Brother Dao Took the Entertainment Industry by Storm, Fans Beg Me Not to Kill Anymore-Chapter 362: Duel in the Rain, Karma’s Retribution

The pinnacle of martial arts combat aesthetics always seems to require a heavy rain to set the stage—

Torrential rain poured down, shrouding the surrounding world in a misty haze. Only the young man standing firm in the downpour remained distinct, raising the sword in his hand, having lost the graceful, carefree air of the gentleman he once was.

Standing before him was the black-clad swordsman, wearing a bamboo rain hat. His eyes were hidden in the shadows, making his expression impossible to discern. Only the sword in his hand trembled slightly, shaking off all the rainwater clinging to it. The droplets flew out, landing in the puddles on the ground.

Once sworn brothers in the martial world who vowed to advance and retreat together, they had ultimately come to this point.

Yet they both knew that neither of them was truly in the wrong.

Song Chenye carried the burden of a blood feud. He had descended the mountain for revenge, wanting to slaughter all his enemies to bring peace to his deceased loved ones. He was not wrong.

Liu Zhilin carried the bloodline of the Liu family. He had enjoyed the treatment and status befitting the son of the Alliance Leader, receiving the praise that should have originally belonged to Song Chenye. Moreover, his father treated him exceptionally well, a truly dutiful father. He wanted to stop all of this, using his own life to protect his family. He, too, was not wrong.

Perhaps this was the way of the martial world—an endless cycle of grievances and retribution, a tangled web of misunderstandings and fate.

Song Chenye looked at the man before him, remaining silent for a long while before finally speaking. "You know, your life cannot atone for your father's sins against my Song family. Your obstruction now serves no purpose other than to bury your own life."

Liu Zhilin, however, let out a bitter laugh. "Brother Song, you have your convictions, but I too have my own choices—"

As his words fell, he lowered his head to glance at the precious sword in his hand, his tone tinged with apology. "I'm sorry."

A flicker of emotion passed through Song Chenye's eyes, but he did not accept the apology.

Because the sword in Liu Zhilin's hand was the legendary peerless blade that Song Chenye had won at the martial arts conferences.

The gift presented then had now become a weapon turned against its original recipient. How could one not feel the sting of irony?

Song Chenye said nothing. He merely gave a slight shake of his sword, which emitted a sharp *zheng* of metallic resonance even amidst the rain.

—His Carefree Cloud Sword was already impatient to test itself against this legendary weapon hailed as the number one under heaven!

In the next moment, Song Chenye charged forward first.

The tip of his sword traced ripples through the puddles on the gravel-strewn ground, sending a spray of water droplets hurtling toward Liu Zhilin's face.

Liu Zhilin swept his sword horizontally, deflecting the rain spray. Leaning his body to the side, the sword in his hand spun with a fan-like flexibility for a full circle before he reversed his grip and slashed toward Song Chenye's neck.

Song Chenye decisively raised his arm to block at an angle. As he withdrew, he used his internal energy to forcefully repel his opponent—

*Splash—*

His foot carved a spray of water, only to be met with an even more ferocious counterattack.

Song Chenye had initiated the offensive, yet it was Liu Zhilin who became the one pressing forward step by step. Liu Zhilin's sword technique, much like his fan techniques, carried a sense of lightness and agility, reminiscent of a cloud crane spreading its wings—elegant yet concealing lethal intent.

In contrast, Song Chenye's swordsmanship was brimming with sharpness and killing intent. His movements were clean, efficient, simple, and direct. Even while defending, he never forgot to attack. Even if it meant injuring himself, he would not hesitate to strike if it meant taking his opponent's life.

The heavy rain had not yet ceased, yet the two had already exchanged over a dozen rounds in an instant. Even the raindrops were shattered by their powerful internal energy. Their confrontation gradually escalated from probing to all-out combat, each move fierce and unyielding, a battle to the death.

After another few breaths, the puddles on the ground began to be tinged with crimson.

When they stood apart once more, Liu Zhilin's white robes were gradually dyed red. Song Chenye's black attire, however, showed no trace, only the blood flowing down the back of his hand being washed clean again by the rain.

They stared at each other across the hazy curtain of rain, saying nothing, only tightening their grips on their swords.

Battling a master consumed unimaginable energy.

Therefore, at this moment, a swift resolution was needed—

This time, the one who charged forward first was Liu Zhilin.

His sword was no longer light and agile but carried more decisiveness and ruthless intent as it surged toward Song Chenye. Song Chenye, however, maintained his restrained style of attack, the darkness in his eyes receding along with the bloody scene before him.

Finally, accompanied by another clash of internal energy, the weapon hailed as the "Number One Sword Under Heaven" snapped with a loud *crack*—

The Carefree Cloud Sword smoothly passed through the broken famous sword, piercing straight through Liu Zhilin's heart.

Both men froze for a moment.

The rain overhead suddenly lightened.

Liu Zhilin grasped the blade of the Carefree Cloud Sword, allowing his palm to be cut and bleed. Using the last bit of strength from the sword piercing his chest, he slowly knelt down.

His sword-wielding hand dropped powerlessly. The sword that had been bestowed with countless honors and legends fell into the muddy puddle like a defective product.

Song Chenye's hand holding the sword trembled slightly. In the end, he did not immediately pull out the Carefree Cloud Sword, but silently watched the man before him.

Liu Zhilin knew this was the final dignity Song Chenye was leaving him.

"Cough, cough, cough—"

He laughed at himself mockingly.

"Ending up like this... is not entirely unexpected."

That precious sword had a problem.

It seemed it had been prepared from the start to be delivered into the hands of the next "Alliance Leader."

Yet, after all the twists and turns, although Song Chenye had obtained the qualification to ultimately challenge the Alliance Leader, and Thousand Leaves Manor had, according to the tournament agreement, gifted him this sword, no one expected that Song Chenye had come purely for revenge. He had no interest in that position, nor any obsession with that legendary sword. Instead, he kept his own Carefree Cloud Sword and gave that "Number One" famous sword to Liu Zhilin, who had placed second.

So, who could have tampered with this sword in advance?

It couldn't have been Song Chenye. That only left...

Liu Zhilin raised his head, feeling the bitter irony of this ridiculous twist of karmic fate, and even a trace of inexplicable, perverse satisfaction.

The sword designed by the enemy had ultimately caused the karmic retribution to fall upon his own descendant. And he, having betrayed this bond of friendship, had similarly suffered fate's backlash.

How utterly fitting—

Liu Zhilin did not want to see the complex emotions in his former friend's eyes. He simply let out a long sigh, as if shedding all vitality, and slowly lowered his head.

Finally, blood gradually spread outwards. The young master in white knelt in the mud, rain mixing with blood, utterly ruining those perpetually pristine robes. Those peach blossom eyes that had always held a teasing glint of laughter completely lost their luster.

He moved no more.

Song Chenye said nothing, not even drawing his sword. He just stood silently in the rain, staring wordlessly at the person before him for a long, long time—

...

The filming of this fight scene took a full three days.

Between the artificial rain and the intense combat choreography, by the time this scene was completely finished, Xiao He's voice was completely hoarse.

His scene partner, Zhao Qinyuan, wasn't faring much better either. The intense exposure to rain and filming had directly given him a high fever. Fortunately, his scenes were officially wrapped, so he could go back directly to recuperate.

But Xiao He couldn't. Right now, he couldn't even speak properly. Every time he tried, it felt like razor blades were scraping his throat, and his voice had changed several pitches, completely unrecognizable from his original tone.

When Liu Rulan found out Xiao He had lost his voice, she was frantic with worry.

"How did your throat get this bad? Quick, quick, quick, to the hospital!"

Xiao He was also miserable. He rasped out a question, "Sister Liu, can we change the song list? I think if I sang some old smokey folk tunes right now, it'd be really powerful!"

Liu Rulan: ...

What do *you* think?