The final glimmer of the setting sun vanished, as if ushering in an eternal night. Beiluo's long street was plunged into an eerie silence, as though time itself had frozen.
Nie Changqing no longer brandished his blade. Only his faint, labored breathing broke the oppressive stillness. He stepped back, standing tall with his saber slung at his side.
Of the Seven Swordsmen of the Sword Sect, four had joined forces with flawless coordination, their techniques underpinned by the sect's refined swordsmanship. The leader, a Grandmaster of the Resounding Seven renowned for concealing five swords within his sword box, coordinated effortlessly with the others. In merely the first exchange of blows, Nie Changqing found himself at a disadvantage.
Had it not been for the enhancement of his strength and vitality through spiritual energy, he might have been riddled with wounds within three strikes.
"Still too weak… With strength like this, how can I possibly venture south and challenge Dao Sect?"
Panting, Nie Changqing's disheveled hair fell over his eyes, filling his gaze with wistfulness. The Dao Sect itself did not weigh on his heart—but someone within it did.
Before Lu Fan, Old Huang stood hunched, his body trembling, sweat the size of beans trickling down his forehead. A flying sword hovered inches from his brow, and the blood in his body seemed frozen. Were it not for the strange force holding the blade in midair, he might already be dead.
Yi Yue gripped her whip tightly, her foxlike face twisted in astonishment, her rosy lips parted in shock.
Ni Yu, on the other hand, was flushed with excitement, her cheeks aglow. Luo Cheng and the bound Chen Beixun stood frozen, dumbfounded.
Especially Chen Beixun—he saw it.
Lu Fan rolled up his sleeve and placed a black piece on the Go board. In that instant, the flying sword froze, the four swordsmen knelt, and the world seemed to fall silent.
What manner of power was this?
Chen Beixun's beard trembled violently. The once-unyielding iron in his heart gave way to despair.
He had thought Lu Fan's confidence came from the mysterious and formidable outcast Nie Changqing. He had been wrong.
The one who defied logic and belief—was Lu Fan himself.
Only now did Chen Beixun begin to understand why the exiled disciple followed Lu Fan with unwavering loyalty.
The world had been deceived.
This was a grand illusion!
It was over. There was no more hope.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground.
The long street was deathly still, the air thick with killing intent.
The suspended swords were now frozen in place. The four swordsmen, their conical hats shattered, knelt with disheveled hair, chests heaving and sweat pouring. The overwhelming pressure had shaken their souls, yet they still clung to resistance.
The Grandmaster who concealed five swords quivered, trying to rise under the crushing force.
In his wheelchair, Lu Fan raised a brow. These four were far more formidable than the so-called Ninth of Dao Sect, Han Lianxiao.
The spiritual pressure he now released was no different than when he had once crushed Han Lianxiao into submission.
But Lu Fan paid it no mind.
His slender fingers dipped into the box, retrieving another black piece.
Rolling up his sleeve, he held the piece between his middle and index fingers. A soft smile played upon his delicate, pale face as he gazed down at the four kneeling swordsmen.
"If you can withstand three of my moves… and remain unbowed—then you may live," Lu Fan said languidly, his voice drifting down the street.
His wrist lifted high.
Pa!
The black stone fell onto the board.
Boom—!
A violent surge of spiritual energy erupted from Lu Fan, rippling outward like a storm. The pressure increased fivefold.
Clang!
The hovering flying swords were wrenched downward, slamming into the ground. Those of weaker make even twisted under the force.
Pfft!
Except for the sword box Grandmaster, the other three coughed blood, unable to withstand the spiritual pressure.
Their internal organs felt crushed and displaced.
They collapsed fully, faces smashed into the ground, mouths bleeding.
"What… is this?"
The sword box Grandmaster's eyes were bloodshot. Gasping for breath, he looked past Nie Changqing to the figure seated like a jade statue in the wheelchair.
"Nothing more than a petty trick of cultivators," Lu Fan murmured.
As his words fell, the Grandmaster too crumbled with a thud, unable to hold himself up.
The third black stone Lu Fan had picked up never even fell.
"What a pity…" he sighed, shaking his head.
"Old Nie… clear the field."
His voice, faint yet firm, echoed through the street.
Nie Changqing's eyes narrowed. He raised his butcher's knife, spiritual energy coursing through it. The Blade Control Art activated.
The knife shot forward, arcing through the air, slicing the necks of the four prone swordsmen, then returned to his hand. A single drop of blood slid down the blade.
Blood pooled beneath the fallen.
Lu Fan's wheelchair turned on its own, facing away from the corpses.
He calmly picked up two Go pieces and dropped them into the box.
"Xiao Ni, carry it," he said.
Ni Yu swiftly secured the Go board to her back, chest puffed out with pride as she stood straight and alert.
Yi Yue's seductive features returned to calm as she gently pushed the wheelchair forward.
The creaking of wood against stone brought a faint sense of life back to the deadened Beiluo street.
Chen Beixun sat dazed, his body cold. Liu Ye and Zhu Yishan were already collapsed in fear.
"Y-Young Master…"
Luo Cheng, clad in bloodied armor, swallowed hard.
"What of these people?" he asked, pointing to Chen Beixun and the others.
As Lu Fan was slowly wheeled toward the Lu Residence, he leaned his head on one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Traitors deserve the punishment their crime warrants," he said softly.
His silhouette stretched long under the twilight.
His voice drifted on the breeze.
Luo Cheng took a deep breath.
He bowed deeply toward the retreating wheelchair.
"As you command."
Straightening, he removed his blood-stained helmet and waved his hand.
"Execute them."
The iron-blooded soldiers who had captured the nobles' descendants all unsheathed their weapons.
This time… Beiluo Street would be truly dyed in blood.
Chen Beixun stared, broken and miserable, as Lu Fan's figure disappeared.
He kept staring… until a sharp pain struck his neck, and the world turned to darkness.
…
Seated in his wheelchair, Lu Fan closed his eyes, calming his spirit.
Suppressing four Grandmasters with spiritual pressure through the Go board appeared effortless—but in truth, it was taxing. Each move drained the strength of his soul.
He pinched the bridge of his nose again.
Sleep was the best way to recover that lost strength. But rest was not all he needed tonight.
He had business to attend to—regarding the Platform of Enlightenment.
He had once told Yu Wenxiu and Xiang Shaoyun that one could enter the platform once every three days.
And tonight was the third day.
The Platform of Enlightenment was of immeasurable importance to him.
If he wanted to rapidly improve his spiritual power, aside from trading soul strength for attribute points, training cultivators through the platform was his most effective path.
"Yi Yue, I'm a little weary. Let's return to the residence," he said.
"As you wish," Yi Yue replied, quickening her pace.
Hmm?
Lu Fan suddenly opened his eyes.
Yi Yue also paused in her steps.
Far down the street, beneath the night sky, at the very end of the horizon—
A white dress fluttered lightly.
A graceful figure, crowned in moonlight, with flowing black hair and unparalleled beauty, dragged behind her a battered, bruised figure.
Ning Zhao stood at the far end of the street.
When she saw Lu Fan in his wheelchair, her crescent eyes lit up with a smile as bright and lovely as spring peach blossoms.