A family of loyal martyrs, starting with nine wives to continue the family line.

Wei Zhao rode his horse for dozens of miles and finally found Nie Yinniang fighting in an abandoned post station.

Not standing, but half-kneeling.

Dressed in black, with disheveled hair, he looked as if he had been pulled out of a pool of blood.

Four men in black surrounded her.

The man in the lead, with a scar on his left cheek, held up a long knife, the blade about half a foot above Nie Yinniang's neck.

Wei Zhao's mind went blank for a moment.

It's not that I'm calm, it's that I don't have time to think.

He pulled the white wax spear from the horse's back, leaned forward, and, using the horse's last burst of momentum, almost pressed his entire body against the horse's neck.

The tip of the gun drew a white streak in the air.

"Buzz—"

The sound of something cutting through the air exploded.

Before Shen He could bring his knife down, a flash of white suddenly appeared in the corner of his eye.

White robes, white guns.

He instinctively turned to the side, his long sword blocking the attack.

"clang!"

The spear tip struck the blade, and Shen He was jolted back three steps, his hand split open, blood flowing down the hilt of the blade.

He looked up and saw Wei Zhao's face.

Young, fair-skinned, with a sickly air about him, but his eyes were colder than human.

Wei Zhao dismounted, his white wax spear pointing diagonally forward, and strode up to Nie Yinniang.

White robes fluttering in the wind.

Nie Yinniang raised her head and saw the back of the figure blocking her way, and was stunned for a moment.

Wei Zhao did not turn around, and his voice was not loud.

"One person killed down to only four?"

Nie Yinniang didn't reply. Her lips moved slightly, and her voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against a wooden board.

"You shouldn't have come."

Wei Zhao smiled.

It wasn't a bitter smile, nor a cold laugh; it was a laugh that came from the bottom of my heart, one that I found absurd.

"Actually, you shouldn't have come."

He turned around and glanced at Nie Yinniang.

shocking.

This woman had at least seven or eight wounds on her body.

Her left arm was useless, she was shot in the right shoulder with an arrow, she had a cut in her back, and her palm was cut open by her own blade... How was she still holding on?

Wei Zhao swallowed his anger.

Kill first, then feel sorry.

He turned around, slowly raised the white wax spear, and aimed the tip at Shen He.

Shen He wiped the blood from his face and stared at Wei Zhao.

"Wei Zhao? You've come here to die?"

Wei Zhao did not answer.

He glanced back at the two guards who had followed him and waved them away.

"Step back."

The guard opened his mouth as if to say something, but after meeting Wei Zhao's gaze, he obediently took twenty steps back.

The white wax spear was held horizontally in front of him.

One man against four assassins.

A hint of hesitation flashed in Shen He's eyes, but it was quickly overshadowed by killing intent.

The price Lu Song offered was enough for him to live on for the rest of his life. So what if it was Wei Zhao? He could kill a living person.

"superior!"

He roared.

The two assassins beside him moved at the same time, one on the left and one on the right, one wielding a short blade and the other a chain hammer.

Wei Zhao did not retreat; he took a step forward.

The white wax spear trembled and let out a dragon's roar, its tip piercing towards the assassin with a short blade on the left.

That's too fast.

The assassin reacted quickly, twisting his body to try and dodge, but the tip of the gun followed his body, chasing him close to his chest as if it had eyes.

"clang!"

A short blade parries, sparks fly.

The gun barrel suddenly spun around and struck the assassin's ribs from the side.

"Click."

The sound of bones breaking was heard even by Shen He.

The assassin's eyes bulged out instantly, his mouth opened wide, he spat out a mouthful of blood, and he flew backward, crashing into the broken wall of the inn, where he fell silent.

Wei Zhao didn't stop. He pulled the tip of his spear back and swept it horizontally with his backhand.

The assassin wielding the chain hammer pounced from the right, the hammer whistling as it struck Wei Zhao's temple.

The gun barrel went to meet them.

It's not blocking, it's tangling.

The white wax spear was wrapped with an iron chain, which was then twisted violently.

The chain hammer's trajectory was forcibly altered; the hammer grazed Wei Zhao's ear as it flew past, the handle slipping from the assassin's grasp.

Wei Zhao released the gun with his left hand, gripped the assassin's wrist with his five fingers, and pressed down.

"Smack."

My wrist is broken.

The assassin screamed, but Wei Zhao didn't give him a chance to scream a second time and turned around to attack.

The white wax spear thrust out from under his armpit, its tip piercing the assassin's shoulder blade and embedding itself below his collarbone.

Wei Zhao drew his gun swiftly and decisively, and the man fell to the ground with a thud, twitching twice.

The two of them, in less than ten breaths.

Shen He's face froze completely.

It's not that he hasn't sparred with masters; every top assassin from the Seven Kill Tower has earned their title through licking blood off the edge of a knife.

But the speed, strength, and judgment of this young man in white before them all surpassed theirs.

This is not just a little bit off.

These are not even on the same level.

Shen He's pupils contracted as he looked at the last surviving companion. The man's face was pale, and his hand holding the knife was trembling.

run.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, Shen He moved.

He turned and left, his steps exploding outwards, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, darting towards the dense forest.

The last assassin reacted a beat too slow; just as he was about to run, the white wax spear arrived.

The spear tip pierced his lower back and exited through his abdomen.

The man looked down at the tip of the gun in his chest, blood gushing from his mouth. His legs gave way, and he knelt down.

Wei Zhao drew his gun and looked up at Shen He, who was desperately trying to escape.

Wei Zhao gripped the white wax spear at the butt, slightly turned his body, and kicked the butt of the spear with his right foot.

The spear was thrown out of my hand by the force applied to its butt!

The spear, over ten feet long, spun half a circle in the air, piercing Shen He's back with a sharp whistling sound.

The spear tip emerged from his chest, its momentum still strong, pinning Shen He to the trunk of an old locust tree by the roadside.

Shen He's hands were still in the running posture, his feet were off the ground, and his body was hanging on the tree.

He looked down at the white wax spear in his chest, his lips twitched twice, as if he wanted to say something, but a mouthful of blood gushed out, silencing all his words.

died.

All four people were killed.

With his back to the three corpses, Wei Zhao looked down at his white robe; there was no blood.

It wasn't because he was clean, but because he was fast enough that the blood didn't even have time to splatter before the person was already dead.

He walked up to the old locust tree, pulled out the white wax gun, and Shen He's body slid down the trunk and fell to the ground.

Wei Zhao turned around and strode towards Nie Yinniang.

She remained kneeling and did not fall.

But Wei Zhao could tell that she was holding on by her last breath.

His face was deathly pale, his lips were purple, and there were dried bloodstains around his eyes.

His black clothes were soaked through; it was impossible to tell whether it was sweat or blood.

But her eyes were still shining.

Nie Yinniang stared at Wei Zhao, her gaze sweeping from his face to his feet and back again.

He was unharmed, not at all.

She lowered her eyes, her voice so low it sounded like it was being squeezed from the deepest part of her throat.

"I'm glad you're alright."

Wei Zhao stopped in his tracks.

This woman was covered in wounds; her left arm was useless, her right shoulder was pierced, her back was exposed to the bone, and her hand was cut open by her own knife—she almost died here.

The first thing he said was, "I'm glad you're okay."

Wei Zhao felt something hit him hard in the chest.

It's something indescribable, sour and astringent, stuck in my throat, impossible to swallow.

He squatted down, stuck the white wax spear into the ground, and reached out to help Nie Yinniang up.

Her body stiffened, and she instinctively shrank back.

An assassin's habit is to be on guard when someone gets close, and to dodge when someone reaches out. Even if the other person is one of their own.

Wei Zhao did not stop.

He held her uninjured wrist with a very light touch.

"Don't go to your death alone in the future."

Nie Yinniang remained silent.

Wei Zhao spoke a little slower, but each word was pronounced very clearly.

"You are a member of the Wei family, and so am I."

"We'll die together, we'll live together."

Nie Yinniang's eyelashes trembled slightly.

The tremor was so slight, almost invisible, but it was like a drum skin that had been stretched for too long finally being touched on the edge.

A tear slid down her cheek.

Tears fell into the pool of blood on the ground, splashing up a little red water droplet, and then disappeared.

She has killed many people in her life and almost died many times.

When she escaped from the Seven Killings Tower, she thought she was just a knife in this life. A knife doesn't need to be cared for; all a knife needs to do is be sharp.

But now, someone is telling her, you are not a knife.

You are a human being, someone who deserves to be cared for.

Nie Yinniang lowered her head, not letting Wei Zhao see her face.

Wei Zhao didn't go to see it either.

He carefully lifted Nie Yinniang horizontally in his arms. She was lighter than he had imagined, lighter than an assassin, more like a piece of burnt firewood.

The warhorse had recovered somewhat, so Wei Zhao placed Nie Yinniang on its back and led the reins back.

His personal guards ran over to take over, but he waved them away.

"I'll lead it myself."