Assault on a Rainy Night

Jinluo Prefecture was known for its frequent rains. Some people felt joy or sorrow because of the rain, while others idly tapped chess pieces beneath eaves, listening to the chorus of frogs. Whether it was a gentle drizzle or a fierce downpour, it all held a certain charm. Those who delighted in the rain found it easy to sleep; within the inn, the sound of raindrops lulled all the guests into peaceful dreams. But outside, those caught in the open with no shelter wore faces clouded with worry and anxiety. Few could afford the luxury of a carefree mood, humming verses like, “Do not heed the sound of rain piercing through the forest and beating on the leaves; why not whistle and stroll at leisure?”

Beyond the rain, there was an old saying: on dark, windy, and rainy nights, it was a good time to kill. The rain would wash away bloodstains and footprints, leaving no evidence behind. Throughout history, countless people vanished without a trace during such storms—winners rose to fame, while the defeated were forgotten.

Zhang Ling gazed up at the night sky. The moon was veiled by rain and mist, and the downpour grew heavier. Speaking just above the sound of the rain, he said, “Lu Xun, it seems even heaven itself wants you dead!”

Lu Xun snorted coldly. “Don’t speak so confidently. Tonight’s outcome is far from decided.”

Though he said this, Lu Xun was increasingly on the defensive against the young man’s fierce assault. No matter how he countered, Song Linjie received his attacks with ease.

Lu Xun spoke disparagingly of the two youths, but he held no contempt for the blade in his hand. Standing about ten paces from Song Linjie, he anticipated the latter’s impatient nature and expected him to charge first. So he waited calmly, ready to greet the incoming assault with a grand counterstrike.

As expected, Song Linjie advanced in measured steps. Lu Xun’s blade movement was peculiar—almost slipping from his grip, then spinning in midair without falling. Only when Song Linjie reached a certain distance did Lu Xun throw his blade. The blade began to spin rapidly as soon as it left his hand, scattering the raindrops upon it. Song Linjie halted abruptly, shifting from offense to defense, and met the blade with a strike.

But Lu Xun’s signature techniques—the throwing blade and rolling blade—were no mere tricks. Song Linjie took the blow hard. When they closed in, he was knocked back again. The flying blade cut through the inn’s wooden railing, shattering a large section of it, yet ultimately returned to Lu Xun’s steady grasp.

Their clash caused quite a commotion, but still, the rain’s roar drowned out the noise, and the sleeping guests remained undisturbed. Only one elderly man pretended to sleep throughout, listening intently to the clash of blades, as if discerning the strength of the fighters and the merits of their weapons from the sound alone.

Though Lu Xun appeared to have thrown only one blade, it was infused with a great concentration of true energy, a practiced technique of his throwing, spinning blade mastery. On the surface, he seemed to have the upper hand.

Feigning arrogance, Lu Xun said, “I bear no deep hatred toward you two. Let’s call it a truce. Such a fuss over a petty mountain bandit is hardly worth it. Besides, you can see that if this continues, one of you might not leave here alive.”

Blood dripped from the corner of Song Linjie’s mouth, washed away by the rain. Habitually, he wiped it off and sneered. He saw through Lu Xun’s bluster and shouted angrily, breaking free from Lu Xun’s pressure. “I’ve met men like you before. If you truly held the advantage, you wouldn’t propose peace. Your words only prove you’re running out of strength after that last throw.”

A cold chill ran through Lu Xun’s heart. He hadn’t expected this young man—so youthful—to possess such worldly wisdom and see through his ruse at a glance. More vexing was the youth’s formidable skill. So far, Lu Xun had held back one last move—the draw of his blade—and had not yet fully unleashed the intent cultivated from a previous strike meant to kill Zhang Ling, a third-rank officer. He had thought, with his experience, he wouldn’t lose, but these disciples from great sects had countless cunning tricks and elusive lightness skills. Even if facing a first-rank master, he wouldn’t dare claim victory in a single strike.

Lu Xun drew back his blade, channeling his energy, and spoke calmly, “Then let’s try again.”

But his opponent was clearly unimpressed, refusing to give him time to prepare. Breaking through the rain, he leapt into the air and brought his blade down with a shout, “Come on then!”

The strike was a test, a feint, and Lu Xun dared not meet it head-on. He stepped back just in time to evade. With a sharp kick, he forced Song Linjie to instinctively block with his fist. Yet Lu Xun’s kick held no killing intent; it was meant to create distance.

After landing, Lu Xun retreated further, playing a game of hide and seek like a child behind an ancient banyan tree. Song Linjie sheathed his blade and pounced like a hawk on a chicken.

But this child’s play was brutal. Song Linjie threw punch after punch at Lu Xun behind the tree. Each strike missed, followed by another. After several exchanges, they switched places. At that moment, Song Linjie found the game tedious. With a sudden motion, he spread his arms wide and embraced the banyan tree.

His internal energy surged wildly, enveloping his body in a mirage-like haze tinged with faint red—a secret technique called Soul Devouring Passage, passed down from the sword king Song Qingtian. It was used to enhance strength.

Gritting his teeth, Song Linjie effortlessly uprooted the banyan tree, which even he had not expected to be so easily torn free despite its large girth.

He hurled the heavy tree trunk into the air, its roots and veins visible at the base. As it fell, he caught it again and, channeling the strength of a mythical Kui Bull, swung the sturdy trunk straight toward Lu Xun’s escape route. Lu Xun quickly dodged. The tree smashed through the remaining half of the railing, shattering it into splinters with a thunderous crash that finally roused the sleeping guests.

Zhang Ling quickly slipped aside to avoid being seen.

Awakened guests opened their windows in alarm, recoiling at the scene. Yet such a spectacular fight was impossible to ignore. They closed their windows, leaving just a sliver open to watch the full display. Some turned away from their rooms to knock on their neighbors’ doors, sharing the spectacle.

The old man who had feigned sleep now sat up, still with eyes closed yet clearly pondering. He did not need sight to know how fierce the battle below was.

Having slipped beyond the crowd’s gaze, Zhang Ling whispered hoarsely, hiding all signs of tension. “Old Song, hurry it up.”

The still youthful Song Linjie frowned at the nickname. Why was he suddenly called “Old”? But he didn’t care. He swung the banyan tree a few more times, then tossed it aside, sinking his energy deep into his dantian. With a single leap, he vaulted over two floors. The inn’s guests all erupted in applause.

At last, Song Linjie stepped on the tree’s tip, snapping the trunk in two.

His black hair, soaked by rain, floated freely in the air as if carried by a breeze, embodying an unrestrained elegance and arrogance, towering over the insignificant Lu Xun like a god.

He raised his voice, “Aren’t you so capable? Why do you keep hiding?”

Lu Xun was momentarily shaken. He had never seen such a wild young man. Even across the Central Plains, few could match this prodigy’s genius. But he had no time to be sentimental. Having provoked such a mad genius, if he didn’t kill him today, he might have to hide forever. Truly, fortune was not on his side.

Lowering his head, Lu Xun whispered, “You two, what exactly do you want from me? To be honest, I was only doing my duty for Minister Lu. When that bandit blocked the road, I had no choice.”

Zhang Ling chuckled softly. “You speak truly. In your position, you did what you must. So you can only blame bad luck—like the innkeeper. A lifetime of kindness, yet he happened to meet you. And you happened to meet us.”