Chapter Fifty-Three: Your Death Is What Matters Most

On the blue-stone street, the corpse of Fan Yongnian lay sprawled, his eyes wide open in death, unable to comprehend to his last breath how he had died, or how he had been so easily slain by Yang Ze.

“The mysteries of martial arts are beyond the understanding of people like you,” Yang Ze murmured, a trickle of blood sliding down from the corner of his mouth. His direct clash with Fan Yongnian, who stood at the peak of Qi Induction, had left him with injuries of his own.

Wiping away the blood, Yang Ze nonetheless felt satisfied with the outcome—he had killed Fan Yongnian using only the Black Tiger Blade Technique.

But all credit belonged to the Black Stone. Most people could train a martial art to mastery at best, but with the Black Stone, Yang Ze could bring his techniques to perfection. The perfected state of a martial art was a realm even its creator might not attain; in Yang Ze’s hands, it could unleash unfathomable power.

Then there was the Ocean Heart Technique—though only at the fourth layer, its perfection rivaled even the fifth. Had he achieved perfection with the fourth layer, he might have emerged unscathed today.

Looking down at Fan Yongnian’s body, Yang Ze produced the cloth he had prepared in advance, staunching the wound and hoisting the corpse onto his horse. He spurred the animal back the way he had come.

From their first encounter to the duel’s fatal conclusion, less than a quarter-hour had passed. One of the city’s foremost martial artists had fallen, and, luck would have it, the lateness of the hour kept his death hidden from prying eyes.

Fan Yongnian had set out secretly, intending to seek out Mu Dou; never had he imagined his caution would lead to his demise. And because of his prudence, not a soul yet knew that the patriarch of the Fan family was dead.

Galloping through the night, Yang Ze soon reached the North City. Avoiding the main roads, he stuck to back alleys until he arrived at a derelict district, where he dismounted with Fan Yongnian’s corpse.

Yuyang City was vast, its long history leaving behind not only bustling neighborhoods but also many abandoned quarters, left to ruin. While ordinary citizens would never dwell there, the city’s beggars, with no place to call home, often sought shelter among the ruins.

Wary of attracting their attention, Yang Ze took care not to make a scene. If anyone discovered what had happened, he would be forced to silence them to keep Fan Yongnian’s death a secret.

Carrying the body on his back, Yang Ze circled the area several times before selecting a particularly dilapidated house. Inside, cobwebs hung thick, the roof beams were broken, and weeds choked the floor. The place exuded a chilling gloom.

He made his way to the innermost room, tossing Fan Yongnian’s body into a corner and covering it with a fallen plank. By starlight, he checked to make sure no blood had seeped onto the ground before slipping away.

His footsteps were so light that only a martial artist could have detected them. He surveyed his surroundings closely and, reassured that no one was near, left the deserted quarter.

Once outside, Yang Ze hurried home. However secretly Fan Yongnian had moved, his absence could not remain unnoticed for long. If nothing else, when he failed to appear for meals, the Fan family would soon discover he was missing.

Returning to his study, Yang Ze found Old Xie waiting. Spotting the blood on Yang Ze’s clothes, the old man rushed forward.

“Old Xie, don’t ask questions now. Send word for Meng Yitian to return immediately. Also, have him memorize the Feng family’s layout—I need to question him about their internal structure,” Yang Ze ordered before Old Xie could speak.

Old Xie’s eyes glinted. Seeing Yang Ze return unharmed, he had already guessed what had happened, and now understood Yang Ze’s intentions perfectly. He did not attempt to dissuade him, but set about carrying out his orders.

Within two hours, Old Xie returned with Meng Yitian. By then, Yang Ze had changed into clean clothes, and Meng Yitian knew nothing of what had transpired.

“Meng, you have observed the Feng family for many days. If I asked you to describe their internal affairs, could you do so?” Yang Ze inquired.

“What exactly would the Chief Steward like to know?”

“The more detailed, the better. The full layout, the distribution of their people—I need everything. It’s of utmost importance,” Yang Ze said gravely.

Meng Yitian, seeing Yang Ze’s demeanor, felt his heart skip a beat, but asked no questions. As a subordinate, he knew what he was supposed to know. What was not his to know, he did not pry into.

Yang Ze had chosen Meng Yitian for this task for good reason; his observations had been thorough, and he had gathered much information. After an hour, Meng Yitian left the study; outside, dawn had already broken.

Old Xie accompanied Yang Ze to the door. “Young Master, should I go with you?”

“How do you know where I’m going?” Yang Ze asked in return.

“Isn’t Young Master heading to the Feng family? Forgive me for speaking plainly, but this is too risky. Infiltrating a family estate is not the same as killing a lone expert outside. All this time, Meng Yitian and I have only dared to observe from a distance, knowing that if we were discovered, we’d be finished.”

“There’s no need for further discussion. Feng Lixuan and Fan Yongnian would never expect me to strike first. Once I succeed, I’ll leave immediately. If you’re worried, wait outside the Feng estate to receive me.”

Old Xie saw Yang Ze’s mind was made up and, though helpless, could only comply.

…

Since the failed attempt on Yang Ze’s life ten days prior, Feng Lixuan’s mood had been foul. What seemed a sure thing had ended in failure, casting a shadow over his heart.

He remained wary, too, of Fan Yongnian’s suggestion to seek help from Mu Dou. Though Fan’s temper was fierce, he was no fool—he might well be laying a trap.

So Feng Lixuan took precautions, posting men for several days around the Mu family manor in the East City. If anyone tried to approach, he would know at once. If anything seemed amiss, he would turn against Fan Yongnian without hesitation.

Fortunately, Fan Yongnian had made no moves in recent days, and the Mu manor remained quiet, so Feng Lixuan had stayed home.

He had not been idle, either. Last time, he had been careless and suffered at Yang Ze’s hands. Now he racked his brain for a way to counter the young man’s blade energy, so that next time they met, he could prevail.

He had to admit, Yang Ze’s blade technique was the finest he had ever seen. He had witnessed Yang Yuanzhen’s Black Tiger Blade Technique, but compared to Yang Ze’s, it was crude and lacking. Perhaps the raw power was similar, but Yang Yuanzhen’s technique was far rougher.

“If that boy is unarmed, he’s nothing but a lamb to the slaughter,” Feng Lixuan thought, quickly grasping the key point. Against bare hands, taking Yang Ze down would be no great challenge.

He was still lost in thought when a knock came at the door, breaking his concentration and souring his mood.

“Master, I’ve brought your lunch,” rasped a voice from outside.

“Bring it in,” he replied, realizing it was just a servant.

The door opened and a man in gray entered, head bowed, bearing a tray of food.

Feng Lixuan was about to resume his train of thought when he noticed the newcomer’s silhouette seemed oddly familiar, something about him not quite right.

“Don’t keep your head down. Look up so I can see your face,” Feng Lixuan said.

But instead of obeying, the man mumbled, “Just here to deliver your meal,” and continued forward, drawing closer and closer, the food still unplaced.

A chill settled in Feng Lixuan’s eyes. An ominous feeling grew within him—something was definitely wrong with today’s attendant.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak again, the man, now only five paces away, suddenly hurled the meal at him.

In that instant, Feng Lixuan saw the man’s face—a face that had haunted his thoughts these past days: Yang Ze.

Stunned and enraged, Feng Lixuan lashed out, his palm shattering the tray and scattering the food across the floor. “You overestimate yourself! How dare you come to my home!”

“Because your death is what matters most to me. Don’t worry, Fan Yongnian is already waiting for you on the road to the underworld!” Even before Yang Ze finished speaking, the dagger hidden up his sleeve shot toward Feng Lixuan’s face as he lunged the final five steps.

Feng Lixuan moved to block the dagger, just managing to swat it aside. But Yang Ze was upon him, his right hand driving two fingers straight at Feng Lixuan’s throat.

Reacting swiftly, Feng Lixuan struck forward, trying to intercept Yang Ze’s attack.

With a crisp sound, Yang Ze’s fingers jabbed into Feng Lixuan’s palm, the force piercing clean through and leaving a bloody hole. Feng Lixuan howled in pain.