The strings quivered, releasing a drifting aura, each thread carrying the intent to kill.
The blind female lute player, ranked second alongside the girl known as “Hehe Niangzi” on the assassins’ list, gave no chance for Xu Fengnian to recover. Her right hand, with swift and delicate plucks, sent another strand of silver thread slicing toward him. Xu Fengnian, with a swift motion, severed the thread using the Chunlei sword, which had been embedded in the stone pavement of the alley. As he lifted his head, two silver lines tore through countless raindrops, speeding toward his eyes. This technique bore a striking resemblance to when Li Chungan, on a muddy road, had flicked water droplets with his fingers, stringing them into a line that mimicked a blade. Xu Fengnian dared not be careless. He extended his arms, fingers interlocking in rapid succession, and retreated gracefully. It seemed he was testing the depth of the lute player’s mysterious silver threads. The threads pierced through raindrops like needles through thin snow, unimpeded and swift. Xu Fengnian felt a sense of helplessness—while the half of the “Great Huangting” cultivation gifted by Wang Chonglou might be sufficient to match her energy thickness, it was far from being able to rival the subtlety and intricacy of her technique.
He retracted his fingers, clenched both hands into fists, and struck the silver threads head-on. Even so, he dared not be arrogant. He employed the Wudang martial arts technique of “using four taels to deflect a thousand jin,” skillfully redirecting the force, causing the two white lines to veer off and vanish into the rain behind him.
Xu Fengnian crouched and surged forward once more, his feet gliding over the rainwater without touching the stone pavement, merely skimming the surface. With a flick of his right hand, the Chunlei sword, embedded in a stone slab, shot into the air before him. The sword’s qi surged like a dragon rolling through a wall, shattering the vibrating lute strings across twenty paces. He had retreated ten steps before, but now he was only forty steps away from the female lute player.
Apart from the earlier move that repelled the golden threads of Chunlei, the lute player resumed her previous gentle and melodious tone. Xu Fengnian, having studied ancient musical scores under his second elder sister Xu Wei Xiong since childhood, though not particularly gifted, was no stranger to the intricacies of music. He finally began to grasp the nuances of the lute player’s technique. Her hands played in two distinct styles: the right hand followed the Yushan School of Southern Tang, emphasizing flowing water and gentle, continuous tones, evoking the grace of a noble scholar. The left hand, however, was characteristic of the Guangling School of Eastern Yue, with sharp and urgent tones, like crashing waves and thunderous tides, evoking the image of a heroic swordsman singing atop a horse. Though the tones were mixed and complex, the abrupt shifts caught one off guard, like a small boat capsizing in treacherous waters. Using music as a martial art was a rare and dangerous path. This woman’s “Finger-Mystic Killing King Kong” technique, apart from the sharpness of the silver threads that pierced vital points and bones, making wounds difficult to heal, also carried a more insidious subtlety. If Xu Fengnian hadn’t been adept at multitasking with his spiritual senses, he would have been overwhelmed from the start, unable to advance and forced to retreat from the alley.
Xu Fengnian cleaved through the endless silver threads using the “Kai Shu” technique, advancing step by step. Another ten paces. The silver threads, wrapped in a semi-circle, were compressed toward the lute player by Xu Fengnian’s qi.
The blind girl remained expressionless, as if catching her breath or lost in thought. Her right hand paused momentarily, while her left hand hovered above the strings without pressing. The music ceased abruptly, and the previously flawless defense revealed the slightest gap. Xu Fengnian, disregarding everything, charged forward, even if it were a trap, determined to break through.
He waited patiently until he was thirty paces away. Then, she finally brought both hands down—but it seemed chaotic, like a child randomly slapping the strings in playful abandon. One simple strike followed another, eighteen in total, like the famous “Eighteen Beats of the Hu Jia.” Around Xu Fengnian, puddles on the ground exploded one by one. Fortunately, he relied on the “Youyu” technique from the sword manual, moving deftly between life and death. The water from the eighteen puddles rose like eighteen rolling blades. Of these, ten were completely evaded, five were blocked by illusions, but three still shattered the “Great Huangting” energy, slicing through the rain and drawing blood from Xu Fengnian’s feet.
Gritting his teeth, Xu Fengnian gripped the Chunlei sword and hurled it like a short spear. The blind The Lutenist, unable to see, naturally did not react with a glance. She merely curled her lips slightly, her left hand moving forward, her right hand drawing a circle.
The wind and rain in the alley shifted violently. The heavy rain from the sky seemed as if someone had yanked down a piece of fabric, suddenly creating a scene like a vast snowstorm building a path. Xu Fengnian was instantly surrounded by ten layers of ambush, trapped within. The Chunlei sword hovered six inches above her head, trembling violently, unable to advance further. The The Lutenist’s left hand swept across seven strings in a single breath, layering the momentum. Her right hand, seemingly slow, lifted and gently flicked the scabbard of the Chunlei sword, sending it sideways into the wall.
Inside the courtyard, an old scholar who had been tilting his head and listening intently to the lute music praised sincerely, “Truly, there exists in the world someone with the skill of seven layers! It’s as if snow blocks the borderlands, halting the horses, making one reluctant to leave. The three tones of the Lute—struck notes like a person, open and floating notes harmonizing with heaven and earth—these are the three kinds of sounds. This Luteplayer is undoubtedly a master of great nation.”
The higher banana leaves near the courtyard wall had all been shredded.
A burly blacksmith stood at the entrance, eyes closed, breathing deeply, his brows furrowed.
The old scholar exclaimed in astonishment, “Isn’t this the long-lost ‘tugboat’ technique of our Xishu?”
Outside the courtyard, danger lurked. Xu Fengnian guessed that the Luteplayer assassin was not skilled in close combat. He resolved to close the distance, even at the cost of injury, to strike a fatal blow within ten paces. Yet this gamble was immense, and he never even got the chance to lift the cup and see the dice. At twenty paces, the Luteplayer’s left hand plucked the strings, unleashing a sky full of deadly intent that ruthlessly forced him back. From the perspective of a martial artist who had entered the “Jin Gang” realm, the heavy rain was like scattered rain curtains between them—without anyone manipulating it, there would be no mystery. Previously, her right hand had merely created silver threads to pierce the rain and kill. But when she switched to her left, she controlled each raindrop with the Lutesound, weaving them into rain curtains that she could manipulate at will. This level of precision tormented Xu Fengnian, who was caught within, as countless rain-blades shot toward him. He could only expand his qi to its fullest and retreat again and again.
His body, soaked in blood and rain, was washed clean, only to seep out again in thin streams.
The old scholar inside the courtyard did not witness this gruesome scene, merely chuckling, “They say martial artists love to draw swords at the slightest disagreement, but according to what you said, these two haven’t even spoken a word before starting to fight?”
The stern blacksmith replied gravely, “They’re both straightforward people.”
The old scholar nodded.
The rain-soaked blacksmith asked, “Whom do we support?”
The old scholar shook his head, “We should support the one who came later, but if he dies at the hands of Luteplayer Xue Songguan, supporting him would be useless. We’re merely waiting like the fisherman who benefits from the Sandpiperand Clamfight. We’ve been stray dogs for over twenty years—we have no right to speak of righteousness. The sages pacify the world not by moving mountains or filling seas, but by giving an inch where an inch is due, and a foot where a foot is due.”
The blacksmith, perhaps finally seeing the fruit of years of waiting, rarely offered a comment, “Master Zhao, just like the Crown Prince, I don’t really like hearing you preach. It’s too sour, like chewing on pickled cabbage.”
Old scholar Zhao Dingxiu did not get angry but laughed instead, pointing at the stubborn man, “You two— One is a useless piece of white wood.， One is a stone in the latrine pit..”
After saying this, the old man whispered softly, “I’ve long accepted my fate. Actually, it’s not so bad.”
The blacksmith, sensing the chaotic energies outside the courtyard, said, “This Luteplayer likely skipped the “Jin Gang” realm and entered directly into “Zhi Xuan,” and may even be close to the “Tian Xiang” realm. But even a paper-thin gap can mean a world of difference.”
The old scholar, unusually using coarse language, exclaimed, “Then what’s the point of fighting?”
The blacksmith, amused by the old man’s rare vulgarity, smiled, “In the martial world, any realm not achieved step by step will have many flaws.”
Back in the alley, Xu Fengnian wiped rain and blood from his face with his sleeve.
He was almost back to his original position, facing the Luteplayer assassin once more at a hundred paces’ distance.
Within a hundred paces and beyond twenty, the Luteplayer’s right hand had already been terrifying. He had not expected that within twenty paces, her left hand, wielding the “Zhi Xuan” technique, would be even more ruthless.
Each silver thread was not enough to kill a “Jin Gang” expert outright, but like needles piercing a large bag, it was a different kind of insidious method—a soft blade that cut slowly. If the battle dragged on, the one unable to close in would be the one to perish.
The blind Luteplayer did not rush to pursue her advantage. She stopped playing, her hands resting on the strings, her lips curving slightly as she softly said, “Come kill me.”
Xu Fengnian nearly spat blood in frustration but managed a smile and asked cautiously, “I won’t ask who sent you. I just want to know how much my life is worth.”
Unfortunately, she did not speak again.
Xu Fengnian exhaled deeply.
At that moment, she suddenly bent her finger and plucked the string, snapping one of them!
Xu Fengnian’s dantian felt like a boiling cauldron, slowly heated by firewood until now, when it finally lost control. Blood surged from his throat, impossible to suppress.
This was the blind Luteplayer’s true killing move. Hundreds of Lutenotes that had wounded his flesh and qi were mere illusions. Since Lutemusic had always been regarded as the ultimate in purging evil and rectifying the heart, it could also be used by a “Zhi Xuan” expert to subdue ghosts and gods and shatter “Jin Gang.” The previous Lutenotes, whether northern or southern, fast or slow, had all been silent manipulations, like spring rain falling like ink, soft yet insidious. This broken string now struck the most sensitive part of Xu Fengnian’s being, causing his qi to erupt violently in an instant, rushing directly toward his heart. If she succeeded, his heart would not remain intact.
“Zhi Xuan”—fingers on the String.
The Mysticbowstring. This “Zhi Xuan” technique of the blind Luteplayer was not for seeking immortality, but for severing another’s path to longevity.
Xu Fengnian slammed his fist into his chest, forcibly suppressing the chaotic qi. He had always kept his foot qi locked in the “Golden Cabinet,” but now he released the last three percent of restraint. With a savage grin, he dashed forward. The woman had set a trap, waiting for this moment. Yet Xu Fengnian, patient all along, had also been waiting like the mantis behind the cicada.
The Chunlei sword, embedded in the wall, vibrated within its sheath, but the sound was masked by the rain.
The Lutemaster, a woman of great skill, furrowed her delicate brows.
She seemed to feel some regret and sorrow, then plucked another string, snapping it.
At that moment, the heavy rain above the alley froze in midair, while the rain beneath the eaves continued to fall rapidly. A bizarre and eerie scene unfolded.
The heavens and earth were separated.
Not a drop of rain fell in the alley!
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