Chapter 52: Kill the Martial Grand Master with a Finger

At the same time, the senior eunuch Sun Changyu stood frozen in place.

He stared at the horrifying scene of the ruined long street behind him, his expression uncertain, and involuntarily cried out:

“You broke through?”

Hearing this, the coachman looked down at the broken hilt in his hand, then at the deep pit far away, where the two Qing-robed swordsmen had been split cleanly in two by that single slash.

“I didn’t break through—that slash wasn’t…”

Before he could finish, Li Muxian’s lazy voice came from behind:

“Remember the feeling of that slash—it’s your only chance in this life to glimpse the Heavenly Realm.”

Saying this, Li Muxian, who had not moved a single step since sitting in the carriage, waved his hand lightly and said:

“Enough. We must continue on our way.”

Then he lowered the carriage curtain, leaned back against the soft pillow, and ignored everything outside.

Both the coachman and the senior eunuch Sun Changyu remained stunned for a moment.

Sun Changyu didn’t quite understand Li Muxian’s meaning, but the coachman seemed to have caught a glimmer of something, clutching the hilt and muttering to himself:

“The feeling of that slash…”

He pondered Li Muxian’s words, trying to grasp the faint sliver of sword intent released in that instant of the strike—but perhaps due to insufficient insight, it always slipped just out of reach.

Meanwhile, the senior eunuch Sun Changyu had no time to ponder; though that slash by the coachman had shaken him deeply and slain two powerful Qing-robed swordsmen at once,

they still faced the remaining three experts closing in.

Thinking of this, Sun Changyu turned his head toward the old man in the straw cloak ahead of the carriage.

But the next instant, his eyes narrowed sharply.

The Skull-Striking Bamboo Cane Elder had stopped, standing just a few feet from the carriage.

One hand resting on his bamboo cane, he stood amid the mist rising from rain-pounded pavement, his aged face filled with shock as he stared at the rear of the carriage.

Clearly, the Skull-Striking Bamboo Cane Elder had also been stunned by the coachman’s slash.

But that wasn’t the point—the point was, he stood utterly motionless, and in the center of his forehead was a hollow, finger-sized hole.

Undoubtedly, he had been dead for some time.

And killed without warning—slain by a single finger strike, with no chance to resist at all.

“This…”

Sun Changyu’s pale face was filled with astonishment; he quickly turned to glance at the rooftops on either side of the street.

The two masked black-clad figures who had been crouched on the eaves now stood perfectly still.

Each bore the same finger-sized hole in their foreheads—clearly slain instantly, and long dead.

“What’s going on?”

Sun Changyu cried out. The coachman, now snapping back to awareness, turned to look at the three already-dead men, his eyes filled with disbelief.

“No wonder those two black-clad men never moved—they were already dead, killed without a sound.”

Only now did the coachman realize the truth.

He met Sun Changyu’s gaze, and both knew one thing: who had intervened to save them?

And more terrifying still—the man had killed three without a sound, and neither of them had sensed a thing.

“No, to be precise, all five were killed by that same person.”

The coachman shook his head, his weathered face recalling the moment of his own strike, and said:

“That slash wasn’t mine to deliver—it was as if a sword intent borrowed my strength to manifest. My entire martial qi was nearly drained by that single strike!”

As he spoke, he suddenly shifted his gaze toward the carriage beside him.

Sun Changyu, seeing this, did the same.

Both stared at the carriage through the rain, or more precisely, through the curtain at Li Muxian inside.

For a moment, both fell silent, their expressions shifting uncertainly.

Then, Li Muxian’s slightly displeased voice came again from within the carriage:

“How much longer are you going to wait?”

Hearing this, Sun Changyu and the coachman exchanged a glance and immediately remembered their mission.

At once, both snapped to attention and ceased their speculation.

The coachman spun and leapt onto the carriage seat, while Sun Changyu swiftly slipped back inside.

“Giddy-up!”

He re-hidden the remaining hilt beneath the seat and shouted loudly.

Lashing the whip, he drove the horses forward, racing past the corpse of the Skull-Striking Bamboo Cane Elder.

They had no interest in the killers’ bodies now— to avoid further trouble, they must reach the Tianjin Guard Headquarters as quickly as possible.

Wheels rolled, splashing puddles as the carriage sped through the storm-lashed street.

Inside the carriage, Sun Changyu and Li Muxian sat facing each other, the air thick with silence.

Li Muxian sipped tea while pondering the secrets of the Life-and-Death Mark martial art; Sun Changyu cast furtive glances at him, studying the young man who might well be the true Seventh Imperial Prince.

After a while, Sun Changyu could no longer suppress his curiosity and opened his mouth to speak.

But Li Muxian suddenly glanced at him and said calmly:

“Yes. I did it.”

All the questions Sun Changyu had prepared instantly died in his throat.

His face twisted with shock, confusion, doubt—expressions flickering across his soft, androgynous features.

Finally, Sun Changyu exhaled heavily and said:

“If you say so, then I’ll accept it. Had those five not died, it would have been me and the coachman lying dead out there.”

“Regardless, I thank you, Young Master, for saving my life.”

Saying this, Sun Changyu bowed deeply to Li Muxian.

Yet in his heart, Sun Changyu knew well: to deliver such a devastating slash, or to kill three Martial Grand Masters with a silent finger strike,

one would need to be at least at the Half-Heavenly Realm—or higher.

But could a young man of twenty truly reach such a realm?

Martial cultivation required constant refinement, steady qi absorption, years of patient practice to advance.

Even the so-called martial prodigy in the Imperial Prison—the fake prince—despite having no shortage of pills or scriptures, had only reached Half Grand Master at age twenty.

Frankly, Sun Changyu didn’t believe Li Muxian’s claim. He suspected a hidden martial master had been protecting him all along.

Li Muxian had merely been the vessel through which the real savior acted—his survival was due to the young man’s presence, not his own power.

So to say Li Muxian saved his life was not inaccurate.

“You eunuch, go brew me some tea.”

At this, Li Muxian merely glanced at Senior Eunuch Sun Changyu and slowly shook his head.

(End of Chapter)