The young man lifted the beast hide, revealing a flash of cold steel. His eyes — savage, sharp, beast-like — locked onto Li Changhu's gaze without blinking, alight with a dark and vicious satisfaction.
The blade shot forth like lightning, aimed straight for Li Changhu's throat. Li Changhu staggered back in terror, throwing up his hands to deflect the strike, but the speed was beyond human reaction.
This single thrust had been practiced for twenty-two years. It had shredded countless bundles of straw and fed on the hatred of countless sleepless nights. The silver flash was a lightning bolt, yet it moved with the agility of a swimming fish, slipping past Li Changhu's reaching hands and plunging cleanly into his throat.
Li Changhu managed only a few gurgling, blood-choked sobs before he crumpled to the ground. His vision blurred. Screams and shouts of fury from those around him reached his ears as if through deep water.
"BEAST!"
Tian Shoushui, standing behind Li Changhu, let out a guttural roar of anguish. Shorter than Li Changhu, his view had been completely blocked. Only when Li Changhu fell did he understand what had happened. His eyes turned scarlet, the veins on his forehead bulging as he lunged for the young man.
But the assassin had already abandoned his dagger. Using the chaos of the crowd rushing to catch Li Changhu, he rolled once across the ground and slipped through the press of bodies like a swift deer, vanishing into the reed marshes at the village edge.
Tian Shoushui charged after him, and the refugees scattered like a burst hive. He caught only a glimpse of the youth diving into the reeds and sprinting away into the distance.
"Damn it," Tian Shoushui spat, plunging into the reeds without a backward glance, leaving behind a cluster of refugees huddled together in panic.
The middle-aged man who had led the refugees was pinned against the wall by villagers, wailing and cursing. "It had nothing to do with me! I don't know that young man! He slipped in on the road!"
"Shut up!" Liu Linfeng snarled, his face ashen. He knelt beside Li Changhu, teeth gritted, and shot the man a venomous glare. His composure had shattered. His nephew lay coughing blood, clearly beyond saving. His mind reeled — how could he face his sister? How could he face Li Mutian? His nephew had died right before his eyes!
Ren Ping'an sat frozen on the ground, dazed. His daughter had married Li Changhu and was now with child. Li Changhu was dead — a boy he had watched grow up, gone in an instant.
The crowd panicked around him. Li Changhu lay on the ground, eyes open to the sky, feeling the hot blood pooling across his chest as his consciousness faded.
"I'm sorry, Xiangping," his fading mind murmured. "Your wedding will have to become a funeral." The pain and suffocation finally dragged him into boundless darkness.
Amid the chaos, unseen by anyone, a silver spark drifted up from his dantian. It trailed a faint tail like a swallow returning to its nest, spiraled once through the sky, and flew toward the Li family compound.
Not far away, Old Xu stood trembling, his stooped frame rigid. He had watched the young man drive the blade into Li Changhu's neck — the tip had even protruded from the back. A rush of blood surged from Old Xu's chest to his skull, his vision darkening, nearly fainting.
"Sinful bonds," he whispered, tears streaming down his weathered face. In his gnarled hand he clutched a string of woven grass crickets he had meant to give Li Changhu's unborn child. He pressed his fist against his chest.
"Beast," Old Xu hissed. He dragged a sleeve across his eyes, wiping away the tears, then turned and strode toward the back mountain, muttering as he went. "I've outlived my wife, I've outlived my master. I've seen more people than the wild wolves have left droppings on this road. Just you wait. Just you wait. Old Xu is coming for you."
At the Li family compound, Lu Jiangxian sighed softly within the ancestral hall. He had sensed the moment Li Changhu was struck, but the village entrance was too far away. He was powerless — he could only watch it unfold.
The silver spark hovered around the mirror like a butterfly. With a single thought, he could absorb this Fu Seed and let it nourish his spirit as pure essence. But Li Changhu had never cultivated to the Profound Vision Wheel — the seed's benefit would be minimal. Lu Jiangxian reversed his technique, channeling the *Profound Pearl Sacrificial Spirit Art* to stir the lingering spiritual consciousness within the seed. Threads of extracted power rose in the courtyard, stretching outward toward the members of the Li family.
Li Mutian had lain in bed for over an hour before drifting into fitful sleep. Moonlight poured through the window and door cracks like water. Outside, the courtyard was bright as day. His eldest son, Li Changhu, stood beside the bed, gazing at him quietly.
"What's happened?" Li Mutian asked, his voice hoarse.
Li Changhu pressed his lips together and said nothing. He studied his father's face with an intensity that suggested he was trying to memorize every feature.
Li Mutian coughed heavily, frowning. "Changhu, what's wrong?"
Li Changhu leaned forward and bowed to his father with utmost respect, his voice thick with tears. "Take care of yourself, Father."
Before the words faded, Li Changhu's figure scattered like sand in the wind. The moonlight dimmed. The bright courtyard went dark.
Li Mutian reached out frantically, calling out. "Changhu! Talk to me! Li Changhu!"
He jolted awake and stared at the window, mouth open.
In the side room, Li Chijing opened his eyes, face streaked with tears. "Can cultivation cause dreams?" he murmured. He rose and walked outside, where he found Li Tongya sitting at the wooden table.
Seeing his younger brother emerge, Li Tongya quickly wiped his face and forced a smile. "What's wrong?"
Li Chijing stared at him. "Where's eldest brother?"
"Big brother was called out early by the tenants. Probably something in the fields," Li Tongya replied, still smiling.
The front door creaked. Li Mutian stood in the doorway, face drawn with unease. "Tongya, go fetch your eldest brother... Never mind. I'll go myself."
Li Mutian hurriedly pulled on his shoes, walked to the front courtyard, and pushed open the gate. He stopped cold.
A crowd of villagers stood outside, all bearing torches, all weeping. At the foot of the stone steps, three people knelt. Beside them lay a shape covered in white cloth.
Looking at the grief-stricken, ashamed faces of Tian Shoushui and Ren Ping'an, Li Mutian's heart plummeted. His hand trembling, he descended the steps, pushed aside the weeping Liu Linfeng who tried to steady him, and lifted the white cloth.
Li Mutian's vision went black. He nearly collapsed. The brothers who had followed him out wore identical expressions of horror. Li Chijing stumbled forward, dropped to his knees, and pressed his face against Li Changhu's body, then checked for breath.
He snapped his head up, tears streaming, and glared at the surrounding villagers. His voice came out like a tiger's roar: "Who? WHO? Who dared?"
The roar struck the crowd like a physical force. Villagers stumbled back, staring at the young boy in terror.