The sky gradually darkened, and under cover of night, the grime seemed even blacker and thicker; no one could see anyone else’s face, or their heart—only the wordless rustling continued in the unseen void above.

Real or false, far or near.

Emperor Wu looked at Seventh Blade Guan Si’er, and after a long while he said flatly, “Go.”

Guan Si’er heard this without joy, but solemnly kowtowed to His Majesty, then kowtowed to his elder brothers. After kowtowing he stood, drew the saber from his waist, and rushed into the night.

Everyone stayed silent, only watching him with heavy hearts.

Their moods had already been quite sorrowful, when suddenly they heard His Majesty say, “Back then your General Tan Er did the same for Us, and now, unexpectedly, my little Sixth also has this fortune.”

These words were sickening, yet no one could show their disgust.

Chen Dasheng said nothing, lowering his head to touch the hilt of his short blade.

But how could Emperor Wu know what they were thinking? He simply said to himself, distressed, “What a pity!”

He pitied Guan Si’er, believing the boy would not return.

Everyone knew the flaw in Old Blade’s formation—they relied on and protected each other. Guan Si’er, as the last blade, going alone to save the Sixth Prince meant he had cast aside all thought of his own life and death.

Seeing no one speak, His Majesty asked Cui Erdian, who had immediately stepped up close to fill the gap at his side, “Little Seven going out like this—you elder brothers… aren’t you worried?”

Guan Si’er had not walked far into the darkness before he was ambushed at the corner beside a side hall.

Four attackers dropped from the rooftop. By their clothing and bearing, Guan Si’er even recognized their faces.

They were four chief officers from the outer ranks of the Imperial Guards, their ranks lower than his own, each with their own circle of brothers. Tonight they had not covered their faces—meaning they’d prepared to die, leaving themselves no way back.

The four leapt down from the hall’s roof, cutting off Guan Si’er from front, back, left, and right.

Guan Si’er looked at the man directly ahead, spinning the blade in his hand, turning his body to guard his vital point, and smiled, “Chief Wen? What a coincidence—did you mistake me for someone else?”

Chief Wen, nicknamed Smiling Tiger, was still smiling. He twirled the pair of small hammers in his hands and sighed helplessly, “It’s me indeed. Marquis Guan? So they sent you out to scout the way?”

Guan Si’er shook his head. “I’m going to Jingfu Palace.”

Chief Wen drew a breath and sighed in admiration. “Loyal and devoted indeed—what a pity.”

Guan Si’er had no patience to hear what was a pity; he was a simple-minded man, simple enough that his thoughts didn’t wander to too many trivial matters in this world. He was only puzzled—why, after taking the master’s silver and grain, could these men still bring themselves to pick up their bowls to eat, then turn around and rebel?

So he curiously asked, “Chief Wen, why?”

Chief Wen laughed lightly. “Why, indeed. We finally emptied our whole household to arrange a good marriage for my son, but in the blink of an eye we couldn’t leverage it anymore, and now, dragged down by this in-law connection, promotion is hopeless for the rest of my life—isn’t that smashing the pot!

You can make us eat two fewer meals, that’s fine, but smashing the pot isn’t righteous, is it? Back when we followed Yang Zao to conquer the realm, that’s not what he said…”

As Chief Wen spoke with a smile, his feet carried him step by step closer to Guan Si’er. Just as he arrived, his crossed hands unleashed two forceful gusts toward Guan Si’er’s ears.

The most fearsome weapons on the battlefield were never bladed ones—it was this type of hammer weapon that had the greatest killing power; ordinarily, one hit left no survivors.

The other three had long secretly rehearsed and coordinated with him many times; seeing him strike, they came up together. Amid the clash of heavy weapons and the sound of wind being cut, Chief Wen watched in astonishment as Guan Si’er slid out from between his legs. His cheek twitched, and he knocked away his companion’s bronze mace with a backhand blow, finally managing to say, “You… are truly shameless.”

Guan Si’er stood up, his blade-holding hand somewhat sweaty; he switched hands and wiped the other on his trousers, saying, “Chief Wen, you’re all top-notch vanguard fighters in the army, and you don’t mind ambushing me shamelessly, yet you have the nerve to call me…”

Before he could finish, the four struck together again in a pincer attack. Guan Si’er dodged with lightning speed, occasionally even managing a counterstrike that drew blood.

This left Chief Wen somewhat baffled—this was supposedly the weakest of the Seven Blades, yet he still had the strength to dodge?

Sparks flew as they exchanged blows rapidly; they managed to graze Guan Si’er’s back once more, and seeing blood, they believed victory was only a matter of time. So with both hammers pressing down like twin mountains, Chief Wen couldn’t help asking again, “This kid… does have some skill?”

Guan Si’er rolled continuously along the ground, his dodging clumsy, yet his mouth lost no ground: “Chief Wen, why not let me go, so we may meet again someday—no one’s watching anyway, and my brothers will surely repay you handsomely later!”

Chief Wen sneered coldly. “Let you go? Dream on! Truth be told, this path was arranged for that fellow Yang Zao. Even if you get past me, what then? Who knows how many skilled hands lie in ambush ahead—even all seven of you together would give us pause, let alone one lone Seventh Blade…”

“Is that so… then I’m sorry.”

A thin blade like a willow leaf appeared between Guan Si’er’s left fingers. In over a dozen exchanges, Guan Si’er had each time dodged clumsily from between people’s legs or under their arms. Who could have guessed this fellow’s hand was so vicious? After another round of the same clumsy dodging—since he kept rolling on the ground, the four lowered their bodies to strike, their movements inevitably growing stiff.

Taking advantage of yet another “lazy donkey roll,” the thin blade hidden between Guan Si’er’s fingers thrust several times into the armpits of the arms these men had exerted force with.

Only then did they realize how deformed this blade was—shaped like a triangular mountain, its tail like a flat willow rivet. One thrust in, and an arm instantly went useless. The blade was specially shaped to follow the curve of the bone seam beneath the armpit; the armpit itself is a vital point, the Jiquan acupoint connecting to the heart. A ruined arm was only the first step—the pain that followed was agony that seemed to crush the heart, and all four instantly lost the strength to counterattack.

Master-level combat happens in an instant. When Chief Wen finally clutched his own throat, he asked, unable to believe it, “How could this be? You, you’re so despicable…”

Guan Si’er kicked him from behind, casually pulling his own small willow blade from the man’s neck; with a flick of his fingers, the blade vanished back into his arm guard.

With no support left for his neck, blood sprayed out. Chief Wen made gurgling sounds, coughing up bloody foam. He struggled to turn his face to look at his companions, only to find they had already stopped breathing.

Guan Si’er looked down at him. “How could this be? Why not? You’ve really eaten too well and forgotten your instincts. I too am someone who survived among thousands of troops, who fought my way out from under that stingy surnamed Tan without even armor to my name—how dare you look down on me?”

He glared, somewhat angry, at Chief Wen’s dilating pupils and cursed, “I’m a Seventh Blade because I came late, that’s all!”

Chief Wen: “Heh, heh~!”

Guan Si’er grew somewhat angry. “You—it’s only been a few years and you’ve already forgotten what you thought on the killing fields back then. Back then, didn’t we all think that as long as we could go home alive, we’d be willing to serve as beasts of burden for the rest of our lives? Have you eaten so well that lard has gone to your brain?

Why can’t I kill you? I too fought my way from Zuo Liang Pass all the way to Dongtan, Xitan, to Ta’er Lake, to Taiyang Palace, one of those who wiped out Gongjitan Wang’s assassins—what are you lot compared to that… you’re— eh, dead? Hey!”

He kicked Chief Wen again, seeing him die with eyes wide open, and licked his lips, stomping on his chest a few more times in irritation. Strangely, each stomp forced another gurgle out of the dying man. Guan Si’er, assuming he could still hear, said anxiously, “At least let me finish saying this. Usually big brother won’t let me talk, my parents won’t let me talk either, it’s suffocating me—you wait a bit before you die!

Oh, I’m also a scout, do you even know what a scout is? A scout can have pride too, pride your grandmother’s backside! You think just because I’m a Seventh Blade you can bully me? Go to hell! Ever since I started out as a gate watchman, those bastards had no one else to fight, and since I was the youngest, six of them beat on me every day, one against one each—you four are nothing! I’ve been taking beatings for seven years…” Hey, hey…”

The blood had drained completely, and even the gurgling stopped.

Guan Si’er, somewhat despondent, pursed his lips, pulling his willow blades from the armpits of the other three unlucky ones, sheathing them one by one back into his arm guard. He organized the information he’d just extracted—so, whether by the main road or side paths to Jingfu Palace, taking the direct route would waste too much time. He wasn’t afraid to die…

So… Guan Si’er made his way to the eaves of a side hall, and his body leapt up like an agile monkey, hanging upside down as he climbed away…

No—at that moment he moved less like a monkey and more like an agile cat.

Cui Erdian watched the enemy slowly gathering ahead, soldiers from the army, marching with resounding steps, in perfect formation, shaking the ground, full of imposing might.

Without turning back, he said to Emperor Wu, Yang Zao, “Your Majesty, among us here, if it’s a straight fight, any one of us could beat Little Seven into the dirt. But when it comes to actual combat effectiveness, that fellow’s actually shameless—only big brother can keep him in line. Heh, he won’t die easily…”

A unit of heavily armored soldiers advanced from the front bearing long halberds. Chen Dasheng gave a soft shout and led the charge before the enemy could form ranks—in the span of an instant, several thrusts between the legs, and their backhand blades were already lodged in the men’s sacral vertebrae.

On a battlefield, everything changes in an instant; there are only a few truly effective spots for a single blade to disable an enemy—sever the great tendon behind the sacral vertebrae, and the lower body is finished for good.

This was the result Chen Dasheng saw from the black-armored troops—these soldiers were likely the Great Liang heavy cavalry who had rebelled following their superiors; they should have been mounted on warhorses.

That they were left alive at all was perhaps Old Blade’s… mercy?

No, how could that be. Old Blade held no mercy.

The heavy-armored soldiers, unable to move their lower halves, piled together, thrashing in agony, pulling and entangling each other, dragging in more and more of their fellows. They became living shields, living obstacles.

When people are dying, it’s like being trapped in water—always reaching instinctively toward survival, toward rescue.

Yang Zao watched the Old Blades walk further and further away, the living barrier growing thicker and thicker; from that direction came a chorus of heart-wrenching screams, like a scene from hell. The blackfeather crane in his arms breathed deeply several times—the child had finally fainted.

Cui Erdian, guarding in front of him, glanced back and even offered praise: “The little prince truly doesn’t disgrace the imperial bloodline. The first time I saw the blade-heads pull this move, I was so scared I wet my pants, heh! My legs went weak…”

His Majesty drew a long breath and asked, “Back then?”

Cui Erdian nodded without turning around. “Ah, back then, yes—those black cavalry officers were just as detestable, everything better than us. Even their mounts had armor—what did we have?”

His Majesty said nothing, watching the direction Cui Erdian pointed his blade toward—a dark cloud of armored soldiers bearing long halberds, stretching farther than the eye could see.

But compared to what Old Blade once faced on the battlefield, what was this?

A narrow corridor. A limited number of enemies, nothing more.

Cui Erdian’s expression relaxed, and he said without a trace of fear, “Your Majesty, whose men are these? How did they get in? Who’s commanding them? Don’t they know we’re here? Tch! Back then the black cavalry officers had far more dignity than these—when they fell from their horses in agonizing pain, they didn’t cry out like this. So as not to burden their comrades, if the fall didn’t kill them, they finished themselves off…

This move of my head brother’s, it was actually thought up by the old blade-heads from before. Honestly, it only worked for a few months before it stopped being useful. That’s how it goes on a battlefield—back and forth, everyone wants to win. We’re the unlucky ones without cover—what do you do against long weapons? Those things are a real nuisance, longer than the blade on my back; bunched together they just keep stabbing away…”

As he spoke, a martial artist appeared, dropping from the wall as long blades parted, coming at Emperor Wu from behind. Cui Erdian, hearing the sound, pressed close to His Majesty and pivoted to switch positions; before the opponent’s sword arrived, he reached out and fired three crossbow bolts.

The assassin, no longer young, swung his sword to knock the bolts aside while cursing under his breath, “Despicable.”

You dare use hidden weapons!

Cui Erdian laughed in anger. “Yo, you dare assassinate the Emperor, and I’m the one wronged to death here—I’m despicable?”

This fellow, having drawn blood today, had grown unusually talkative; normally he was a man of few words, a sullen sort.

As he spoke, the blade on his back was already drawn, and he struck with full force—a single downward slash carrying the power to cut through twenty layers of ox hide. The old man raised his sword, gathering his internal energy to meet the blow; despite his considerable inner strength, he was forced back a dozen steps by the battlefield’s overwhelming might. Looking down at his own sharp treasured sword, he found its tip had snapped off.

Astonished, he cried out, “This—what kind of martial art is this?!”

Cui Erdian rolled his neck, tilted his head, sniffled, and snorted with a laugh. “Martial arts? I don’t know martial arts, I just want to live!”

With that, another full-strength blow came crashing down. The blade cut through the air with a whooshing sound, forcing the old man to raise his sword to block…

Practitioners of the martial world, even those with deep internal cultivation, need to gather strength bit by bit, with breathing pauses in between—but the battlefield offered no such mercy. Cui Erdian’s blade moved incredibly fast, each of a dozen strikes carrying equal, overwhelming force.

The old man’s sword broke apart section by section; he dared not meet the blade with his bare arm, and though full of skilled techniques, he had no idea what to do. Finally, enraged, he gave a great shout, threw down his broken weapon, and fled back up onto the wall, cursing, “Shameless… hgh…”

A small crossbow bolt shot into his throat, and the old man screamed and fell.

Cui Erdian turned to look at the Emperor, who had lowered his arm, and thought to give him a thumbs-up, but reconsidered—never mind!

Emperor Wu coughed once, raising his sleeve to cover his face.

He too had come from the battlefield; seeing an opening, his hands had itched to act without thinking twice.

Compared to Chen Dasheng and the others’ small sleeve crossbows, his own carried more than ten times the force, and the mechanism was different as well.

The fighting in the corridor grew more and more entangled…

Qingfeng Manor, Quanhou Street, Sanli Academy.

“…Central Army Grand Marshal Gan Shiquan has led a rebellion, having already found insiders to fight his way into Yanjing City… the Great Liang Palace!”

A hidden guard from the Prince’s manor arrived with fresh intelligence. She Qingling sighed softly. “Hmph! I warned about this before—Gan Shiquan and Liu Pu have been close for years, their families deeply entangled; he was never fit for a key military position. Hmph! Trusting one’s appointments without doubt?”

She Qingling had no more to say. He reached down, pulled a sachet from beneath his collar, poured it out, and handed the hidden guard two different tiger tallies. “Go quickly—one is proof to open the city gates for the defending troops, the other send at once to Li Xizhou, ordering him to hasten to protect the Emperor…”

The hidden guard, blade on his back, leapt down from the roof and took the tallies away.

This commotion frightened a group of fortune-tellers huddled trembling in the corner.

Seeing that this Prince, who normally stayed out of such matters, could actually command armies, these men grew even more frightened. Yet, fortune favors the bold—even in such a dire situation, one who had just taken a beating and was unafraid of death trembled to his feet, walked up to She Qingling with a fawning smile, and said cautiously, “Please, please, Your Highness…”

She Qingling, already irritated, raised his face and said a single word: “Scram!”

As soon as he spoke, this fellow’s old mother came running in from outside.

The old woman searched around, and upon spotting her son, rushed over, grabbed his ear, and—ignoring his miserable cries—slapped him hard across the face. Then, smiling apologetically at She Qingling, she said, “Please don’t mind him, my lord. He’s, he’s a fool, but really, he does have his uses, truly, he’s useful!”

She Qingling drew a breath, waved his hand helplessly, and let the old woman drag her son away.

Only once outside the door did the man dare to struggle, but his mother, furious beyond measure, dragged him by the ear all the way to the wall outside Sanli Academy. When he saw what awaited outside, he gasped in cold shock.

Outside the academy, along the wall, a large square shallow pit had been dug. A group of women, torches in hand, stared grimly down into the pit—not deep, since their blistered hands could only manage so much.

This man, so afraid of death he’d try anything, was dragged to the edge of the pit by his mother and shoved in before he could prepare himself. Just as he tried to move, the eldest lady of the Qipan courtyard barked, “Dare to move? I’ll bury you alive!”

The man trembled and shook.

While shaking, he saw the lady from next door carrying a sack of flour, drawing a white circle around his body on the ground. What was this for?

Once the circle was drawn, his mother called him back out, repositioned him, and pushed him back into the pit again—repeating this four or five times, until the man was thoroughly rattled and still had no idea what they were doing.

Finally his mother said to him, “Alright, climb out.”

Trembling, the man crawled out, looking left and right; this time no one pushed him, so he sat weakly on the ground, shrinking back a few steps.

Before long, he saw those fierce women burying rope snares all around the pit’s edge—anyone who entered that circle would be tripped and fall in.

Once the ropes were laid and buried, several sturdy young women carried over boards of tofu, placing tofu blocks with needles at the spots corresponding to his facial features, throat, the vital point at the base of the skull, and other deadly or agonizing points where he had lain.

Truly, the cunning minds of the inner household, laying traps against a rival wife—not willing to waste even a block of tofu.

He recognized this trick—originally that vicious woman from the Tang family had thousands of needles, oh!!!!

He understood now, and understanding it made him feel truly wretched.

It turned out these women couldn’t dig deep pits, nor could they dig so many traps, so they could only dig it shallow and wide instead. But a shallow pit couldn’t hurt anyone, so they wanted to bury needles at the bottom—but inserting them one by one into the dirt was ineffective and exhausting. Later, a lady from Lìbù Lane had the idea to put the needles inside tofu—when someone fell and the tofu broke, everything would be in place at once!

Damn “in place”—after all that fuss, they’d been pushing themselves into the pit to play corpse and mark the positions!

Truly, not a single thing wasted!

Feeling wronged, this man in his thirties or forties ended up covering his head and crying.

His mother ran past him carrying a block of tofu, kicking him as she passed. “Get out of the way, don’t get underfoot!”

Even more wronged now… sniff sniff sniff!