Chapter 802

Dusk.

After dusk.

The inn was very lively; almost every table in the dining hall downstairs was full, and the waiter running back and forth was sweating profusely, his voice even hoarse from shouting.

Suddenly, the sound of rapid hoofbeats rang out, and through the window, one could see a rider galloping over. The rider on the horse was just a girl of fourteen or fifteen, perhaps even younger.

She wore a snow-white garment, yet her skin was even fairer than the clothing; her face was delicate and lovely, and her eyes were especially eye-catching, like stars and moons, always carrying a hint of a smile.

So when the girl vaulted off the horse, handed the reins to the waiter, and entered the inn, she immediately drew the gazes of the guests of all walks of life in the hall.

A girl like this could not help but be eye-catching.

The little girl ignored the various gazes, chose a seat by the window on the second floor, called the waiter again to order wine and food, and then rested her head on her small hands, looking at the scenery outside the window, her lower legs swinging back and forth.

For a very pretty girl to roam the pugilistic world alone is undoubtedly a very dangerous thing.

But any old veteran of the pugilistic world with some experience knows that it is best not to provoke such a woman, not even to get involved with her.

She is either a little fox that gives even old foxes a headache, or a little white rabbit with lions and tigers backing her up.

Whichever it is, do not provoke her.

Fortunately, everyone in the inn now was an old veteran of the pugilistic world.

But unfortunately, old veterans also have times when they get drunk.

A man who was already drunk staggered over, holding a wine cup in one hand, and said with a grin, "What a pretty little girl, she looks like she could be squeezed until water comes out."

The little girl kept looking out the window, as if she hadn't heard.

The drunk man took out a piece of silver and smiled, "Come, come drink with me over there, how about it? One drink, one piece of silver, I definitely won't treat you badly. If you keep us happy, I guarantee you won't have to worry about food or drink."

The little girl still didn't speak.

The drunk man was somewhat annoyed, slapped the table, and said, "Little wench, don't refuse a toast only to be forced to drink a forfeit. In this pugilistic world, very few people can refuse to give me, 'Soul-Severing Blade' Zhang Yizhong, face." People who are drunk often become very arrogant. Even though they can't pull two copper coins from their pockets, they feel as rich as a nation. Even though they only know third-rate martial arts, they feel they are invincible under heaven.

Moreover, people who are drunk often care more about face than they do on ordinary days. Not giving them face is even more infuriating to them than killing their whole family.

"Why do you all always like to ask an old hag to drink? Don't you know that drinking is bad for an old hag's health?" The little girl finally turned her head and sighed softly.

"Old hag? Who is an old hag?" The drunkard rubbed his eyes.

"Can't you tell? I, this old person, am actually already very old."

The little girl looked like a girl, and her voice sounded like a little girl's, but her tone and demeanor were unexpectedly old-fashioned and steady.

The drunkard was stunned, his drunken eyes looking at this little girl. No matter how he looked, this was just a girl of fourteen or fifteen, not even eighteen. Suddenly, not knowing what he thought of, the drunkard gave a start, his drunkenness more than half gone, cold sweat beginning to break out on his forehead, and he said in a trembling voice, "You... you... how old are you?"

The little girl turned her head and suddenly smiled charmingly, youthful and alluring: "Me? I could be your grandmother. How old do you think I am?"

Upon hearing the words "grandmother," the drunkard was completely sober. His legs were trembling, sweat poured out like rain, and he was nearly kneeling on the ground. His face turned pale, and he stammered, "Grand... grandmother, I, I was wrong. I drank too much. I, I deserve to die, I deserve to die..."

"Since you deserve to die, why don't you go die?" The little girl's tone was very soft, as soft as a spring breeze.

She took his blade from the drunkard's waist, then held the blade against the drunkard's neck, smiling like a flower: "You are called 'Soul-Severing Blade'? Tell me, if I strike with this blade, can I sever your soul?"

"With Grandmother's blade technique, I, I can naturally only go down to see the King of Hell."

This blade was very sharp; just a light touch on the neck had already left a bloodstain. But the drunkard dared not move, nor did he dare to dodge.

Because the person he had offended was Grandmother. If Grandmother really started to torture someone, even acting like a grandson wouldn't work; dying would actually be a relief.

Swish!

The blade light flashed just once, and one of the drunkard's arms had already been severed, falling to the ground dripping with blood.

The drunkard's pupils contracted violently, his eyeballs seeming to bulge out, cold sweat like rain, yet he bit his teeth hard, not daring to say another word.

His friends had originally been watching with grins not far away, but at this moment, they finally reacted and rushed over with roars.

The drunkard, however, ignored the pain of his severed arm, desperately blocked his friends, and whispered two sentences into the ears of those drunken friends.

Those drunken friends also immediately sobered up; their legs were cramping, and two of the men were even shivering, the weapons they had been holding clattering to the ground.

"Today, Grandmother is in a good mood. Get lost!"

The little girl waved her hand as if shooing away flies.

"Grandmother's fortune is as vast as the heavens, Grandmother is merciful and compassionate." The few men acted as if they had received a pardon, hurriedly knelt down, kowtowed, and prepared to leave in a dejected manner.

"Wait."

"Does Grandmother have any other instructions?" The few burly men stopped immediately, their voices also trembling.

"Clean this place up. I have no appetite." The little girl pointed at the bloodstains and the severed arm on the ground.

"Yes, yes."

After the men finished cleaning up, nine out of ten guests in the inn had quietly left.

Even if they hadn't recognized this girl in white, they had at least heard of the "Grandmother" who had been most prominent lately—acting fiercely, possessing superb martial arts, and more importantly, this Grandmother's master was that legendary martial artist who was rarely seen. That martial arts legend seemed to have not appeared in the pugilistic world for a long time, but no one could forget his peerless demeanor.

"Grandmother is very imposing." Just then, a voice with a smile rang out.

Shangguan Xueer turned her head and saw a figure standing at the entrance of the first floor, the corners of his mouth holding a smile, calm and dashing.

The little girl's beautiful eyes lit up, she tapped her toes, her posture graceful, her white clothes fluttering, and she had already appeared before that person.

Then, amidst the stunned silence of the martial arts crowd, Shangguan Xueer grabbed the man's arm and said affectionately, "Half-Master, you didn't die."

Yu Liancheng's hand, which was originally going to land on Shangguan Xueer's head, paused in mid-air. A moment later, he rubbed her head vigorously, messing up her hair like a bird's nest, before saying, "I died, but the moment I thought of my half-disciple being incompetent, wandering around like a female hooligan, I got angry and came back to life."