Chapter 58: Visitors from Shuixi

During this period, though the tiny Lusheng County still appeared unremarkable, it had already undoubtedly become the focal point of attention secretly watched by various factions.

With Lusheng County as its core, the single spark ignited by Yun Zheng had already spread its seeds across the entire southwest. Many people had caught the scent of this prairie fire.

Many had a premonition that, before long, a phoenix transformed from blazing flames would soar into the sky, covering tens of thousands of miles and bringing an unprecedentedly scorching storm.

In the midst of this storm, who would cross safely, and who would be torn into ashes and lingering smoke by the fierce winds—the answers remained obscure and unclear.

Faced with this undercurrent-churning region, those who sought self-preservation chose to keep their distance, avoiding potential risks and conflicts.

However, those gamblers chasing high risks and high rewards, along with young people bold enough to face challenges, continuously gathered toward the eye of the storm, seeking the exact moment the winds would rise to whip up monstrous waves.

Han Ping looked with a solemn expression at the man slowly approaching from ahead.

Han Ping had once believed that, given his martial arts skills, even if he could not be considered a peerless swordsman, he was certainly first-rate. If it came to a desperate fight to the death, even a top-tier master would have to yield to his sharp edge.

It was precisely this self-confidence that had sustained him over the years, constantly plunging him into various adventures that would make his hair stand on end in hindsight.

Yet the man before him instantly stripped away that confidence.

This delicate-featured man had merely glanced at him from afar, and in the very next instant, a short dagger had unresistingly plunged into his chest.

At that exact moment, Han Ping had almost believed he was already dead.

No one in the world could traverse dozens of paces in a split second; this was clearly just an illusion.

Sure enough, when Han Ping came to his senses in a cold sweat, he saw that the man had not moved from his original spot, only looking at him with a chilling smile.

*(So the legends aren't false... To be able to make someone feel as though they've already been killed from dozens of paces away through a dense, tangible killing intent—such people truly exist...)*

Han Ping felt his legs uncontrollably beginning to tremble, and even his sphincters growing somewhat loose.

Soon, he smelled a foul, fishy stench.

The delicate man wore an unchanging smile at the corners of his mouth, looking as leisurely and carefree as if he were strolling through an empty courtyard in spring.

Yet beneath his seemingly casual pace, his movements were actually exceptionally swift. Almost in the blink of an eye, he had effortlessly passed Han Ping, brushing shoulders with him and leaving behind an elusive figure.

After the man had walked some distance away, Han Ping suddenly clutched his own neck.

Streams of blood gushed out from between his fingers.

Han Ping desperately wanted to roar, but his windpipe had already been severed. His mouth opened and closed silently, unable to produce a single sound.

His hands pressed futilely against the wound on his neck, as if simply halting the endlessly flowing blood could stop his life from fading away.

Suddenly, dense cracks began to appear across Han Ping's skin, and fine lines of blood seeped out from them.

Han Ping's eyes widened, his eyeballs crisscrossed with bloodshot veins, and his clothes stained with patches of red spots.

Accompanied by his body's uncontrollable trembling, those cracks spread rapidly across his skin, looking like wounds torn open by an invisible force. The fine lines of blood converged into tiny streams, winding down his body before finally dripping onto the parched ground, forming bright, blooming flowers of blood.

If Han Ping were a true adventurer, this ending wouldn't actually be too bad for him, because although he died without a sound, his manner of death could be called tragic and heroic.

However, for An Litong, who had just delivered death's invitation, he had merely completed a trifling task requiring no effort.

An Litong detested this kind of gaze from someone who had never witnessed a cruel world.

Yet precisely in this twenty-sixth year of the Wanli era, as the fires of war had not yet engulfed this southwestern land, although most people lived somewhat unsatisfying lives and could hardly speak of dignity, their eyes still retained a trace of innocence and simplicity that An Litong utterly loathed, even as dissatisfaction and helplessness flickered within them.

This innocence, to An Litong who came from a turbulent era, was so abrupt that it left him deeply agitated.

"Yun Zheng," An Litong said, a sickly excitement rising on his face. "Six years ago, I seemed to have committed the second-biggest mistake of my life."

Using an exquisite piece of silk, he meticulously wiped his short dagger, which bore not a single drop of blood, while the figures of Yun Zheng and Ye Xi surfaced in his mind.

"I hope this journey to end that mistake can bring me some amusement."

Six years ago, the Tuxi rebel forces successfully breached Chishui City with the inside help of a traitor. Afterward, the rebel general An Litong personally led a team to slaughter their way into the Ye estate, butchering nearly the entire household of the Ye family, leaving only Ye Xi hiding in a secret room, bitterly sparring with An Litong using a bow and arrow.

Had Yun Zheng—then merely a low-ranking officer—not arrived in time, Ye Xi, who was already on the verge of exhaustion, would not have escaped the fate of a premature demise.

Of course An Litong wasn't afraid of the greenhorn Yun Zheng, but at that moment, Zhu Xieyuan's army descended upon Chishui like divine troops. Daring not to linger in battle, An Litong had no choice but to retreat hastily, little knowing this would become his second-most-regretted decision in recent years.

Walking as if taking a stroll in a leisurely courtyard, An Litong easily wove through the crowd. Lusheng County was merely a small town; neither lined with towering shops along its streets nor crowded with dense throngs of people, yet it possessed a certain vividness of mortal life.

Eerily, a hair-raising smile still lingered on An Litong's face, while his aura seemed to blend wondrously and seamlessly with the surrounding environment, making him appear both real and illusory, utterly elusive.

This pale-faced, bloodthirsty fiend—whose eyes revealed an indifference to life and a fanatical pursuit of slaughter—was placed within this tranquil little town without a hint of abruptness or discordance.

He seemed like a dark shadow upon this land, silently melting into the serenity.

Beneath the same heaven, just as some were as fierce and unyielding as solitary wolves, others were as cunning and shrewd as jackals.

The small Lusheng County of today, caught in a convergence of winds and clouds, happened to gather both types of people.

In a tavern somewhere in Lusheng County, three men and one woman sat around an eight-immortals table.

"That brat is using his real name to fish for us, treating us like big fish waiting to take the bait."

"Years have passed, and he is still as arrogant as ever. Alas, he simply doesn't understand the rules of this world."

"Extreme hardness easily breaks; excessive strength invites humiliation. Yun Zheng's first half of life has been far too smooth-sailing. He only needs one stroke of bad luck, and he will never have another chance."

The final voice to sound was a woman's: "Overexerting oneself will never lead to a good end. My sword has been thirsting to drink the blood of vengeance for far too long."

The woman's voice sounded quite soft and pleasant, leading one to imagine her owner must be a charming and alluring beauty, yet her tone carried zero emotional fluctuations, creating a deeply jarring sense of discordance.

The other three, however, were unfazed. They knew that the reason this woman had become what she was today was entirely thanks to Yun Zheng. Thick veils covered her face, yet they still could not conceal that abrupt protuberance.

To this day, they still found it hard to imagine that across that face, once like warm, flawless jade, there now crawled a meandering scar, resembling a fine crack splitting across an exquisite piece of porcelain, heartbreaking to behold.

Gan, Wen, and Cui were the three powerful sub-clans of the Tuxi An clan.

They had once been flourishing families in Tuxi themselves. After the An clan used various means to render their male lines extinct, collateral branches married in as successors; though they did not bear the surname An, the blood of the An clan flowed through their veins nonetheless.

Gan Zhixuan, Elder Wen, Second Master Wen, and Cui Xuanliang.

Every single one of them was a prominent name in the southwest.

Yun Zheng's high-profile announcement of his own existence was viewed by Gan Zhixuan as a symbol of "overexerting oneself." In her view, it was undoubtedly caused by a lack of understanding of the game rules of this illusory realm.

Could the illusory realm really be entered multiple times? What had they gained from it previously?

At this moment, there was no way for us to know, and the truth could only be left for time to verify.