Chapter 104: Blood Hand, Boiling Cauldron

Yi Wang’s Mansion.

This mansion was actually smaller than Zheng Hui’s residence.

Zheng Hui’s mansion had been built by royal order after the Southern Zhao moved its capital.

This Yi Wang’s Mansion, however, had long been the Duan family’s estate before the capital relocation.

Originally, the Yi Wang’s Mansion was in Taihe City; this place was merely the Duan Residence.

After the capital moved, Taihe City became the Duan Residence, and this place was renamed Yi Wang’s Mansion.

Duan Zhong disliked luxury; he merely had the signboard replaced and made no further expansions, so it paled in grandeur compared to the majestic palace in Taihe City.

Duan Rusu lived in a side courtyard of this mansion.

At night, he wore no armor, only a white robe, seated cross-legged in the pavilion, polishing his longsword.

On the western artificial hill, three guests of the mansion—pale-faced, bearded, with wide sleeves—had gathered to admire the moon and noticed the figure in the pavilion, nodding silently.

“The General is quite capable. The Prince is always dissatisfied with him and urges us to counsel and assist him more—this seems overly harsh.”

As the three spoke, they gazed toward the horizon.

When the moon rose, the sun had not yet set; the pale crescent was unremarkable.

Once the sun dipped below the horizon, the lone moon in the sky radiated an air of supreme dominance.

In the evening, Duan Zhong had been urgently summoned to court. He trusted his martial prowess and saw no reason the Emperor would turn against him now—even if he did, he could easily escape, so he went without hesitation.

Once he left, Duan Rusu became the highest-ranking person in the mansion.

But these three guests were no ordinary men—known as the “Diancang Trio”—their eyes were sharp, and Duan Zhong held them in high regard, often asking them to counsel Duan Rusu to curb his impatience.

“The Prince is both cultured and martial. Among the clan’s youth, he painstakingly chose the General as his heir, hoping the General would excel equally in both arts, without neglecting either.”

“We should explain more military examples and stratagems to him.”

Inside the pavilion, Duan Rusu’s hand never paused as he wiped the blade, yet his ears twitched slightly—he sneered inwardly.

He always thought his uncle was a man who had never known hunger.

His uncle had already reached the ranks of the world’s top martial masters in his prime.

With conventional training, he could make no further progress—and even if he stopped, he would not regress.

Such an uncle, of course, had time to study strategy and military texts, refining his tactical insight.

But the martial skills of other Duan family members were still far from that level.

In a warrior clan, martial prowess was the foundation.

A general who studied strategy might barely reach the threshold of a first-rate strategist, but he would neglect his martial arts.

What good would strategy be if, in the midst of a war tent, he was suddenly stabbed to death by an assassin?

Duan Rusu had known since childhood that he possessed exceptional martial talent, and he resolved to reach the pinnacle of martial skill before reaching middle age.

As for everything else, he could deal with it after achieving supreme martial mastery.

Thus, his uncle assumed Duan Rusu acted hastily when handling strategy, unaware that Duan Rusu deliberately sought danger to hone his martial skills.

Ten years without war meant no true master in the mansion truly harbored murderous intent toward him.

The slaves secretly captured had murderous intent, but their strength was pitiful.

The man with the sword and the man with the knife at the Astronomer’s Tavern were perfect sparring partners.

Zeng!!

Duan Rusu’s silk cloth swept across the blade’s edge with slightly greater force; recalling those two men, his heart still burned with heat.

Their strength was solid, and their demeanor clearly showed unyielding resolve—if captured, they would provide ample practice.

Damn that old Zheng for interfering!

Duan Rusu’s thoughts were abruptly shattered by a distant, muffled boom.

Dong!!!!

The sound seemed to come from the mansion’s main gate.

The next instant, the guards’ shocked and furious shouts erupted everywhere.

Guards rushed from all corners of the mansion toward the main gate, feet pounding, weapons raised, lanterns swinging wildly.

But those cries of fury began at the courtyard closest to the main gate.

One after another, they changed pitch.

Roars and commands either cut off abruptly or turned into screams.

The Diancang Trio leapt up, each stepping on a rock of the artificial hill, soaring to the pavilion’s roof.

Three figures, like geese in formation, landed together on the pavilion’s peak.

Their eyes darted like the most alert hawks, fixed on the mansion’s main gate.

The heavy red-lacquered wooden gate had vanished—only scattered shards remained on the ground.

A stone lion, once stationed before the gate, had smashed into the courtyard’s screen wall.

Around the debris of wood and stone lay the corpses of Duan family guards.

The three elders’ gaze instantly swept from the gate along the central axis backward.

One courtyard after another showed scattered corpses and flying lanterns.

A crimson cloak stretched taut in the night wind.

The red-clad figure gripped two guards by the neck and stormed into the mansion’s central hall.

The Diancang Trio’s hearts jolted.

From the moment they reached the pavilion roof and took in the scene,

In that brief instant, the intruder had already surged from the main gate all the way to the central hall.

What kind of skill, what kind of brutality—could this even be called an assassination?

“That crimson robe…”

The Diancang Trio exclaimed in unison, “It’s Hai Donglai!!”

Not every crimson-robed master was Hai Donglai.

But a crimson-robed master with such brutality, motive, and power to directly assault the Southern Zhao Yi Wang’s Mansion—

Their first and only thought was Hai Donglai.

Just as they uttered the name,

The roof of the central hall exploded in a thunderous crash!

The crimson figure shot skyward, smashing through the roof in a gaping hole.

Broken rafters and heavy tiles scattered outward with a deafening roar.

In a flicker, the red-clad man planted one foot on the edge of the hole, his head already turning toward the side pavilion.

In that instant, the Diancang Trio saw beneath the crimson cloak a face far too young.

He appeared no older than twenty, unlike the legendary Hai Donglai.

But they had no time to ponder.

For the young man locked eyes with them, and from the central hall’s roof, he moved as if taking only two powerful strides.

The wind rushed violently closer—he was already lunging onto the side pavilion.

The crimson cloak trailed behind like a blazing tail slicing through the air.

The Diancang Trio’s eyes hardened instantly—they struck simultaneously.

Silver-white swordlight flashed from their sleeves, glinting across their aged faces.

Three blades lunged toward the crimson shadow.

Chu Tianshu’s right hand shot up with a sharp air-burst.

His arm trembled like a spearhead—three phantom strikes slammed into the sword blades.

Each sword’s spine was struck by a fingernail, instantly deflected.

Three clangs merged into one: “Dang!!”

All three swords were semi-rigid longswords, not flexible ones.

The Diancang Trio could conceal them within their wide sleeves, undetectable even while walking, sitting, or lying down.

Merely this feat revealed their extraordinary sword control.

Their swordplay had reached the point where they could carve characters onto a man’s skin with the tip—leaving only a white mark, without breaking the skin.

If used to kill, the victim might not even feel pain before head and body were severed.

Moreover, their soul-force was remarkably similar; all three named it “Sword Eye.”

The human eye is one of the hardest parts to train through endurance methods; ordinary eyes have a limit to how fast they can track movement.

Beyond that limit, even if an opponent moved directly before them, the eye could not catch it.

The “Sword Eye” was far keener than the elders’ own eyes.

Their swords seemed to automatically track fast-moving targets, even sensing the enemy’s next move and instinctively aiming for openings.

All the elders had to do was feel the sword’s subtle cues and unconsciously channel their strength along the blade’s direction.

As the three swords were deflected by Chu Tianshu’s single arm,

The three swordsmen instinctively flicked their wrists downward together.

The blades came from different angles, yet their tips converged at one point.

All their force struck precisely at Chu Tianshu’s belt.

That spot was not only where his divine sword resided, but also the central pivot of his entire body’s power.

Yet Chu Tianshu suddenly dipped his head forward and snapped his feet sharply backward.

His entire body, in that instant, seemed suspended midair, with three swords beneath him.

The Three Elders of Diancang needed no time to think—their swords automatically began to rise, ready to unleash force.

But Chu Tianshu’s two palms had already snapped shut from the sides.

As those two massive hands closed rapidly, the arms holding the swords of the Three Elders of Diancang were crushed together.

Three thin, sinewy arms, hidden beneath sleeves, like three gnarled, bark-covered tree trunks, lined up and collided.

The sound of bones shattering, grating and nauseating, rang out clearly.

All three swords flew from their hands.

Under searing pain, the faces of the Three Elders of Diancang went briefly blank.

Chu Tianshu released his grip and unleashed three rapid, consecutive palm strikes.

Each man took a palm to the face, their skulls caved in, bodies jerking violently backward.

Zing!!!

At that moment, a blade suddenly stabbed upward from beneath the pavilion.

Chu Tianshu and the three swords had not yet touched the ground.

This sword pierced through the gaps between the lifeless blades, its tip aimed straight at Chu Tianshu’s heart.

The man inside the pavilion had not seen the battle above—yet this strike was perfectly accurate.

Moreover, the blade had pierced through the pavilion’s tiles without shattering a single one.

It was as if those tiles had reverted to the state of raw mud before they were fired.

One thrust, force concentrated, as if encountering no resistance!!

Chu Tianshu’s pupils contracted slightly, yet showed no trace of shock.

While fighting the Three Elders of Diancang, his movements had seemed perilous—but he had never stopped sensing his surroundings.

He had heard the man in the pavilion kneel, raise his sword, and coil his energy, waiting to strike.

This sword thrust, though masterfully executed, was within his expectations.

The residual force in Chu Tianshu’s waist and back twisted urgently—he dropped his right shoulder.

The blade aimed at his heart grazed his chest, barely tearing the outer robe.

Chu Tianshu’s right hand had already swept out.

This palm strike was swift as thunder, offering no pause, no evasion.

The precious longsword, which had cut through tiles as if they were mud, snapped clean off at the level of the tiles.

Chu Tianshu twisted again, facing the pavilion, his left palm striking downward with a burst of air.

Boom!!!!

The pavilion’s roof was not as spacious or sturdy as the central hall.

With this palm strike, the power of Palm Thunder rippled instantly through the wooden beams.

Half the pavilion’s roof collapsed outright, tiles and dust cascading down in a single rush.

Duan Rusu had not expected the Three Elders of Diancang to die so quickly—his full-force ambush had no effect.

As the pavilion collapsed, he lunged forward, rolled, and grabbed a banana leaf with his hand, then whipped it back.

Bam!!

The broad, soft banana leaf shattered under the force he unleashed from his palm.

Yet each fragment flew out like steel.

Duan Rusu’s martial soul was not in the sword, but in his ring, named “Asura Path.”

A common iron sword, when infused with his martial soul’s power, could slice through iron as if it were mud.

The blade’s strength would become extraordinary, able to withstand lateral pressure of a thousand catties without bending.

These banana leaf fragments, when guided by his martial soul’s power, had killing power comparable to dozens of crossbow bolts.

But as Chu Tianshu landed, he grabbed his cloak with his left hand, spun it forward, and swept it.

Breaking into Shaolin Stance: Robe Subdues Demons!

Ordinary Immortal Qi could bind cloth into a staff, but it would tighten fibers in one direction while loosening them in another, creating weaknesses.

But the Shaolin monks’ specialized technique, “Robe Subdues Demons,” transmitted force without drastically altering the cloth’s fiber alignment.

It relied solely on a spiraling, whipping force to make the cloth momentarily rigid as an iron plate.

The shattered banana leaf fragments, as they struck, were all deflected by the cloak’s spin and sweep.

The entire process was so brief it seemed no more than Chu Tianshu’s arm moving once forward and back.

Duan Rusu had intended to use this moment to escape.

Yet as Chu Tianshu’s cloak flicked, the leaf fragments vanished—and his foot surged forward, still closing in a straight line.

Duan Rusu raised his arm to block, but the sudden proximity of that face shook his spirit.

“You’re not the sea…”

Dong!!

Chu Tianshu’s palm smashed into Duan Rusu’s crossed arms, jolting his chest.

Duan Rusu’s entire face flushed crimson, as if painted with cinnabar; fine streams of blood spurted from both ears.

Chu Tianshu switched to his left hand and struck the same spot again.

A series of sharp, rattling cracks echoed from within Duan Rusu’s body—bones shifting and trembling.

One Palm Thunder strike shattered every capillary beneath the skin, turning the entire body crimson.

One Breaking into Shaolin—using his own sinews and bones to transmit force, shaking the opponent’s joints out of alignment, raising his body temperature.

“The life you stole from me last time—I’m taking it back now!”

Chu Tianshu whispered, then rose, leaping onto the wall.

“Prince Duan Zhong, from Haidong in Chang’an—I have come to Nanzhao to challenge you to a duel!”

The booming voice echoed through the ears of every remaining person in the Prince’s mansion.

The surviving guards also saw the red shadow leap away, vanishing into the distance.

"March 15, Cuiyan in Chengnan—I challenge you to a duel to the death. Do not fail to appear!!!"

Duan Rusu stood frozen, face swollen red with shock.

Soon, armored soldiers rushed in, their footsteps shaking the ground—only to see the corpse twitch and collapse.

(End of Chapter)