Chapter 51: One Slash, One Kill

“The Jianghu calls me the ‘Skull-Braking Bamboo Cane Elder’; my greatest joy in life is smashing skulls and sucking out brain matter, for it is truly delicious.”

The hooded elder spoke next, his gaze fixed on the heads of Sun Changyu and the coachman, gently tapping his bamboo cane against the rain-puddled street.

As if pondering the force and feel of striking their skulls next.

Then, silence fell through the rain curtain.

The hooded elder’s peripheral vision shifted to the two black-clad figures atop the eaves of the shops on either side, and said:

“Aren’t you two planning to reveal your identities?”

At this, one of the masked black-clad men slowly shook his head and replied:

“No need. After we kill them, you’ll know who struck the blow.”

Hearing this, the hooded elder paid it no mind, his gaze turning to the carriage ahead, and said:

“Don’t rush to kill the imperial prince. First, deal with these two eunuch hounds—then each of us can claim the heads as we see fit.”

At this, the two blue-robed swordsmen said:

“Perfect.”

The next instant, their true qi surged, and the long swords at their waists trembled and sang as they instantly unsheathed.

They became two streaks of clear light, flashing through the air like lightning, striking straight toward the coachman and the chief eunuch Sun Changyu.

The hooded elder did not lag behind—he slammed his withered palm hard against the bamboo cane in his hand.

The cane spun rapidly, churning the stormy winds and rains around it, hurtling toward Sun Changyu and the coachman alike.

Simultaneously, the hooded elder’s seemingly hunched body suddenly erupted with rolling true qi, radiating a scorching red glow—like a leaping hare, he followed the cane step for step without delay.

Where the cane arrived, he arrived—the murderous intent clung to them like a shadow.

Chief eunuch Sun Changyu said nothing; he simply reached out and grabbed the air.

The rain around him fell before him, transformed by his Guiyin true qi into countless icy spears of chilling darkness—next, they shot forward like a volley of arrows toward the charging hooded elder.

The coachman spun and dashed behind the carriage, gripping his blade with both hands, and slashed horizontally toward the two streaks of clear light.

A blade of light, several feet long, surged from the blade’s edge—the rain before him vaporized into mist under the blazing light, leaving a towering, horizontal slash of shadow stretching across the entire street.

A clang louder than the thunder overhead rang through the rain—the swordlight and blade-light interwove, then exploded into nothingness.

“Not bad!”

“Such a brutal blade art.”

The voices of the two blue-robed swordsmen drew near—the two streaks of clear light, previously blocked, now rested in their hands, transformed into two sinuous green steel spirit snakes, striking straight for the coachman’s ribs.

“The Tianjinwei has no shortage of nameless experts—but together, we can fight a Celestial. Killing you is effortless.”

The two blue-robed swordsmen laughed in unison.

As their words reached the coachman’s ears, his face turned ashen.

Their movements were too fast—and their swords faster still. By the time he reacted, he could only raise his blade in defense before the overwhelming sword qi slammed into him, hurling him backward.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The coachman’s feet gouged a deep trench several feet long across the street, while the entire stone-paved surface around him—dozens of feet wide—shattered and exploded outward.

For a moment, a cloud of lime dust rose from the rain, quickly drowned by the deluge.

Crack!

The coachman looked down—his long blade split open, then shattered into several pieces, falling to the ground.

Two sword cuts now marred his waist; crimson blood mingled with the rain, staining the puddles beneath him.

Meanwhile, the icy spears launched by Chief Eunuch Sun Changyu were shattered by the hooded elder’s spinning cane.

He flashed forward, gathering Guiyin true qi in one palm, and unleashed another strike: “Guiyin Xuan Palm.”

Instantly, the air above froze with chilling energy; the puddles on the ground hardened into a layer of dark, jet-black ice.

The hooded elder showed no fear—his bamboo cane glowed like a red-hot iron, wreathed in crimson light and steaming heat, its tip meeting the Guiyin Xuan Palm head-on.

The next instant, terrifying waves of true qi erupted outward, collapsing both walls and shops beside them into ruins.

But Chief Eunuch Sun Changyu clearly held the worse end—he was blasted backward by a single cane strike, only stopping when he reached the carriage.

“How’s it going?”

The green bricks beneath his feet had turned to powder; Sun Changyu finally shed the force from his body, his face grim as he turned to ask the coachman:

The coachman said nothing, tore off the torn remnants of his robe, wrapped his waist wound roughly, and said calmly:

“We can’t win. We’re probably going to die here. I’ll hold them off as long as I can—Master Sun, find a chance to escape with the others.”

Hearing this, Sun Changyu’s gaze darkened, and he instinctively glanced behind him at the carriage.

At that moment, Li Muxian lifted the carriage curtain and looked out, shaking his head:

“You’re not doing well at all.”

He pointed at the hooded elder walking slowly toward them, and said:

“That old man’s martial cultivation surpasses yours—and his qi counters yours. How are you supposed to fight him?”

Then he glanced at the coachman and raised an eyebrow:

“And you? Two against one, outnumbered—you’ve got no chance at all.”

Hearing this, Sun Changyu drew a deep breath and spoke in his soft, sinister tone:

“Young Master Li, you clearly possess formidable martial arts—why not think of how to escape these people yourself?”

At this, the coachman said nothing, but gripped the broken hilt of his blade—now reduced to less than half its length—and spoke:

“I’ve served with Master Sun for years. When I’m dead, please deliver my pension silver to my daughter. I don’t trust anyone else in the Tianjinwei.”

“And now—run!”

With that, the coachman gripped the hilt and suddenly charged toward the two blue-robed swordsmen, who watched him with amused smiles.

His body left a lingering afterimage as he vanished from the spot, leaving only a hollow, human-shaped silhouette in the torrential rain.

“Que Dao Zhan!”

The coachman roared, gripping the broken hilt in both hands, and slashed vertically downward through the air toward the two swordsmen.

Hum!

Instantly, heaven and earth trembled—the falling raindrops froze mid-air, quivering violently.

All sounds—the patter of rain, the gurgle of drains, the distant thunder—vanished in that instant.

On the empty, ruined street where the carriage stood, a golden blade-shadow, over ten zhang long, rose silently.

That golden blade-shadow was brutal, piercing, dazzling—seemingly absorbing all light from heaven and earth.

The blade-light split and warped the void, then plunged downward in an instant toward the street ahead.

This slash was so swift—from the moment the golden blade-shadow appeared to the moment it fell like a pillar from heaven and vanished—no one could trace its path.

Yet the next instant, the stretch of street before them collapsed instantly, reduced to a long, narrow trench of shattered stone and mud.

…

The coachman stared blankly at what lay before him, eyes wide, whispering:

“This… was my blade?”

(End of Chapter)