Longevity Martial Arts: Obtain Golden Affixes at the Start

"Is this the theme?"

"It involves writing words on the largest lantern and then releasing it into the sky, symbolizing favorable weather and national peace and prosperity," Jinniang explained. "I heard that this year's lantern is ten zhang tall and used over a thousand bolts of silk; it was made by skilled craftsmen from the Chengping Chamber of Commerce."

Hong Lang raised an eyebrow: "The Chengping Chamber of Commerce even manages this?"

Jinniang smiled and said, "Young master, you may not know this, but although the Chengping Chamber of Commerce is a royal merchant, what major event in the local area can do without them? They naturally want to get involved in something like the Lantern Festival, which can earn them both money and fame."

As they spoke, the flower boats on the river gradually approached the shore, and the courtesans filed down, some carrying round fans, others draped in shawls, their figures graceful, and surrounded by their maids, they walked towards Yong'an Bridge.

The crowd surged forward, and Hong Lang and Jin Niang were swept along by the flow of people.

Yong'an Bridge is a stone arch bridge that spans the Yong'an River. The bridge deck is extremely wide, allowing six horses to ride side by side.

A high platform was erected in the middle of the bridge, with a giant, unlit lantern on it, and armored soldiers standing all around the platform.

Hong Lang pulled Jinniang back to the side of the bridge and found a slightly higher spot to stand.

The crowd grew larger and larger, and the noise surged like boiling water.

"The Prefect has arrived!"

A loud shout drowned out all the noise.

The crowd automatically parted to make way for a procession of honor guards, their banners waving.

In the center stood a man riding a pure white steed, his face stern and imposing without being angry.

Meng Xingluo was the governor of Jinzhou and the most powerful person in the entire Jinzhou.

He looked to be in his early forties, with sword-like eyebrows that reached his temples, and eyes as deep and unfathomable as a cold pool.

He dismounted, walked to the giant lantern, dipped his brush in ink, and wrote four large characters on the lantern's silk: "Favorable weather for crops".

"Light the lanterns!"

The huge lantern slowly rose, its light flickering inside the silk, illuminating the four characters "favorable weather for crops".

The crowd erupted in deafening cheers, and countless small lanterns rose into the air, illuminating the entire city of Yingtian as if it were daytime.

Hong Lang looked up at the lantern that was gradually disappearing into the distance, but his heart was not very stirred. The New Year's Eve celebrations in his previous life were much more lively than this.

Just then, he caught something out of the corner of his eye.

On the right side of the platform, a man who looked like a servant was approaching Meng Xingluo at an extremely fast speed.

At the same time, several figures moved simultaneously on the left and rear of the platform, and even on the river surface under the bridge.

From all directions—front, back, left, right, up, and down—they had almost completely blocked Meng Xingluo's escape routes.

Eight people, eight sharp killing intents, erupted at the same moment.

Meng Xingluo's expression remained unchanged; she simply raised her right hand from her side and casually reached out to her right.

The servant who attacked from the right had his dagger three feet from Meng Xingluo's throat when he felt his wrist tighten as if it were being clamped by iron clamps.

He looked down and saw that Meng Xingluo's hand was already gripping his wrist.

A cracking sound rang out as the wrist bone shattered.

The servant grunted, and the dagger slipped from his hand.

Meng Xingluo pulled the man's body towards herself, and at the same time, she caught the falling dagger with her left hand and pushed it forward.

The cold light penetrated the servant's heart and shone through his back.

One blow kills.

From the moment the attack was made to the moment the person was killed, it was only a single breath.

However, in the blink of an eye, the remaining seven people had closed in.

The man on the left slid a soft sword out of his sleeve and silently stabbed towards Meng Xingluo's left rib.

Meng Xingluo's right hand was still on the servant's corpse's chest, while his left elbow had already slammed backward.

The impact struck the spine of the soft sword, causing it to tremble violently and almost fly out of my hand.

Meng Xingluo lightly touched the ground with her right foot, and flew forward at high speed, crashing into the arms of the assassin wielding the soft sword.

The man only felt a blur before his eyes, then he was struck in the chest and sent flying, crashing into the bridge railing, which shattered instantly.

Two breaths later, both men were dead.

But the remaining five people had blocked all his escape routes.

On the river surface beneath the bridge, a splash of water erupted, and a man in black, soaked to the bone, soared into the sky, unleashing both palms. The force of his palms, carrying water vapor, transformed into two water dragons, roaring as they lunged towards Meng Xingluo's lower body.

Behind the bridge, an old woman emerged from her sleeve with a withered hand, her five fingers like hooks, aiming straight for Meng Xingluo's heart.

On the right, two men with similar appearances approached side by side. One wielded a knife, and the other a sword. The clash of their weapons produced a metallic clang that shocked the surrounding crowd, who crouched down and covered their heads in fear.

The most bizarre figure was the assassin who suddenly sprang from the crowd directly ahead; he was unarmed and bare-handed.

Meng Xingluo drew something from her waist with her right hand—a jet-black iron pen.

With the pen in his hand, his entire demeanor suddenly changed.

The pen tip traced an arc in the air, making a hissing sound as it cut through the air.

He first pointed at the man wielding a knife on his left.

The man's swordsmanship was fierce and powerful; his slash was heavy and forceful, but Meng Xingluo's pen tip landed precisely on the same spot on the blade.

clang!

The longsword trembled violently, and the man staggered back three steps. A dent the size of a mung bean was even punctured on the blade.

Meng Xinglu used the momentum to turn around, and with another stroke of her pen, this time it was the swordsman on the right.

The sword moved with agility and speed; the man's swordsmanship was even faster than the knife-wielder's. With a single thrust, the tip of the sword trembled, creating seven sword flowers that were difficult to distinguish from reality.

Meng Xinglu didn't even glance at the seven sword flowers; instead, she thrust the tip of her pen straight at the point three inches in front of the sword hilt.

That is precisely where the wrist pulse of the swordsman's hand holding the sword lies.

The swordsman's expression changed drastically, and he hurriedly changed his move, but the tip of the pen had already arrived.

With a soft "plop," the pen tip pierced his sleeve, leaving a bloody hole in his wrist.

The longsword slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.

Two breaths later, two more people were injured.

But the price was that the old woman's claws were already pressed against his back.

Meng Xingluo had no choice but to take the blow head-on.

Stab it!

His clothes were torn, and five bloody welts stretched from his shoulder blades to his waist, his back instantly soaked with blood.

The bluish-black fingernails were clearly poisoned, and a tingling, itchy sensation came from the wound.

Meng Xingluo grunted and swung his brush back at the old woman's face.

The old woman had just successfully struck and was about to retreat when she saw the pen tip already in front of her. In shock, she leaned back sharply, barely managing to avoid it, but the pen tip still grazed her forehead, leaving a shallow bloodstain.

She staggered backward, touched her forehead, and found her hand covered in blood.

Just then, the black-clad man leaping from the river arrived with both palms.

Two water jets, one on the left and one on the right, slammed into Meng Xingluo's legs.

The water dragon is not a real dragon, but rather an impact formed by the condensation of water vapor and qi.

Meng Xingluo's legs went weak, and her knees slammed heavily onto the bridge surface, shattering the stone slabs and sending countless fragments of stone flying.

At this moment, the final assassin's killing move arrived.

He extended his right palm, and the palm print landed squarely on Meng Xingluo's chest.