—Compared with the sluggish five senses of sight, hearing, and smell, his "soul" had sensed the dagger's edge a step sooner.
(An assassination?)
He Ping's thoughts stirred. His mind raced. He was the He Family's only son, and after his father's death, he had taken sole control of the family's immense wealth.
Naturally, plenty of outsiders coveted the He Family's riches. But there were also people within the family itself. For instance, the He Family had several branches, all sensitive to how the profits were divided. When He Ping's father died, trouble had even broken out over it.
Besides, the He Family's business was vast, and they had made many friends—but they had also made no shortage of enemies. He Ping himself had survived several assassination attempts. But, at the very least, he was a disciple of the Immortal Puppet Sect who had cultivated the Formless Secret Treasury.
Ordinary people's methods of assassination couldn't possibly harm someone like him, who understood spells.
"What's the reason this time? Why are they trying to assassinate me?"
A flicker of doubt stirred in his heart, but the situation around him had already changed dramatically.
"Keep your guard up, Young Master He!"
Daoist Chi Ling, the Flying Fish Sect's leader, had no time to draw his sword. He thrust it forward, scabbard and all. The old Daoist had been famous for years, and he had spent decades perfecting his Flying Fish Sword. When he struck, he was as swift as a shooting star, his attack as fierce as a bolt of lightning.
At the same time, the master of Iron Heart Martial Hall, the middle-aged man with a beard beneath his chin, sat at the neighboring table and flicked a chopstick at the attacker. It shot out like a streak of lightning.
Daoist Chi Ling and the master of Iron Heart Martial Hall, Zhao Chen, both moved to protect He Ping. The sheathed Flying Fish Sword and the chopstick, launched like a hidden weapon, attacked the servant from either side as he drew his dagger and lunged forward.
But in the next instant, in the space between lightning and flint, something strange happened. The dagger aimed at He Ping suddenly changed direction. The attacker's body slid like a fish slicked with oil, evading Daoist Chi Ling's scabbard.
The next second, he flung the plate of food in his hands, knocking the chopstick aside.
A flash of silver light bloomed, then suddenly swept toward the burly man with the tangled beard seated to the right—the leader of the Hu Ma Gang.
"So... he was after Xie San, the 'Wind-Soaring Blade'!"
Daoist Chi Ling and Zhao Chen, the master of Iron Heart Martial Hall, immediately understood. At the same time, He Ping's fingers, hidden in his sleeve, had already caught hold of an invisible thread. He had been about to activate it, but now he stopped.
"No wonder he didn't have much killing intent. Looks like he wasn't targeting me."
He Ping frowned, but the situation in the room shifted once again. Xie San, his tangled beard covering his face, burst out laughing.
"You little bastard! You think you can sneak up on your Grandpa Xie?"
Xie San was an old hand. Caught off guard, he knew he had no time to draw his blade and react, so he kicked over the table laden with food. With a crash, it flipped over, sending wine and dishes flying in every direction. The guests at the nearby tables scattered in panic.
The servant was nimble, too. He sidestepped with a sliding step, easily dodging the flying table without losing any speed, and thrust his dagger forward. In the blink of an eye, he was about to reach Xie San.
"Looking to die."
Xie San held a blade in his left hand and a wine jar in his right. He tossed the jar into the air, then swung his scabbard with force. Using a soft, yielding motion, he struck the side of the jar and sent it flying.
The wine jar shot toward the servant, who tried to dodge. But halfway through its flight, it cracked apart with a sharp snap, its shards scattering like countless hidden weapons.
In that instant, the servant had no choice but to retreat. As he fell back, Xie San's eyes lifted. The Wind-Soaring Blade, which had yet to leave its scabbard, sprang halfway out with a clang, landing perfectly in his right hand.
With a rush of wind and a ringing blade, the onlookers' eyes blurred. The blade hadn't even reached them, yet its razor-sharp wind swept over, making the skin on everyone's cheeks feel as if it were being sliced—like the bitter, bone-chilling wind of the northern lands.
"Now that's the 'Wind-Soaring Blade' Xie San! His 'Sand Camel Quick Slash' has dominated the northern lands for more than a decade. That reputation is no idle boast!"
Daoist Chi Ling and Zhao Chen, the master of Iron Heart Martial Hall, both felt their hearts leap. They were martial artists who had founded their own schools. Just from Xie San's strike, they could tell his swordsmanship was imposing, the product of at least twenty or thirty years of hard work.
Xie San had led the Hu Ma Gang, taking a band of Northern Blade-Wielders with no fixed home to forge an enormous reputation. He was certainly no pushover.
In the blink of an eye, the Wind-Soaring Blade Xie San's sword drew only half a circle. Before he could bring it down and take the servant's head, it abruptly stopped. The whirling blade-light suddenly burst apart.
"My blade!"
Xie San sounded bewildered. His Wind-Soaring Blade was halfway through its swing when a sudden pain shot through his wrist. The pain came out of nowhere. His tendons went numb, and a tremendous force struck the blade in his grip, knocking it free. With a clang, it stuck in the floorboards.
The moment the Wind-Soaring Blade left his hand, the blue-robed servant seized his chance. His dagger swept forward and sliced open Xie San's throat. The burly man's eyes flew wide. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, blood spurted out with a wet burst.
"Third Master!"
The other Hu Ma Gang members seated at Xie San's table were all blade-wielders from the northern lands. Seeing their leader killed, they were consumed with rage. Eight blades spun in from every direction like a whirlwind.
Xie San had personally trained the Hu Ma Gang's men in swordsmanship. Their blades flashed as they took their positions, and eight finely forged steel blades formed a web around the blue-robed servant. With a single sweep, they could have sliced him into seven or eight pieces.
But at that very moment, the blue-robed servant's body suddenly trembled. He shot into the air like a hopping corpse.
"What?"
The Hu Ma Gang's blade-wielders stared, dumbfounded. They had seen their share of lightness skills, but never anything so bizarre.
The blue-robed servant rose without his feet ever touching the ground or his knees bending. He flew almost to the rafters, then turned in midair like a bat and drifted away without a sound.
"After him!"
The leading blade-wielder shouted and charged out.
"What a shame."
Daoist Chi Ling sighed and glanced at the dead Xie San, whose corpse was being held by several Hu Ma Gang blade-wielders.
"Third Master Xie's skill with the blade was formidable. If he hadn't lost the initiative, things wouldn't have ended this way."
"Look—what's this?"
Zhao Chen of Iron Heart Martial Hall used a chopstick to prod a black pellet soaked in blood. He Ping and Daoist Chi Ling came over and saw that the bean-sized pellet was clearly a small ball made of tangled hair.
"What a strange hidden weapon. Did this pellet pierce Xie San's wrist?"
Daoist Chi Ling was astonished.
He Ping said nothing, but his expression had grown dark. He took one look and recognized where the black pellet had come from.
"Young Master He, after what happened to Third Master, we must leave at once and tell Second Master."
One of the Hu Ma Gang members who had stayed behind held Xie San's corpse and spoke in a grave voice. "Third Master was ambushed by those despicable rats. The Hu Ma Gang will avenge him. We won't trouble you any further."
"Don't say that. Third Master Xie met with disaster under my roof. I don't even know who the culprit was—he slipped into the He Family estate and committed murder. This isn't just the Hu Ma Gang's concern. It concerns the He Family, too."
He Ping let out a deep sigh.
"As for me, something this serious has happened, and I don't know how I'm going to explain it to Second Master Chen Er."
Xie San of the Hu Ma Gang had taken several sworn sons. The most famous was Second Master Chen Er, who had inherited Xie San's blade techniques. He had mastered at least seventy or eighty percent of the seventy-two forms of the Sand Camel Quick Slash.
The Hu Ma Gang was a famous gang in Mobei. Besides Chen Er, a formidable fighter, three other sworn sons of Xie San were also men of considerable skill. People of the jianghu generally preferred not to provoke them.
"Young Master He, please don't say that. We in the Hu Ma Gang know very well who the little thief was. Second Master is a reasonable man. How could he blame you?"
The man was clearly a minor leader in the Hu Ma Gang. He began to say something, then stopped himself and sighed.
"In that case, we'll take our leave and pursue the culprit. Please forgive us, Young Master."
"Of course."
He Ping nodded, but his expression remained terribly dark. It seemed the incident had spoiled his mood, and he no longer felt like hosting the feast. The guests began taking their leave as well.
Only after everyone had left did He Ping raise one hand. His fingers were long and slender, and between his extended thumb and forefinger he held an identical black pellet.
"...Is this a Hair-Cutting Pill?"