Jing Yue was deeply aggrieved. As one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Sword Sect, this was already his second desperate and chaotic flight. He did not wish to flee; had he been able to await the arrival of the Seven Swordsmen, he would have undoubtedly turned to face the battle. But... there was no time to wait! If there existed such a thing as sword spirit and sword intent, his sword heart would by now have long since decayed, and his sword intent shattered to dust. Yet, he harbored no regrets. Is surviving not... a blessing?
With feet pounding, his vitality surging, and the Huangli wooden sword case strapped to his back, he sprinted atop rooftops, soaring away from the chaotic turmoil of the Chen Manor. As a Sixth-Resonance Sword Master, he intended to escape unless Lu Fan was truly determined to detain him. He had bet correctly — Lu Fan, just as before, had no intention of holding him back.
Bounding across seven or eight roofs, suddenly, a chill struck Jing Yue's heart. As one of the Sword Sect's elite Seven Swordsmen, his strength was formidable. His body spun swiftly in place, his black robe billowing like wings. He pivoted three full rotations before planting his foot firmly on a rooftop, shattering a shard of black tile beneath him.
Before him stood a graceful figure, blocking his path. The setting sun bled crimson behind her, illuminating her flowing white gown like a celestial apparition. Her three thousand strands of ebony hair cascaded freely, her brows and eyes as delicate as brushstrokes on a masterpiece. She was a vision of unparalleled beauty, as though stepped out from a painting. The drifting currents of air around her imbued her with an ethereal aura, reminiscent of a celestial exile.
Ning Zhao regarded Jing Yue with solemnity, her spiritual energy rising. Though unarmed — the Cicada Wing Sword resting in Lu Fan's wheelchair handle — her hands summoned power nonetheless.
"The Young Master is in the Chen Manor. You come from the Chen Manor..." Ning Zhao's long lashes shimmered in the twilight like threads of light. She had just resolved matters at Lake Heart Isle and rushed over upon hearing Lu Fan's slaughter. By fate, she encountered the fleeing Jing Yue.
"You bear the Huangli wooden sword case, thus you belong to the Sword Sect. The Young Master wishes the Sword Sect erased from Beiluo City... therefore, you shall not leave." Her crimson lips parted lightly, voice calm yet resolute.
"A maidservant of Young Master Lu?" Jing Yue's expression turned grave upon recognizing Ning Zhao.
"You are no match for me. Leave swiftly... or I shall show no mercy." Jing Yue spoke firmly. He wished to avoid entanglement with Ning Zhao, partly because she served Lu Fan. Twice he had fled and Lu Fan had spared him; yet if he were to harm or kill this maidservant, Lu Fan would surely hunt him to the ends of the earth. Rumor had it the Beiluo Young Master's mind was as petty as it was ruthless...
Ning Zhao smiled faintly, lifting her hand as two strands of pale blue energy stirred in her palms. Her gauzy skirt billowed, her eyes burning with unwavering determination.
This time... she would not disappoint her Young Master.
With a light tap of her slender foot on a black tile, her vitality surged with a thunderous roar. A sharp crack resounded, her form shimmering like a specter beneath the dying sun.
Jing Yue's gaze hardened; six explosive sounds echoed as his body surged, sword striking mercilessly forward.
He might fear Nie Changqing, but surely not Ning Zhao, a mere Sixth-Resonance Master?
Beyond Beiluo City, on the boundless plains, dust churned beneath pounding hooves. Four figures, clad in conical hats and bearing Huangli wooden sword cases, spurred their steeds at full gallop.
The iron-blooded city sentinels atop the walls instantly spotted them, alarm spreading like wildfire. The guards tensed, nocking crossbows, ready to unleash a deadly hail of arrows should the enemy close in.
Yet the thunderous hoofbeats continued unabated, kicking up towering clouds of dust.
At last, arrows were loosed, streaking across the sky like a deadly rain. The four riders tumbled from their steeds, sliding beneath them as arrows rained down, transforming the horses into shredded carcasses.
Sword cries erupted, a fierce surge of vitality resounding with each strike. The four swiftly executed lightness skills beneath their fallen mounts, darting toward the timeworn walls of Beiluo City.
With clangs and sparks flying, their blades found the narrowest cracks in the walls. Using the curvature of their swords, they vaulted and scaled the ramparts with agile grace.
Together, they ascended the city walls.
Lu Changkong's elite defenders roared in fury, brandishing heavy blades to repel them. The four, heads hooded by their hats, avoided prolonged combat, aware that entrapment would mean death beneath the relentless blade storm.
Their swords sang crisply, bodies weaving through the iron-blooded soldiers atop the walls. Light steps on shoulders propelled them far beyond, over the battlements, landing amidst the inner city's fortifications with sparks flying.
Several dozen miles outside Beiluo, three hundred ironclad cavalry trudged onward steadily. Among them, a five-horse carriage sped furiously, churning dust into the air. This was the national tutor's carriage.
Lu Changkong rode at its helm, clad in armor, expression stern.
The carriage curtain parted, revealing a disheveled scholar, chest exposed, clutching a gourd, seated beside the driver.
"Lord Lu, my divining itch flares again. Care for a reading?" Mo Tianyu guzzled wine, leaning against the carriage frame, calling out.
Lu Changkong's eyes, sharp beneath his helmet, glanced at him.
"Sir, you follow the national tutor. Why indulge in fortune-telling? Isn't that the realm of charlatans and soothsayers?"
Mo Tianyu laughed, scratching his bare chest, draining another gulp from the gourd.
"Paths have order: I learned divination first, then was swept away by the scholar to study Confucianism. A past best forgotten..."
Lu Changkong nodded.
"The journey is lonely. Very well, grant me your reading."
Mo Tianyu's eyes gleamed as he drew three polished copper coins from his bosom, cradling them in one hand. After another swallow of wine, he breathed upon them, causing the coins to spin and tumble in the liquid, finally settling in his palm.
"Well now, this is intriguing..."
"The omen reveals great calamity. Lord Lu, your departure from the city will doom your son. The Sword Sect will seize Beiluo, and rivers of blood will flow within the walls... Ah, a cataclysm of blood and disaster." Mo Tianyu muttered with a wry smile.
Frowning, Lu Changkong's eyes flickered with displeasure.
Before he could respond, distant hoofbeats reached his ears. From Beiluo City rode a soldier clad in Beiluo armor. Halted, he slid to a knee before Lu Changkong, raising a cloud of dust.
"Report!"
"Speak."
"Beiluo City has sent word. The three great clans have gathered a hundred scholars and Sword Sect masters upon Beiluo Lake to accuse the Young Master, inciting riots with hired ruffians and colluding merchants... Moreover, four Sword Sect Fourth-Resonance Masters have struck the city walls, infiltrating by lightness skill!"
The soldier bowed his head, speaking rapidly.
Upon hearing this, Lu Changkong's vitality surged, eyes ablaze with murderous intent.
"How dare the Sword Sect?!" he growled, not at the clans who had lost their heads, but at the Sword Sect — the true instigators. He had suspected their schemes but not expected such swift action.
Elsewhere, Mo Tianyu laughed, throwing back his head as he returned to the carriage.
"This time, my reading proved true."
"One mouth utters fate and death, one divination seals reincarnation..." Mo Tianyu chuckled, returning inside.
Lu Changkong shot him a cold glare, cracking his whip. His steed reared, neighing fiercely. The three hundred cavalry accelerated, racing against the blood-red sunset, hastening back to Beiluo City.
Within the Chen family manor, silence reigned. Blood stained the ground, even dyeing the pond's water crimson. The wind stirred a miasma of iron scent.
Lu Fan, clad in pristine white robes unstained by blood, toyed with chess pieces, his face as flawless as jade.
Having established the "White Jade Capital," Lu Fan would not tolerate any other forces within Beiluo City. If they existed, they must be eradicated.
Suddenly, his brows lifted, eyes turning toward the long street outside the manor.
Nie Changqing, sheathing his butcher's blade, stood beside him, expression grave.
"Master... there are experts approaching."
Lu Fan nodded, his spirit at thirteen points detecting the four waves of killing intent sweeping like black clouds.
A faint smirk curled his lips.
"The Sword Sect's final desperate gambit..."
He cast the chess pieces back into the box.
"I Yue, let us depart."
"Yes." I Yue's fox-like face grew solemn as she pushed the wheelchair outside, followed closely by Ni Yu.
Nie Changqing wiped the blood from his blade with his sleeve, eyes gleaming, trailing after them.