Qin Feng tilted his wide-brimmed straw hat lazily, leaning an elbow against the carriage door. With a casual flick, he snapped the whip into a sharp crack, sending the two horses trotting forward at a steady, unhurried pace.
Three elderly men followed behind on undersized donkeys, their hunched forms swaying to the rhythm of the animals' uneven gait.
Suddenly, the carriage's window curtain was lifted, revealing a radiant, spring-like face. The young lady inside peeked back toward the road, stuck out her tongue, and said, "Young Master Feng, those people behind us... why are they just standing in the middle of the road like that? Aren't they afraid of being run over?"
Qin Feng chuckled. "They made a mistake. I told them to stand under the sun as punishment."
Another charming face popped out beside the first, her voice crisp and sweet: "Young Master, how much farther to Dingzhou?"
"Not far now," Qin Feng replied with a grin. "About thirty li or so. We'll get there before sunset. What's the rush? Can't wait to see little San already?"
The two girls instantly flushed, their cheeks tinted pink, and pouted in unison. "What nonsense are you spouting? And you're supposed to be San-ge's big brother…"
Qin Feng smiled. "Alright, alright. Yue'er, Piaopiao, get back inside. Since you're in such a hurry, I'll speed things up a bit. Hyah!"
The so-called Sword Saint of the Star River let out a thunderous shout. The horses, startled by the sudden outburst, reared and broke into a gallop. The carriage lurched forward violently.
With a startled squeal, both Xiaoyue and Piaopiao ducked back into the cabin, their voices rising in playful protest, "Young Master Feng, you're teasing us again! We'll tell Ah-Ren and have him deal with you!"
Qin Feng said nothing, laughing heartily as he cracked the whip again. The horses picked up even more speed.
Strangely enough, the three donkeys galloping beside the carriage kept pace effortlessly, their riders showing no intention of urging them forward. The donkeys' stubby legs moved with surprising agility, never once falling behind.
Once the group had disappeared into the distance, the twenty-five men standing frozen in the sun—led by Ji Wuhua—remained motionless, still in combat stances, their swords and sabers gripped tight.
Then, all at once, thin red lines appeared across each of their necks.
"This… this isn't a sword technique of the mortal world…" Ji Wuhua managed to mutter, eyes bulging in disbelief.
A split-second later, a chorus of hissing sounds filled the air as blood gushed simultaneously from the twenty-five slit throats. The crimson jets surged upward, sending twenty-five heads flying into the air like gory fountains.
Dingzhou was especially lively that day.
The reason was simple—ten days from now, the grand Wulin Assembly would be held at the renowned Tianping Villa, a mere fifteen li from the city.
Tianping Villa, though vast in size, could not accommodate the entire martial fraternity. Only those with significant status or affiliation with powerful sects were granted the right to stay there. The rest—freelancers, lesser disciples of major schools, or solitary wanderers—were relegated to inns and lodges within Dingzhou.
Of course, some independent masters, too aloof to mingle with the martial crowd, chose to remain in the city, paying out of their own pockets rather than enduring the chaos of Tianping Villa.
As a result, inns, taverns, and restaurants within Dingzhou were booming with business.
The city's petty thieves and back-alley rogues, however, were having a miserable time. These were no ordinary travelers—they were warriors. Pick the wrong pocket, and one could end up half-dead—or worse, with their entrails decorating the nearest alley.
A few clueless pickpockets who tested their luck paid dearly. Being caught red-handed didn't just mean a beating—some were dismembered on the spot.
So, in a strange way, Dingzhou's security was both excellent and abysmal.
Local thugs stayed hidden. But the roaming martial artists, armed to the teeth and high on adrenaline, treated the city like their personal playground.
Bloodshed was never far. A simple misstep, a rude glance, even taking someone else's preferred seat by the window could lead to drawn swords and shattered furniture.
Fights broke out frequently, sometimes demolishing entire inns or tea houses, leaving helpless shopkeepers to swallow their losses along with their broken teeth.
The city guards and constables could do little. Those with some martial training might manage to speak reason, but the regular troops? They were helpless.
And then, there were those shadowy figures—people who had no intention of being recognized, whose agendas were best kept hidden.
Among them was Qin Feng.
Though the Xiaoyao Villa had little presence north of the river, Qin Feng's maternal uncle, Tie Kongshan, ruled the nearby Tie-Xue Xiaotian Fortress. Naturally, the Tie family held property in Dingzhou—nothing excessive: ten thousand acres of farmland outside the city, a jewelry shop, a rice store, and a tea house within.
And of course, a grand estate.
Located in the prime northern district, the Tie manor stood out with its grandeur and height, dwarfing neighboring residences like a hawk among sparrows.
Qin Feng, ever frugal, had no interest in wasting money on inns. Unlike his reckless younger brother Qin Ren, the other two Qin sons were thrifty—thankfully, or Xiaoyao Villa might have gone bankrupt already.
The Tie estate was currently unoccupied, guarded only by a steward and over a hundred servants and retainers.
Upon arriving in Dingzhou, Qin Feng headed straight there. He presented the family seals of both the Qin and Tie clans and was immediately welcomed and accommodated.
As for why Third Young Master hadn't come here? Simple—he didn't even know the Tie family owned a house in Dingzhou.
The steward, recognizing the heir, was all smiles and deference. After arranging lodgings for the young master, his companions, and the three elders, he sent word to Tie-Xue Fortress.
With a fast horse, it would take no more than a day to deliver the message.
Upon receiving the letter, Tie Kongshan sent his son and daughter—Tie Jian and Tie Xuanxuan—to Dingzhou at once.
Tie Jian, twenty-four, was tall and rugged like his father. He exuded a bold, straightforward aura that commanded respect. Known in the Jiangbei martial world, he had mastered seven-tenths of the clan's famed "Iron Hand" technique. Yet he was humble and rarely traveled, devoting himself to fortress affairs. As a result, his name didn't carry the same weight as the flamboyant Qin brothers.
His sister, Tie Xuanxuan, only eighteen, was spirited and forthright—a true northern heroine. Though barred from training the Iron Hand due to its masculine nature, she apprenticed under "Master Acupoint," a famed expert in finger techniques and pressure points. Under his tutelage, she learned to strike acupoints from a full zhang (3 meters) away—nearly reaching her master's legendary three-zhang range.
The siblings dropped everything and set off immediately.
Why such urgency?
Because Qin Feng's letter had included one crucial line: "San-di might currently be in Dingzhou."
Of course, Qin Feng wasn't the only one acting in secret. Hidden forces had also begun moving—figures from the shadows, arriving through backchannels.
This Wulin Assembly was shaping up to be the grandest in the empire's history—an event filled not only with warriors and heroes, but with ambition, conspiracy, and secrets.
And Dingzhou was its epicenter.
One unremarkable silk shop in Dingzhou, "Xingyuan Silk Hall," had always kept a low profile.
Its master was rarely seen—only spending two out of every twelve months at the shop. The rest of the time, business was handled by the manager. No one knew what the owner looked like or even how old he was.
People only knew that the head manager respectfully addressed him as "Young Lord Yu."
At this moment, Young Lord Yu was reclining under a garden pavilion in the shop's rear courtyard, sipping chilled plum wine as the blood-red hues of early summer sunset stretched across the sky.
Suddenly, the elderly shopkeeper dashed along the cobblestone path, his light-footed steps utterly silent—a display of remarkable martial grace for a man nearing sixty.
He stopped and bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle. "Master, a young lady has arrived at the front gate, presenting your personal token and requesting an audience."
"What token?" Yu asked casually.
"The jade ring carved with the eagle feather on its inner wall."
Yu's eyes narrowed. "Oh? Luo'er? How did she know I was in Dingzhou?"
He glanced at the old man, then raised an eyebrow. "You're sweating. And is that… a nosebleed? At your level of cultivation? What on earth happened?"
The shopkeeper, embarrassed, stroked his white beard. "Forgive me, Master… The girl… she's… she's truly a calamity in human form. I merely used a breeze palm to lift her veil and took one glance at her face—and my heart nearly caught fire…"
Yu burst into laughter. "Fool! You think you can toy with a born enchantress? That kind of innate charm… even sages would struggle to resist. Bring her in! If she's here, it must be important."