The savage expression on the man’s face froze for an instant.
In that fleeting moment.
Wan Ze’s footwork shifted, and by a hair’s breadth, he dodged the slashing blade.
Simultaneously, he sank his waist and set his stance.
His spine aligned, vertebra by vertebra, like a great dragon as his fingers clenched into a fist.
A torrent of energy surged to his knuckles. A Power, violent and ferocious to the extreme, was gathering with mad intensity!
This wasn’t Sword Momentum.
It was the Momentum of a fist!
It was the might of a tiger and a wolf! The killing Momentum forged through countless life-and-death battles!
’Who ever told you that my greatest strength... was Swordsmanship?’
Wan Ze’s eyes were ice-cold, his heart perfectly calm.
He met the man’s astonished gaze and aimed for his wide-open chest...
and threw a punch!
Iron Mountain Fist—Ultimate Divine Fist!
KILL!!!!
BOOM!!!
The man’s charging body came to a dead stop, as if he had slammed into an invisible steel wall. He froze mid-stride.
The savagery, the rage, the madness on his face—all of it was instantly replaced by boundless horror!
He could clearly feel a terrifying Power, as explosive as thunder, ignore his body’s defenses and punch straight through him...
...landing right on his heart!
"Pfft!"
His heart exploded.
The man’s eyes bulged, a web of red veins spreading across them. He opened his mouth to scream but only sprayed a thick torrent of blood mixed with chunks of his internal organs.
"You..."
’You’re... you’re not a Swordsman!?’
All his Power, all his consciousness, had been utterly shattered by that single punch.
The long saber slipped from his grasp, CLANGING against the floor.
His body swayed.
He pitched forward limply.
He crashed heavily onto the stone tiles, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
The brawny man’s face was twisted, his eyes wide with disbelief and confusion. He was dead.
From the moment he roared and charged down the stone steps for the second time to the moment his still-warm corpse collapsed on the ground, no more than a breath or two had passed.
The battle was over.
The stone chamber fell back into a dead silence.
Wan Ze crouched and deftly searched the man’s body.
From an inner pocket pressed against the man’s chest, he pulled out a flat object carefully wrapped in waterproof oilcloth. It was still warm to the touch.
With no time to examine it, he stuffed it inside his own coat. Then Wan Ze turned to Miss Ling, who was still frozen in place, and called out.
"Let’s go."
The shout jolted her back to her senses. Her gaze drifted dazedly over the corpses on the ground, her face twisting in revulsion. Still, she forced herself to endure it, carefully lifting the hem of her dress as she tiptoed around the bloodstains and hurried to Wan Ze’s side.
Once she reached him, she couldn’t help but glance at the tall, dead man beside them. She wrinkled her nose, then looked up at Wan Ze with a mixture of awe and adoration. "You... you’re so strong! Oh my god! I feel like you’re even more incredible than your senior brother, Lei Ming."
"How are you feeling? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?" Wan Ze ignored her question, instead studying her expression, trying to determine if he was looking at Miss Ling or the other woman.
"I... I’m fine. Much better..." Miss Ling found it strange herself. Just minutes ago, she had been scared to death, her mind a complete mess. But after witnessing Wan Ze resolve the crisis so decisively, she felt a wave of relief wash over her.
’A sense of security?’
’...Excitement?’
She couldn’t make sense of it.
The tension in her shoulders eased.
Although the stench of blood in the basement was still nauseating, the fear in her heart had mostly subsided.
"Then let’s get out of here," Wan Ze said without further delay. He grabbed her wrist; her skin was cool and slightly damp with sweat.
He led her quickly up the stone steps, his pace brisk.
Miss Ling stumbled along behind him. She couldn’t help but glance back at the basement entrance and ask in a small voice, "What about... them? And this place... what’s going to happen?"
"I’ll have someone take care of it. You don’t need to worry," Wan Ze replied without looking back.
"Oh, okay." Upon hearing that, Miss Ling stopped asking questions. She just nodded obediently and followed close behind him.
Wan Ze didn’t take her back to Songyun Garden or anywhere else. Instead, he headed straight for the Dragon Eagle Martial Arts Hall.
Regardless of the attackers’ origins or whether they had accomplices lurking in the shadows, the Dragon Eagle Martial Arts Hall was undoubtedly one of the safest places in the Holy City.
With his master personally overseeing the hall, their opponents would have to send a Grandmaster to make a move.
Otherwise, they could do nothing but watch helplessly.
As for investigating the attackers’ identities, he had already asked Zhai Jia to look into it.
...
Inside the martial arts hall, the door closed, shutting out the chaos of the outside world for the moment.
Wan Ze walked to a table and beckoned to Miss Ling. "Come here."
Not knowing what came to her mind, Miss Ling’s cheeks flushed faintly, the tips of her ears turning red. She shuffled over awkwardly, her voice a little lower than before. "...What is it?"
But Wan Ze simply reached out and took the *Mountain Ghost Patrol Hunting Painting* from inside the windbreaker she was clutching to her chest, then carefully unrolled it on the table.
"What secret is this painting hiding?"
First, there was Miss Ling’s second personality.
Then, it attracted a group of assassins. The saber-wielder didn’t have the characteristic tattoos of the Secret Palace, so he wasn’t one of them...
Wan Ze looked up at Miss Ling, gesturing for her to come closer. "You should take a close look, too. Maybe you can see something I can’t."
Miss Ling realized she had gotten the wrong idea, and her face grew even hotter. She quickly shook off her jumbled thoughts and leaned over the table.
At first, she didn’t dare to look directly at the blurry, bewitching eyes of the Mountain Ghost in the painting, and her gaze shifted away.
But after forcing herself to calm down, she began to examine the painting intently.
Soon, Miss Ling’s gaze fell upon an inconspicuous inscription in the bottom-left corner of the scroll. A few tiny characters, written in small script, were slightly faded with age.
"Huh?" she murmured, leaning even closer, almost pressing her face to the painting.
"See something?" Wan Ze asked immediately.
"Here... this signature seal..." Miss Ling pointed, her tone uncertain. "Taoze Wanderer... I think I recognize that name."
"You know the artist? Is he from ancient times?" Wan Ze asked, surprised.
The painting had an ancient feel to it, so he had instinctively assumed it was a relic from a bygone era.
"No, not from ancient times." Miss Ling shook her head, trying to recall. "Tao Ze... If I’m not mistaken, this Master Tao Ze was a modern master of expressive painting, known for his landscapes and figures with mythical and supernatural themes. He... I think he passed away from an illness just over a decade ago. I took a Chinese painting appreciation class in college and even copied one of his works, the *Mist Hidden Monkey Cry Painting*, so the name sounds familiar."
"A modern artist? Who died just over a decade ago?" Wan Ze’s brow furrowed.
"So this painting might be one of Master Tao Ze’s works, and my grandfather kept it in that hidden basement? But why would he leave only this one painting in such a large space?" Miss Ling grew even more bewildered.
"But the problem is... if your memory is correct, you didn’t see this painting when you first went into that basement to sort through your grandfather’s belongings. But now, here it is." Wan Ze turned to look at her.
Then he posed a critical question: "Besides you, who else might have a key to that basement? Or who even knows it exists? And who would be able to place this painting inside without breaking the lock?"
Hearing this, Miss Ling froze completely.