One Move

Marshal Yang is truly ancient, so old that he no longer needs profound insight or wisdom to understand worldly affairs and see through the red dust. He moved from the Central Plains to the Western Regions many years ago, intending to live in seclusion, but instead became entangled in a feud he couldn't escape.

His younger brother, Yang Zheng, who wasn't that old, died at the hands of a Golden Peng assassin. Marshal Yang had to get revenge. The Gu Family, with whom he had an inextricable connection, was wiped out. He had to get revenge.

He learned a lifetime of skills from the Gu Family, and now it was time to repay them in full.

He spent a long time searching for help, but in the Western Regions, no one was willing to cross the Unrivaled King. He had no choice but to challenge them alone. If he waited any longer, the little life he had left wouldn't be enough to ignite.

Because he threatened to slaughter Jade City, the monks of Four Truths Blue Lotus agreed to escort him up the mountain, but only up the mountain. They wouldn't let him into Golden Peng Fortress. He saved himself some bloodshed and stood before the gates of Golden Peng Fortress. After waiting for a long time without seeing the Unrivaled King, he was met only by a group of black-clad assassins and, in the distance, a crowd of ignorant youths.

"How many people like you do I have to kill to make the Unrivaled King come out himself?"

Marshal Yang asked, his voice sounding ancient and weary, which diminished the arrogance and disdain in his question.

"You are not qualified to see the King." The assassin Ye Sheng held his narrow saber, his face filled with contempt. He always had this attitude towards so-called martial artists.

"Am I not qualified to see him, or are you not qualified to answer my question?" Marshal Yang's words were just as aggressive, but his voice was weak, like a timid old man reciting words taught to him by someone else.

Before the words fell, the two had already clashed. Marshal Yang merely wanted to distract his opponent; he didn't care about the answer.

Marshal Yang's speed was inversely proportional to his aged voice. Figures blurred, and the youths watching from afar couldn't even tell who attacked first. Many didn't even see what happened before the exchange was over.

Fights between masters were always brief, Gu Shenwei had long understood this, but this exchange was too brief. Before he could even worry about Marshal Yang, the tall elder had already retreated to his original position, coughed twice, and seemed to have no strength left for a second move.

Assassin Ye Sheng held his narrow saber with his right hand, its height already lowered halfway. The blade stopped just about at Marshal Yang's scalp. His left hand was in an even stranger position, neither a fist nor a palm, as if he had intended to flick something, but changed his mind midway and didn't retract his hand in time.

This fight was not intense at all. The youths looked at each other, hoping to get an answer from someone else: Did they fight or not? Did someone lose or win?

After a while, the answer revealed itself. Assassin Ye Sheng fell to the ground with a thud, his posture unchanged. He was clearly dead.

An old man had killed a Golden Peng assassin with his bare hands in a single move. The youths' confidence was severely shaken, and they could no longer feel excited. Shangguan Fei muttered, "Idiot, why go alone?"

Shangguan Ru frowned and glanced at Shangguan Yushi beside her. Usually, her cousin would answer her questions, but this time she was disappointed. Shangguan Yushi also looked bewildered.

The youths from Golden Peng Fortress had grown up hearing legends of assassins and found it hard to accept the reality of an assassin being so easily defeated.

While everyone was feeling dejected, Gu Shenwei's heart surged, almost bursting from his chest. He really wanted to step forward and proudly tell everyone, "Look, that's the Hehe Jin, the supreme technique of my Gu Family."

Although he hadn't understood it at the time, he now understood it clearly: Marshal Yang must have practiced the Hehe Jin, and his skill was profound.

Gu Lun had once explained the characteristics of their family's internal energy to his youngest son. Ordinary internal energy was either fierce, forcing the opponent to retreat step by step, or gentle, injuring the enemy invisibly, with consequences only appearing after a long time. The Hehe Jin cultivated both Yin and Yang, progressing slowly during training but possessing the strengths of various schools. Yang Jin could kill an enemy instantly, while Yin Jin could neutralize counter-force, leaving the enemy immobile and absorbing more force.

Gu Lun had personally demonstrated with a wooden stake. Striking purely with Yang Jin shattered the stake, sending splinters flying. Attacking purely with Yin Jin left the stake unmoved but severed all its internal veins when cut open. Using both Yin and Yang Jin shattered the stake without splinters, with all fragments falling in place.

At the time, Gu Shenwei had just watched the spectacle, clapping and exclaiming, but he hadn't taken it seriously. Now, remembering it brought him both grief and pride. This was the Gu Family's Hehe Jin!

In a fair martial arts contest, even Golden Peng assassins were no match. And he, having memorized all the texts of the technique, would one day be as formidable as Marshal Yang.

The black-clad assassins ahead remained indifferent. They had seen death countless times and were not as easily discouraged as the inexperienced youths. Three more assassins stepped forward, drew their narrow sabers, and advanced from three directions.

Marshal Yang ignored the danger, turned, picked up a single saber from the weapon rack, and presented his back to the enemy.

The assassin on the far left couldn't resist this "temptation" and quickened his pace slightly. Thus, the originally uniform formation of the three men became slightly disorganized.

The opening was fleeting. A black-clad assassin watching from the side had just moved his mind to speak a reminder when Marshal Yang seized the opportunity, drew his saber, stepped back, and, with a backhand, plunged the blade into the left enemy's abdomen.

The remaining two assassins made their second mistake: they changed their forward path, intending to seize the chance to attack.

As soon as Marshal Yang's single saber entered the enemy's body, he immediately leaped forward, returning to his original position. Not only did he evade the two assassins, but he also positioned himself on the flank of the enemy on the right.

The two enemies became one against one. Although the time was so short that the youths watching from afar could only blink, it was enough for Marshal Yang to strike again and kill another.

Mistake followed mistake. The third assassin realized he was the only one left alive. He hesitated. Ahead was an enemy who could kill with every strike, and behind him were his companions ready to fight. If...

He only thought this far. The moment he felt fear, death had already grasped him.

In a short period, Marshal Yang killed three men. His body suddenly seemed to grow several times larger, but once the enemy fell, he reverted to an old man with white hair and beard, seeming to struggle even to hold his saber.

The youths watching began to grow restless. This was not the scene of Golden Peng assassins achieving a great victory they had imagined.

Gu Shenwei, however, watched with trepidation. Every move Marshal Yang made was unmistakably the Gu Family Saber Technique, but its application was completely different from what he had learned since childhood. Marshal Yang seemed to have no... technique at all, attacking entirely based on the enemy's momentary carelessness and flaws. He could switch from a forward grip to a backhand grip, from a right slash to a left chop, making it impossible to defend against even for someone most familiar with the Gu Family Saber Technique.

Who had this Marshal Yang, whom he had never heard of before, learned martial arts from? He was far stronger than his father, Gu Lun, had been in his lifetime.

Gu Shenwei carefully stored the fragments of battle in his mind. He gained a new understanding not only of his family's martial arts but of all the martial arts he had learned in the past few months.

Five more black-clad assassins emerged from the front. Marshal Yang had two monks and a stone bridge behind him. The attackers could only form a semi-circle. Five was the limit without hindering their movements; any more would be a hindrance. The assassins knew this clearly.

The five assassins advanced slowly, each step cautious and deliberate, as if the enemy were within arm's reach. Even when Marshal Yang turned around again and calmly put down his single saber to pick up a spear, not one of them underestimated him or charged rashly. They had learned their lesson.

Gu Shenwei's master, Yang Zheng, held his spear with proper posture, always ready for battle. His elder brother, Marshal Yang, was different. He rested the spear on the ground, holding it casually with his right hand, like an old man leaning on an overly long crutch.

Now, no one dared to underestimate this old man and the weapon in his hand.

The five assassins slowed their pace, stopping seven or eight paces away from Marshal Yang. They had reached the edge of the spear's attack range. They could either launch a desperate, all-out attack or wait for the enemy to attack one of them individually, while the others seized the opportunity to strike. In any case, they could not fight a shorter weapon with a longer one.

The snow in the sky had stopped falling at some point, but no one noticed. Everyone held their breath, especially the youths at the main entrance. Even the most skilled among them could only perform flashy moves compared to true masters. But at this moment, even those who knew nothing about martial arts could feel the intense killing intent.

They just couldn't tell who the killing intent came from: Marshal Yang, standing with his spear, or the five assassins with their muscles taut.

If the enemy does not reveal a flaw, a true master has the ability to create one. His father's words resurfaced in Gu Shenwei's mind. He hadn't taken these admonitions seriously back then, but he hadn't expected them to be so deeply ingrained in his heart.

Marshal Yang studied the Gu Family Martial Arts. While there might be differences in detail compared to Gu Lun, the tactics were identical. And he was a true master.

Without any prior warning, Marshal Yang let out a fierce shout, his voice deep and resonant, like the roar of several lions. The youths watching from afar felt their bodies tremble, their ears ringing incessantly.

The weakest of the five assassins panicked. His body seemed to be pulled by a great force, and he involuntarily took half a step forward.

A flaw had appeared.

The spear thrust out like lightning.

Gu Shenwei's old family servant, Yang Zheng, wielded his spear like a meticulous craftsman, each thrust clear and precise, leaving no room to dodge. The same thrust, however, was the complete opposite in Marshal Yang's hands; like a phantom, like a divine dragon, elusive and unstoppable.

One thrust, two thrusts...

Every thrust a killing blow, five thrusts as one, Marshal Yang had already retracted his spear back to its original position in an instant, panting heavily, as if these simple moves had exhausted all his strength.

To outsiders, the old man might have been deliberately feigning weakness to trick his enemies, but Gu Shenwei knew Marshal Yang's fatigue was real. Yang Zheng had reminded him countless times during their spear practice: if a thrust couldn't exert more than eighty percent of one's strength, it was a wasted effort.

Yang Zheng had trained for many years, practicing his spear thrusts daily. Even after five or six thrusts, he would rest for a while before continuing. Marshal Yang had fought three battles in a row, and although each was won with a single blow, his power had been considerably depleted.

But others didn't know this. To them, this Marshal Yang, who appeared so frail after killing, was already an insurmountable mountain. More than ten assassins in black remained, but they had all lost the will to fight.

Marshal Yang calmed his breathing and looked up, like a stubborn old gentleman educating a dull disciple, and slowly said:

"If you want to kill someone, you must have a true killing intent."

This was precisely the problem. The assassins had already lost their killing intent. To salvage the situation, Golden Peng Fortress had to send out someone more formidable.