Assassin's Two Precepts

Killing must be clean and decisive, never dragging your feet. If you can catch them off guard, do it. If you can strike first, do it. If you can kill with one blow, do it. If you can annihilate them completely, do it. All this talk of white robes as snow, peak duels, martial arts rules, and江湖 legends is utter nonsense. Assassins aren't actors; who are they putting on these shows for, seeking such empty fame? The only standard for a top assassin: survive, and survive for a long time.

This is how every "Unrivaled King" has educated their descendants, and now, Shangguan Fa is teaching his sons the same words.

Assassin's First Precept: Beware of the obvious. Strike only when you are sure of your advantage, seizing the opportune time and place. Hiding in the shadows is your greatest asset.

Even if your target is a half-paralyzed beggar, you must treat him as a peerless master. Approach stealthily and kill him with a single stab from behind. You find that shameful, don't you? That's right, the beggar isn't shameful; he's already dead. And there's still a one percent chance he was actually a peerless master, disguised as a beggar to lure you into a trap.

As the saying goes, "All's fair in war." A general who wins battles is a good general, regardless of the methods used. Especially the soldiers under his command, they should be grateful to their commander for his unscrupulous tactics, because it's thanks to these schemes and tricks that they are alive and well, able to enjoy the fruits of victory.

Great generals always attack from the enemy's rear and flanks. Only arrogant fools constantly clamor for a decisive battle.

An assassin is not a general, so he must be even more cunning, more insidious, and more ruthless than a general.

There was once a master, born into a noble family, with exceptional martial arts skills. He had few rivals from his youth, and even those seeking his tutelage had to book appointments in advance. After a spar, they would all be convinced and acknowledge him as the "Number One Master Under Heaven," just short of hanging a plaque on his door.

What happened to this master in the end? He died. Not yet thirty years old, he was discovered lying in a ditch after more than ten days, his body so decomposed that the undertakers couldn't bear to let his parents see him.

Why did he die? Because he made a mistake: he left home to wander the martial world.

Those who sought his tutelage had to follow the rules: two people facing each other, surrounded by martial arts elders, a shout of "Begin," and then it was a contest of speed, stability, and accuracy. No one would stoop to using underhanded tactics, and any slight deviation in form would be met with ridicule.

A master accustomed to "fair duels" became vulnerable once he left home and entered the martial world. No one knew who killed him, nor how he was killed. All that was known was that his fatal wound was on his back.

Everyone sympathized with the master's untimely death, verbally despising the sneaky assassin. But in private, they whispered that the master wasn't a true master; how could a master not defend against a sneak attack from behind?

Even those who had lost to the master's sword began to change their tune, claiming they had lost because they lacked favorable terrain and popular support, and that a head-on clash might have had an unpredictable outcome.

What could the master do? He was dead, reduced to a pile of bones, unable to offer any defense.

In the end, the mysterious assassin became an idol. Everyone recounted his deeds, everyone claimed to have witnessed his actions firsthand, and some even claimed to be him.

This is the true face of martial world legends. No matter what means you use to climb to the top, admirers will naturally weave a story of a righteous and epic life for you. People only see you at the pinnacle; who cares about the methods you used, or how many bodies with wounds on their backs you stepped on to get there?

Assassin's Second Precept: Beware of softness. Strike ruthlessly, ensuring complete annihilation. Killing is not just about silencing witnesses; it's also about eradicating a "name."

There was once a master who, to avenge his father, trained diligently for ten years. Upon entering the martial world, he swept through all opposition. With absolute certainty, he found his enemy and left almost no one alive, sparing neither man nor beast. But when he finally faced a widowed mother and her orphaned son, he showed mercy. He wanted to be a hero, to earn the reputation of "never killing women and children." In that single moment of hesitation, he sowed the seeds of his own demise.

Could the orphan and his mother seek revenge? Of course not. The orphan had inferior talent; he wouldn't be a match for a single finger of the master even after a hundred years of training. The widow knew no martial arts and had an ordinary appearance; it would be difficult for her to even sell herself for a living, let alone entice someone to avenge her.

But the master's enemy had been very wealthy, and that fortune was naturally seized by the master. However, the orphan and his mother did not see it that way. The woman declared that whoever avenged her would receive half of the fortune that rightfully belonged to her.

This woman, who couldn't even lift a chicken, offered a pie in the sky as a reward. But can you imagine how many people were moved by such a promise? Countless numbers. From then on, the master's doorstep was never quiet. He had to sleep with one eye open. In the end, he was still killed, and his killer was an unknown nobody.

Did the orphan and his mother get their money back? Of course not. The nobody gave the mother and son a small piece of land as a token gesture and then washed his hands of the matter, enjoying the million-dollar fortune all to himself.

The outcome for the widowed mother and her child is unimportant. What matters is "name." Without this widowed mother and child, no one would have the authority to demand the family's assets from the expert. With these two puppets, everyone in the world can rightfully seek to kill the expert.

This is "name."

"Name" is the most illusory and harmful thing in the world. True killers never seek "name," nor do they ever give their opponents the chance to gain "name."

************

Shangguan Fa, the Lord of Golden Peng Fortress and the Seventh Generation Unrivaled King, is not a true king. He has no land, yet he can go to any inch of the Thirty-Six Nations of the Western Regions. He has no subjects, yet from kings and generals to commoners, everyone's name strikes fear into their hearts.

He is the King of Assassins in the Western Regions.

No one can accurately describe the skill level of the Unrivaled King. He never participates in public martial arts competitions. Those who seek him out and those he seeks out all die without a trace.

The Unrivaled King also has almost no enemies. Those he kills are so thoroughly eliminated that even their dogs are dismembered.

Shangguan Fa has always adhered to the Two Killer Precepts without fail. For him, these two principles are more precious than life itself. Therefore, when he learned that his eighth son had failed to eliminate the target completely, his anger was unimaginable.

The Seventh Generation Unrivaled King lineage has spanned over a hundred years, with countless murders and enough destroyed families to form a small nation in the Western Regions. Such a mistake had never occurred before: killing the wrong person!

Several severed heads were lined up on a long table. The foreign guest who came to identify the bodies felt the Lord of Golden Peng Fortress's burning rage and wisely retreated into the shadows.

Shangguan Fa picked up one of the heads and threw it to his pale and uncertain eighth son. This head was the cause of his embarrassment in front of the foreign guest, a loss of face that could not be recovered, no matter the cost.

"Are you my son? Are you truly my son?"

Shangguan Fa's face was long and somewhat dark, with deep-set eyes. The Shangguan family had lived in the Western Regions for generations, inevitably mixing with Hu bloodlines. When he was angry, his gaze was as cold and ruthless as the Gobi snow mountains.

His question needed no answer. The eighth son was like a mold of his father, only younger. His face flushed red, like two red-hot iron plates.

There was only one way to extinguish the Unrivaled King's rage: killing. Even his own sons were not spared. Father killing son, brother killing brother – such events were not uncommon in the Shangguan family. There was only one throne.

But Shangguan Fa hesitated. He remembered the eighth son's mother. That woman had brought him much joy. Her sly smile, her perfect body – even after so many years, they were still vivid in his memory. She had died of an unknown incurable disease. Like all women in this world, no matter how much effort they had spent on men, their last wish was always related to their own flesh and blood.

The illness had progressed rapidly, so even in her dying moments, she retained seven or eight tenths of her appearance. Her sorrowful and beautiful face made her plea difficult to refuse, to be forgotten.

"Let Nu grow into a man like you."

Shangguan Fa believed he had kept his promise, providing his son, who lost his mother at a young age, with the most comfortable life, the strictest training, and the greatest trust.

"Women are trouble," Shangguan Fa thought. His rage subsided slightly but remained like a caged beast, restless and seeking an outlet. So he drew the saber from Shangguan Nu's waist.

Shangguan Fa had to do something. Rules were rules, and they could never be compromised for anyone or anything. He suppressed the urge to kill and, with a swing of his saber, severed the eighth son's right hand, the hand that held the saber.

The sorrowful, beautiful face gradually faded in Shangguan Fa's mind.

"Bring back the correct head in seven days."

Who was that unfortunate wretch who escaped? What was his name? Shangguan Fa had only a vague impression in his mind. That person was bound to die by the blade of Golden Peng Fortress. He had already considered it worthwhile that the Unrivaled King had severed his own son's hand.

Shangguan Nu pushed away the subordinate who stepped forward to help him, staggering out of the main hall. He was as furious as his father. The bleeding from his severed hand was finally stopped with a large pack of hemostatic powder, but no medicine could quell the resentment in his heart. [Shangguan Nu | Subordinate | Main Hall | Father]

He hated his father for not giving him a chance to explain, for believing a foreign guest's denial and deeming him in the wrong. This was the first mission he had led independently, a milestone that should have marked his ability to establish his own branch, just like his elder brothers. Now, he had lost his right hand, more than half of his martial arts were crippled, and his reputation was utterly ruined. [Father | Foreign Guest | Right Hand]

He also hated the useless trash under his command, blaming their carelessness for his mistake and the ruin of his promising future. [Trash]

Most of all, he hated that escaped youth. A person who should have died, yet insisted on lingering for a few more days. Even if he were killed a hundred times over, it wouldn't compensate for his lost right hand. [Youth | Right Hand]

Shangguan Nu's rage needed an outlet. His hatred for his father had to be buried deep in his heart; he didn't even dare to speak in his defense. The escaped youth was not present at the moment. His only targets for venting his anger were the dozens of assassins and swordsmen under his command. [Shangguan Nu | Father | Youth | Swordsman]

The assassins were the elite of the Golden Peng Fortress, and the swordsmen were its mercenaries. They had all publicly sworn an oath of eternal loyalty to the Young Master. [Golden Peng Fortress | Swordsman | Young Master]

Shangguan Nu drew his saber with his left hand, a bit clumsily, which only fueled his anger further. [Shangguan Nu]

The assassins and swordsmen had already heard about what happened in the main hall. Now, they stood like lambs awaiting slaughter, watching with trepidation as the Young Master, pale-faced, stormed into the room. [Swordsman | Main Hall | Young Master]

Blade rose and fell, fell and rose. There was no way to dodge, and no one dared to. Hand after hand fell like leaves in the frost. No one uttered a sound. When these men were assigned to Shangguan Nu, their fate was sealed: to offer everything, including their lives. [Shangguan Nu]

Shangguan Nu didn't know whose wrist he had severed before he finally calmed his mind. These were his subordinates. Crippling their martial arts would only weaken his own strength further. [Shangguan Nu | Wrist | Subordinate | Strength]

"Go kill! Go kill them for me right now, damn it! Don't leave a single complete corpse, except for the heads!"