Chapter 4: The Power of a Cultivator

Thud!

Watching the masked man who had brought him to the brink of despair collapse to the ground, Fang Hanyu's eyes widened in disbelief.

Such speed!

What kind of footwork was that?

Fang Hanyu was himself a first-rate expert, yet even from behind he couldn't make out Fang Wang's movement—it was simply too fast, and his sword even faster.

With a single strike, he had slain a supreme master!

For a moment, Fang Hanyu doubted himself—was he too weak, or was Fang Wang simply too strong?

Could it be that he was not merely at the first-rate realm?

Fang Wang turned, wiping the blood from his blade onto the fallen masked man. Only after his sword was clean did he sheathe it.

Looking up at Fang Hanyu, he said, "If you can still fight, then go and kill the enemy. Aside from those supreme masters, you are still very strong."

With that, Fang Wang turned and departed, treading the Phantom Shadow Step, vaulting over the courtyard wall, and vanishing into the night.

Fang Hanyu took a deep breath, gripped his sword tightly, and strode off in another direction.

...

The Fang residence was in utter chaos.

Thousands of servants scoured the grounds for the mysterious black-clad assailants. Each of these men was skilled in the martial arts; even the weakest could take on dozens of servants, not to mention the enormous threat posed by the supreme masters among them.

Boom—

Fang Wang's uncle, Fang Shi, clashed palms with one such black-clad man. Their inner energies collided, their robes billowing wildly as if about to burst. Stones shattered beneath their feet, flowers and grass were torn up, and even an ancient tree ten paces away trembled from the shock.

"The renowned Solar Palm Fang Shi—your reputation is well deserved. With one foot already in the supreme realm, were you not the Fang family's eldest son, your martial prowess would be even greater. What a pity."

The masked man facing Fang Shi sneered. He too wore a mask—a white opera mask painted with a treacherous, vicious grin, making him seem a demon in the night.

Fang Shi, in his prime, wielded his palms like searing irons, inner force surging. His hands glowed red with heat, making the air around them shimmer.

"A so-called supreme master, yet you hide your face—cowardly for a martial artist! If I am to be pitied, you are laughable!"

Fang Shi snorted, exerting his arms. An explosive force burst forth, sending them both staggering back.

Fang Shi retreated eight steps; his opponent only five. The winner was clear!

This realization tightened Fang Shi's nerves. As the most skilled martial artist in the Fang household, if he couldn't defeat the man before him, then the Fang family truly faced annihilation.

Earlier, he had glimpsed several figures moving at incredible speed—likely other supreme masters.

To command so many supreme experts against the Fang family...

Fang Shi's expression grew grimmer. His palms shifted through complex forms, inner force surging, radiating a searing heat that shone brightly in the darkness.

His opponent wielded no weapons but lifted his right leg, every muscle taut, exuding a chilling sense of impending violence.

They exchanged a glance and then lunged at each other.

Bang! Bang! Bang...

In close quarters, Fang Shi unleashed his mighty palms—brutal, overwhelming, a force to crush all skills. The masked man's legs were swift and agile, lashing out like whips, meeting Fang Shi's attacks with his own kicks—fast as wind, forceful as thunder. Pebbles and dust swirled in the courtyard, inner force scattering wildly, tearing the place apart.

Outside the courtyard, the servants watched in terror, desperate to help Fang Shi but unable to find an opening.

Hundreds surrounded the courtyard, even lining the walls. They nocked arrows and drew bows, but their eyes could not keep up with the black-clad man's speed.

Such battles erupted all across the Fang residence—courtyards, corridors, gardens, even the rooftops.

Though the Fang family lacked many top martial artists, they had no shortage of martial disciples and seasoned servants. After all, Fang Meng had earned his ducal title on the battlefield, once one of the Ten Founding Generals of the Great Qi Dynasty. At his peak, he could command the entire army. Even after relinquishing his military power, the competitive spirit engraved in their bones still thrived within the Fang household.

Apart from Fang Shi, the black-clad men held the advantage in every fight. These assassins were highly skilled; even vastly outnumbered, they moved with ease. With every passing moment, more Fang family members fell.

Killing intent and terror shrouded the Fang residence!

Though Fang Wang possessed legendary martial prowess, he was still a mortal—a powerful one, but unable to be everywhere at once. He sped through the carnage, black-clad bodies piling behind him.

One person watched all this from above—the highest building in the Fang estate, a tower housing the family's treasured library. Hidden at its peak, shrouded by night, stood the Daoist in green.

"Impressive martial skills—truly supreme among mortals. If I hadn't come, perhaps the Prime Minister's scheme would have succeeded."

A sneer curled the Daoist's lips, disdain shadowing his face.

Martial artists were mere mortals; no matter how strong, they could never be his match!

For he cultivated the path of immortality.

He raised his left hand, and a yellow talisman slipped from his sleeve, hovering above his palm. It flared with golden light, illuminating his face.

At that moment, his gaze shifted—across the grounds, atop an ancient tree, stood a girl in red, staring at him from afar.

Zhou Xue!

Her eyes were icy cold, brimming with murderous intent.

"It's him. I really have been reborn!"

So Zhou Xue thought. For the past seven days, everything had felt unreal, as if she were dreaming or trapped in an illusion. But seeing that familiar, despair-inducing figure from deep in her memory, she finally believed her rebirth was real.

Hatred. Killing intent. And a trace of excitement.

The Daoist felt her gaze and frowned.

For some reason, Zhou Xue seemed dangerous. His first thought was that she too was an immortal cultivator, but on closer inspection, she lacked both the aura and the magical implements.

Without hesitation, he leapt from the tower, slicing through the night like a hawk, flying straight for Zhou Xue.

She jumped down from the tree, vanishing into the darkness. Yet the night was as day to the Daoist; he closed the distance rapidly.

Light as a swallow, he skimmed the walls, and while still airborne, swung his horsetail whisk at Zhou Xue. In that instant, she spun and hurled five throwing darts. Each dart curved in a different arc toward the Daoist.

His brows arched, killing intent flaring in his eyes.

...

Bang!

A body crashed through the courtyard wall, shattered stone flying. He landed like a sack of broken bones, limbs twisted unnaturally, the sight chilling.

Fang Wang withdrew his raised right leg, gazing coldly at the corpse before him.

Tonight was his first time killing, yet he felt no discomfort—for he had seen many of his kin slaughtered, some even his own relatives. Hatred now ruled his mind.

He had slain thirty-seven black-clad assailants, the weakest a second-rate expert, three of them supreme masters.

His feats had not gone unnoticed by the family and servants, but with the Fang residence in peril, there was no time for awe. In his eyes, there was only the duty to kill the enemy.

He made for the main hall, where his parents were. All along his path, he fought his way forward, fearing for their safety.

With his legendary martial skills, Fang Wang needed no inner force to dispatch the black-clad men along the way, reserving his qi for the deadliest blows.

It wasn't long before he reached the main hall, where five hundred servants surrounded the courtyard in an impenetrable wall. Many black-clad corpses already lay strewn about.

Dusty and travel-worn, Fang Wang arrived, his white clothes unstained by blood. Recognizing him, the servants hurriedly cleared a path.

He reached the front of the hall and, seeing his parents safe, sighed in relief.

"Wang'er, come here! It's dangerous outside!"

His mother, Lady Jiang, beckoned anxiously.

His father, Fang Yin, also relaxed at the sight of his unharmed son, about to speak when a tremendous crash sounded from the west, turning every head.

Fang Wang looked as well, golden light washing over his face, pupils dilating.

If even he was so shocked, the others were even more so—every face stricken with disbelief, as if witnessing a ghost.

From the west, dazzling golden light surged skyward from between the buildings. Suspended within that radiance was a solitary figure, raising the golden glow overhead, back to the bright moon. With Fang Wang's keen sight, he could make out the figure's true form.

A Daoist in green, standing on a wooden sword with one foot, right hand gripping a horsetail whisk, left hand held high. In his palm, a yellow talisman flared with golden light, dazzling and resplendent.

"What is that?"

"Impossible! How can a man stand in the air?"

"It's a ghost! A ghost is here to destroy the Fang family!"

"It must be a trick—no martial artist, not even a supreme master, can stand in midair!"

"If it's just a trick, why are so many experts attacking the Fang family tonight?"

Panic spread among the Fang household, the servants—some brandishing weapons—terrified, some already kneeling and praying.

Fang Wang strode toward the Daoist, catching Lady Jiang's eye.

"Wang'er, where are you going?" she cried, drawing many glances his way. Without looking back, Fang Wang simply raised his sword and leapt—a great bird spreading its wings—soaring several yards high to land on a distant rooftop, dashing off at speed. Many in the Fang family stared in amazement.

Third Brother Fang Jin exclaimed, "Fifth Brother, Wang'er's lightness skill is incredible! Even Eldest Brother couldn't leap so high."

Fang Yin was stunned, watching his son's departing figure, unable to regain his senses for a long while.

Supported by others, the family head Fang Meng, however, fixed his gaze on the Daoist, his expression darker than ever. He slowly uttered three words, audible only to himself:

"An immortal cultivator!"

...

In the ruined courtyard, Zhou Xue, her hair slightly disheveled, gazed up at the Daoist in the sky. Wiping blood from the corner of her mouth, her left arm hung limp, clearly dislocated.

"Little girl, such domineering poison—no ordinary mortal could concoct this. What school are you from? Could it be Green Cicada Valley?" The Daoist looked down coldly from above.

Zhou Xue furrowed her delicate brows and replied in a frosty voice, "What other treasures do you have hidden on you?"

A flash of malice crossed the Daoist's eyes, killing intent irrepressible. He snorted, "If you won't say, then die!"

He thrust the yellow talisman toward her. Countless golden rays burst forth like a torrential downpour, cutting toward Zhou Xue. She leapt aside, but the golden light was faster.

"Damn! Who could have guessed this mere Qi-Gathering cultivator would possess two magical treasures? No wonder his whereabouts were never uncovered back then—he must have powerful backing!"

Zhou Xue's heart pounded with anxiety and unwillingness. Would she have to resort to that move?

Just as the golden rays were about to strike her, an arm wrapped around her shoulders, and a surge of great strength pulled her aside, dodging the deadly attack. The golden beams struck ground, shattering walls, paving stones, and trees with terrifying force.

Turning, Zhou Xue saw Fang Wang's handsome, slightly youthful profile.