150: Chapter 149 Teach You To Be Good 150: Chapter 149 Teach You To Be Good “I’m not obsessed with details, actually, I find them quite annoying,” Song Yun nonchalantly said as he lit a cigarette.
“If there really is a master of details out there, I believe he’s the only one in the world worthy of the title.”
“Oh, who’s that?
It’s got to be somebody of note to have the infamous Shura acknowledge them,” True Yang Immortal commented, shedding his burden.
“It’s a detective, his name is Conan.
If you haven’t heard of him, then you’ve really been living under a rock,” Song Yun said, amusement curling his lips.
True Yang Immortal racked his brains but couldn’t think of any impressive person named Conan.
However, coming from Song Yun’s mouth, it had to mean the guy was impressive.
Hua Qingcheng, beside him, was as puzzled as a monk encountering an enigma.
Was there someone called Conan in the Martial World?
“What’s the purpose of your visit today?” Song Yun asked after taking the last drag of his cigarette.
“You can’t just be here to amuse me.”
“Can’t help it, someone’s out for your life, so I came to claim it,” True Yang Immortal said seriously as he took off his Daoist robe.
“Don’t move, okay?
I promise my attack will be light.
You won’t feel any pain.”
Only an idiot would just stand still and accept death without a fight.
Do I look like an idiot to you?
No?
Then why would I listen to you and let you kill me?
If I’m not the idiot, then there’s only one left—it’s you, True Yang Immortal, standing right in front of me.
“Idiot,” Song Yun thought, too disdainful even to voice his internal criticism.
A battle between masters is straightforward and clear-cut; it doesn’t get dragged down by trivial details.
It’s not like in fantasy novels where fights go on for days and nights without rest, ended only by the protagonist’s triumphant final move after a dramatic battle cry.
Song Yun often envied the protagonists in those fantasy stories.
If they were strong, they’d show off and step on faces.
If not, they’d fall off cliffs, find rare treasures, and come back stronger to fight the boss in a life-or-death struggle, with victory hinging on the shout of a move’s name.
But in reality, could a fight between two men involve shouting “Ice Sword!” and “Red Flame Fire Dance!” at each other?
A true battle was about silently closing in on the opponent for a deadly strike.
To Song Yun, announcing a big move beforehand was nothing but foolish—expressed in two English letters: sb.
Song Yun and True Yang Immortal eyed each other, waiting for a flaw to exploit.
Fortunately, they were now in a remote area; otherwise, the sight of an old Daoist stripping would certainly draw police attention for public indecency.
After a tense standoff, True Yang Immortal grew impatient.
He moved swiftly, his lithe body silent as a whisper as he dashed towards Song Yun at incredible speed.
True Yang Immortal reached out with a clawing left hand while his right hand thrust a needle viciously at Song Yun’s chest.
Song Yun couldn’t dodge in time but chose not to move, deciding to counter stillness with motion, to meet change with constancy.
The Immortal thrashed three times in rapid succession, each grab lethal, but he couldn’t grasp Song Yun’s body.
Unfazed, he continued his rapid strikes, sure that once he touched Song Yun, the battle would be his.
However, only the air was torn apart by his strike, warping and breaking with sound.
The whooshing filled Song Yun’s ears, annoying him to no end.
True Yang Immortal’s claws were sharp; his long, filthy nails alone made Song Yun want to vomit.
“What are you?
Cutting your nails and putting on nail polish next?”
Weary of dodging, Song Yun seized an opening and stepped forward, punching towards True Yang Immortal’s chest—a punch fierce as a tempest, powerful as a roar.
A sly smile flashed across True Yang Immortal’s eyes, like a fox that had just caught a chicken—no, an old fox.
The flaw he’d shown was a trap, and Song Yun had fallen right into it.
As Song Yun struck, True Yang Immortal twisted his hand, aiming the silver needle at the incoming punch—to destroy Song Yun’s fighting ability.
But he had miscalculated; Song Yun stopped his punch halfway and pulled back, leaving the Immortal’s thrust to miss its mark.
Before the Immortal could react, his right hand screamed in agony, blood gushing from a wound inflicted by a dagger in Song Yun’s hand.
The Immortal couldn’t fathom how Song Yun anticipated every move, from the initial encounter to the fight, as if everything were preordained.
Could it be that Song Yun possessed some supernatural ability to peer into people’s minds?
Impossible, this was an urban fantasy, not a tale of urban supernatural powers.
Song Yun, seeing the confusion in True Yang Immortal’s eyes, cocked his head arrogantly.
“Those little tricks of yours?
We don’t even bother with them at Hunter Academy.
If you want to fight, then fight like a man, don’t skulk around like a disgrace.”
With those words, Song Yun launched another punch, but True Yang Immortal, unable to dodge, braced himself and punched in return.
He had just begun to exert force when Song Yun entangled the Immortal’s arm, causing excruciating pain that seemed to tear his soul apart.
He trembled, the agony unbearable, unlike anything he’d experienced before.
In that moment, he wanted to rip Song Yun to pieces.
“Learnt your lesson?
This move is called Dragon Capturing Hand.
Did you really think I’d go fist-to-fist with you?
Who’s the fool—you or me?” Song Yun mocked.
“You’re not young anymore, but you’re still rubbish at this.
You don’t even know these basic tricks.
What am I to do with you?”