Near the spider’s lair.

Paper butterflies danced across the sky.

Su Changhe leaped into the air, his hands moving with lightning speed. Five daggers whirled at his fingertips, creating one beautiful arc after another as they cut down the paper butterflies one by one. He called out loudly, “Is this all the great Master of the Mu Family can do? Playing with these feminine trinkets?”

Mu Zizhi extended a finger before him and spoke softly, “Butterfly Dance, Nine-Pattern Loom.”

All the paper butterflies froze in place, surrounding Su Changhe. Upon closer inspection, Su Changhe noticed almost invisible silk threads wrapped around each butterfly, dusted with luminescent powder that emitted an ethereal blue glow.

“Damn it,” Su Changhe cursed under his breath, but it was already too late. A blue flame raced along the silk threads, quickly spreading to the paper butterflies. They ignited with a “boom,” exploding into beautiful flowers in the sky.

Mu Zizhi tilted his head back and sneered, “So this is all a Dark River Funeral Master amounts to.”

As the flames dissipated, Su Changhe, his clothes mostly in tatters, plummeted straight down. He crashed through the eaves of a house and landed in a pile of thatch, looking rather disheveled. He smiled wryly, “This is exactly why I hate fighting people from the Mu Family. They’re not assassins at all—they’re just glorified magicians.”

Mu Zizhi jumped lightly to stand on the half-collapsed roof, looking down at Su Changhe below. He raised his hand slightly, and a paper butterfly drifted down lazily. “In close combat, even the strongest warriors can make mistakes. That’s why I never let anyone within three zhang of me.”

“You talk too much.” Su Changhe, who had appeared exhausted, suddenly threw a dagger skyward. It pierced through the paper butterfly and flew straight at Mu Zizhi’s face. Mu Zizhi swept his sleeve to catch the dagger, but his expression quickly changed. He hurriedly released his sleeve, but it was already too late.

Su Changhe’s dagger, too, was connected to a silk thread.

When it came to puppet strings, the Mu Family was undoubtedly the finest in the Dark River, but the Su Family had their own master of puppet strings—Su Muyu, who had used them to recreate the Su Family’s Eighteen Sword Formation, lost for generations. Su Changhe and Su Muyu were the closest of friends, and so Su Changhe had learned some applications of puppet strings, combining them with his Inch-Breaking Sword technique.

The moment Mu Zizhi’s sleeve caught the dagger with its attached puppet string, Su Changhe seized the opportunity. He yanked hard on the string, propelling himself directly in front of Mu Zizhi.

“Beyond three zhang, you may be invincible. But now we’re within three chi—and this is my domain.” Su Changhe’s dagger flashed, slicing across Mu Zizhi’s throat. Mu Zizhi used his sleeve as a sword to block Su Changhe’s dagger and then struck Su Changhe’s chest. Su Changhe produced two more daggers, and with three blades dancing, he shredded the white sleeve to pieces. Mu Zizhi frowned slightly. Two paper butterflies landed at his feet, and with a light step, he flew backward.

He was trying to regain the three-zhang distance.

Su Changhe’s body, now without support, began to fall inevitably. But he suddenly threw one dagger forward, embedding it in the wall of the house ahead, and another backward, fixing it in the wall behind. Two puppet strings connected to the daggers formed an almost invisible bridge in the air. Su Changhe grabbed the string bridge, flipped onto it, and charged rapidly along it toward Mu Zizhi.

“Truly perfect assassin’s technique,” Mu Zizhi murmured, admiration evident in his voice. He dodged Su Changhe’s strike by stepping aside, and then began to fall. Before descending, he lightly touched the string bridge, and a line of fire immediately blazed along it. Mu Zizhi landed and swept his sleeve, retreating more than ten steps.

Su Changhe landed next, and once again, they were three zhang apart.

The only difference was that Mu Zizhi had merely lost one sleeve.

Meanwhile, Su Changhe’s upper garments had been blasted to pieces, revealing half his body covered in blood, looking thoroughly battered.

“Your domain lasted but a moment,” Mu Zizhi sneered.

Su Changhe glanced at the dagger in his hand. “In my domain, a moment is eternity.”

There was a trace of blood on the dagger.

Just a tiny amount, almost invisible.

Mu Zizhi lowered his head slightly and discovered a small cut on his clothes on his chest. He touched it and found a few drops of blood. Su Changhe’s move had wounded him after all, though such a wound was trivial—unless Su Changhe had poisoned his blade.

“I used poison,” Su Changhe stated directly.

Mu Zizhi smiled. “Using poison against someone from the Mu Family? You?”

“This small amount of poison naturally won’t harm the Master of the Mu Family. However…” Su Changhe looked behind Mu Zizhi.

A bald man and a middle-aged man in scholarly robes.

One carrying a massive sword on his shoulder, the other wearing twin blades at his waist.

Mu Zizhi narrowed his eyes slightly. “Unless Su Jinhui appears, I care nothing for anyone else.”

Su Changhe smiled. “Even if that’s true, fighting all three of us at once means you won’t have time to purge the poison from your body. Right now, this small amount means nothing to you, but in an hour, you might need to seek out that divine physician to save your life.”

Mu Zizhi knew Su Changhe wasn’t just trying to intimidate him. He turned to look at the two men before him.

The bald man rubbed his head, clearly annoyed. “Look here, Boss Mu, couldn’t you have put in a bit more effort and killed this madman before we arrived?”

The scholarly man was more polite: “Farewell, Master Mu.”

Mu Zizhi snorted coldly and leaped past the two men.

Su Changhe smiled. “Well, my elder brothers, did you see my performance? I nearly died here this time. Remember to put in a good word for me with the Old Master when you return.”

The bald man spat and cursed, “If I’d known, I’d have stopped for a drink on the way. Then I might have seen you get blown to pieces by Mu Zizhi.”

The scholarly man smiled. “The Old Master wants to see you.”

“See me again? No more work?” Su Changhe glanced behind him. “The spider’s lair—this is the perfect opportunity.”

“Just do what you’re told. Who do you think you are, the head of the Su Family?” the bald man berated him.

Su Changhe stretched lazily. “Fine, fine. But remember to tell the Old Master about my great achievements—fighting the Master of the Mu Family alone, within three chi, my domain lasting an eternal moment, nearly taking the Mu Family Master’s head!”