Although the Black Warrior Gan Luo did not hold the formal title of great sword master, he possessed the power of one.
Within the Black Warrior Sword Sect, many looked down on him yet none dared provoke him — his sword had never gone thirsty for blood.
Right now, his blade was only an inch from Li Chi’s throat. For a great sword master, what was an inch?
An inch is an instant of infinite change. An inch is absolute control. An inch is the turning of life and death.
Yet in what should have been that inch of supremacy — what lay between them was no longer merely life and death, but worlds apart.
Those five fingers had hooked into Gan Luo’s spine and he hung in midair as if suspended by it.
With this vital point seized, it was as if his four limbs had simultaneously lost their will — even the grip of his sword hand went slack.
There are no words to describe what it felt like to be caught this way. Another fraction of force from that hand, and the bones would seem on the verge of being crushed entirely.
With his spinal column under control, Gan Luo could not even turn his head to see who had seized him in such short order.
He was such a careful man. Before making his move against Li Chi, he had done three things.
First, he hurled the wine jar at Xiahou Zuo — because he could see clearly that Xiahou Zuo was the greatest threat at Li Chi’s side.
Second, he had calculated the sequence, angle, and timing of his sword thrust to the finest detail.
Third, he had surveyed his immediate surroundings and confirmed that no one in reach could stop him in time.
Because the people around him were all his own — including several from Little Moon Lion Nation.
And yet the one who stopped him was right there beside him.
Dong Qian Yuan — the Prince of Little Moon Lion, who had supposedly fallen down spitting black blood and died — had one hand hooked into his spine with a death grip, while the other hand had already reached around to the back of his neck and seized hold of his cervical vertebrae.
In that moment, the Black Warrior sword master Gan Luo — proud and imperious — was like a snake caught by the scales along its back: rigid, unable to move a muscle.
When they saw Gan Luo seized and realized Dong Qian Yuan was not dead at all, the National Preceptor of Little Moon Lion, Man Lai Ya Man, eyes snapped wide open.
In those eyes was something impossible to read clearly.
It should have been the look of a man who had spent his whole life scheming against others — only to discover, beyond all imagining, that he had been outwitted by a fool.
His scheme of turning others’ blades against his own target had been elegantly conceived, with no possible flaw.
Use Jialou Nation’s poisoned wine to kill Dong Qian Yuan — first, to eliminate a threat for the King of Little Moon Lion; second, to frame Jialou Nation and direct the fury of Great Ning against them.
Two birds with one stone. It would have established Little Moon Lion Nation as the future hegemon of the Western Regions.
But the fool had outwitted him.
Look at him — how convincingly he had played dead, without a single crack in the performance.
Look at him — those death throes at the end, that black blood spilling from his lips. How could any of it have been faked?
Dong Qian Yuan, now in control of Gan Luo, looked back at Man Lai Ya Man, his eyes full of laughter: “Uncle — did I give you a fright?”
Man Lai Ya Man opened his mouth, but not a sound came out, and his expression remained something no one could truly decipher.
Dong Qian Yuan smiled and asked: “Just now, when you saw me collapse from the poison — was there even a trace of worry in your heart?”
Man Lai Ya Man still didn’t know what to say, because he knew nothing he said now would have much meaning left.
Those eyes of Dong Qian Yuan’s — where was there anything of a simpleton in them? These were eyes radiating light, filled with the exhilaration of long-awaited vengeance.
“I see there wasn’t.”
Dong Qian Yuan let out a soft sigh. “All those years ago, my father kept me safe by having me take you as my sworn uncle. At a time when you were frightened, I saw tenderness for me in your eyes, and I thought — my father truly chose the right person.”
“But now your eyes hold fear, and panic, and disbelief — and more than anything else, the desire to run.”
Dong Qian Yuan shook his head slowly. “If you had even one part of care left for me, I would not have moved against you — after all, you sheltered me for many years.”
Man Lai Ya Man said: “Your Highness, you should know this is not my fault. I am old… old, and when one grows old, one can no longer hold out.”
After speaking these words, he turned to the military officer of Little Moon Lion Nation, Ao Lou: “Protect me and get me out.”
Ao Lou immediately answered: “Yes!”
And then drove a blade straight into Man Lai Ya Man’s abdomen. Blood poured from the wound like a bursting spring, making the hand holding the blade feel thick and sticky.
“You…”
Man Lai Ya Man stared at Ao Lou, the disbelief in his eyes growing even more profound.
“What is there to ‘you’ me about?”
Ao Lou sighed. “National Preceptor, you are said to be Little Moon Lion Nation’s foremost strategist — they say the older one gets, the more clear-eyed. So how is it you became foolish in your old age?”
“The King tasked us both with eliminating His Highness the Prince. National Preceptor, have you considered — even if your plan had been flawless, even if you had deceived even Great Ning’s people and the two of you succeeded, once we returned to Little Moon Lion, would our King have spared us?”
Man Lai Ya Man looked down at the blood flowing from his own abdomen and gave two quiet, bitter laughs.
“You’re right. How did I grow so senile?”
He looked at Dong Qian Yuan and said: “Your Highness, when you return home, do not allow any thought of brotherly feeling to stay your hand. If you allow it to, you will lose in the end.”
Dong Qian Yuan replied: “These years, you taught me a great deal, Uncle, and I have remembered it all. This lesson too, I will remember.”
After hearing those words, Man Lai Ya Man fell backward. He was old, and he had lost too much blood — he could hold on no longer.
On the other side of the room, Mu Yan Mu Di suddenly spun around, drew a short blade from within the wine jar beside him.
This jar of wine had been brought forward by Jialou Nation’s envoy Sama — and Sama had not once left Mu Yan Mu Di’s side.
Short blade in hand, Mu Yan Mu Di turned and drove it through in a single strike, piercing the assassin through the chest.
That assassin — was the red-haired Western woman. One had to concede that Xiahou Zuo’s eye was truly sharp; if the blade had been even a fraction shorter, it might not have reached the red-haired woman’s heart.
One thrust, straight and true: the Western woman who had been surging toward Li Chi died on the spot.
And Deputy Delegate Sama, drawing a dagger from within the jar, flung it through the air and buried it squarely in the forehead of the brown-haired Western woman.
Xiahou Zuo happened to catch this — looked at one, looked at the other, then instinctively shook his head, an expression of unmistakable regret on his face.
By now the hall had descended into complete chaos. The delegates from the various Western nations scattered in every direction, but after only a few steps the encircling Imperial Guards pressed in on all sides and forced them back.
The heavy-armored Imperial Guards moved in disciplined formations, clearly an elite hand-selected unit — each soldier tall and powerfully built, every man holding a long-handled saber.
Whoever wanted to charge through had to first think about whether they could withstand one blow from one of those sabers, and if they could survive one, whether they could survive two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
If one could endure, and the Ning soldiers were willing, they could keep going for a month.
The heavy-armored infantry closing in from all sides was like four walls converging, pressing the Westerners into a tightening square.
The Black Warrior assassins were still fighting, but the moment Gan Luo was captured alive, any chance they had was gone.
Dong Qian Yuan’s two hands exerted force simultaneously. Two sharp cracks of breaking bone followed, and he threw Gan Luo down at Li Chi’s feet.
Dong Qian Yuan was undeniably powerful — but had he not feigned death and ambushed from behind, seizing someone of great sword master caliber like Gan Luo would not have been nearly so easy.
He cast the man down and then bowed toward Li Chi: “Your Majesty, this man is the leader of the Black Warrior assassins sent to kill Your Majesty.”
Li Chi looked at Dong Qian Yuan and said: “What formidable martial arts you carry.”
Dong Qian Yuan replied, head lowered: “This subject lives in daily fear of being killed, so whenever there is even a little time, I train to preserve my life.”
Li Chi nodded, then looked at Mu Yan Mu Di: “You two… I find myself at a loss for what to say.”
Mu Yan Mu Di gave a wry smile. Dong Qian Yuan returned it with a wry smile of his own.
These two who had not long ago been bristling at each other, regarding each other with contempt, and on the verge of moving against one another — had in fact long since made secret contact.
Their fates were so extraordinarily alike: both had a brother who felt absolutely nothing for kinship or blood.
The one difference was that Bao Long Hua wanted Dong Qian Yuan dead not because Dong Qian Yuan was a great general, a national hero.
“There’s something I still need to tell you — it was *he* who told me, and asked me to tell you after he was gone.”
Mu Yan Mu Di walked to Dong Qian Yuan’s side, drew a letter from within his robes, and handed it to him: “This is for you.”
Dong Qian Yuan asked: “What is it?”
Mu Yan Mu Di looked at Man Lai Ya Man lying in the pool of blood, was silent for a moment, and then said: “A letter in the National Preceptor’s own hand, left for you.”
“He is truly admirable. Everything he arranged — he arranged it all for you.”
Dong Qian Yuan’s face changed completely: “What do you mean?”
Mu Yan Mu Di said: “Do you know why I took the initiative to make secret contact with you? It was because the National Preceptor reached out to me first.”
“He said you were coming close to the point where you could no longer keep hiding. No matter how much better you had become at playing a fool, you were almost at the limit.”
“When he learned that your king intended to have you serve as lead delegate, he knew at once that Bao Long Hua was going to kill you — so he immediately sent someone to reach out to me in secret.”
“He told me that my situation and yours were not so different. Though our two nations are enemies, you and I could become allies.”
Mu Yan Mu Di continued: “He said to me — only if the two of us acted together would there be any chance of us each coming out alive. And that chance lay in absolutely, without fail, submitting to the Emperor of Great Ning.”
By now Dong Qian Yuan’s face had gone as white as paper — as if it had been him and not Man Lai Ya Man who had taken a blade just now.
Mu Yan Mu Di said: “He also told me that he had to die here in the Ning capital — had to die by your hand. He said you were too benevolent, that even if you returned home and secretly raised troops, with the men he had long since arranged to support you, you would still not bring yourself to kill Bao Long Hua.”
“He hoped that by using his own death as a warning — whenever you prepared to show mercy and couldn’t bring yourself to kill Bao Long Hua — you would think of him. He also said that as long as he remained alive, his disciples would not carry such great hatred for Bao Long Hua, and would not give everything they had to help you.”
That man.
An old man who seemed utterly unremarkable. A scholar so obsessed with the culture of the Central Plains he was little more than a bookworm.
That man.
Called the foremost strategist of Little Moon Lion Nation. The National Preceptor of Little Moon Lion Nation. His disciples numbering in the tens of thousands.
That man.
Once, long ago, had promised the old king one thing — and from that day forward, he had been Dong Qian Yuan’s uncle.
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