“For real!” Elder Duan snapped, his stiff reply betraying the temper he’d been provoked into losing. Lu Sheng only chuckled, twirling the butcher knives through the air. The moment the blades moved, the air shrieked as if sliced open.
For Elder Duan to dare such a wager even after learning that Lu Sheng had mastered the Ultimate Crimson Mantra, he must have made his own calculations of Lu Sheng’s current strength. After a brief moment of thought, Lu Sheng decided to push his power to Level Five—well within the range of what Elder Duan would expect from him.
A deep roar surged from his body.
“HOWL!”
Both great sabers blurred forward, cleaving toward the wooden puppet again and again.
BAM!!!
It felt like striking a wall of tightly stretched rubber. A violent force rebounded from the puppet, jolting through Lu Sheng’s arms and flinging both sabers back toward him in an instant.
Before Elder Duan could even open his mouth, Lu Sheng growled, “Again!!!” Veins bulged across his forehead as he stormed forward, slashing wildly. The twin sabers carved screaming arcs through the air like two massive signboards hurled in a storm.
BAM!!!
Once again, the sabers recoiled.
“One more time!” Lu Sheng snarled. He drove the blades down for the third clash.
HOO HOO HOO HOO…
Wind spiraled from the ferocity of his swings, whipping Elder Duan’s beard and rattling his robes. Elder Duan opened his mouth—perhaps to comment, perhaps to warn—but the words died as radiant Qi erupted from Lu Sheng’s body. The twin sabers slammed against the puppet in a relentless storm, each strike heavy enough to shake the entire testing chamber. The stone tiles beneath Lu Sheng’s feet trembled, numbing his legs with each impact.
BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!!!
Deep, rhythmic hacking sounds filled the chamber without pause. Lu Sheng’s smirk widened, delighting in each violent rebound as he focused all his attacks on the puppet’s neck. The blades carved vicious grooves into the wooden surface, slicing deeper and deeper as if sawing through bone.
BAM!!!
Another earth-shattering strike crashed into the puppet’s neck, sending a violent tremor rippling through the entire room.
Elder Duan’s eyelids twitched uncontrollably as Lu Sheng pulled his blade free from the wooden puppet. The edge had carved a frighteningly deep gash into the puppet’s neck.
“Not bad… it really can’t be hacked through…” Lu Sheng remarked, turning toward him with a wide, satisfied grin.
Elder Duan looked back at the puppet, feeling his heart clench. Its head now hung by only a sliver of wood, swaying weakly. The rest of its body—limbs, torso, joints—was covered in scars of every direction, deep and shallow, straight and jagged. It was a pitiful sight.
This puppet had been newly purchased and used for only a few days. Yet now it looked no better than its predecessor, which had finally been retired after decades of faithful service.
A wave of despair crashed over him. This hardwood puppet was notoriously expensive, made from timber famed for its ridiculous toughness. Each unit was expected to endure years of harsh testing. But one visit from Lu Sheng had reduced it into little more than splintered debris. True, it had not been split clean through—but what remained was hardly usable.
“Forget it, forget it. Consider me unlucky. External Head Lu, you’d best leave now. Hand the payment to the accounts room outside. This old man won’t see you to the door.” Elder Duan clasped his hands stiffly, turning his eyes away to dull the pain in his heart.
Lu Sheng didn’t mind in the slightest. It had been his intention from the start. After taking his leave, he exited the weapons hall and rode back toward his quarters.
Now, he finally possessed a fine weapon of his own. This pair of twin sabers would serve him well for a good while. Next, he needed to focus entirely on advancing his inner cultivation.
But he was already at Level Seven of the Ultimate Crimson Mantra—the highest stage of the technique. To go any further, he would need to extrapolate using Yin Qi. The Nine Lakes Steel Chain Skill, on the other hand, was merely a Strength Proficiency art that bolstered his defenses, not a core discipline. Thus, Ultimate Crimson Mantra would remain his primary focus.
…………
Five days later, in Ash Smoke Town.
Dark, ominous clouds blanketed the sky. Fine rain drifted down like endless strands of silk.
The town lay in desolation. Now and then, a lone passer-by darted through the rain, hurrying toward shelter before vanishing into the maze of alleys.
Beneath the roof of Hu Manor, a young master stood with a black paper umbrella in hand, his gaze lifted toward the heavens. Through the ornate carvings jutting from the eaves, he saw nothing but a suffocating stretch of gloom. The gentle rain never ceased, as though the sky intended to weep forever.
He stood just outside the manor gate, beside the stone lion on the left, borrowing the scant protection of the extended roof.
His eyes swept over the empty street. Shadows clung beneath the neighboring roofs, thick and unmoving. Not a single figure could be found; the silence was absolute.
The wide street lay drowned in darkness. No lights shone through any window of the homes flanking it. It felt less like a street and more like an abandoned stretch of forgotten land.
The daylight dimmed further.
The young master frowned and lowered his chin. The black robes covering him had already soaked through near the hem, the droplets sliding down to splash over his red embroidered shoes.
“I hate rain,” he murmured.
His voice was soft, yet in the deserted street, every syllable sounded strangely abrupt—especially when he was the only one in sight.
“Each time it rains, my mood sours.”
No one replied.
The rain pattered against the roof like a thousand needles, trickling down to splash at his feet, soaking the fabric further.
“This place is quite a distance from Donglin Manor. I didn’t think you’d be able to catch up with me,” he said, as though speaking to someone unseen—someone he was certain could hear him.
Creak…
Hu Manor’s main gate eased open, slow and eerie, revealing a hollow interior where wild grass grew without restraint. No figure stood behind the door; it had opened as though of its own will.
Then, from the darkness within, a woman in a scarlet dress emerged, holding a matching scarlet paper umbrella.
The scarlet paper umbrella hid her face, but it could not conceal her slender, elegant silhouette.
“Zhen Yi… if I were to kill you… even Zhen Xun… would be sad…” Her words wavered, stopping and starting as though she spoke while holding her breath. The voice was sharp, eerie, and unsettling.
The young master remained unmoved. He leaned his black umbrella casually against the wall, then lifted his gaze to the woman standing at Hu Manor’s entrance.
“To think even you came in person. Looks like the Scarlet District isn’t afraid of having its old nest invaded.”
“There’s no use… in worrying… Big Sis is there… even if Zhen Xun were to go… it would be pointless, heheh…” She giggled strangely as she took slow, deliberate steps toward Zhen Yi.
Zhen Yi let out a quiet sigh. Their conflict with the Scarlet District had reached its fiercest point. Whether he died here today or the umbrella lady did, the aftermath would be disastrous either way.
What puzzled him was why the Scarlet District would risk everything by sending such a crucial figure in person.
But the situation had already progressed beyond retreat.
Watching the woman in the scarlet dress approach him, Zhen Yi exhaled softly once more. From his sleeve, a silver-white dagger slipped soundlessly into his palm. Without another word, he stepped forward to meet her.
…………
The fine rain continued to fall outside. Lu Sheng sat lazily in his seat, chewing on a sweet melon. Its yellow flesh had the crisp texture of a watermelon—refreshing enough to cool him down after training in this damp weather.
The greenhouse had long been converted into a dedicated training ground for his men. Every morning, aside from Lu Sheng himself, many of his subordinates arrived early to temper their bodies and refine their skills.
After swallowing a few more slices, Lu Sheng rubbed the top of his head with a sigh. His mood dipped again. His hair still hadn’t grown back. Ever since the fire had burned it clean off, not a single strand on his body had shown signs of returning, leaving him with an unmistakably strange appearance.
‘Originally, I wasn’t that handsome, but I still looked better than this… sigh…’ His gaze drifted across the training grounds. His men were practicing basic movements—footwork, strokes, foundational exercises—techniques simple enough that no one worried about their mantras being stolen.
‘Eh?’
Two small figures in the far corner caught his eye. To his surprise, the Liu Qin sisters were training as well, quietly working through a sequence of dashing and lunging techniques.
‘Looks like a dagger assassination method. Not bad.’
After several visits to the Martial Proclamation Library, Lu Sheng had browsed through countless foundation-level martial arts. One glance was enough to tell what skill they were working on.
His eyes narrowed. He had taken the sisters in on impulse after sensing Yin Qi on them. Everything he’d said afterward—compassion, kindness, benevolence—had merely been a façade. He wasn’t evil, but he certainly wasn’t a saint. Why would he help others without a reason?
They were useful—little magnets for ghosts.
And in the process, he had unintentionally overheard their secret.
Now, he found himself hesitating, unsure whether he should keep them by his side or send them away.
After all, he had no idea how powerful the faction pursuing them truly was, nor how important the sisters were to that group. With that thought lingering, Lu Sheng rose from his seat and walked toward them.
Chi!
Liu Caiyun misstepped, her footing slipping as she nearly toppled over.
“It’s not straight,” Liu Qin’s voice corrected her. “Caiyun, when we step forward, we should land on the sole, not the heel. And when we twist our bodies, we shouldn’t lean to one side.”
“But when I spin around, my foot hurts. And how am I supposed to see what’s behind me if I don’t lean?” Liu Caiyun asked, confused.
“Must you see it? Can’t you just imagine it?” Liu Qin countered.
“I can’t…” Liu Caiyun shook her head firmly.
As the pair continued their argument, Lu Sheng approached.
Watching their clumsy, unrefined attempts at combat, he felt a pang of doubt. If they truly belonged to a Noble Family—or even a branch family capable of fighting ghosts—how could they be unfamiliar with such basic techniques? Their movements looked like amateur imitations copied from ordinary bystanders.
“Are you practicing dagger assassination strokes?” Lu Sheng asked.
“Young Master Lu.” Liu Qin immediately curtsied with the graceful etiquette of a young lady from a wealthy household—knees bending slightly, head inclining with proper decorum.
“We’ve never learned the dagger. We’re just copying movements we saw others practicing…” she explained helplessly.
Lu Sheng smiled faintly. “The stroke you’re practicing isn’t too bad. But it’s only one move from a full sequence. Every stroke has multiple variations meant for different situations. What you’ve copied is just one of those variations—usable only under very specific circumstances.”
“Oh, I see…” Realization dawned on the sisters instantly. They had long felt that something was off with the technique but couldn’t identify the flaw. Hearing Lu Sheng’s explanation, the problem became perfectly clear.
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