The young man was wearing a gray long robe—the fabric nothing of value, though the cut was remarkably precise.

He paid no attention to the disciples bowing to him, and from the third floor simply drifted downward with unhurried ease.

His feet touched down in the courtyard, and in a single step he was at the rear door. His left hand swept out, palm striking the door panel—the panel spun away through the air.

He stepped out of the courtyard, and at once saw a dark shadow in the distance—there, then gone.

Even he had not expected the fleeing figure to be so fast. He had missed by the narrowest margin: by the time he reached the outer door, the shadow had already vanished.

But he had no intention of abandoning the pursuit. He strode forward, arriving at the alley entrance in an instant—and there he was compelled to stop.

He came to a sudden halt, and the disciples who had come rushing out behind him stopped as well.

He stood still, and no one dared to move.

A long while passed before the young man turned and walked back toward the inn, and said, with quiet indifference: “No need to pursue.”

Nan Lan was at a loss. “Junior Uncle, why have you given up the chase? That person took a full palm strike from you—if not dead, certainly gravely injured. The other one would have to carry the injured party in flight—however fast they moved at first, they won’t be able to sustain it.”

The young man the others called Junior Uncle glanced at Nan Lan. In his gaze was a faint cold edge, and Nan Lan immediately fell silent and dared not ask again.

Returning to the inn, the young man went straight to his own room and stood at the window, carefully reviewing in his mind what had just occurred.

If he had taken two more steps forward at the alley entrance, he knew: someone lurking in the darkness would have brought a sword toward him—a sword unmatched by anything in this world.

It was not that he was afraid. He simply was not certain enough.

He had not seen who it was in the shadows. Nor did he need to. He knew that when one sword from that person appeared, it would shake heaven and earth.

“There are truly too many extraordinary people hiding in this world.”

He murmured this quietly to himself.

—

Half an hour later, at Li Chi’s residence.

Li Chi helped Dantai Yajing remove the black robe from his shoulders—and because he was worried, even someone as composed as Li Chi had hands that trembled slightly.

Dantai Yajing’s face was frighteningly pale. The palm had struck squarely on his chest—with his skill, he had been unable to dodge even then.

Li Chi’s face was full of concern. He worked quickly and steadily to open Dantai Yajing’s outer robe, and then looked—on the chest, where the palm had landed, there was a blackened handprint, as though it had been branded there by fire.

He opened the inner robe—and Li Chi’s expression shifted again.

Dantai Yajing, with his characteristic caution, had hung a mirror over his heart—forged from pure steel, impervious to blade strikes.

But the mirror had cracked, and what had faced outward was now pushed inward.

Then Li Chi pulled the inner garment aside and finally allowed himself a small measure of relief.

Fortunately, Dantai Yajing had been meticulous in his preparations—beneath his robe he also wore the jade armor they had found in the underground palace of the Youshan Kingdom, one of those divine suits of armor. No one knew what it was made of, but the weight was exceptionally light while the material was extraordinarily hard.

Just then, Dantai Yajing let out a great retch and coughed up a mouthful of blood—and then began to breathe in deep, steady gasps.

A moment later his color began to return.

The force of that palm strike had created too severe a concussive wave—a mouthful of stagnant blood had become trapped and could not escape, leaving him unable to breathe. With that blood expelled, he actually looked somewhat better than before.

“Very powerful.”

Dantai Yajing concentrated on drawing deep breaths, then looked down at his chest. His robe open, the jade armor removed—his chest was red and swollen across a wide area.

“So it’s true that this world has those who have mastered internal-force fist techniques.”

Li Chi murmured this half to himself, and then inspected the black outer robe Dantai Yajing had been wearing.

This robe had been on the outermost layer—yet at the chest there was no visible damage, not even a wrinkle.

But the inner garments looked as though a palm-shaped branding iron, heated red-hot, had been pressed directly against them.

“He looked young—but the moment he came close I felt his presence run cold.”

Dantai Yajing looked at Li Chi. “And yet he was no more than a zhang away before I sensed his presence. One step, and he was right in front of me. Deflecting all my crossbow bolts with just two fingers. Then a single palm strike that sent me flying. A skill like that—I’ve never encountered it before.”

Seeing that his breathing remained reasonably steady, the others’ fears eased somewhat.

Fortunately, Li Chi and his people had all adopted the same habit he had—making every possible preparation for self-protection, and carrying it to the furthest extreme.

Without the heart-guard mirror, without the jade armor, that one palm strike would have done damage to Dantai Yajing far beyond what it appeared to have done.

“Where is Old Zhenren Zhang?”

Li Chi turned to look—and saw Young Zhenren Zhang supporting the elder Zhenren as they came in from outside.

“Old Zhenren, are you injured?”

Seeing Old Zhenren Zhang looking somewhat weakened, Li Chi immediately went to meet him.

Old Zhenren Zhang waved his hand as he walked. “Not injured—I simply marshaled a surge of presence and forced that person back. The effort has left my blood and qi somewhat in turmoil.”

Only then did Li Chi understand: had Old Zhenren Zhang not blocked the young man’s pursuit, the young man might very well have caught up with them.

“A formidable cultivation.”

Old Zhenren Zhang settled himself down and slowly released a breath. “If I were twenty years younger, I would not be resorting to tricks and performance—propping up a breath of sword presence—but would simply go out there and fight him. Age erodes the vital energy, and the way of heaven cannot be reversed.”

Young Zhenren Zhang looked at Li Chi. “That person’s martial ability may surpass all of us combined. So—do we need to change the plan?”

Li Chi shook his head. “Don’t make any hasty moves for now. Let’s wait and see what situation tonight has created. If we try to withdraw right after tonight, that will only expose us to suspicion.”

—

At the same time, in the Qingzhou Prince’s residence.

The incident had happened suddenly, and Gan Daode was also unaware that the Sacred Blade Sect had sent people—a brawl inside one inn was not enough to disturb him as the Prince.

Though it was already deep in the night, Gan Daode had not yet retired. Lately it seemed there was no shortage of good news, but the worrying things were equally plentiful.

Above all, Hu Yin’s stance troubled him—he could not determine whether it was genuine or not.

He knew that in the years they had both been in the Sacred Blade Sect, he and Hu Yin had maintained a quietly closer relationship than with anyone else. He had looked out for Hu Yin, and Hu Yin had always spoken of being grateful.

The connection was not distant to begin with—blood relations, not far removed—and then there was the shared circumstance of being the sort of people their own sect did not particularly favor. So they had become, in their way, a pair of kindred sufferers.

Let no one think the senior brother of the Sacred Blade Sect had ever had it easy. The senior brother died first, and so he became the senior brother.

If that was the fate of the senior brother, then what of the second senior brother?

If what Hu Yin had said to him was a test, and he had already spoken the wrong words, then Hu Yin needed only to report them to the sect—and the Sect Master would ensure he came to no good end.

But if it had not been a test—if the two of them joined forces, with the army he now commanded, breaking with the Sacred Blade Sect was not entirely without a chance of success.

At the root of it all, he simply did not dare to fully trust Hu Yin.

Just then, a shadow appeared suddenly outside his door—though he truly could not tell when the shadow had arrived.

He had been sunk in thought, with no awareness of anything outside, and he would not have noticed at all if he had not happened to glance in that direction.

The shadow was completely still, standing outside the door without moving.

In that instant, the hair on Gan Daode’s head seemed to rise all at once.

“Who’s there!”

Gan Daode immediately called out, then added: “Guards! Where are the guards!”

“Be silent.”

The person outside said only two words, and then pushed the door open and entered.

The moment Gan Daode saw this person, the color drained from his face. He stepped forward quickly and dropped to his knees with a thud.

“Junior Uncle!”

Gan Daode pressed his head to the ground.

The young man strode in, and in his hand he carried someone.

He dragged the person in by the ankle—as one might drag a branch along the ground. The person appeared to still be breathing, but could no longer even struggle.

“Gan Feng.”

The young man looked at Gan Daode, and his gaze swept across him once—and at that, Gan Daode’s back ran cold, and cold sweat broke out instantly.

His true name was Yuan Gan Feng, a descendant of the Great Zhou imperial Yuan clan.

They all bore the Yuan surname—his own name was Yuan Gan Feng, Hu Yin’s was Yuan Hu Yin. Only those operating outside were forbidden from using their birth surname freely.

“Junior Uncle, how did you come to be here… Hu Yin… what has happened to him?”

Gan Daode asked this with great trepidation.

For the person the young man had dragged in was none other than Yuan Hu Yin—the holder of the Master’s Sacred Blade.

The young man spoke as if to himself: “What has happened to him, what has happened to you, and what has become of the Sacred Blade Sect.”

As he spoke, he set the Master’s Sacred Blade down on the table.

So Gan Daode could naturally surmise: with Yuan Hu Yin’s ability, even against the Junior Uncle he would have had no capacity to fight back.

To injure Hu Yin, take the blade, and then arrive outside his door with such effortless ease.

The young man looked at Gan Daode. “Why did you strike against a member of your own sect?”

“I did not!”

Gan Daode said immediately. “In Wulai City, Hu Yin is the only sect member here with me. Why would I strike against Hu Yin?”

In this moment he assumed he had guessed wrong earlier—that the Junior Uncle had not struck Hu Yin himself, but that Hu Yin had been injured by someone else, and the Junior Uncle, believing him responsible, had come to question him.

Hearing this, the young man was actually somewhat inclined to believe him.

At the very least, Gan Daode clearly had no idea what had happened and still thought that “striking against a member of the sect” referred to an attack on Hu Yin.

But of course he also knew what kind of person Gan Daode was—it was impossible to take anything Gan Daode said at simple face value.

“I entered your Prince’s residence, and Hu Yin immediately struck at me—using full force, at that. I don’t believe he failed to recognize my techniques.”

The young man continued in the same flat tone. “The moment I met your eyes, you were white-faced and sweating.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What have you and he been concealing from the sect?”

“Junior Uncle!”

Gan Daode was so frightened he was pressing his head repeatedly to the ground as he spoke. “I and Hu Yin have never done anything to harm the sect. I imagine Hu Yin also failed to recognize it was you, Junior Uncle—otherwise how would he have dared to strike?”

The young man gave a slight shake of his head. “You refuse to speak the truth.”

He took the Master’s Sacred Blade from the table, held it with the blade pointing downward, and suspended it less than the width of a finger above Hu Yin’s head.

The young man said: “Speak truthfully, and I will spare his life.”

Gan Daode’s voice trembled somewhat as he replied: “I truly did not know you were coming, Junior Uncle. Nor do I know what may have provoked your anger. As for Hu Yin’s action—perhaps there is more to it than appears, but I truly know nothing of it.”

“You have no knowledge of the matter—that I believe.”

The young man released his grip. The Master’s Sacred Blade dropped to Hu Yin’s head, and the blade was so keen it continued pressing downward on its own, without any applied force.

Set there with nothing more than its own resting weight—the blade edge was already nearly cutting through to the skull.

“Junior Uncle!”

Gan Daode pressed his head to the ground again. “I truly have never done anything to harm the sect. I believe Hu Yin has not either…”

The young man said quietly: “To raise your hand against me is to betray your master and disown your lineage.”

His hand left the hilt entirely. The Master’s Sacred Blade cut into Hu Yin’s skull—placed so precisely that it balanced there, neither tilting nor falling.

The young man rose to his feet, looked down at Gan Daode from above, and said: “I will temporarily take the Master’s Sacred Blade back on behalf of our senior brother. Once I have investigated fully, I will make my judgment. Do what you need to do—the investiture ceremony for your princeship is still to be held.”

After saying this, he took the Master’s Sacred Blade by its base, turned, and left.

Gan Daode started to rise to see him off—but glanced at Hu Yin’s body, felt his legs give way, and sank back to the ground.

—