pole shot under the horse, lodging itself between the wheels of the carriage behind. The sudden jolt forced the carriage to a halt—the horse neighed in fright and reared up, its hooves poised to come down.

Directly below was the little girl. If the hooves fell, they would trample her. In that critical instant, Li Pingyang threw aside his candied hawthorn, acting on impulse. He spread his arms wide, shielding the girl with his body.

Just as the hooves were about to descend, the man in black flashed by like a shadow. He sprang from the ground, his clenched fist transforming into an open palm, and struck the horse.

With this single blow, the horse was hurled back two meters. The sheer force of the strike left Zhou Li, standing nearby, stunned—this man’s martial skill clearly surpassed his own.

Li Pingyang had closed his eyes, trusting that his own internal energy would shield him from serious harm, which gave him the courage to intervene. But after a moment of silence, he opened his eyes and saw the horse lying motionless in the distance. Bewildered, he realized he had done nothing at all.

After saving the child, the man in black slipped back into the crowd and vanished.

At that moment, the girl’s mother rushed over, weeping as she scooped her daughter into her arms and thanked Li Pingyang profusely, nearly kneeling in gratitude before he stopped her.

Zhou Li tethered the horse to a post and went to inspect the fallen beast. Reaching out, he was shocked to discover the horse was already dead.

What surprised him even more was the chill that shot through his fingertips as he touched the horse’s body—a coldness unlike any ordinary chill. It was as if he had touched the depths of a glacier, or plunged his hand into icy water, or felt the sting of a bitter wind.

Suddenly, a realization struck him—he remembered a fearsome martial art, long lost to the world and spoken of only in whispers.

The Bone-Shattering Ice Palm.

According to legend, this was a vicious, chilling technique: in the instant of attack, one’s internal energy would transform into a frigid palm wind, penetrating the opponent and freezing their heart in a heartbeat.

The force would freeze the blood vessels with invisible speed, causing death within while the exterior appeared untouched—a semblance of life masking internal demise.

The horse now showed no outward injury, yet its bones had been pulverized to dust, and its blood vessels were frozen solid. The whitened eyes revealed the despair that was frozen into them at the moment of death.

Moreover, to master this technique, the first step required killing one’s dearest kin, using their blood to unlock the secret art. Only through countless killings could the technique reach such power.

This made Zhou Li even more puzzled—if the man was such a remorseless killer, why would he intervene to save a child just now?

Had he grown a conscience?

Or was it simply an idle whim?

“Look at the horse!” someone in the crowd suddenly cried, pointing at the animal’s belly.

Following his gaze, they saw a patch of skin on the horse’s belly slowly caving in, forming the imprint of a hand. Cold vapor emanated from the mark, and soon the horse’s entire body began to freeze.

Zhou Li quickly shielded his face with his arm. Within seconds, a sharp crack rang out—the horse’s body shattered instantly, sending shards of ice flying everywhere. Screams erupted as people fled in terror, never having witnessed such a spectacle.

Zhou Li truly had not expected to encounter a martial artist of the eighth rank or higher in this small town of Cangzhou.

“My horse! Where’s my horse?”

“Sir, your horse… your horse is gone…”

“It’s your mother who’s gone!”

From the carriage stepped a young lord, richly dressed, swaying unsteadily as he was helped down by his servant, dizzy and shaken by the jolt.

The servant replied, trembling, but the young lord, still addled, misunderstood, thinking the servant had cursed him. Enraged, he kicked the man to the ground.

This young lord, barely in his twenties, was plump, weighing no less than a hundred kilos, with a greasy, pampered face.

Having vented his anger, the young lord made his way toward the crowd. He felt no shame for his own wrongdoing; instead, he brazenly approached the mother and daughter, demanding compensation for his lost horse.

How could they afford to pay? The mother could only drag her daughter to her knees, kowtowing desperately for mercy.

Even the onlookers could not bear it, pointing and whispering about the young lord’s behavior.

But the scoundrel only grew more brazen. Noticing the mother’s beauty, he squatted beside her with a leering grin, lifting her chin and making suggestive eyes.

The woman dared not utter a sound, enduring his filthy hands on her face, willing to submit if only he would spare her daughter.

The little girl, seeing her mother bullied, bit down on the young lord’s fat hand. He howled in pain and raised his arm to strike her. Frightened, the girl let go and buried her face in her mother’s arms, sobbing.

As his arm came down, Li Pingyang caught it mid-air and slapped him across the face, leaving him dazed.

“Do you know who I am—”

Smack! Another crisp slap.

“I am from the Su fam—”

Smack! A third slap.

The young lord was finally cowed; after three slaps, he swallowed the rest of his words. With one hand covering his swollen cheek, he stood there, torn between crying and laughing, his face puffy from the blows.

The servants nearby were so frightened their legs turned to jelly.

If their master found out that his youngest son had been slapped in the face by a stranger, he would surely behead the offender—and then, to vent his rage, might even kill his own servant.

Seeing no way out, one servant snatched up a wooden stick from the ground and, with a shout, charged at Li Pingyang in desperation.

Zhou Li, still holding a perch in one hand, drew a long bamboo staff from his waist and pointed it at the servant’s throat. “Just try shouting again,” he warned.

The servant’s eyes flicked down. Seeing the bamboo tip mere centimeters from his throat, he swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple brushed the bamboo, and he recoiled in terror.

“Y-young master, I did try to save you!”

With that, the servant obediently tossed aside the stick, gently lowered Zhou Li’s bamboo staff, and sprawled on the ground, feigning death while sneaking peeks through half-closed eyes.

“Useless,” the young lord spat in disgust.

Li Pingyang raised his hand, scratching his head, and the young lord hurriedly covered his face, stammering, “I—I wasn’t talking about you! I meant him, he’s the useless one!”

Li Pingyang couldn’t help but feel both amused and exasperated, though he kept his composure, clearing his throat with a cough.