Chapter 109: Qiao Feng!

Within Gusu City, prosperity and splendor flourished.

The streets bustled with endless streams of people, lively and full of noise.

A tall, broad-shouldered man walked among them.

This man had a square, upright face, thick brows and large eyes. His clothing was but an ordinary brown cloth robe, somewhat tattered, yet not in the least concealing his imposing spirit!

In every glance he cast, there was nothing but heroic boldness!

From time to time, one or two beggars approached him, whispering a few words by his side. He would slightly nod, pat them on the shoulder, and then continue on his way.

Arriving before a restaurant, he stepped in naturally.

Ordering wine and meat, he went up to the second floor and sat down at a table.

While waiting, he unconsciously swept his gaze around the room.

It was a casual act, yet when his eyes landed on a table near the window in the corner, his expression suddenly tightened.

There sat three people.

Two of them were women, their faces beautiful as flowers—truly remarkable beauties.

Yet the big man paid them little mind. His tiger-like eyes fixed on the third.

A man in his twenties.

His face was upright and handsome, his bearing solemn and composed. Tall of stature, he exuded a presence like that of deep waters and lofty mountains!

Such bearing caused the big man to secretly praise him.

But more than this—what truly shook him—was the faint aura of might that emanated from the young man’s body, one that even made him feel slightly awed.

Though well-traveled and experienced, at this moment he could not help but be stirred.

As if sensing the gaze, the young man looked over.

The instant their eyes met, the big man’s heart trembled further—those eyes carried spirit, deep and profound, the mark of inner power cultivated to an extremely high realm!

He thought: In Jiangnan’s Gusu, for one so young to possess such attainment—could this be none other than the famed “Southern Murong,” the master of yi bi zhi dao, huan shi bi shen¹?!

Just like the rumors say!

Without further hesitation, the man stood abruptly, cupping his fists and speaking loudly:

“Could it be that you are the young master Murong Fu of the Gusu Murong clan? I am Qiao Feng—I have long admired you from afar! Might we be friends?”

The three, of course, were none other than Fang Han, Cheng Lingsu, and Mu Wanqing.

They had journeyed upriver by boat and soon arrived at Gusu. After disembarking, they entered this restaurant to eat a little and rest well before continuing on to Leigushan.

Who would have thought they would chance upon none other than the Beggars’ Sect Chief, Qiao Feng?

The problem was…

The moment he opened his mouth, he called him “Young Master Murong Fu”…

Fang Han stared blankly at Qiao Feng.

How did you mistake me for Murong Fu?

But with a moment’s thought, he recalled—the original tale indeed had Qiao Feng, in his early days, holding Murong Fu in great admiration. When he later met Duan Yu, perceiving him as extraordinary, he assumed he was Murong Fu. After contests of wine and footwork, only then did he realize his mistake.

So now, had he mistaken himself for Murong Fu?

He was slightly surprised, yet also found it amusing.

Rising to his feet, he cupped his hands and smiled:

“So it is Chief Qiao of the Beggars’ Sect—I have long heard of you. However, Chief Qiao has mistaken me. I am not Young Master Murong Fu of Gusu. My surname is Fang, single given name Han.”

Qiao Feng was stunned:

“Mistaken?”

Yet hearing his name, a vague familiarity struck him.

Thinking briefly, he was suddenly jolted—months ago, news had reached the Sect: in Dali, a remarkable figure had emerged!

Surname Fang, given name Han.

It was said that the mighty Dalun Mingwang, Jiumozhi—the national master of Tubo, invincible in martial skill—was ultimately defeated at his hands.

Could it be… this very man?!

With that thought, Qiao Feng’s excitement did not diminish but only grew.

He was overjoyed to meet such a figure today. At once he said:

“Forgive my poor eyesight! So it is Mister Fang himself! I too have heard of your deeds—how you, at Dali’s Tianlong Temple, defeated the Tubo National Master Dalun Mingwang. What heroism, what prowess! To hear of it stirs the blood! I have long admired your name. Would you not care to share a drink together?”

Fang Han raised his brows, inwardly stirred.

So I have begun to be spoken of in the jianghu as well?

But recalling he had defeated Jiumozhi, it made sense.

Winning that high-level battle would surely spread his name.

Since Qiao Feng extended such an invitation, though he had no intent to seek out such “plot events” himself, chance meetings could hardly be avoided.

Besides—this was none other than Chief Qiao Feng.

Among the “Three Wall-hangers”² of Tianlong, he was the most ferociously powerful.

Once his background music starts playing, who dares contend?

Of course, even without joking—Qiao Feng’s martial prowess truly was astonishing.

And crucially, it was no “cheat,” but genuine skill forged through his own training.

Fang Han held great respect for such a man.

Thus, faced with his invitation, he naturally did not refuse.

He lightly nodded his agreement.

“Please!”

“Please!”

Seated together, Qiao Feng cupped his fists toward the two women:

“These two must surely be Mister Fang’s wives? I am but a rough fellow—if I lack manners, I beg pardon!”

Cheng Lingsu, as sharp-witted as she was, had already observed him closely. From his bearing and speech, she knew him to be a man of boldness and integrity. She smiled gently and returned the courtesy:

“In traveling the jianghu, one need not stand on so many ceremonies.”

Mu Wanqing also nodded, though she said little. In truth, she rarely spoke much before strangers.

“Wine has arrived!”

At that moment, the waiter came with a jar of wine.

Seeing the wine, Qiao Feng was overjoyed, eating and drinking as he conversed with Fang Han.

It was no wonder he commanded the respect of the entire jianghu—for his charisma was undeniable.

As they spoke, Fang Han found himself holding him in ever greater regard.

Unbeknownst to him, Qiao Feng’s impression of him was even better.

In Fang Han’s words and conduct, he found not only calm gravity, but also deep insight into all matters—remarks that made Qiao Feng feel enlightened, secretly filled with admiration.

They ate heartily, they talked with joy.

Until at last, a Beggars’ Sect disciple arrived with news.

Reluctantly, Qiao Feng sighed, then exclaimed:

“To drink and speak with Mister Fang—how truly delightful! A pity I still have many matters to tend to, or else I would surely drink with you for three days and nights!”

Fang Han wiped cold sweat, cupping his hands:

“Chief Qiao has the capacity of an ocean—I cannot hope to match.”

Damn!

Only now, meeting Qiao Feng in person, do I realize what it means to be “a thousand cups and never drunk!”

Though as a transmigrator he had drunk strong spirits aplenty in his former life, compared with Qiao Feng’s capacity, he could not keep up at all.

Were it not for his deep reserves of inner power, easily suppressing the effects of alcohol—

He would already have been flat on the floor.

🍃🍃🍃

Footnotes

1. 1. 1. 1. yi bi zhi dao, huan shi bi shen (以彼之道，还施彼身)– “Return his own way unto himself.” A phrase describing the Murong clan’s martial philosophy of countering an opponent’s moves with their own techniques.

1. 1. 1. 1. Three Wall-hangers (三挂壁, san gua bi)– A fan term referring to the three “top masters” of Tianlong Babu: Qiao Feng, Duan Yu, and Xuzhu, often “hung on the wall” as unbeatable characters.