Chapter Seventy-Three: Defeating the Peach Fairy

After ascending a dozen or so wooden steps, Wang Ling arrived on the second floor of the Kung Fu Tower. At a glance, he saw in the center of the dueling arena a bald, burly man with his eyes closed, performing a most peculiar posture.

It was a seated position: hands pressed together in a gesture of prayer, right leg folded with the foot resting flat on the left thigh. Though somewhat challenging, the pose itself was not especially outlandish. What was truly remarkable was that the man’s left foot, with all five toes gripping the ground, supported his entire seated body with just the strength of his toes. He appeared to be sitting cross-legged in midair, the effect both astonishing and impressive.

Compared to Wang Long, this seated man was leaner, but still sturdy; his bare torso revealed well-proportioned muscles, his arms and legs knotted with defined, yet refined muscle. The combination of this extraordinary posture and his supple musculature suggested a body of exceptional flexibility and resilience.

“So, you’re Peach Immortal? I’ve come to challenge you. Is that a yoga pose?” Wang Ling called out.

Hearing Wang Ling’s question, the bald man opened his eyes. His toes dropped to the floor, his body landing with a thud, and he unfolded his right leg before standing up. He stroked the two thick mustaches at his lips, and then a smile appeared on his face—unlike Wang Long’s hearty laugh, this was a thoroughly insincere smile, a grin without warmth.

“That’s right. What I just performed is a secret posture of Tantric Yoga: the Toe-Tip Pose. You wish to conquer the Tyrant Clan? Since you’ve reached this floor, my fifth brother must have already fallen to you. I must say, for someone so young, you have quite the ability. Heh… but I wonder if you can withstand my secret technique, Yoga Fire.”

“We’ll find out soon enough. Shall we begin?” Wang Ling responded.

He first attempted to use the skills from his badge, but discovered that his summoning abilities were sealed—he could not call forth his three elite Shadow Fighters, and would have to rely on his own strength. This did not surprise him. He removed the meteoric iron spearhead previously equipped by the broom-haired dwarf, and gripped it tightly in his hand.

With his agility now boosted to an impressive forty-five points, the meteoric iron spearhead—a short weapon similar to a dagger—became a formidable choice for close combat. In the hands of someone so agile, it was a deadly instrument. Weapon in hand, Wang Ling pressed off with his foot, his body flickering forward with blinding speed as he thrust the spearhead toward Peach Immortal’s heart.

Since the Kung Fu scene card’s rules guaranteed no actual death, Wang Ling did not hold back; he struck directly at the vital point for maximum damage.

Faced with this lightning-fast thrust, Peach Immortal did not move his lower body. Instead, he raised both hands high, and his upper body bent sharply to the left—so far to the side that he looked like a tree bent by a sudden gale. The weapon, aimed for his heart, stabbed only at empty air.

“Yoga, Wind-Blown Tree Pose!” he announced.

Having dodged the thrust, Peach Immortal immediately snapped back upright, colliding into Wang Ling’s side. His stance shifted from Wind-Blown Tree to Tree Pose: his right foot rooted firmly to the floor like a tree’s root, while his left leg bent, the sole pressed sideways to deliver a kick to Wang Ling’s calf.

Wang Ling felt pain in his side and leg where he was struck, but lost no life force. With his stamina now at forty-six points, he knew that while Peach Immortal’s strength was above average, it was still less than Wang Long’s when wielding the Coiled Dragon Staff. Breaking through his defense would not be easy.

His feints and kicks having failed, the false smile faded from Peach Immortal’s face, replaced by a look of grave concentration. He twisted downwards with the speed of a coiled spring, his legs winding and spiraling, arms crossing and pulling, palms pressed together, ten fingers straight and joined like blades, stabbing sharply upward.

“Yoga, King Bird Pose!”

Wang Ling was struck in the throat by this rapid upward jab. Pain seared through him, making it hard to breathe, and the flesh at his neck burned with a clear injury. Yet he relied on his high defense and stamina, refusing to dodge or retreat. He counterattacked, his right hand slashing back with the spearhead. A sharp tearing sound rang out as the tip cut into Peach Immortal’s chest.

This was an obvious mistake on Peach Immortal’s part; he had not expected Wang Ling to retaliate so quickly after his throat had been struck—and with such speed! Feeling the sharp spearhead bite into his flesh, Peach Immortal kept his feet planted but arched his upper body back, collapsing straight into a supine position, his hands bracing behind him.

In this pose, his arms, waist, legs, and the floor formed the four sides of a perfect rectangle, his body resembling a four-legged wooden bench. Such flexibility of the waist and spine was a testament to his prowess as a yoga master.

“Yoga, Half-Bridge Pose!”

He had avoided the attack with remarkable speed, but Wang Ling’s fifty-five-point agility was simply overwhelming. For reference, an ordinary person’s base agility was only ten points. Peach Immortal’s strengths did not lie in agility; thus, even with his quick reactions, he took a ten-centimeter-long gash across his chest.

The wound was two centimeters deep, the pale, slightly curled flesh beneath showing no sign of bleeding. Peach Immortal’s yoga mastery allowed him to control any part of his body; when injured, the flesh at the wound contracted tightly, sealing off the blood.

Supporting himself on his hands, Peach Immortal’s posture was as precise as a circus performer’s. In an instant, his legs sprung up into a handstand. Then, hooking his legs backward, his toes curled like a scorpion’s tail and struck fiercely at Wang Ling’s right temple.

“Yoga, Scorpion Pose!”

Peach Immortal could support his entire weight on his toes—it was clear his toes possessed extraordinary strength. This attack was swift and vicious, the contorted posture making it difficult to evade. Wang Ling was in mid-strike with his spearhead, unprepared for the blow to his temple. Even with his iron-hard head reducing the damage, the strike left him momentarily blinded.

Seizing the chance, Peach Immortal, still inverted, clamped Wang Ling’s weapon between his feet, gave a twist, and sent the spearhead flying into the tower’s wooden wall. Recovering from his handstand, he twisted his waist, lunged forward in an archer’s stance, and punched out with “Warrior Pose”—one fist aimed at Wang Ling’s heart, the other at his spleen.

A muffled thud resounded. Dazed from the earlier blow to his temple, Wang Ling felt a metallic taste in his mouth and staggered back several steps.

Seeing that his heavy blows to vital points had only forced his opponent back, without felling him or causing visible distress, surprise flickered across Peach Immortal’s face. He pressed his attack, but his fists struck a circle of pink light.

It was the “Pink Shield” skill at level four from Heart of Peachy—a beautiful, heart-shaped pink barrier. The shield wavered under the blows, its light trembling, but it could absorb up to a hundred points of melee damage and would not break so easily.

Peach Immortal knew his physical strength was limited, and had already sensed Wang Ling’s tenacity. He drew a deep breath, cheeks puffing out, preparing to unleash the ultimate secret he had mastered at the pinnacle of his yoga training:

“Yoga Fire!”

From his mouth erupted a flaming sphere, larger than a soccer ball, glowing crimson with a hint of white.

Yoga seeks to refine the body to unlock the spirit, and at a certain level of mastery, the will can direct the body’s “chi,” ignite it with heart-fire, and spew forth blazing flames—this is yoga’s highest secret.

In the world of Street Fighter, the Indian man Dhalsim, with his elongated limbs, had achieved the level of spitting Yoga Fire. Not only could he spit small fireballs, but he could unleash continuous torrents of greater fire—his mastery of this secret was plainly deeper than Peach Immortal’s.

The fireball’s reddish-white hue indicated a temperature above ordinary flame. As the blazing sphere hurtled toward him, Wang Ling, now fully alert behind the Pink Shield, puckered his lips and made a blowing gesture.

With this, a beautiful, pink, heart-shaped aura met the oncoming Yoga Fire. The Pink Heart’s power was equivalent to a full-force punch from Wang Ling; with his attributes greatly enhanced, the skill’s might had soared as well. The heart collided with the fireball, instantly shattering it into a spray of tiny sparks.

Of course, the Pink Heart was also vaporized by the intense heat.

The sparks that scattered toward Wang Ling were all blocked by the Pink Shield. Noticing Peach Immortal’s momentary daze after his Yoga Fire was dispersed, Wang Ling calmly pressed his palms together and thrust them forward. With this simple motion, a white spiritual energy wave flew from his hands.

“Bang!”

Unable to dodge, Peach Immortal was struck in the chest and knocked to the ground. Fortunately, the energy wave’s power was modest, so he was not truly hurt. As he landed, he puffed out his cheeks, preparing to spit another Yoga Fire—but suddenly, he sneezed with thunderous force.

“Achoo!”

With that involuntary sneeze, the fire gathering in his mouth burst apart. The failed technique backfired, and just then a Pink Heart crashed into his head.

The Pink Heart struck with far greater force than the energy wave. Peach Immortal felt his head hammered by a colossal blow, hot liquid running down his face, vision darkening, and ears ringing with a deafening hum. Dazed and sensing overwhelming danger, he blurted out, “Wait! I concede!”

At that moment, Wang Ling had already placed both hands on Peach Immortal’s shoulders, about to execute the wrestling technique “Plum Blossom Grand Seat.” Startled by the sudden surrender, he ceased and stepped back, asking curiously, “You haven’t really lost—you still have most of your life force. Why give up?”

Peach Immortal shook his head, gathering his scattered senses, pressing his flesh to seal the wound on his forehead, and wiping away the blood. He replied coolly, “If I know I’m outmatched, why keep fighting? That would be asking for a beating—I’m no fool.”