Yu Jiuling had once asked Little Zhang Zhenren: how great, truly, is the gap between one person and another in this world?

Little Zhang Zhenren knew it would be great, but he didn’t think that after several people had reached such heights, the gap between them could still be all that vast.

In Little Zhang Zhenren’s view, if people were all at the same level — all within “One” — could there still be a gulf between them that could not be crossed?

There could.

The Sect Master stood there, completely unconcerned that this was Cao Lie’s Songhe Tower, and equally unconcerned that people from Prince Ning’s side might arrive before long.

He was simply waiting for Prince Ning to come.

Prince Ning had not yet come because someone was intercepting him.

“If what I have heard is accurate, Prince Ning values loyalty and brotherhood above his own life — so as long as you are still breathing, he will certainly walk through that door.”

The Sect Master spoke to Cao Lie, but did not look at him.

In his eyes, all the people and things of the world were no different from ants.

Cao Lie was the Cao Lie who was feared by all in Yuzhou City. He was still that same self-assured Cao Lie. And yet in this moment, Cao Lie felt a kind of helplessness he had never known before.

Yu Jiuling had once told Little Zhang Zhenren: sometimes, speed can decide everything.

Under absolute speed, one can disregard even the most exquisite and precise techniques — and even weapons of tremendous destructive power can be rendered irrelevant.

The “weapons” Yu Jiuling spoke of were not the blades of jianghu wanderers, but the great killing instruments on the battlefield capable of claiming ten thousand lives — such as massed crossbow batteries.

Cao Lie let out a long, heavy breath, and then began to step toward the Sect Master.

The Sect Master turned his attention to Cao Lie at last, seeming somewhat perplexed as to why this ant would walk willingly toward the sole of his foot.

“If you won’t kneel, I’ll simply have to make you kneel half-dead.”

The Sect Master’s gaze drifted from Cao Lie to the sword scabbard not far away. In his eyes, even the Jingzhe Blade’s sheath held more importance than Cao Lie.

Outside the tower.

Cen Xiaoxiao unleashed thirteen consecutive sword thrusts to force Yan Beicheng back — and yet with his level of skill, thirteen blades had only managed to make him retreat.

He turned and charged back into Songhe Tower, then drove a sword thrust toward the Sect Master’s throat.

“Common quality.”

The Sect Master raised his hand, flicking with a finger.

Clang. The sword shuddered, and the force of that single flick sent Cen Xiaoxiao’s arm snapping backward — the sword flew off like a streak of light and pinned itself in the wall.

The Sect Master’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if somewhat surprised the blade hadn’t been snapped by that flick.

“Above common quality.”

He stepped toward Cao Lie. His target had not changed — Cao Lie refused to kneel, so he would break all four of Cao Lie’s limbs and force him to.

Boom. The floor suddenly cracked open, and a hand reached up from below, seizing the Sect Master’s ankle.

That hand looked extraordinarily powerful — large, with a wrist thicker than an average man’s upper arm.

Such a hand, had it gripped not the Sect Master’s ankle but the horns of a wild bull, could with a surge of force make the bull bow its head in submission.

The Sect Master also bowed his head — not in submission, but in curiosity as he peered at the floorboards. He wasn’t even looking at the hand; he was wondering how it was that there was apparently an underground floor beneath this ground level.

He lifted his foot and stepped back — the person beneath the floor was dragged straight out.

A powerfully built figure burst up through the planks. He had clearly not expected things to unfold this way.

His name was Hong Kui.

Some said he was the strongest man in Yuzhou City. Others said he was the strongest man in all of Yuzhou.

He was not originally a man of the jianghu at all. He felt that hauling loads at the river docks to earn his keep was far more interesting than wandering the martial world.

Fighting wasn’t good — it made him uneasy. He was afraid of killing people on a whim.

Because while others could carry one load, he could carry seven or eight. Others hunched under the weight of one load; he strode forward with seven or eight stacked on his back, body perfectly upright.

The first time Cao Lie met Hong Kui, he asked: what conditions would it take for you to agree to leave this miserable place and follow me?

Hong Kui had thought it over, then asked: “Can I have meat at every meal?”

Cao Lie laughed: “You’re remarkably easy to please.”

Hong Kui replied: “If a person has meat at every meal, why wouldn’t that be enough?”

That year, Cao Lie’s father had said to him: I will gather a group of people for you — people who belong to you alone.

Their existence is solely to protect your safety. They need not be people of the Mountain River Seal, need not even obey my orders — but they must obey yours.

Cao Lie said: if it’s going to be like that, why not let me go find them myself?

Hong Kui was the first person Cao Lie found — because Cen Xiaoxiao didn’t count, as Cen Xiaoxiao had grown up alongside him since childhood.

Hong Kui said: if you let me have meat at every meal, then from now on I’ll carry your loads for you and no one else.

Cao Lie laughed and said: I don’t need you to carry loads, and I won’t only give you meat at every meal. There may come a day when someone beats you to death protecting me — are you still willing?

Hong Kui said… who could beat me to death.

At this moment, Hong Kui was afraid.

He knew he wasn’t the sharpest mind, so he had never set high demands for himself.

Cao Lie had taught him one sentence, told him to memorize it — and he had committed it to memory with absolute devotion.

The sentence was: The fewer people who can give you orders, the better a life you’re living.

At the time, Hong Kui had thought it over seriously, and then said to Cao Lie: “If only one person can give you orders, wouldn’t that be the best?”

Cao Lie said: “Having no one who can give you orders at all would be best — but even I can’t manage that, let alone you.”

Hong Kui liked to wrestle bulls, because no human was ever a match for him.

Looking at the Sect Master, Hong Kui was thinking: shouldn’t a person like this be someone he could flatten with a single slap?

Then he looked at the Sect Master’s foot. Why hadn’t he been able to twist it off?

The Sect Master stepped forward and threw a left fist into Hong Kui’s abdomen — no weapon, just a fist — and Hong Kui didn’t move so much as an inch.

So Hong Kui started to grin with satisfaction: “You can’t budge me… pff!”

The words weren’t even out of his mouth before Hong Kui spat up a mouthful of blood.

Yet in that very moment, a person crept out from beneath Hong Kui’s clothing.

Hong Kui was tall and powerfully built; Cao Lie barely reached below his shoulder. His shoulders were so broad they were nearly half the height of an average man.

The person who crawled out from beneath his clothing wasn’t even five feet tall — so thin and slight that without clothing, one might mistake him for a hairless monkey.

Fittingly, his surname was Hou — written with a different character but sounding the same as the word for monkey. His name was Hou Wuwei.

He could stand beneath the folds of Hong Kui’s robe, clinging to his legs like a pendant — and he could do this all day long, to the point where Hong Kui would often forget anyone was hanging there.

Hou Wuwei was the second person Cao Lie had found — discovered in a performance troupe that made its living from acrobatics and juggling.

At the time, Hou Wuwei was still called “Monkey King.” He would hide among a group of monkeys, and every time the audience couldn’t immediately pick him out.

So when he leapt out, the audience would erupt in gasps of surprise — followed by roars of laughter.

Hou Wuwei didn’t care that people laughed at his height. Being alive was enough.

When Cao Lie found him, he asked: what can you give me?

Cao Lie pointed at the monkeys: “A way out from those beasts.”

Crawling out from beneath Hong Kui’s robe, Hou Wuwei now held a short blade in his hand — less than a foot in length.

After Cao Lie brought him in, he had voluntarily requested to be paired with this giant, because he was certain it would produce results that no one would see coming.

His judgment proved exactly right.

Even someone like the Sect Master had not detected him, and so the short blade drew a line across the Sect Master’s leg.

It had only broken the skin — because the Sect Master’s reaction was simply too fast.

Had it been even someone like Yan Beicheng outside, that same cut would have severed the tendon in his foot, and Hou Wuwei’s next thrust would have plunged into his lower abdomen.

The Sect Master reached down and lifted Hou Wuwei up by the collar. Hou Wuwei’s eyes went wide.

He was fast — always fast — and light. Which was why Hong Kui so often forgot he was hanging off his leg.

The Sect Master looked at him with contempt, and with genuine anger too — because he had actually been cut on the ankle by someone like this, even if only a scratch.

He said: “Monkey.”

Hou Wuwei exploded with fury: “You’re the monkey! Your whole family are monkeys!”

He spat directly at the Sect Master’s face — but it didn’t land. Because by the time he had drawn the breath to spit, the Sect Master had already shifted him aside, and the spit landed somewhere else entirely.

The Sect Master felt thoroughly revolted, and casually flung Hou Wuwei away.

Hou Wuwei was extraordinarily agile — even in mid-air he was able to twist his body around, pressing both hands and feet against a pillar, giving the momentary impression that he could stick to it.

In the next breath, Hou Wuwei could spring back from the pillar with both legs and resume his attack.

Pfft!

His own short blade flew through the air and pierced his neck, pinning him to the pillar — and so Hou Wuwei was left hanging there.

“Aah!”

Hong Kui let out a thunderous roar, his eyes already turning red.

His abdomen was in agonizing pain. At first, after taking that punch to the belly, it hadn’t seemed like much — but after a single breath, the pain spread throughout his entire body, as though his intestines had been smashed apart.

But he couldn’t think about the pain now. Hou Wuwei was his friend.

He drove a kick toward the Sect Master. He was simply too large — his movements were slow, and he only had brute strength that frightened people.

The Sect Master extended his left hand forward — as though swatting away a fly — and as his hand was about to sweep against Hong Kui’s leg, the Sect Master suddenly spun around, and the sweeping hand seized Cen Xiaoxiao by the throat instead.

Cen Xiaoxiao had gotten back up while the Sect Master was occupied with Hong Kui, circling around behind him to attempt a surprise attack.

But the moment he drew near, the Sect Master seized him by the throat.

“Overestimating yourself.”

The Sect Master’s five fingers tensed, and in the next breath he would snap Cen Xiaoxiao’s neck.

But Cao Lie arrived.

Cao Lie pulled Cen Xiaoxiao’s sword from the wall and brought it down toward the Sect Master’s wrist — the Sect Master could kill Cen Xiaoxiao, but his hand would be severed in the process.

So Cen Xiaoxiao was dropped to the ground — because the Sect Master would never sacrifice a hand for the sake of an ant, even the faintest possibility of his wrist being cut was something he would not accept.

Snap. The Sect Master’s two fingers clamped down on Cao Lie’s sword. Two fingers pressed together and snapped outward — the tip of the sword broke off.

“Indeed only above common quality.”

The Sect Master flicked his two fingers. The sword tip shot forth like a projectile.

Cen Xiaoxiao shoved Cao Lie aside with his shoulder — and so the sword tip drove through his own shoulder instead.

In that very moment, a sword intent fell like the first snow of winter, and it seemed as though the temperature in the room dropped by degrees.

The Sect Master’s brow furrowed. He abandoned the impulse to kill Cen Xiaoxiao, sweeping backward in a gliding retreat.

That sword thrust missed. The chill within the blade was not fully released.

Yan Beicheng looked at the two halves of the body on the floor — that had been his companion, though he didn’t know Helian Xia very well either.

But somehow, in this moment, he felt how important a companion was.

When he had been outside, Cen Xiaoxiao’s thirteen strikes had driven him back — and the reason he had been driven back was precisely because he had watched the Sect Master cleave Helian Xia in two.

“I don’t care who you are — but you must die.”

Yan Beicheng charged in again, his sword surging like a gale sweeping driving snow.

A trace of brightness flickered in the Sect Master’s eyes: “Your sword is a bit better — it qualifies as mid-grade.”

But he still extended only two fingers — there was no indication he intended to use the Jingzhe Blade.

Because the people in this building, he felt, were not worthy of it combined.

Just now, when he had cleaved Helian Xia in two, it had only been a test of the blade.

—