A knock echoed from a room in Qingfeng Pavilion. The Lifeng Pavilion assassin, who was sharpening his dagger, hesitated before opening the door. A gust of cold wind rushed in, tangling his hair, and before he could react, a flash of icy light pierced his vision.

Bitterly cold wind,

Blade's light suddenly ignited, plunging forward with ruthless precision, shattering his heart,

Blood boiling hot.

The intruder shoved the corpse through the doorway, then casually shut the door behind him. He stepped nimbly over the silk threads scattered on the ground, knocked open the hidden door, and disappeared into the passage beyond.

He slipped quickly through the narrow space and emerged in the kitchen.

A mass of shadow rolled out from the hidden door. The kitchen staff, clad in white aprons, were startled, too shocked to scream. The shadow flitted past, springing lightly onto the stovetop like a dragonfly brushing the water's surface, then vaulted upward, soaring through the air to land elsewhere. Before they could react further, their eyes were left with nothing but the trace of turbulent wind.

In the next instant, the shadow spun like a whirlwind toward the master chef, whose eyes widened in instinctive terror. He swung a soot-blackened iron ladle in desperation.

With a single flick of a finger, the ladle could not find its target. The silent intruder then brought the edge of his blade down.

A glint of icy steel swept through, sending a head soaring. Blood sprayed forth like blooming flowers.

"Frightened so, drenched in sweat like broth poured upon me, my heart burns as though seared in the flames."

Amid scattered lines of melody, the shadow effortlessly unwrapped a white apron, catching the dismembered head in midair. With an unceremonious toss, he hurled it against a hidden compartment. Before even half a stick of incense had burned, the figure had vanished once more.

The stove's fire continued to blaze as human blood splashed into an iron pot, mingling and sizzling with the bubbling lamb sauté fragrant with onions.

"How can a hero's fervent spirit fade? Clutching tightly the snow-forged blade, clutching tightly the snow-forged blade!"

A few assassins were idly playing cards and humming tunes. Upon seeing the glint of a blade peeking from the hidden door, they assumed it was one of their own. After a moment's pause, their gazes met and they exchanged a smile.

But the next second…

The icy wind had swept by, silhouette drawn sharp like a blade.

Chen Yi darted between the two assassins in a single swift movement. His precise blade struck their throats, sending blood spurting forth. By the time he landed two zhang away, the last remaining assassin was already frozen with terror, his cheeks pale as ash. He had managed to unsheath his blade halfway before a vision of crimson enveloped his face. The blood-stained blade, driven by unshakable resolve, swung down once again.

The cold line of blood traced through, bones beneath the blade breaking as thin as paper. The disparity in martial skill was terrifyingly vast; the assassin's thoughts of counterattacking had barely formed before his body fell to the ground, his consciousness flickering like scenes from a running lantern.

The first two had met even swifter fates; after their fleeting glimpses of life, they were already calculating which womb to reincarnate into next...

Clean, decisive, and unimaginably fast. So fast that all of it transpired within a single quarter-hour. The Qingfeng Pavilion, just boiling into commotion, was now spilling blood like hot broth bubbling over a red-oiled pot.

Chen Yi flicked the blood off his blade with a flourish, pausing for the first time. His gaze shifted toward the room where Zhao Yan resided.

Taking half a breath, he tilted his head to better hear the melody.

"Gao Qiu! Scoundrel! Your treachery shall not endure!"

...

Inside another room.

Jiang Shangli sat stiffly upright, exuding an air of caution. Before him stood none other than the remnant serpent, Zhao Yan.

Their reunion this time was markedly different from the last. Jiang Shangli's composure lacked its prior ease, his posture meticulously upright.

Some distance ahead of him, Qin Tu was pinned to the ground by two Lifeng Pavilion assassins, his muffled sobs barely audible.

Zhao Yan reclined in his grand teacher's chair, savoring the aroma of burning incense. Slowly, he spoke, "Has this petty official been truthful in his words?"

Having sworn a Heart Demon oath, Jiang Shangli found it difficult to respond. He merely pointed at his own lips.

Zhao Yan's eyes narrowed slightly. The situation was riddled with murky schemes, making it hard to determine whether Jiang Shangli's silence stemmed from coercion or hidden motives.

After a moment's pause, Zhao Yan murmured, "The Lonely Smoke Sword... is not him."

Having roamed through many cycles of Jianghu, weathering countless storms, he understood that this was the time to sow the seeds of intrigue.

Sure enough, Jiang Shangli's eyelids twitched faintly.

Receiving the response he sought, Zhao Yan continued, "You have never seen the true face of the Lonely Smoke Sword, but I have. And as for this so-called Dragon Master's origins, I know them well. This man is not surnamed Long, but Min. He comes from the households of the Capital City."

Jiang Shangli remained stoic, evidently still harboring doubts.

Zhao Yan added, "This man's blade techniques are profoundly refined, yet the Lonely Smoke Sword has no knowledge of bladecraft."

Jiang Shangli's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Fingertips gliding along the rim of his cup, Zhao Yan spoke slowly, "I will send my adopted daughter to entangle him. If that fails, then allow him to leave unharmed and plan anew. Provided, of course, that this petty official speaks truly and that the female Taoist is indeed a disciple of Yin Sword Mountain."

Jiang Shangli inclined his head subtly, affirming the statement.

Zhao Yan nudged the trembling Qin Tu on the ground, prompting the assassins to release him. Qin Tu scrambled away, clinging desperately to Jiang Shangli's side.

Zhao Yan asked, "Do you have any other thoughts?"

Clearing his throat, Jiang Shangli carefully considered the boundaries of his Heart Demon oath before replying slowly, "Does Mr. Zhao recall what I previously mentioned about swapping identities?"

With his pallid eyebrows slightly furrowed and dark, sunken eyes, Zhao Yan leaned forward. "Please elaborate."

"Since this man possesses exceptional martial arts, it would be wiser to strike while Xique Pavilion is still standing. Why not accomplish two goals by having him replace Chen Qianhu?"

"What a cunning strategy—two birds with one stone! Incidentally, he too is a Qianhu from the Capital City." Zhao Yan pondered briefly, then his mood brightened. "How fortuitous; Heaven itself aids me."

Jiang Shangli straightened his posture, sighing deeply, "Pick the softest persimmon to squeeze."

"I agree."

The instant those words left their lips, excitement burst forth in both Jiang Shangli's and Zhao Yan's gazes!

The sturdy grand teacher's chair splintered, its surface fracturing. Zhao Yan sprang to his feet, the blade at his waist unsheathing in a flash. The cold edge of the Tang Heng Blade tore through the dim candlelight. Simultaneously, the three assassins around him followed suit, withdrawing their weapons and taking defensive stances.

Jiang Shangli, in contrast, remained notably calm. His movements were unhurried as he raised his sleeve in greeting towards the doorway.

Under the cold moonlight, a figure stood unwavering outside the door, its shadow stretched long.

Chen Yi stood there, hands resting behind his back, utterly motionless, resembling a divine statue. He did not carry a sword, only a blade at his waist. Zhao Yan narrowed his eyes, suspecting that Chen Yi's hands concealed hidden weapons, tightening his grip on the Tang Blade, which he held horizontally before him.

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