The main street.

Li Chi saw the vendor who had just opened his shop bowing in his direction, and so he raised his hand politely in return.

The vendor looked rather excited. He had been able to see Prince Ning at dawn every day for the past few days, and he felt this was his great fortune.

If fortune could be ranked from lesser to greater, he felt his was the invincible kind.

He ran an early breakfast stall, and so he was the first person on the entire street to open his doors for business each day.

He was thinking: wouldn’t it be wonderful if Prince Ning were to stop by his little stall for breakfast one day?

The mere thought excited him further, his face flushing slightly red.

“What do you serve for breakfast?”

Li Chi called out from a distance.

The vendor hurriedly called back: “Baked flatbread, steamed buns, soy milk, and fried dough sticks — we have them all!”

Li Chi called back: “Next time I’ll come and try some.”

The words had barely left his mouth when a Tingwei came flying in from a distance. Reaching him, the officer bowed and said: “My lord, someone has attacked Songhe Tower.”

Li Chi raised an eyebrow: “Send everyone over.”

Then he turned to those behind him: “You two, go first.”

Mr. Ye and Mr. Wu, who had been following behind Li Chi, exchanged a glance — but neither moved immediately.

Li Chi said: “I’ll wait here a moment. Go on ahead.”

Mr. Ye said: “They didn’t come here — they went to Songhe Tower instead, precisely to split us apart and draw us off to reinforce Songhe Tower.”

Li Chi said: “Whatever they’re thinking doesn’t matter. What matters is that Songhe Tower holds our people.”

Mr. Wu and Mr. Ye exchanged another glance, then both swept away simultaneously.

Li Chi was in no hurry to rush over, because he suspected the strongest of their enemies would not be at Songhe Tower.

He sensed that this affair would not be simple — it was almost certainly more than just the arrival of the Sacred Blade Sect Master alone.

Perhaps by coincidence, perhaps by deliberate design.

But his feeling was that the strongest adversary would not be at Songhe Tower, and that Mr. Wu and Mr. Ye rushing over to reinforce should be enough.

After all, those people’s target was Li Chi, not Cao Lie.

What Li Chi hadn’t anticipated was that the absolute top-tier fighter was not only the Sacred Blade Sect Master.

At that moment, a caravan appeared that looked like a group of hired escorts, stopping at a distance — as if waiting for Prince Ning to pass first.

But the sudden appearance of a caravan at such a moment was something the Tingwei forces could not afford to ignore.

At least two hundred-man squads had already quietly closed in on the caravan. At any movement from that group, the Tingwei forces would act immediately.

Yet the caravan genuinely appeared to be just passing through, as escort teams commonly departed the city early — and this was well within normal reason.

Nearly everyone’s attention was now on that escort caravan — even Li Chi couldn’t help looking twice.

At that very moment, from the drainage channels along the roadside, several black-clad figures suddenly leapt up. They had perhaps been concealed there for some time, long enough to evade the Tingwei forces’ patrols along the route.

After the black-clad figures appeared, they immediately opened fire at Li Chi with repeating crossbows, bolts coming in fast.

Numerous Tingwei soldiers swept out from both sides, positioning themselves before Li Chi to form a small shield formation.

The bolts rattled and clattered against the shields — not a single one got through.

After the several black-clad figures emptied their repeating crossbows, they drew the long blades from their backs, shouting as they charged toward Li Chi’s position.

Up on the roof, Tingwei Chief Officer Zaoyunjian flipped through the air, and before landing on the street, while still airborne, his blade flashed — and a severed head flew beneath that arc of steel.

From a shop on the street below, Chief Officer Yu Hongyi burst through the window, cutting the black-clad figures off.

But Li Chi didn’t stop — he kept walking forward. Startling as the sudden appearance of these black-clad figures was, they were not worth a second thought.

To deliver a lethal blow, one first scatters a handful of ash to blind the eyes — these black-clad figures were the ash.

And what now appeared reasonable was in fact entirely unreasonable.

Gao Xining had said: the Tingwei forces must set aside all other business. Every single person was to be devoted to protecting Prince Ning.

With the scale of the Tingwei forces, if their sole task was to guard this stretch of road — how could a caravan of hired escorts simply appear without being vetted?

With the capabilities of the Tingwei forces, having combed through this street time and again like a plough, how could several black-clad figures have concealed themselves in drainage channels without being found?

Every appearance of normalcy was crafted to make the enemy believe things were normal.

The caravan had been deliberately allowed through by the Tingwei forces. The assassins hiding in the drainage channels had been deliberately left undisturbed.

In doing so — with hundreds of Tingwei drawn out to keep watch over the caravan, and two Chief Officers appearing to confront the black-clad assassins — didn’t things now appear perfectly reasonable?

And so the ones who were truly meant to arrive, arrived.

Several enormous kite-gliders appeared above Li Chi and his companions’ heads, having glided from a tall tower roughly two li away.

Two li of distance was roughly the limit for these wooden-framed gliders.

Perhaps they shouldn’t be called kites, since no string held them aloft.

The black-clad riders on the gliders pressed down to accelerate, diving toward Li Chi.

Just before reaching the ground, the riders released their holds and dropped, rolling as they landed.

The enormous gliders came crashing toward Li Chi. Li Chi raised his right hand and caught one with his palm, spun once, and hurled it back.

The second assassin riding a glider in — his face changed dramatically, and he was forced to break away early.

The two gliders collided in mid-air, scattering debris across the ground.

The first black-clad figure to land thrust both hands forward, releasing from each an uncountable number of iron spikes.

Each spike was roughly an inch and a half in length, thinner than a nail — more like an oversized toothpick.

In that very moment, from a side alley, Old Zhang Zhenren stepped out. The long sword in his palm scattered outward in a sweeping curtain of blade light — like a great luminous disc spinning in his hand.

Every iron spike was caught by Old Zhang Zhenren’s sword screen.

The second black-clad figure to land leapt forward, vaulting over the shoulder of the first, and with a flick of the hand, sent out an equally immense volley of iron spikes.

Old Zhang Zhenren withdrew his long sword, and his Daoist robe’s great sleeves swept wide. Amid a series of muffled impacts, every single spike was caught by a single sleeve.

The first black-clad figure surged forward in a rushing charge, drawing a long saber from his back and bringing it down.

His draw was unusual — a reverse-grip chop, which took some getting used to.

Such a chop lost nothing in power compared to a standard grip, while allowing the next technique to follow even faster.

The black-clad figure’s reversed chop fell — Old Zhang Zhenren retreated half a step, and the saber cut through empty air before him.

But just as expected, the next move came without delay. With the right hand still holding the reverse grip, the left hand pushed along the blade’s handle.

The tip stabbed straight at Old Zhang Zhenren’s throat.

Old Zhang Zhenren deflected the blade with a sideways sword stroke — and the black-clad figure before him suddenly ducked low.

Behind that figure, another black-clad person emerged — having used the one in front to perfectly conceal his presence.

To a less-than-quick eye, it would appear as though the first figure had split in two.

The leaping black-clad figure swept a saber toward Old Zhang Zhenren’s throat. Old Zhang Zhenren raised his left hand and patted the flat of the blade — the saber deflected wide.

“You’re not Central Plains people?”

A subtle shift crossed Old Zhang Zhenren’s face.

Just then, from the trees on either side, a black-clad figure appeared in each — each concealed behind cloth dyed to perfectly match the dense branches and leaves, nearly impossible to detect.

While those several black-clad figures were engaged with Old Zhang Zhenren, these two dropped simultaneously from the trees.

While still in the air, both released a volley of iron spikes.

Li Chi raised his hand. The Minghong Blade did not leave its sheath — its scabbard swept before him, and the spikes were batted away.

“Everyone stand back.”

Li Chi waved the Tingwei soldiers at his side aside.

The two black-clad figures saw the spikes had failed, and after landing they drew their blades simultaneously.

The blades they carried were not greatly different from the standard military saber used in Dachu — only the curvature of the blade had been slightly increased.

Meanwhile, thousands of li away, in the imperial capital of Dachu, inside the Shiyuan Palace.

Emperor Yang Jing stood before a flower bed, watching butterflies flit through the blossoms — and yet his eyes held none of that.

Zhen Xiaodao ushered in a middle-aged man dressed in a style entirely different from Central Plains attire. The man approached, then dropped to both knees.

“This subject prostrates himself before the Great Emperor.”

He appeared, on the surface, exceptionally humble.

The Emperor did not look at him. A trace of mild displeasure crossed his face.

“Great Emperor, I come to discuss terms. The Emperor consented — you agreed that our side would arrange the finest assassins of the Sang Kingdom to help the Great Emperor eliminate the rebel leader, and in exchange the Great Emperor would cede a portion of Qingzhou to our Sang Kingdom…”

The Emperor turned to look at the man: “When did We agree to any such thing?”

The man’s expression clearly shifted, and a trace of displeasure entered his voice: “Great Emperor, when we first proposed these terms, the Great Emperor did not refuse.”

The Emperor’s brow furrowed: “Your envoy, Qingchuan Zumei, told Us that your people yearned to come and study in Dachu, and that as a token of your submission, you were willing to arrange capable fighters to help Us eliminate the rebel leader — serving Dachu as subjects of Dachu.”

The man said: “But Great Emperor, things are different now. When we first came, we did not know that Dachu was beset by uprisings on all sides, nor that Dachu was not as powerful as we had assumed. And so Prince Qingchuan revised our terms: if the Great Emperor does not agree, we will simply advance our troops directly into Qingzhou — what the Great Emperor will not give, we will take ourselves.”

A glint of killing intent flashed through Emperor Yang Jing’s eyes.

Zhen Xiaodao’s voice turned ice-cold: “Shuibu Yizang — your audacity approaches the suicidal.”

Shuibu Yizang no longer remained kneeling, rising to his feet: “Prince Qingchuan originally admired Dachu’s culture and revered Dachu’s power, and so had intended to send people to study in Dachu and was willing to serve as Dachu’s vassal. But now Dachu is not powerful, and Great Emperor, you no longer have the ability to withstand the armies of our Sang Kingdom. If I’m not mistaken, the forces at the Great Emperor’s disposal can no longer even hold Jingzhou.”

The Emperor looked toward Zhen Xiaodao: “We seem to recall someone once warning Us that the Sang people, though they appear humble and courteous, are in truth treacherous, devious, and utterly faithless — who was it?”

Zhen Xiaodao bowed: “In answer to Your Majesty — it was Lord Fang, Fang Zhuhou.”

The Emperor gave a quiet hum: “You tell him what those so-called top fighters of theirs are being used for.”

Zhen Xiaodao looked toward Shuibu Yizang: “They are no more than a handful of ash to be thrown into the rebel leader’s eyes — a smoke screen for Lord Fang.”

Shuibu Yizang frowned: “Great Emperor, what is the meaning of this?”

The Emperor turned to leave: “You’re right — Dachu is indeed no longer as strong as it once was. Yet you actually believe you can threaten Us, that you can force Dachu to cede territory, that We would come begging you… that warrants death.”

A cold light filled Shuibu Yizang’s eyes. He suddenly surged forward and charged after the Emperor.

A dark shadow interposed itself before Shuibu Yizang — sword light, cold and fierce.

Swish. The front of Shuibu Yizang’s robe was sliced open with a long gash, and blood gradually welled up.

The Imperial Guard Commander, Hui Chunqiu, glared furiously at Shuibu Yizang: “Your insolence earns you death.”

Yuzhou City.

Li Chi swept his right hand, and the Minghong Blade still did not leave its scabbard — the scabbard connected with one black-clad figure’s skull and shattered it entirely.

His left hand seized the other black-clad figure’s throat, raised him one-armed into the air, five fingers tensed and twisted — and the crack of a broken neck followed.

Yet in that very moment, a figure clad in a plain blue robe stood before Li Chi.

—