Chapter Seven: Ephemeral

Old Liu was struck in the leg by an arrow and lay immobilized. Lu Zhe had been beaten into unconsciousness—whether he lived or died was unknown. Xue Ling’er and Xue Fei’er were being humiliated by the men in black; all signs pointed to the fact that, at this moment, they were helpless lambs awaiting slaughter.

“As long as you spare my two daughters, you can do whatever you want with me—kill me or cut me to pieces,” Old Liu spat these words at the leader of the black-clad assailants, his voice filled with hate.

The leader paused at his words, then shook his head and let out a sinister laugh, his eyes glinting with cruelty. “Spare them, you die. Don’t spare them, you still die. We only care about money, not people. Don’t talk to me about parental love or any such nonsense.”

Seeing persuasion was futile, Old Liu gritted his teeth. “If you let them go, I’ll give you all my money.”

The black-clad leader shook his head again, replying coldly, “Whether I spare them or not, your wealth will be mine. Today, you must die.”

“Is there truly no way out? Are we all doomed to die? My own death is nothing, but my daughters will be disgraced! Must I just stand by and watch?” Old Liu roared inwardly, his heart ablaze with fury.

Just as the black-clad man stripped off Xue Ling’er’s last outer garment, her body was left with only a single undershirt of fine silk, her pale skin gleaming like snow, barely concealed.

The sight stunned the black-clad man; in all the women he had seen, never had he encountered such ethereal beauty, skin as pure as snow.

Yet, as the final garment was torn away, tears finally spilled from Xue Ling’er’s eyes. Her teeth slowly pressed against her tongue—she knew there was no escaping disgrace today. According to her nature, even in death, she would not let herself be sullied by such men.

Just as Xue Ling’er steeled herself to bite down, suddenly, a powerful aura swept through the room, thickening the very air.

It was not only Xue Ling’er who sensed this change; every person present felt it. The leader of the black-clad men, especially—being a practitioner of spiritual power and a Three-Star Spirit Master, his sensitivity to the energy of all things was keener than most.

A moment before, he had pointed his sword at Old Liu, but now, under the weight of this overwhelming aura, his body bent in submission.

His face turned grim, and he hastily summoned his energy to resist, but even with all his strength, he could barely stand against the pressure. Glancing about, he saw that everyone else—his own men included—were pressed to the ground by the same force.

“Second and Third are at the pinnacle of Spirit Master, Fourth is an Eight-Star Spirit Master, and yet none can move beneath this aura’s pressure.” The leader was deeply shocked.

“I received no intelligence of such a formidable figure in the Xue family,” he muttered.

He began to scan the room for the source of the aura. When his gaze fell upon Lu Zhe, he suddenly realized that the youth who had been knocked down by Fourth was now slowly rising from the ground, straight as a rod, and the aura emanated from him.

“Spiritual energy exposed? Grand Spirit Master?” Upon identifying the source, the leader’s mind leapt to this terrifying rank.

“No, impossible—he’s not yet fifteen. One so young cannot cultivate spiritual power, and even if he were fifteen, he shouldn’t be able to reveal spiritual energy. Grand Spirit Master is a title reserved for those at least twenty-five, or exceptionally gifted ones above twenty. But this youth is, at most, fifteen—a fifteen-year-old Grand Spirit Master? If word got out, it would shame countless cultivators.” Suppressing his fear, the leader tried to collect his thoughts.

He stared at the slowly rising Lu Zhe. Once fully upright, the youth’s face bore a cold, grim line far beyond his age. His hair, which had been black, now cascaded snowy white over his shoulders, lending him an air of age and gravity.

As Lu Zhe stood, all eyes turned to him. Though their bodies were pinned down, their heads could still move. When they saw the visible white aura radiating from him and his snow-white hair, shock gripped them all.

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“Who… who are you?” The leader of the black-clad men finally could not suppress his astonishment, his voice trembling. The pressure from a Grand Spirit Master was negligible for true powerhouses, but for a mere Three-Star Spirit Master like him, it was overwhelming.

“Who? Ha, what do you think?” The eyes of “Lu Zhe” glinted with a terrifying chill, his voice icy, devoid of any youthful tone.

“What’s happened to Lu Zhe?” Old Liu, leaning against a pillar, stared in astonishment. The youth before him was nothing like the boy he knew.

Now, “Lu Zhe’s” face held no trace of its usual warmth—only cold, fierce eyes and a demeanor so sharp it pressed upon the soul.

The leader felt a chill run down his spine, not for any particular reason, but because his instincts told him that the youth before him might bring their ruin.

“Who… who are you?” The black-clad man was losing grip on his senses, for the pressure from this youth was far beyond expectation.

“Hmph. What does it matter if you know? You’ll all die here anyway.” Expressionless, his frozen gaze could chill the earth itself.

“What! Damn it!” The leader heard the murderous intent in “Lu Zhe’s” words, and immediately channeled spiritual power to his feet, spinning around and sprinting toward the window on the right side of the dining hall. He knew well—the difference between Spirit Master and Grand Spirit Master was vast. A Grand Spirit Master could kill him effortlessly. If he didn’t flee now, when would he? He was so terrified that he abandoned his comrades, seeking only his own escape.

“Lu Zhe” watched the leader run for his life, unmoving, as if he hadn’t seen him at all.

When the man was only four or five feet from the window, “Lu Zhe” slowly turned his head, eyes fixed on the fugitive. His feet shifted ever so slightly—and, before the eyes of all present, he vanished from sight in a manner both strange and unbelievable.

The leader glimpsed the window just a few feet away, a hint of hope curling his lips. If he escaped this room, he could live. He could call reinforcements—if necessary, the guild master could be summoned, who would surely be able to kill the youth. But just as he was within inches of the window, his body came to an abrupt halt. His eyes strained downward, where a blood-soaked hand protruded from his chest.

“Why aren’t you running? Run,” came the chilling voice from behind. Struggling to turn his head, the leader’s pupils dilated as he beheld the youthful face, his breath dying away. Life faded from those widened eyes.

A man who moments before was full of life now lay a corpse on the ground—the change so sudden, so dramatic.

“Pfft.”

Slowly withdrawing his hand from the leader’s chest, “Lu Zhe” casually licked the blood from his fingers, his face twisting into a chilling smile. Turning toward the others, he began to walk toward Xue Ling’er. As his icy gaze swept over them, every person shivered. That was not the gaze of a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old boy, but of a seasoned warrior facing his enemy.

Xue Ling’er and her sister felt somewhat reassured, knowing at least that the youth would not harm them. But the assassins’ hearts sank—their strongest, the leader, had been killed in a blink. What hope had they?

The most fearful was Fourth, the black-clad man who had beaten Lu Zhe unconscious. He knew that, after what he had done, forgiveness was impossible.

Indeed, “Lu Zhe” approached him first, walking slowly to his side. Fourth struggled to lift his head, meeting the slightly youthful face, its cold eyes staring back—like twin arrows, piercing and freezing the soul. This was the face that had just slain their strongest leader.

“What… what do you want?” Fourth’s voice trembled; the shock from earlier was too great.

“Did you enjoy beating me?” “Lu Zhe’s” face twisted into a sinister smile, his tone as icy as ever.

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At these words, Fourth’s heart froze entirely. The hunter and prey had switched; moments ago, he was the hunter—now, he was the prey. He had no power left to resist the youth he had just tormented.

“Lu Zhe” didn’t bother with words. He reached out and seized Fourth by the neck, lifting him off the ground.

“Speak. Who sent you?” The icy voice came from Lu Zhe’s lips.

Held aloft by his throat, Fourth couldn’t move. Staring at the youth, he remained silent.

“Not talking? I’ll count to three. If you don’t speak, you die.” No wasted words.

Still, Fourth said nothing.

“Three.” Lu Zhe began to count.

As his voice fell, Lu Zhe squeezed, and Fourth’s struggling hands went limp.

Lu Zhe tossed the body aside, turned to the others, and said casually, “I never count two or one.”

Fear of the youth’s ruthless cruelty began to spread among the survivors.

“Who… who are you?” the other two black-clad men asked in unison.

“Ah, asking again. What’s the use? You’ll die anyway,” Lu Zhe replied.

“Lu Zhe, what’s wrong with you?” Old Liu called out loudly from his pillar.

“Heh, ‘Lu Zhe’? Don’t compare me to that worthless fool,” Lu Zhe replied with a cold, sinister smile.

“Who are you, really?” Third asked again.

“Annoying, aren’t you? Fine, I’ll tell you my name, so you can stop pestering me.” Lu Zhe dug a finger in his ear.

“Remember, my name is Xu Miao!” he said coldly.

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