The dark-faced shopkeeper and the pink-clad woman had never encountered someone impervious to blades and spears. In the martial arts world, no matter how formidable one’s protective physical techniques were, a dagger or long sword would leave a white mark upon contact. Let alone vulnerable spots like the eyes and mouth.
He is not human, he is not human! The way they looked at Meng Qi resembled how one might gaze upon descending immortals or hellish demons, filled with fear and a sense of breaking down.
Instinctively, they turned to flee, but a laughing voice reached their ears: “Did I say you could leave?”
No supernatural abilities, no experience of danger—but fear alone rooted the dark-faced shopkeeper and pink-clad woman to the spot, unable to take another step.
Meng Qi found it amusing. If they had fled, he truly would have been powerless to stop them, since he couldn’t just attack them outright. But after their minds had collapsed and their courage shattered, they had lost all will to resist or escape. Sometimes, killing a hundred pigs was harder than killing a hundred people who had already lost their will to fight.
“Go search for the antidote,” Meng Qi suddenly said to several newcomers.
Min Renlong and Wu Xiuxian sat slumped in their chairs, exchanging glances in confusion. Their limbs were weak and trembling, barely able to move. Why would the young master still give such orders?
At that moment, the girl Yuanyang, with her yin-yang face, exclaimed in surprise, “You saw through it?”
She had thought her disguise was perfect.
The flow of your genuine qi, your muscular responses, your heartbeat and circulation—all have thoroughly exposed you… Meng Qi smiled faintly in silence, gesturing toward the dark-faced shopkeeper and the woman in pink, signaling Yuan Yang to search for the antidote.
Yuan Yang stood up. Without her noticing, a bug had appeared on the back of her hand—a deep blue one, resembling a ladybug, but with rainbow-like patterns in seven colors on its shell.
Slightly uneasy, she glanced at Min Renlong and Weng Lingyu, softly explaining, “I didn’t notice poison in the food either, but ‘Lanxing’ (Blue Star) actively absorbs toxins. By the time I realized, you had already eaten a lot. So I pretended to be weak, planning to wait until the evil doer who poisoned us got close, then show them what’s what.”
“Your response was good,” Meng Qi rarely praised anyone. Without him, Yuan Yang would have been their only hope.
Weng Lingyu and the others only felt relieved, without a hint of reproach. They urged Yuan Yang to quickly retrieve the antidote.
Yuan heaved a sigh of relief, feeling slightly excited by the praise. In her clan, she had always faced discrimination.
She quickly walked to the pink-clad woman and dark-faced shopkeeper. Just as she was about to search them, the two had already broken down and handed over the antidote.
After Lan Xing “inspected” it, Yuan Yang happily retrieved it and fed it to Wu Xiuxian and the others. Meanwhile, the dark-faced shopkeeper and the woman in pink turned pale, both clutching their throats with their hands, gurgling as blue blood spilled from their mouths.
Thud, they collapsed and died.
Sensing the gazes of Meng Qi and the others on her, Yuan Yang calmly said, “I had Lanxing bite them in secret. I couldn’t let those villains get away, or they would have caused more trouble.”
“Yes, if they fled and reported to Fu Cuo about the Separation Demon Sword, our assassination mission might fail,” Wu Xiuxian was the first to agree.
Weng Lingyu looked at the corpses on the ground, shivered, then gritted her teeth, finally nodding firmly. Min Renlong, having regained his mobility, angrily went over and stabbed each corpse once.
“Alright, leave here now, hide, disguise yourselves, and plan anew,” Meng Qi said, smiling as he stood up with sword in hand. Seeing the four fledgling martial artists finally gaining awareness of the cycle of danger after a bloody lesson.
After opening all nine orifices, all poisons and toxins were powerless against him. Once entering his body, they were expelled through his inner world’s circulation, so even after indulging in food, it had no effect—his steps remained steady.
…
In a courtyard behind a bustling market.
Green trees sprouted. Meng Qi sat cross-legged beneath them, sword resting on his knees, eyes closed, cultivating the ancestral orifice between his eyebrows.
Suddenly, hurried and frantic footsteps approached the courtyard, pushing the door open—it was Weng Lingyu, her body splattered with sugared water, looking extremely disheveled.
“What happened?” Meng Qi opened his eyes, lightly stroking his sword, his eyes and brows filled with smiles.
He had already anticipated Weng Lingyu’s encounter.
Weng Lingyu, both frustrated and angry, said, “Master, it’s just selling sugared water near her, how come she always treats me like a sworn enemy?”
This was the fourth day of the mission. After three days of careful investigation and bribing lower-level members of the Iron Heart Sect, they finally understood Fu Cuo’s daily habits—the Separation Demon Sword. They found out that every other day, he would visit the largest brothel in the city to spend the night with his favorite courtesan.
Considering that Fu Cuo had maintained this habit for a long time, he wouldn’t likely neglect his safety. Directly assassinating him at the brothel would easily fall into a trap. So Min Renlong and others arranged the assassination along Fu Cuo’s route to the brothel, which also facilitated their quick escape afterward to the reincarnation plaza.
With the plan set, they began familiarizing themselves with their assigned roles. For example, Weng Lingyu was to act as a girl selling sugared water by the roadside. However, on her first attempt today, she was treated harshly by a woman nearby doing the same business.
“Blocking someone’s income is like killing their parents,” Meng Qi briefly commented.
Weng Lingyu, though inexperienced, wasn’t foolish. She immediately understood. A place convenient for assassination would naturally be a bustling location filled with vendors making a living. Her sudden appearance was seen as stealing their livelihood, naturally causing resentment, scolding, and splashing.
“Master, what should I do?” she asked with wide eyes.
“A sudden new vendor—wouldn’t Fu Cuo become suspicious?” Meng Qi countered. “It would be better to simply knock out the woman who splashed sugared water on you today, then disguise yourself as her. Speak little, keep your head down, and nobody will notice for a short time.”
Weng Lingyu nodded gently, “Okay, I’ve been practicing selling sugared water elsewhere these past few days.”
Before the words faded, Wu Xiuxian pushed open the courtyard gate. He wore tattered clothes, his face bruised.
“Wu Dage, were you beaten by other beggars?” Weng Lingyu covered her mouth, laughing.
After days of companionship, they had become more familiar with each other.
Wu Xiuxian, both angry and frustrated, said, “I just don’t get it—why beat someone so severely for just begging?”
Weng Lingyu looked at Meng Qi, mimicking his expression with a faint smile, saying, “Blocking someone’s income is like killing their parents.”
That day, the four youths’ assassination plan suffered repeated setbacks. Previously, while reading novels or hearing tales, they imagined assassins suddenly appearing—either as flower-selling girls, street beggars, or fortune tellers—striking swiftly and decisively before vanishing effortlessly. Imitating them should be simple. Yet, who knew the reality was so complex? They were still far from ready!
Over the next two days, under Meng Qi’s guidance and through personal exploration, Min Renlong, Yuan Yang, and others gradually shed their naivety and got into the rhythm.
…
On the sixth evening, the streets were crowded with pedestrians, bustling and lively.
A child cried for sugared water, led by his mother to the usual stall. Due to many customers, the woman who usually smiled warmly kept her head down, busily working. A large pot boiled golden sugared water, bubbling and fragrant.
After drinking the sugared water, the child happily left. Suddenly, a hand appeared beside his foot—dirty and covered in mud.
“Mercy, mercy…” the beggar rasped, begging.
The child’s mother couldn’t bear to watch, dropping a copper coin into the beggar’s bowl before quickly pulling the child away.
At the hairpin stall across the street, a slightly exotic-looking girl was carefully selecting items. Downstairs in a private room sat a man in black martial attire, drinking tea, eating meat, with a sword beside him.
In an upper private room, Meng Qi played with his teacup, smiling as he watched below, waiting for the assassination with an appreciative gaze.
Clatter, clatter, hoofbeats echoed. Several riders appeared in the distance, surrounded by nine guards. At the center was none other than Fu Cuo, the Separation Demon Sword. The strongest among the guards had already opened his acupoints, not inferior to Wu Xiuxian.
Ten horsemen entered the street. Due to the heavy traffic, the horses slowed their pace. Fu Cuo looked left and right, appreciating the city under his governance.
Suddenly, his brown horse neighed loudly, reared up, and on its leg was a deep blue insect, its back glowing with a seven-colored halo.
Before the horse’s neigh had even faded, the woman who had been keeping her head down suddenly lifted the iron pot, splashing the boiling sugared water directly at Fu Cuo and his men.
Caught off guard, several guards screamed in pain. Some swung their weapons to deflect the droplets, others jumped off their horses to take cover behind them—the scene turned chaotic.
At that moment, the beggar nearby suddenly lunged forth, throwing himself forward, his judicial pens aiming at Fu Cuo’s throat and forehead.
As the horse reared, Fu Cuo instinctively tried to control it, not abandoning his mount. When he realized he was under attack, the sugared water and judicial pens were already upon him.
His ear acupoint had been opened. Earlier, he had indeed heard the buzzing sound of insects, but assumed them ordinary bugs, paying no attention since they weren’t heading toward him. Who knew it circled around, suddenly biting the horse.
In this life-or-death moment, Fu Cuo drew his sword, swift as a startled swan, deflecting the pens with two clangs as he rolled sideways to dodge the sugared water.
Suddenly, a brilliant sword light descended from midair, like a perilous mountain peak, extremely dangerous.
At this critical moment, Fu Cuo’s legs still clinging to the horse hesitated, slowing him slightly, narrowly avoiding the sword light. Then with a flick of his sword, he disengaged from the black-clad martial artist.
Min Renlong and Wu Xiuxian didn’t hesitate—they turned and fled, seemingly indifferent to whether Fu Cuo had been injured.
Fu Cuo landed, stood up, then suddenly swayed, his face rapidly darkening, blue-tinged blood spilling from his mouth.
The real killer was that insect. Whether Wu Xiuxian or Min Renlong, they were merely distractions, making Fu Cuo forget the insect that had poisoned the horse.
At this moment, Weng Lingyu, the syrup vendor, and Yuan Yang, the flower picker, had already withdrawn as planned.
The guards scattered, pursuing Wu Xiuxian and others, but the crowded street made it hard to catch up.
Meng Qi nodded. The four newcomers had grown quickly and could now be considered auxiliary members of the team.
He was about to complete the mission and return, but nothing happened. He slightly nodded, fearing there might still be some minor complications.
Clatter, clatter, clatter. Weng Lingyu circled around, following the plan, entering the tavern and rushing into the private room.
In her view, the mission was over.
Yet before she could greet Meng Qi, she saw a man with a sword entering, his aura restrained, deep like the sea.
“He, he followed me…” Weng Lingyu thought in confusion.
The sword-wielding man looked at the leisurely tea-sipping Meng Qi, solemnly saying, “While witnessing the assassination just now, I was wondering whether there’d be a mastermind behind it all. Indeed, it’s you…”
He slowly approached Meng Qi, appearing full of confidence.
Meng Qi sighed, picking up his sword with its sheath, thrusting it straightforwardly and unremarkably toward the sword-wielding man’s knee.
The man raised his eyebrows, unfolding his sword technique, but suddenly saw the opponent’s sword rising, surpassing his intricate net in an instant.
He stepped back, swung his long sword horizontally, attempting to overpower with brute force.
But the opponent’s sword had already changed tactics, still aiming at the knee.
Three consecutive sword strikes forced the sword-wielding man to retreat three steps.
The sword was withdrawn, and the sword-wielding man had returned to his original position.
“Leave,” Meng Qi said calmly.
The sword-wielding man breathed heavily, seemingly deeply affected: “You, you don’t want to know who I am or why I followed you?”
“Not interested,” Meng Qi smiled, pouring himself another cup of tea.
“Fine, fine, fine!” The sword-wielding man’s face turned iron-gray as he repeated “fine” three times. “To defeat me so easily, you must indeed be unparalleled under heaven!”
Meng Qi smiled, gazing at the bustling street outside the window with a faint sense of weariness: “After studying martial arts for so many years, if my opponents are still at your level, then it’s truly not interesting at all.”
No contempt, yet more contemptuous than contempt itself. That innermost sense of disdain left the sword-wielding man pale, without another word, staggering and turning to leave.
Weng Lingyu looked at Meng Qi, feeling the sword technique he had just used was “familiar.” Suddenly, she recalled a famous sword technique, widely rumored about in Jiangdong, and stammered: “Kan, Kan Xu Sword Technique, Ma, Master, you are from the Wang family…”
Meng Qi raised his finger, placing it against his lips, shushing her: “Don’t tell others. Cough, cough, cough…”
He coughed deliberately, then his vision dimmed, and the mission was completed.
Inside the ancestral home of the Guangling Wang Clan, Wang Siyuan suddenly sneezed, then frowned, taking out his calculating rods, but found no clues.
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