Yefutidaolu

Chapter 306 Assassin
Huang Chengshi, Gao Jian, and Jin Dafu arrived in Yongning, only to find that large-scale construction was underway.

Jin Dafu immediately flew into a rage and wanted to make a move, but Gao Jian stopped him.

Because a swordsman was watching them.

Yang Ling dared to do this, so he must have a strong foundation of high-level strength. At the very least, he should have the strength to resist those at the Ninth Realm. And Gao Jian had actually seen this kind of strength before.

The swordsman who was like a venomous snake was from the 'Yan Pavilion'.

Therefore, Gao Jian dared to openly call people over, and even summoned two important figures, Jin Dafu and Huang Chengshi, to take a look. Gao Jian knew that if he simply called them over, time would definitely come to his side.

Admittedly, even with Gao Jian's help, Yang Ling's forces could not possibly defeat the combined strength of You Mingdi and the Jin family at this moment.

But that's a premise.

That means the Jin family and Youming have made all the necessary preparations, brought their people and equipment, and are ready to launch a full-scale war.

It will take time to accomplish all this, and not just a little time, but at least half a month for the army to arrive here.

Half a month, plus the previous month or so... the border post is almost finished.

At this critical juncture, do Jin Dafu and Huang Chengshi have the ability to directly halt the construction progress of the entire border under the watchful eyes of the Yan Ge swordsmen?
Gao Jian thought it was impossible. Huang Chengshi and Jin Dafu were both of noble birth and wouldn't risk their lives in this place. They only needed to maintain their strength and then the army could crush Yang Ling.

So... what Takami needs to do is quite simple...

Just wait. On the surface, he's only at the sixth realm, so he can't participate in the battle; he can just watch.

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Meanwhile, the swordsman glanced at the horizon.

A ghostly carriage hangs in the sky. Looking down, you can see many low-level cultivators working, constantly moving supplies, while anxiously watching the dark clouds in the sky.

Above the dark clouds, countless ghosts wailed.

However, the ghost, the ghost carriage, and the two ninth realm beings above all stopped here and did not go any further.

Below, there was a swordsman, carrying a short scabbard and holding a gourd of wine, looking up at the people in the sky.

The people in the sky... dared not come down because of him.

The swordsman's name was Qin Long. He was the man who looked like a venomous snake standing next to Yang Ling when Gao Jian was negotiating with him.

However, he doesn't seem like a venomous snake now.

Qin Long, one of the assassins of Yan Ge, was born in Liaobei, which is adjacent to Liangzhou. That place is relatively desolate, so ordinary people from that place have a northern style: rough, broad-minded, and bold.

However, this only applies to the lower levels.

Because the upper-class families live in largely similar environments. No matter which state they live in, the local landscape has little impact on them, and the families are almost indistinguishable.

Different environments can shape different people, and the power of aristocratic families is so great that the world cannot affect them. Therefore, they influence each other and exchange resources. In addition, the young masters who travel around to study make them almost the same in all places, and they are more influenced by their 'circles'.

The scions of prominent families live in homogeneous upper-class circles, unaffected by their region.

But it's different for the lower classes.

People in the lower classes struggle with their local environment every day, and they are naturally shaped by heaven and earth into a different form, much like heaven and earth themselves.

In northern Liaoning, the former land of Yan, the men who toiled in the furrows had their backs hunched over by the burdens of life. The wheels of life were slowly turning their once strong and resilient bodies into a mass of flesh and blood.

Like old trees bent by the wind on frozen soil. Their palms, when spread out, are so thick that you can't even tell the shape of their hands. The calluses are from the plow, the cracks are from the cold wind, the frostbite is from the snow, and the dark lines are inlaid with dirt that can never be washed away.

Those hands could break apart frozen clods of earth with their bare hands, catch fish in the icy river, and grab the door bar, staring with eyes reddened by wind and snow, to fight desperately against wild wolves that broke into the village, or even more ferocious bandits.

Their strength wasn't something they trained for; it was forged and squeezed out by the elements—wind, frost, snow, rain, hunger, and toil. To live was an endless struggle. Their laughter, rough and harsh like the grinding of gravel, carrying the heavy smell of earth and the spiciness of strong liquor, exploded in the low earthen houses, shaking the ash from the rafters.

What about the women? The women of Liaobei rarely possess the gentle charm of the water towns of Jiangnan. Their faces are chapped and red from the wind, their hands and feet are stronger than a man's, and they are notoriously ugly, with broad shoulders and thick waists. It's almost unheard of for that place to produce any beauties.

But on snowy days, wrapped in thick, patched cotton-padded coats, they braved the wind to fetch water from the well. The icy water splashed onto their clothes, instantly freezing into a hard shell that made a splashing sound as they walked, like wearing a thin suit of armor. By the stove, in the livestock shed, on the frozen, cracked ridges of the fields, they used their bodies and resilience to slowly bring warmth to their barren days.

Heaven and earth, with their harsh cold, desolation, and barrenness, act like an invisible mold, forging the mortals living within them into this form.

This desolate land of northern Liaoning has gained a sense of life and vitality because of these figures struggling to survive.

Those rough chants, the drunken sounds of drinking games, the cries of babies in the cold night, the heart-wrenching wails at funerals... all these sounds, all the traces of struggle, all the marks left for the sake of living, are deeply, layer upon layer, painted on this land. They are not scenery, but imprints, evidence of the struggle, interdependence, wear and tear, and mutual definition between man and nature.

Heaven and earth are like a millstone, grinding away at the bones and blood of mortals; mortals are like grains of sand, silently wearing down the edges of this millstone.

Qin Long was the same. He was a rogue cultivator with only one master, who was also from Yan Pavilion. So he was also trained like this from a young age, which shows that he was different from those people from aristocratic circles.

As an assassin of Yan Pavilion, the hardness and coldness ingrained in his bones, the desolate silence and deathly stillness before an explosion, were forged, round and round, in this millstone. The sound of jade flutes played by aristocratic young masters during their travels could not reach the end of this snowstorm; the eloquent essays they discussed could not warm the cold hearts of this frozen earth. Here, there was only a direct dialogue between man and nature, using sweat, blood, life, and the rough vitality of generation after generation to carve a humble yet resilient mark on the desolation.

He was adopted by his master when he was a child. His master was a swordsman, but not a dashing one. He used a short sword.

A short sword is a weapon used in desperate situations, unlike the elegant long swords used by gentlemen.

The longsword is a gentleman's weapon, emphasizing a three-foot-long blade, a jade belt around the waist, and a silvery sheen when wielded, exuding elegance and grace, with measured advances and retreats. This is the kind of swordsmanship that aristocratic scions have ample time to slowly practice.

My master's short sword was used for whittling wood, chopping firewood, deboning, cutting vegetables and meat, sweeping roads in the mountains, and harvesting wheat in the fields. He could also use a wood-chopping knife, but the short sword was found and didn't cost him any money.

With this short sword, Master embarked on the path of cultivation.

It was with this short sword that his master, a mere fugitive at the first level, raised Qin Long, transforming him into the person who could make two ninth-level cultivators stop in their tracks.

He placed the short sword beside him, within easy reach, and then took another sip of wine.

This kind of short sword can be hidden in the sleeve or tucked into the waistband, waiting to suddenly reveal its fangs when it comes to a life-or-death struggle with someone face to face.

My master said, "For every inch the sword is shorter, your life is a foot shorter."

Wielding a short sword is like walking into the gates of hell. Don't think about graceful movements or fancy moves; those are just stage tricks to fool ghosts. There are only two paths with a short sword: speed and ruthlessness!
Quick, faster than a viper flicks its tongue. The moment your opponent raises his sword, you must be in his arms! Not to stab, but to ram! Use your shoulder to create an opening, use your bones to block any blade that might come at you, press your chest against his, so close you can smell what he had for breakfast!
At this moment, ruthlessness is necessary. The short sword hidden under the ribs and tucked behind the elbow is like the fangs of a viper. With a "whoosh," carrying a scalding, fishy smell, it chisels in from the most cunning and insidious angle!
The master's hands had large joints, covered with calluses and cracked frostbite. When he held the sword, the short sword seemed not to be made of iron, but rather a fang that grew out of his bones.

He taught Qin Long to exert force not with his wrists, but with the entire body's bones twisted into a single rope, a force that seemed to engulf his life. When the sword was thrust out, it wasn't a stab, but a pounding! A smash! It was meant to crush the opponent's bones, muscles, and even internal organs into a lump of mud! With one thrust, it was either you die or I die, with no turning back.

Leave no way out, give no chance of survival.

Master's eyes, usually as murky as a frozen river pond, would reveal a wolf-like light the moment he gripped the short sword. They were chillingly cold, staring straight at you, not at a person, but at a corpse.

He taught Qin Long that before drawing his sword, you must be a ghost, silent and stealthy.

When he draws his sword, he's like a foolish roe deer, risking his life without knowing what death is. Even if his head is bleeding, he won't stop, unafraid of the consequences.

Once they've succeeded, they're like venomous snakes; they strike and retreat immediately, never looking back to see if they're alive or dead.

Pity? Hesitation? Those are luxuries reserved for aristocratic young masters, death warrants! Those who wield short swords must have hearts harder than frozen ground.

My master is only at the first level of cultivation, which is quite weak to be honest. He didn't teach me any profound sword principles, let alone any concepts of benevolence and morality.

During practice, they would chase rabbits shirtless in the snow, practice stabbing frozen, dead pigs, and practice how to plunge their own short sword into the heart before the opponent's longsword reached their throat. Their master's swordsmanship had no name, no set routines, only instinctive reactions forged from countless brushes with death. It was the survival rule of the lowest rungs of Liaobei, which, on the tips of their swords, solidified into the most direct and bloodthirsty killing intent.

Many years ago, his master died, and the short sword came into Qin Long's hands.

The short sword was dark and dull, its blade worn thin, carrying a muted luster from years of drinking blood. Unlike famous swords that hummed softly, it made only a short, dry scraping sound when drawn, like bones scraping against frozen earth. This sound was etched into his very bones. It was the sound of desperate struggle. When his master handed it to him, he only said one sentence, his voice hoarse like sandpaper grinding iron: "Boy, this thing isn't for winning, it's for fighting for your life."

The scions of noble families, wielding their swords, roamed the world freely, discussing the state of the land with ease. But Qin Long and his short sword were like the most inconspicuous stone on the barren Liaobei plain—silent, hard, covered in mud and soaked in blood, striving only to break free from the most desperate and narrow-minded circumstances, for that burning breath was their very life.

Now, Qin Long stared at the people in the sky as if he were indifferent, but the people in the sky were frozen there for a full quarter of an hour, not daring to come down from the sky to the ground.

Of course, Huang Chengshi and Jin Dafu did not stop during this quarter of an hour. They were searching through the list of high-level cultivators of the Divine Dynasty, trying to recall which person it was.

Soon, Jin Dafu spoke up: "The assassin from Yan Pavilion... I found the person who matches this outfit. He is a ninth-realm martial artist named Qin Long. He is a rogue cultivator."

"What background?" Huang Chengshi asked.

"Two Grandmasters." Jin Dafu's tone was a little hesitant.

Huang Chengshi's gaze turned cold.

After a long while, he finally asked, "Which two levels were opened?"

“One of them is the Divine Pass. According to records, its martial arts essence is called ‘Desperate Abyss’,” Jin Dafu said.

"This doesn't sound like a divine will that's easy to deal with," Gao Jian said casually from behind, as if he were making a sarcastic remark.

To be honest, Gao Jianzhen never expected that Yang Ling actually had a Grandmaster of two passes standing behind him. No wonder he was so bold as to dare to do something big on the border.

As for Yan Ge, they are truly audacious. They actually dared to get involved in such a beheading plan with Yang Ling. However... it's also possible that Qin Long got involved on his own initiative. After all, Yan Ge's organizational structure is quite loose. It's basically just a platform for receiving and sending messages, but its style is quite unrestrained. They do a lot of big things, so they are quite famous among many assassin organizations.

They've even assassinated the emperor of the Divine Dynasty, is there anything Yan Ge wouldn't dare to do? It's quite impressive that this organization has survived this long.

“It’s not easy to deal with him.” Jin Dafu said with a wry smile, “Divine Will, Abyss, according to the records in my magic weapon, this divine will can strengthen his physical body.”

"Is it really that simple? No other tricks? I've heard that there are many unpredictable things in martial arts divine intent. Many things that supernatural powers can't do, divine intent can do. Stop keeping me in suspense and just tell me how to deal with him?" Huang Chengshi frowned.

As an elder of the Netherworld, having broken through another realm, he was now a Grandmaster of the Second Realm. The unorthodox assassin before him was a rogue cultivator. Although he found him troublesome, he did not believe he was helpless against him; he simply needed to assess his abilities.

"It's that simple, just strengthen the physical body, but... the extent is a bit too much. His physical body has never collapsed." Jin Dafu's expression was somewhat helpless.

(End of this chapter)