The jianghu is vast beyond imagining.

There are always those in this world who believe they stand at the heights of the jianghu—and who take quiet pride in that belief.

Yet they do not know that what can be seen at the surface of the jianghu is never what constitutes its true strength.

The jianghu’s real danger lies not in what floats above but in the depth below.

As Li Chi stood in the courtyard turning all this over in his mind, he could not help but ask himself whether he had grown somewhat too confident in himself these past months.

In strategy, in commanding troops, in martial skill—in every aspect, Li Chi had come to feel he was already very strong.

Now he found himself recalling something he had understood as a child, yet had gradually forgotten as he grew older.

Battle formations are battle formations. The jianghu is the jianghu.

“What are you thinking about?”

Gao Xining asked Li Chi.

The voice was very soft, as if afraid of startling him from his reverie.

Li Chi looked back at Gao Xining, and replied in a low voice: “He didn’t even use his blade.”

Gao Xining understood who Li Chi meant by “he”—and understood why Li Chi had said what he said.

That man was a person of the Sacred Blade Sect. Li Chi, before departing, had heard the disciples call him Junior Uncle.

Among the secrets Li Chi had found in Gan Daode’s study, there had been a roster of Sacred Blade Sect members.

Li Chi still remembered the name: Junior Uncle Yuan Jianli.

As the Sect Master’s younger martial brother—his blade technique must be extraordinary. And when someone in a sect is called “Junior Uncle” and holds a position of great standing, that implied at minimum two things.

First: this person’s martial skill is so high that even the Sect Master is somewhat wary of him and would not lightly antagonize him to any great degree.

Second: “Junior Uncle” means he was the final student of their shared master—and the last student was invariably the most favored, and the recipient of the most thorough instruction.

The roster had mentioned only two people at the Sect Master’s generation: the Sect Master himself and the Junior Uncle. Everyone else was in the disciple generation.

With the Sacred Blade Sect’s scale—could the Sect Master really have had only these two martial siblings?

What of the Sect Master’s other peers?

This inference was precisely why Li Chi suspected that even the Sacred Blade Sect’s own Sect Master harbored a degree of wariness toward this younger martial brother.

As the final disciple of the old Sect Master, the figure whom the current Sect Master regarded with caution—his blade technique must be extraordinary beyond measure.

And yet when he struck and injured Dantai Yajing, he had not used his blade at all.

Gao Xining said gently: “You cannot hold yourself responsible for everything. And you cannot always measure yourself that way—in strategy, against the strongest; in commanding armies, against the strongest; in martial ability, against the strongest as well. Those people each devoted the vast majority of their time and energy to mastering a single thing, and even among them there are still differences in strength. While you…”

Li Chi looked at Gao Xining and interrupted her: “Because I cannot afford to lose.”

The further this road went, the less he could afford to lose.

In earlier times, Li Chi still had room to lose—a loss could be followed by another attempt. But now, every loss could mean an incalculable cost—perhaps the loss of those closest to him.

“And besides—I never saw his hand move.”

Li Chi murmured this again to himself.

He had seen the black-clad figure in the Prince’s residence move—so that person would never have a second opportunity against him.

Li Chi understood Gao Xining’s concern. He smiled slightly. “What I have seen—no one is a match for me.”

He leaned in slightly and said in a quiet voice near her ear: “That—I have never told even Old Tang.”

Gao Xining immediately felt the weight of what lay behind those words. She reached out at once and took hold of Li Chi’s sleeve, shaking her head. “No. You can’t go.”

Li Chi smiled. “The position I occupy right now requires me to see every situation clearly—every single person. The Sacred Blade Sect has arrived, and that is an unknown variable. I have no certainty that our estrangement plan will succeed, and no certainty that when we are ready to act, this Junior Uncle won’t step in to aid Gan Daode.”

He stepped forward to where Gao Xining stood and pulled her into a brief embrace. “There will be many more moments like this ahead. Don’t worry—because I am Li Chi. The Li Chi who commands the wind and calls the clouds.”

He raised his hand and ruffled her hair. “Have something ready to eat when I get back. I’ll probably be hungry.”

Gao Xining nodded, once, decisively.

That night, Li Chi left the residence alone and made his way toward the inn.

Li Chi had said: *I never saw his hand move.*

So he had to go and see it. Otherwise, the next time they crossed paths might be in the middle of an unforeseen encounter.

As Li Chi stood in the courtyard reflecting, he had been asking himself whether he had grown too confident in himself over the past months.

The answer was—no.

—

At this same moment, in the Prince’s residence.

Gui Yuanshu and his people naturally had no way of knowing that Li Chi was already making his way to the inn—but they knew that Li Chi’s plan had met with an obstacle.

Li Chi had sent word asking them to be careful: a master from the Sacred Blade Sect had arrived, and had already struck and injured Dantai Yajing.

“I finally understand why Prince Ning is different from everyone else.”

Zheng Shunshun sat there, speaking somewhat to himself. “Take our Emperor of Dachu and compare him to Prince Ning. I think, broadly speaking: when the Emperor looks at every one of us around him, his thought is—*you should all be risking your lives for me*. When Prince Ning looks at everyone around him, his thought is—*I should be the one risking my life for you*.”

These words made Gui Yuanshu’s expression shift slightly, because something the words sparked made him think of something else.

“This is not good.”

Gui Yuanshu suddenly rose to his feet. “Everyone pack up, we’re going out.”

Ding Man immediately asked: “What are we going out to do?”

Gui Yuanshu said: “That Junior Uncle of the Sacred Blade Sect is too powerful. Prince Ning will certainly worry that the plan may go wrong and that we may run into trouble—so he will definitely go himself to find that Junior Uncle.”

At those words, everyone rose to their feet.

They gathered what they needed and prepared to move out—just as they were about to go, someone suddenly arrived outside.

“Lord Gui, the Prince requests an audience.”

The person outside spoke with what seemed to be some urgency, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Please, Lord Gui, come quickly—the Prince is waiting in his study.”

Gui Yuanshu turned back to look at his subordinates and gave quick quiet instruction: “Wait for me—I’ll get free as quickly as I can.”

The four of them acknowledged this and watched as Gui Yuanshu went out.

—

The study.

Gan Daode sat in a daze. He didn’t know what he was thinking—only that since the previous night, an immense and formless dread had been pressing down on him without end.

He had watched with his own eyes as Hu Yin was killed, and the instrument of Hu Yin’s death was the very blade Hu Yin had treated as his own life.

Seeing Gui Yuanshu enter, Gan Daode came back to himself.

“Please sit.”

He gestured to the seat across from him.

Gui Yuanshu feigned great deference in his bow, then asked: “You have summoned me at this late hour, Your Highness—is there something pressing?”

Gan Daode opened his mouth but did not speak.

The two of them fell into silence. Gui Yuanshu was inwardly frantic, certain that Prince Ning would be heading to that inn tonight—an exceedingly dangerous undertaking—and he needed to extract himself without delay.

“Your Highness… is there something difficult to say?”

Gui Yuanshu asked again.

Gan Daode let out a long heavy breath and raised his eyes to look at Gui Yuanshu. “If—I say if—I were to lead the Qingzhou forces toward Jingzhou, how would His Majesty receive me?”

Gui Yuanshu was inwardly shaken at these words.

Why would Gan Daode speak this way out of nowhere?

Here in Qingzhou, Gan Daode was the greatest figure—he could turn things over with a wave of his hand, and his authority was absolute. But were he to go to Jingzhou? In Jingzhou, he would become the Emperor’s blade, the nobility’s dog.

Gan Daode might be many things, but he was not so foolish as to choose that. Yet he had asked—which proved he was genuinely considering it.

“Your Highness…”

Gui Yuanshu had no desire to waste time, so he said it directly: “If I speak as a subject of His Majesty the Dachu Emperor, then naturally Your Highness ought to go to Jingzhou and lead your forces to guard the capital and protect His Majesty.”

He held Gan Daode’s gaze and continued: “But if I speak as Your Highness’s subordinate—or rather, as Your Highness’s friend—then you should not go.”

Gan Daode nodded. He looked at Gui Yuanshu with something like appreciation and murmured to himself: “Strange—I command hundreds of thousands of troops, hundreds of capable commanders, five Tiger Generals among them… and the one person I can speak with openly turns out to be an outsider like you.”

Gui Yuanshu had no patience for any of this—he was only thinking of what pretext he might use to extract himself quickly.

“But I truly want to go to Jingzhou.”

Gan Daode even seemed to be pleading as he said to Gui Yuanshu: “So I must send you back to Daxing City ahead of schedule. When Lord Gui sees His Majesty, tell him I have no disloyal intentions. I truly wish to go to Jingzhou to guard the capital. After you have spoken on my behalf, send a letter to me—ask His Majesty to divide up the territories and assign me a sector to defend.”

Gui Yuanshu’s mind was turning furiously, unable to make sense of why Gan Daode suddenly wanted to run.

He had no way of knowing that Gan Daode had been truly frightened this time—Hu Yin’s martial skill was a match for Gan Daode’s own, and yet before his Junior Uncle he had not managed a single counter-blow.

“Very well—I will return immediately and draft a memorial to His Majesty first. I take my leave, Your Highness.”

Gui Yuanshu immediately rose and gave a bow, and turned to go.

“You don’t want to ask why? Whatever my reasoning, a choice like this should surely strike you as strange.”

Gan Daode said to him.

Gui Yuanshu cursed inside—*ask what reasoning! Why would I!*

—

At the same moment.

Outside the inn, on the main street, the black-clad Li Chi appeared before the inn’s front door. He did not go back to the rear courtyard, nor did he conceal himself.

He simply stood there, several zhang from the inn’s entrance, and slowly fitted the demon-faced mask of hammered steel over his face.

A few more steps and the lamplight would reach him. He breathed in deeply—and then stepped forward.

From the darkness, a blade flew at him.

Li Chi did not dodge—he had, it seemed, already seen it coming. He reached out to one side and caught the incoming long blade by the hilt, then flicked his wrist in a sharp pull. The figure in the darkness was yanked straight out by this motion.

The figure came floating toward Li Chi like a kite reeled back in, and Li Chi raised his left hand, closed it around the black-clad fighter’s throat, and twisted once with his five fingers. The fighter’s neck snapped.

Li Chi released his hand. The body dropped to the ground.

A storm of projectiles flew toward him. Li Chi paid them no attention—they struck him with a series of sharp metallic sounds and fell to the ground below.

Two of the projectiles struck the demon mask on Li Chi’s face, and the sparks they struck off flickered right beside his eyes.

He continued stepping forward. Only when the lamplight fell on him did he stop—and then he raised his head and looked up toward the high part of the inn.

Second floor.

Nan Lan saw the black-clad figure stop at the doorway. His fury surged up immediately.

*This is provocation—a deliberate insult to him.*

Nan Lan reached out and seized the long blade he had set nearby, gathered his movement, and swept down from the second floor, landing before Li Chi with barely a full zhang between them.

“You came in numbers last night—tonight you come alone?”

Nan Lan demanded furiously.

Li Chi, however, did not even look at him. His gaze remained lifted toward the heights of the inn.

Third floor window. The Junior Uncle of the Sacred Blade Sect, Yuan Jianli, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking down at the black-clad figure who was looking up at him.

In this moment, Yuan Jianli understood clearly—that person had come for him. For him alone.

And Nan Lan, treated with such utter contempt by Li Chi, was a man of no small pride and confidence. How was he to endure this?

A sound rang out like a dragon’s cry. Nan Lan’s long blade cleared its scabbard, and came slashing down at Li Chi in a single stroke.

His blade, too, was a fine blade.