"An assassin!"At the moment silver light flared, Lu Changkong, who had just broken through to the second tier of Qi Core Realm, reacted instantly. His brocade robe billowed as he bellowed a warning.
Nie Changqing had already drawn his butcher's blade, spinning it at high speed through the air. Ning Zhao, clad in flowing white, leapt gracefully and shielded Lu Fan with her delicate body. Even the weakened Ni Yu, coughing blood, held her chessboard with a ferocious expression.
In an instant, the atmosphere grew tense, charged with murderous intent as if the very air had turned into blades.
"Get out!" Lu Changkong roared. His voice was infused with spiritual energy, thundering like a great bell to deter the lurking assassin's ambush.
——
Mo Liuqi was a professional assassin.Yet in truth, he despised assassination. He loathed the scent of blood.
But life in the jianghu offered no choice.
The Mo Clan had raised him to be the second greatest assassin in the world—not to idle away his days.Moreover, this mission came from her—issued by her own lips. He could not refuse.
His master, who had taught him the art of assassination, once said:"An assassin must not harbor emotions—for emotions lead to mistakes, and mistakes lead to hesitation."
But Mo Liuqi could not obey.That was why he was second in the world, and would never be the first.
He was not an emotionless killer. He felt—more fiercely than most.
He quietly cherished a woman in his heart.He suppressed that longing, yet the more he repressed it, the more it grew, like a volcano accumulating the fury of ten thousand years.
This mission—he neither wanted to accept, nor dared to.
To assassinate the Grand Preceptor of Great Zhou, a Confucian master of the "Masters" tier—Even the emotionless, number one assassin in the world dared not take it.
So why should he, the second, dare?
And yet—when she came to him—All his carefully prepared refusals dissolved into a single, gentle word:
"Alright."
And so, he came.He came prepared never to leave.
He disliked Beiluo City. There was something sinister about it.
But though he disliked it, it would become his burial ground.His life—even unto death—was never his own.
On the donkey cart, Mo Liuqi thought about many things.He bought a cheap hairpin from a roadside stall and etched her name into it with a knife.
If he survived—if he walked out of this city alive—He would give it to her, with his own hands.
——
Nie Changqing gripped the butcher's blade.His qi and blood surged, exploding in six echoes. His eyes burned like torches.
The blade rose, wrapped in invisible force. Spiritual energy surged from his Qi Core and surrounded his body.
Lu Changkong, now at the second tier of Qi Core, his temples streaked with wind-blown hair, possessed strength rivaling that of a martial master with five or six echoes.
Together, the two blocked the assassin's path.
The moment that silver pair of scissors appeared, both men had a name flash through their minds:
Mo Liuqi, the Silver Shear—the second greatest assassin in the world.
His scissors struck unseen, his blood-soaked trail vanished without a trace.His reputation, second only to Mo Yihen—the number one assassin.
Mo Liuqi was impossibly fast.
Disguised as a civilian coachman, he had pretended to fall clumsily—only to explode into action in a flash.
This was no spontaneous attack. It was a meticulously planned assassination.
Unlike ordinary martial masters, he made no thunderous display.A true assassin strikes without sound.
Mo Liuqi's expression was cold, his gaze fixed upon the white-haired Grand Preceptor.
His speed was peerless.
In a blink, he was beside Lu Changkong and Nie Changqing.
Clang! Clang!Two crisp sounds echoed as the silver scissors tapped against the butcher's blade, halting Nie's strike.
By the time the two regained their senses, Mo Liuqi had already slipped past like a shadow.
His qinggong was ghostly—untraceable.
Luo Yue snapped from his stupor, roaring with rage. His aura as a top-tier general surged. He reached for his blade.
But—
Mo Liuqi spun midair, expression cold as ever.
His toes tapped down on Luo Yue's hand, forcing the half-drawn blade back into its sheath.
He killed no one unrelated to his mission.
Unlike the emotionless Mo Yihen, he killed only his target. No one else.
Luo Yue stumbled back, face pale as paper.
Watching Mo Liuqi slip past like a fish in water, he shivered inwardly.Had the silver scissors aimed for his throat, he would already be dead.
——
The Grand Preceptor, his hair like snow, looked on with dim but calm eyes.
He had expected this.
Now that he was away from the capital, the Mo Clan would not let this chance pass.
"Ping'an, stay close. Be careful," the old man said solemnly, fearing harm would come to Lu Fan.
The Mo Clan's assassins were peerless—not by reputation alone.
Boom!
The Grand Preceptor's robe billowed, and a surge of mighty energy gathered above his head.
With a voice like cascading rivers, his righteous Confucian qi became pressure that blanketed the battlefield—A force to suppress all evil.
Lu Fan sat in his wheelchair, chin resting on his hand, his expression placid as water. His other hand gently stroked the woolen blanket across his lap.
A "Masters" tier expert—was no one to be assassinated lightly.
Though the Grand Preceptor seemed frail, lacking in physical strength—When he roared with righteous qi, he could shatter legions.
——
Suddenly, Lu Fan raised an eyebrow in slight surprise.
——
Mo Liuqi's face was dark and solemn.
This mission—was indeed hellishly difficult.
The righteous Confucian qi…So powerful. So terrifying.
The immense pressure sapped the strength from his limbs, made it impossible even to raise his weapon.
It crushed him so thoroughly, he nearly knelt.
A "Masters" tier opponent!
Mo Liuqi inhaled deeply.
Then—resolve flashed in his eyes.
He stabbed the scissors into his own thigh—ripping open a bloody wound.
The pain dulled his fear, just enough to break free of the oppressive qi.
He vanished again, sticking close to the shadows.
Teeth clenched, cloak whipping against his body, he drew near.
Five steps.Four steps.Three—
He could already make out the youthful face beside the Grand Preceptor—Red lips, white teeth, a faint smirk.
But Mo Liuqi paid no heed.All he saw was the target.
The Grand Preceptor raised his robe and pushed a palm forward.
Bang!
Mo Liuqi's face twisted. His pupils shrank.
It felt as though he had slammed into a wall.
Blood gushed from his mouth and nose.
With a low roar, he hurled his silver scissors.
Bloodied, they spun through the air, tearing toward the Grand Preceptor's face.
But with a mere tilt of the head, the scissors passed just a hair's breadth from the target's cheek.
Lu Fan watched, brows lightly furrowed.
He picked a black piece from the chess box.
Mo Liuqi, blood-streaked and broken, grinned faintly.
There was no despair—only a relieved serenity.
"Ah Zhu… I didn't let you down," he whispered.
Then—
His fingers curled into claws.
His face twisted.
The silver scissors—halted in midair.
They spun again, shrieking through the air—Returning toward the Grand Preceptor's exposed nape.
Two inches.One.Half—
The Grand Preceptor froze. Death's breath crept over his skin.
But then—Mo Liuqi's face went rigid.
Clink!
A clear, crisp sound rang out.
The flying scissors—stopped.
Blocked.
By a single, floating black chess piece.
That half inch—was now an insurmountable chasm.
Eyes wide, Mo Liuqi looked past the Grand Preceptor—
To the boy in the wheelchair.
Red lips. White teeth. Surprise on his face.
"You're quite something," the boy said softly."To intuit the art of 'Controlling the Blade with Intent' on your own.""A fine seedling.""Impressive."
The corners of his lips lifted, voice faint and calm.
Then—
Invisible currents swirled around his wheelchair.
He raised a hand—striking from afar.
Boom!
Mo Liuqi felt his eyeballs nearly explode, bile surging up his throat.
He slammed into the ground.
The earth cracked beneath him.
He lay prostrate, utterly crushed.
The pressure—More tyrannical than even the Grand Preceptor's righteous qi.
Invisible. Unstoppable. Deadly.
"Ah Zhu… I've failed. I've met a monster…"
Sadness consumed him.
And that was the last thought he could hold on to.