Killing Monks

Guangyuan's actions over the past year have offended too many people.

It wasn't just offending one or two people, it was offending a whole lot—those old nobles who had lived in the capital for generations, dozens of generations, even hundreds of generations.

Those old nobles who relied on marriage alliances, mutual support, and treating the world as their own, those who thought their blood was blue and others' blood was red, that blue was more noble than red, and that noble people should ride on the heads of lowly people—they were killed by Guangyuan.

It's not about killing with a knife, it's about killing with a system. A system is more ruthless than a knife.

A knife kills only one person; a system kills a family, a clan, a surname, an entire social class. It wipes them all out, leaving no one behind.

After the killings, their land was divided, their silver was used up, and their houses were occupied by others. Their sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons could no longer live off the ancestral tablets for the rest of their lives.

They hate.

I hate it to the core. I hate it so much I can't sleep. I hate it so much I grind my teeth in my dreams.

Grinding and grinding, the tooth breaks, but it still needs to be ground. Once it's ground up, it's swallowed, and swallowed into the stomach, causing stomach pain, so painful it makes you writhe.

As they rolled around, they thought—why?

Buddha used to bully us, and now you, Guangyuan, are bullying us too?

We accept that Buddha bullies us; but what are you, Guangyuan?

You're just a teacher, a peasant, a bastard who doesn't even know who his own parents are.

What gives you the right? Because you have a knife? We have knives too. Because you have men? We have men too. Because you can reason with people?

We will also explain the reasons.

If I can't argue with you, I'll just stop.

They don't reason, they fight with knives. A fast knife slows down reason; a slow knife speeds up reason. The difference between fast and slow isn't time, it's fate.

So, before they died, they made their move.

They used every connection they could and spent every penny they could to bring out those Heavenly Realm warriors who were hiding in the shadows and never made a move easily.

If one isn't enough, invite two; if two aren't enough, invite four; if four aren't enough, invite eight.

Eight Heavenly Realm warriors attacked simultaneously. Even a god would find it hard to escape death. They didn't believe Guangyuan was a god.

Guangyuan isn't a god; he's human. Humans die. When they die, they lose everything. And with everything gone, they win. Winning means they can take back what they lost. Taking it back means they can go back to their old lives.

The old days were so good. So good that they were willing to give anything to get them back. If they couldn't get them back by force, they would steal them. If they couldn't steal them back, they would kill them.

They've come back to fight their way back; it's theirs now.

What's theirs, no one can take it away. Even if they do, they'll have to return it. If they don't, we'll kill them until they do. After that, no one will dare not return it.

No one dares not pay back, so they can sit comfortably forever. Being comfortable means they have nothing to fear. And without fear, they can sleep soundly.

They haven't had a good night's sleep in a long time.

The moment darkness descended, Guangyuan's eyes lit up.

It wasn't the kind of brightness reflected by candlelight, but the kind of brightness that emanated from the inside out, like a piece of charcoal whose surface ash had been blown away by the wind, revealing the scorching red underneath.

He didn't move in the chair, not because he didn't have time to move, but because he didn't need to. His body reacted faster than his thoughts, so fast that before he could even figure out how to respond, his body had already acted.

"receive."

He uttered a single word softly. His voice was low, almost as if he were talking to himself, but the instant the word fell, the oncoming flash of blades suddenly slowed down.

It wasn't that the knife was slow; it was that he saw through the gaps between the blades.

Eight Heavenly Realm warriors unleashed eight deadly attacks from eight directions simultaneously, sealing off all his escape routes. But they couldn't block his eyes.

His eyes were watching, watching the trajectory of the knives, watching the breathing of the people, watching the flaws hidden behind the killing moves that even they themselves were unaware of.

The flaw was tiny, as small as a needle tip, a strand of hair, or a drop of water falling onto a red-hot iron plate, disappearing with a sizzle.

But he saw it. And because he saw it, he had an opportunity.

"change."

His hand moved. Not to block, not to catch, but to neutralize.

Dissolve the "momentum" in those killing moves. Every strike has momentum; momentum is the soul of the blade. A blade without momentum is dead; a blade with momentum is alive.

A living knife can bite, can chase, and can suddenly turn a corner and bite you hard in your most vulnerable spot just when you think you've dodged it.

Guangyuan's "transformation" doesn't mean dissolving the blade, but rather dissolving its momentum. Without momentum, the blade is dead. A dead blade is just a piece of iron. Iron itself isn't frightening; what's frightening is the person wielding it.

But when a person loses power, they die. Not truly dead, but dead in spirit. When the spirit dies, the hand weakens; when the hand weakens, the knife slows; when the knife slows, it misses its target.

A knife stabbed from behind him, as fast as lightning.

He didn't turn around. He reached behind him with his left hand and pinched the tip of the knife between two fingers. The tip of the knife was only an inch away from his back, but that inch was the edge of the world.

The moment his fingers gripped the tip of the knife, the knife's "power" leaked out like a punctured scabbard with a hiss.

The man holding the knife froze for a moment. In that instant, Guangyuan twisted his fingers, and the knife broke. The broken tip flipped between his fingers, flew back, and embedded itself in the man's shoulder.

The man holding the knife froze for a moment. In that instant, Guangyuan twisted his fingers, and the knife broke. The broken tip flipped between his fingers, flew back, and embedded itself in the man's shoulder.

The man groaned, took three steps back, and leaned against the wall, remaining motionless. It wasn't that he couldn't move, but that he dared not. The broken blade was stuck in his bone; any movement caused excruciating pain.

The excruciating pain reminded him of something that happened many years ago.

He was just a boy then, learning the sword from his master. His master said the sword was a weapon of death, and those who learned it would die by its blade sooner or later. He didn't believe it. Now he does. But it's too late.

"transport."

Guangyuan's body suddenly became blurry.

It wasn't really blurry, it was just too fast, so fast that your eyes couldn't keep up. His steps weren't big, each step landing precisely in the gaps between those deadly moves, like a fish swimming in a rapid current, the water flowing past it, yet the water couldn't wet it.

His hands weren't idle either; he slapped the second person in the chest, sending him flying. The person crashed into a pillar, which cracked, and the person was also cracked.

It's not that the body is cracked, it's that the air is cracked.

His decades of cultivated inner energy shattered like a mirror under Guangyuan's palm strike. Shattered completely, so thoroughly that he couldn't even pick it up again.

Without true qi, he is nothing. Not a Heavenly Realm martial artist, not an assassin, not anyone. He is just a puppet with its strings cut, paralyzed on the ground, unable to move, and unwilling to move.

"hair."

As the last word came out of his mouth, the mirror in his arms lit up.

That mirror had been with him for many years; it was inconspicuous and unremarkable. If you held it in your arms, you wouldn't even feel its presence.