The lime powder burst outward.

This life-and-death struggle unfolding on the long street had, by this point, truly stunned everyone watching. Even Ning Yi, arriving over there, was for a moment so shaken by Chen Fan’s performance that he couldn’t help but want to cheer for him.

Waiting there on the long street for so long, truthfully speaking, Ning Yi hadn’t come entirely unprepared with a backup plan for this affair. But things had indeed gotten out of hand to an extreme degree—whether it would work, whether it could pull the situation back from the brink, even he himself had no confidence. Chen Fan’s fighting had been excessively fierce, already having stripped away all of Bao Daoyi’s face; it would be very hard for the matter to find any room for compromise now. But even he hadn’t expected that this still wasn’t the limit.

To attempt, single-handedly and in broad daylight, an assassination of Bao Daoyi under such circumstances was practically an act of suicide from the very start. Chen Fan’s martial skill was formidable, and from the very beginning the fight had been fought gloriously, its aftermath tragic and magnificent—everyone else’s brilliance had been eclipsed by him alone. But whether glorious or tragic, the outcome would be the same either way—no one believed this assassination attempt by Chen Fan truly had any chance of success, especially now that the fight had turned into open, direct combat, with the other side already brazenly ganging up on him. What remained was only the question of how Chen Fan would die.

Was there still a chance of success? Almost no one entertained such a thought anymore. What no one had realized was that, from the very moment he first struck, this seemingly not-so-obviously clever Chen Fan had already been considering the possibility of success. He had, even under these circumstances, been weighing that one-in-a-thousand chance—from his initial attack, through being surrounded, through being covered in wounds, he had been preparing, the whole time, for this final move. Just as everyone thought the matter was finished, he had, in truth, only just begun… to draw his blades.

The instant the lime powder enveloped Bao Daoyi, everyone was momentarily stunned, but among those seasoned fighters of the martial underworld, some reacted quickly, others slowly—not all of them lost their composure entirely. What followed in that next moment happened with extreme speed. Chen Fan drew his blades and threw himself into that cloud of lime dust; shouts rang out all around him, Bao Daoyi’s own hoarse screaming, weapons clashing, blood spraying, the white dust cloud hanging in the air shaking wildly, as if it had been sliced apart countless times in an instant, resembling both blade marks and chaotic whip-lashes, even carving ring after ring of white through the surrounding air—some of that white dust now stained red.

In that moment, Chen Fan, unleashing his final killing move, no one knew how many times he slashed madly there. Then a blood-red figure was sent flying like a cannonball; along the way, two bandits who happened to be running past were struck—one of them, with a single flash, had his head sent flying skyward along with a spray of blood. That crimson, still-spurting body then crashed into a shop by the roadside whose wooden door had originally been shut tight.

“Aaaaaaaaah—”

As the lime dust cleared with a roar, Bao Daoyi’s screams carried shock, terror, and agony all at once. As the blurred field of vision gradually sharpened, he could be seen staggering backward, half his body dyed white, one hand clutching at his eyes, the other slashed with several bloody gashes; his shoulder and chest had also already taken blade wounds, though it wasn’t yet clear how serious they were. Most striking of all was his disheveled, tangled hair. He had originally worn a bright yellow Daoist robe, his cap and sash flowing like an immortal to behold—but just now, Chen Fan’s blade had grazed right past his scalp, and though it hadn’t struck his skull, most of his hair had been sheared away, leaving him now looking utterly disheveled, like a madman.

“Kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him—”

A frenzied, hysterical scream tore from his throat. Bao Daoyi’s arm flailed wildly, his whole body trembling violently, his expression twisted with fury. No one hesitated—the moment he shouted this, the bandits over there had already turned and rushed toward the broken doorway of the shop.

Blade against blade rang out crisp and chaotic. The first two men to charge in—but in the next instant, one man’s head had already flown off, and the other had been split into two pieces, cut clean through at the waist in that brief exchange. Because the cut had landed slightly higher, his body rolled several times on the ground before he finally, thoroughly, died.

“Kill him! Kill him!”

There was nothing more to say. Bao Daoyi could now only express this intent simply and violently. Two more men charged in; sounds of clashing weapons followed—one was killed inside the shop, the other staggered back out clutching his chest before collapsing to the ground.

Those who wanted to charge in again suddenly stopped short. They had abruptly realized this could no longer be Chen Fan—the first two men, they could tell themselves, had been cut down by Chen Fan in a final burst of desperate valor, but for it to continue like this, something was strange. Those rushing forward stopped one after another, staring at the now silent shop entrance. The deep-autumn light was weak, and the interior was pitch black, nothing visible. Bao Daoyi let out several roars, staring at the wooden door, then suddenly stopped as well. Over here, Ning Yi reached out to hold back a group of youths who had already been ready to run over. He stood still for a moment.

“Go back.”

“…What?”

“Go back.”

A signal flare shot into the sky and burst open.

The fighting and shouting all stopped at once; even the Black Feather Guard, uncertain and alarmed, ceased their movements. Everyone began looking toward the shop’s entrance. A moment ago it had been chaos, everyone running, but now, though some people were still moving, the atmosphere had grown eerily, suffocatingly still. Bao Daoyi stared at the broken doorway, blinking, lime powder falling from his eyelids.

No one knew who had come, but that instant just now might have been the closest Bao Daoyi had ever come to death in his entire life. He would not let Chen Fan go now.

The door had shattered, the tables and chairs inside broken. In the darkness, as consciousness returned, his entire body ached. A successful assassination only needed a single blow to land—but by this point, he too was truly at the very end of his strength; that last blow had struck him with countless punches, kicks, blades, and spears he’d lost count of. His lower abdomen had been pierced through, an almost fatal wound.

That assassination attempt just now had, unfortunately, failed to achieve its intended effect. Bao Daoyi was, after all, no ordinary figure—among the most outstanding masters of the deviant path in his day. The lime powder used at that moment might have genuinely stunned him for an instant, but it hadn’t been enough to overcome his self-preserving instincts at the critical moment of life and death. In any case, no matter how much face mattered in the martial underworld, the lowest, most despicable men were still to be found in the greatest numbers among Bao Daoyi’s own followers, Bao Daoyi himself included—he had done similar things before too.

If he didn’t die, he himself would—this was only reasonable, nothing to resent. Autumn light spilled in through the broken doorway, dust drifting in the air, leaves falling. In this brief moment, everything seemed very still. But it was also in this passing thought that he suddenly… paused, startled.

Had it not been for that momentary lapse just now, he should have sensed the presence behind him immediately—if the person there were an enemy, this hesitation would have meant he was likely already dead. The person was not an enemy—in fact, was even an acquaintance—but that this person should appear here still left him somewhat astonished.

That person sat in a chair, leaning forward slightly, his tone very calm.

“I’ll buy your life. All right?”

Chen Fan drew in a breath, then let it out.

“…Oh.”

…

Out on the long street, the suffocating atmosphere lasted only a brief moment.

“Who is it…”

“Drag them out…”

No one believed Bao Daoyi would let this go easily, nor did many believe that anyone in Hangzhou would truly dare to pluck the whiskers of Bao Daoyi the way Chen Fan just had. The signal flare burst in the sky, and the two men beside Bao Daoyi suddenly charged toward the wooden door. The gap in the doorway burst open wider with a crash, and the two men charged in, followed at once by the sounds of intense fighting, figures shifting and moving within.

These two men were named Xiong Gaoxu, known by the nickname “Mountain-Splitting Hand,” and Wan Jiajun, nicknamed “Living Buddha Sword”—both relatively core first-rate experts among those close to Bao Daoyi. Though not on par with Lu Tuo, they were nothing to be underestimated either. Yet in a mere instant, Xiong Gaoxu let out a great cry and leapt back out, half his body already covered in blood; in the next moment, Wan Jiajun’s whole body came flying out like a cannonball, tumbling several times across the ground before struggling to his feet and spitting out a mouthful of blood.

Over there, Ning Yi had originally told the group of youths to go back, but they were still standing there, watching how things would unfold, until this scene appeared, at which point he finally let out a breath without changing his expression, turned, and said, “Go back to the teahouse to watch. Don’t go any further forward.”

Xiong Gaoxu, the Mountain-Splitting Hand, had suffered an external injury, relatively light—it seemed he’d taken a hit to his right shoulder, blood running down his arm, his whole body trembling slightly. Everyone watched the two of them. Xiong Gaoxu steadied his nerves and said, his voice somewhat hoarse, “…Sleeves that hold the universe within.” After a moment, he added, “Tiannan’s Overlord Blade.”

The Overlord Blade Camp had always kept a relatively low profile within Fang La’s forces, but before the rebellion, the Overlord Blade Manor of the southern martial world had, at least within the underworld, an imposing reputation. After the rebellion began, countless people had joined the rebel army, the ranks mixed with all sorts, and with the Overlord Blade Camp keeping a low profile, few had paid much attention to their affairs. But at least for a martial artist like Xiong Gaoxu, who had made his name long ago through hard-won experience, some things were still clear to him. Tiannan, combined with “sleeves that hold the universe within”—only one person fit that description.

Bao Daoyi violently flicked his whisk, and with a whoosh, the lime powder on his body scattered outward as if exploding. “Break down that door!” But before anyone else could move, figures had already begun appearing at the doorway.

The one who appeared there was a middle-aged man in long robes, his sleeves loosely draped, his cap set high and formal. Behind him, several more figures armed with blades appeared, and two more figures appeared atop the roof of the building.

Few martial artists recognized these people, but those who did already found themselves catching their breath. Under the command of the lord of the Overlord Blade Manor: “Heaven-Piercing Blade” Du Sha, “Ash-Evil Blade” Luo Bingren, “Yuanming Blade” Fang Shuchang, “Nine Deaths Blade” Zheng Qiming, “Mandarin Duck Blades” Ji Qian’er, “Gold-Back Blade” Zheng Huihuan, “Feather Blade” Qian Luoning. This had originally been the lineup known as “he who kills shall pay with his life, he who owes a debt shall repay it”—back when Liu Dabiao’s blade technique had reached a state of pure mastery, he had, at his daughter’s request, taken on eight formal disciples. The first four had been taught the orthodox secret arts of the Overlord Blade, while the latter four, being relatively younger, were taught according to their individual aptitudes, since Liu Dabiao was without equal in every school of blade technique under heaven. After the rebellion began and several major battles had passed, the sixth disciple, Gu Zailai, had died on the battlefield, leaving the group of eight one short—but the remaining seven were each, without exception, masters capable of standing alone as formidable experts.

As for the one leading them, that was none other than the Overlord Blade Camp’s general manager, Liu Tiannan. Although he had for many years served as the manager of the Overlord Blade Manor and rarely involved himself in matters of the martial underworld, as one of Liu Dabiao’s old comrades who had fought alongside him across the realm in years past, if the name “Sleeves That Hold the Universe Within” were truly brought out, there were few among those who understood such things who would dare not show him respect. This name carried genuine weight—entirely different in meaning from the “Blood-Handed Butcher” title he’d been associated with lately in his day-to-day dealings.

And in the deepest recess of the room, a figure could be faintly seen sitting there, with a long, narrow blade case standing upright before it…

The Overlord Blade—Liu Dabiao!

In front of everyone, Liu Tiannan cupped his hands toward Bao Daoyi. “Greetings, Master Bao. Forgive the intrusion.”

“Overlord Blade…” With so many people now stepping forward, the nature of what had begun as an assassination attempt had already changed. Bao Daoyi somewhat suppressed his hysterical rage. “You mean to stand up for Chen Fan?”

“That would be putting it too strongly, Master Bao.” Liu Tiannan cupped his hands and nodded. “It’s not really a matter of standing up for anyone. My manor’s lord says that in today’s affair, the fault lies first with the Celestial Master, and second with Chen Fan for overstepping his station. My manor’s lord wishes to buy Chen Fan’s life. Since both sides are at fault, why not let today’s matter be settled and set aside?”

That Liu Tiannan would open by declaring the fault lay first with the Celestial Master made Bao Daoyi’s face nearly twitch with rage. “I’m at fault first!?”

“As for the details, it’s broad daylight now, not convenient to speak of it further—but you and I both know well enough in our hearts. Today my Overlord Blade Camp rescued a group of women, and there are still many matters to attend to…”

“Your Overlord Blade Camp is courting death!” With a bang, Bao Daoyi slammed a palm against the carriage beside him. What was happening now was, in truth, somewhat unexpected to everyone present—Liu Tiannan had come out being rather unreasonable from the start, opening with the bald assertion that the fault was Bao Daoyi’s, while putting on an air of impartiality. If Ning Yi had been asked, this method of first calling white black had more than a little of his own style to it. But upon hearing the mention of rescuing a group of women, Bao Daoyi also reacted—though by now his fury had reached its absolute peak, and he would absolutely not let this go easily. He slammed his palm down again, cutting off the other man’s words: “There’s nothing more to discuss. Today Chen Fan must die. If you insist on protecting him, don’t blame me for disregarding the old friendship I once had with Liu Dabiao. How many people does your Overlord Blade Camp have in Hangzhou!”

The scene fell silent. Liu Tiannan looked over at him for a good while, then finally said, word by word, “Eight! Hundred!”

“Do you know how many I have in Hangzhou?” As Bao Daoyi spoke, countless footsteps could already be heard approaching from near and far—these were his subordinates responding to the signal flare fired earlier. As they drew closer, Bao Daoyi’s tone eased slightly. “I’ll say it once more—there’s nothing to discuss about today’s matter. I must have Chen Fan’s life. If you don’t hand him over, none of you are leaving. Do you truly mean to become my enemy!?”

Liu Tiannan said nothing, but beside him, Du Sha and the others merely gave a cold laugh, killing intent and ferocity beginning to show faintly on their faces—they had clearly already prepared themselves for battle. A moment later, a voice sounded from within the room, slightly hoarse, its tone not raised but carrying across the entire scene: “Uncle Bao, today I must have Chen Fan live. Do you truly… mean to become my enemy?”

To those unfamiliar with the voice, it sounded like nothing more than a young gentleman in his early twenties. Having heard that Liu Dabiao had long been famous, presumably a burly, hairy-chested man, they couldn’t understand why it was a young man speaking—could this be Overlord Blade Liu Dabiao’s son? Only those familiar with the voice could tell that the speaker was, in fact, a woman.

Bao Daoyi said nothing further—he no longer wished to speak.

Not far off to the side, in another room, Wenren Buer watched this tense, grim scene poised on the edge of eruption, his heart already churning with excitement. He didn’t know why the Overlord Blade Camp had taken up Chen Fan’s cause with such resolute determination, but Bao Daoyi clearly had no way to back down now—if Chen Fan didn’t die, it would be very hard for him to maintain his standing in the martial underworld. Yet now that the Overlord Blade Camp had made its move, there was likely no turning back for them either.

But everything counts for ten steps ahead…

Faced with a situation like this, how could he possibly not stir up wind and rain within it…

The whole affair and feeling was, in truth, somewhat absurd—he didn’t yet know Ning Yi all that well. In the current state of the world, with the Wu Dynasty preparing for its northern campaign yet forced to turn its attention back to this region south of the Yangtze; with Tong Guan’s army of one hundred fifty thousand advancing south to reclaim Hangzhou; with Fang Qifo leading his elite forces to harass the enemy from all sides and adopting scorched-earth tactics; with Fang La declaring himself emperor to make a name for himself and build up accomplishments; with Li Tianrun returning to the city to purge and reorganize his internal forces; while he himself, along with countless court spies, moved about everywhere trying to bore small, usable holes into the defenses of this Yongle court—amid all this, having received orders from Chancellor Qin to find a way to rescue Ning Yi from the city could only be considered an extremely minor side episode.

Yet it was also at this moment that few people could have realized that this scholar, still troubled over how to get out of the city, had, through a small maneuver amid the currents of the times, quietly stirred things up. In Wenren Buer’s eyes, this affair seemed to have transformed into an invisible hand, stirring up wind and cloud, tearing open a breach that no one else had managed to tear open—and in this fashion had delivered a fierce checkmate within the overall situation. This checkmate wasn’t aimed at Bao Daoyi alone, but at Fang La, at the entire Yongle court.

Ha, ten steps ahead…

Thinking this, he looked off into the distance. Ning Yi stood among the crowd, watching the scene unfold as idly as any other bystander, his figure faintly visible covering his mouth as he yawned.

The atmosphere remained frozen for a long while. Bao Daoyi’s first wave of men had already drawn close to the nearby streets. Inside the room, Liu Dabiao finally spoke: “Since that’s how it is, Uncle Bao, let me give you a poem.”

The first wave of men appeared at the far end of the street, and Bao Daoyi laughed. “Hahaha, worthy niece, you know how to write poetry now too… have you learned needlework yet!?”

Among those within Fang La’s forces, it had become customary for Liu Xigua to conduct her affairs under her father’s name, and everyone had grown accustomed to it, tacitly referring to her as “Liu Dabiao.” But now, with Bao Daoyi in a towering rage, he clearly meant to mock this fact. Still, he didn’t dare push it too far. From the room, after a moment of silence, it seemed someone had laid out paper and brush. When Liu Xigua spoke again, her tone already carried a hint of anger. The first line of the poem came out, word by word, her inner power projecting it, ringing across the entire street.

“The knight of Zhao, tassels of rough silk at his throat—”

Having lived through dozens of battles just as Chen Fan had, when she spoke now in anger, her voice carried the force of weapons of war, like thunder, and instantly the entire street filled with a killing chill. Members of the Overlord Blade Camp began appearing in the surrounding alleys and rooftops—the desert’s beacon smoke, iron horses and frozen rivers, iron horses and frozen rivers entering dreams! Everyone’s nerves snapped taut in an instant; the poem itself had become a mere accompaniment to what followed.

“Form ranks.” Bao Daoyi swept his hand down.

Only Ning Yi, off to the side, rubbed his forehead somewhat wearily and let out a breath.

“Damn… this is way too much showing off, this woman has no shame at all.”