Killing Monks

Twenty-three years ago, it was a bitterly cold winter night.

Lu Chengyu is being hunted down.

At that time, he had many enemies. He walked through a dark alley in an unfamiliar county town.

As he turned a corner, he suddenly saw a lantern.

A dim, swaying lantern hung on the shaft of a dilapidated cart.

A simple cloth shed was set up next to the car, with two low tables under it, and white steam rising from a large pot.

It's a noodle stall.

The stall owner was an old man in his sixties or seventies, curled up by the stove, dozing off.

Lu Chengyu hadn't eaten anything all day.

He stepped forward and asked, "Old man, do you still have wine and noodles?"

The old man woke up with a start, and seeing a guest at the door, he quickly rubbed his hands together: "Yes, yes, yes! It's so cold outside, please have a seat!"

He deftly warmed the wine, rolled out the dough, and boiled the water. Before long, a steaming bowl of plain noodles and a pot of warmed cheap wine were placed in front of Lu Chengyu.

Just as Lu Chengyu picked up his chopsticks, footsteps suddenly came from the dark street corner.

a woman.

A very beautiful woman, yet incredibly thin.

She was wearing a thin, old coat, her face was blue from the cold, her lips were chapped, but her eyes were frighteningly bright.

She walked up to the noodle stall and stared at the noodles on Lu Chengyu's table.

"Great hero," she pleaded, "could I have a bowl of noodles? I won't eat for free. If I eat your noodles, I can sleep with you."

Lu Chengyu looked up and glanced at her.

There was no coquettishness or calculation in the woman's eyes, only the longing in the eyes of the person opposite her.

Lu Chengyu nodded.

The woman sat down opposite.

Lu Chengyu pushed the untouched bowl of noodles in front of him towards her.

She picked up the bowl, and without even using chopsticks, started slurping the water directly from the rim.

She didn't bother to wipe the soup off her face.

In no time, the entire bowl of noodles, soup and all, was gone. Meanwhile, Lu Chengyu hadn't even finished his glass of wine.

He frowned and gestured to the old man, "Make another bowl."

When the second bowl of noodles was served, the woman still wolfed it down, as if she hadn't eaten in three lifetimes.

"You seem...very hungry?" Lu Chengyu put down his wine glass and asked softly.

The woman looked up from her bowl, a noodle still hanging from the corner of her mouth: "I haven't eaten for three days."

She thought for a moment and then added, "But don't worry, since I ate two bowls of your noodles, I can sleep with you for two nights."

Lu Chengyu didn't speak, but simply raised his hand again, signaling the old man to continue.

When the third bowl of noodles was ready, the woman finally slowed down and ate it in small bites.

After finishing her third bowl, she wiped her mouth and stood up:

"Hero, I'm finished eating. Come with me."

Just as Lu Chengyu was about to get up, the old man suddenly grabbed his sleeve.

The old man leaned closer and whispered, "Sir... she... she's sick."

Lu Chengyu looked at the old man.

The old man sighed: "Her parents died when she was very young, and she had to struggle to make ends meet..."

The woman's body froze.

She lowered her head, her face turned deathly pale, and said in a soft, weak voice:

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to lie to you..."

Lu Chengyu remained silent for a moment.

In the years he's been traveling the world, he's seen far too many things like this.

Those crushed by the world's cruelties will abandon dignity, shame, and health in order to survive.

The world of martial arts is never the chivalrous tale of chivalry and revenge found in folk stories; it is more about blood, tears, and helplessness.

He stood up and walked over to the woman.

The woman flinched, thinking she was about to be beaten.

Lu Chengyu pulled her to the corner of the wall. Just when the woman thought Lu Chengyu was going to make her take off her clothes, Lu Chengyu took out a few pieces of silver from his pocket, took her hand, and gently placed the silver in her palm.

"Take it to the doctor," Lu Chengyu said, "and then... live a good life."

The woman was stunned.

She looked down at the few silver coins in her palm, then looked up at Lu Chengyu, her eyes filled with disbelief.

"Why?" she asked.

Lu Chengyu looked at her and suddenly smiled.

That smile was so warm, yet it stayed with the woman for a lifetime.

"For no reason," he said, "it's just because there are still fools like me in this world."

Having said that, he turned around, walked back to the noodle stall, drank the unfinished wine in one gulp, tossed down a piece of silver, and walked into the darkness without looking back.

Who could have imagined that the frail woman who sold herself for a bowl of noodles on a cold night twenty-three years ago would later become the "White-Haired Witch" who struck fear into the hearts of the martial arts world?

However, Lu Chengyu had already forgotten what she looked like.

To him, it was just a small thing he did casually while traveling the world.

Such "trivial matters" are not isolated incidents in his life; he has done them and forgotten them.

The world is too vast, and humans are too insignificant.

"So it was you..." Lu Chengyu staggered to his feet with the help of the white-haired witch.

He looked at her snow-white hair, his eyes filled with complex emotions. "You really did... survive. That's good."

Bu Xie Lao gripped the Frost Sword tightly, a cold glint flashing in his eyes: "My benefactor, I will kill that rebellious son for you."

"No."

Lu Chengyu's face suddenly darkened, and his voice turned sinister: "This is a family matter for the Lu family. You, don't interfere!"

"But!" Old Bu Xie wanted to persuade him again, but he saw the disheveled old Taoist priest not far away glance at him indifferently.

Just one glance.

Bu Xielao froze, his mind jolted, all his words caught in his throat, and even the flow of his inner energy became slightly sluggish.

That's a warning!

"This is a family matter for the Lu family."

With a wave of his sleeve, the old Taoist priest sent a gentle force, like clouds unfurling, lightly brushing Bu Xie Lao away to a distance of three zhang, without even stirring up a speck of dust.

When Bu Xielao landed, he gritted his teeth and tried to move again, but found that his energy was firmly locked and he couldn't even lift a finger.

She stared in horror at the old Taoist priest, but he had already turned his head away and continued peeling his peanuts.

Lu Chengyu stopped looking at her.

He slowly straightened up, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and looked at Lu Fei, who was radiating murderous intent.

"Fei'er," his voice suddenly calmed, a calmness that sent chills down one's spine, "you don't actually think...you've already won, do you?"

He lightly brandished the long sword he had seized from the Lu family members, its blade gleaming with a chilling silver light in the sunlight.

Immediately, he adopted an extremely strange stance, with his right leg slightly bent, his left leg back, his body leaning forward like a bow, and his long sword pointing diagonally at the ground with the tip slightly upturned.

He was like a hungry wolf poised to pounce, all his energy and spirit focused on the tip of the knife.

This is the final move of the Lu Family Knife Technique.

It is also the most dangerous move.

His name is "Sacrifice"!

This strike leaves no room for retreat, no room for change, no room for defense. It stakes all one's strength, all one's will, and even one's life on this single strike; failure means certain death.

Cast aside all distracting thoughts, and let only one thought remain in your mind:

The person before me must be killed.

Lu Fei did not hesitate. He knew that this strike should not be used unless absolutely necessary.

Once you use it, there's no going back!

"interesting!"

He took a deep breath, gripped the black knife tightly with both hands, and assumed the same stance.

The black blade hummed in his hand, its blood-red veins pulsating as if trembling with excitement.

He believes it!

His own knife was faster than Lu Chengyu's.

Her own hatred was fiercer than Lu Chengyu's.

The courtyard was deathly silent.