Volume One: The King's Command Chapter Sixty: A Massacre at the Winehouse

On the left, four men; on the right, two. Each drew their weapons and moved cautiously, wary of the impending attack. Yet Liu Xiaoyi remained still, waiting for a lapse in their vigilance. A skilled hunter expends minimal energy to dispatch his prey.

After surviving several harrowing battles, he had discovered a fondness for the thrill of combat—the more tense the moment, the calmer his heart became. As the white mist swirled, he sensed the positions of the six, who were gradually closing in.

He lowered the Ice Sword, keeping it poised at his hip, ready but unmoving. In the span of just a dozen breaths, the tension reached its peak.

At last, the attackers could not restrain themselves and struck first. Four copper rings whizzed through the air, coming at Liu Xiaoyi from four directions. These were unusual weapons, ineffective alone but potent when used together, catching their target off guard.

He raised his left hand, producing a chessboard; eighteen black and white pieces soared into the air, blocking the rings. He stood firm, not budging an inch.

Their astonishment was evident. Tasked by Gong Che to kill, they had not been warned about such a formidable protector. They quickly hurled more copper rings, attempting to ensnare Liu Xiaoyi.

The rings connected, forming a copper ring formation that trapped him. A surge of alcohol-laced flames swept along the rings toward him. The chess pieces could not withstand the fire; Liu Xiaoyi brushed the flames aside with his sword. How could these flames be a match for the master of Drunken Monarch Sea? Instead, cold energy traced the rings back, and with a press of the blade, the frozen rings shattered. The four attackers suffered internal injury, coughed blood, and staggered back.

Suddenly, white mist surged. Two short blades emerged simultaneously from beneath his arms and legs. No time to block, Liu Xiaoyi invoked the "Lin" character technique, stalling for a moment. The two assailants felt their bodies grow heavy, their attacks faltered, and Liu Xiaoyi easily dodged.

The pair had trained in stealth, erasing their presence, but their surprise attack still failed. Unbeknownst to them, Liu Xiaoyi practiced Daoist arts, nearly self-taught.

Now, employing the Celestial Frost Sword technique, he moved with far greater smoothness. Years of arduous practice paled in comparison to a single real fight. Whenever his opponents shifted their footing, he was always a step ahead, blocking their advance.

In both skill and power, Liu Xiaoyi was clearly superior. The four who had caught their breath drew short blades and joined the fray—six against Liu Xiaoyi.

Gong Qing, unable to see what was happening, knew well that blades and swords spared no one. Hunched in the talisman array, he trembled, striving to stand straight and shield Qing'er.

The wind howled past his ears, occasionally tinged with the scent of blood. Someone was wounded, but who? As he speculated, the white mist suddenly contracted, then exploded outward. Six cries of anguish followed in succession.

Seizing the moment, Liu Xiaoyi swept his Ice Sword, deflecting the six attackers. With one hand, he gathered true energy, compressed the white mist, and crushed it, blasting all his assailants away.

The ground floor of the tavern, mostly furnished with wood—screens, doors, tables—was destroyed in the swift battle. The innkeeper, rushing down from above, wore a mournful expression but dared not utter a word.

With the outcome clear, Meng Qiaoqiao tossed talismans that transformed into ropes, binding the six attackers and piling them together. This display drew cheers from the diners upstairs.

"Young hero, remarkable skill!" Applause came from outside. The aura Liu Xiaoyi had just withdrawn reignited within him, true energy surging uncontrollably through his meridians.

A master! With just a few words, the newcomer had stirred his energy—he must not be underestimated!

A middle-aged swordsman stepped in, dressed in cotton garments, carrying a long bundle wrapped in cloth. As he entered, he placed the bundle gently by the door, rolled up his sleeves, and tightened his belt.

Dust swirled around his trouser hems; the discerning stepped back, fearing to be caught in the fray. Though he had yet to employ any techniques, a faint aura emanated from him—his power far exceeded that of the six fools.

---

"Lord Long! Spare us!" The six bound men pleaded for mercy, but received no response. With a calm expression, the man approached Liu Xiaoyi, planted his feet, and assumed a ready stance.

"Taolong of Song Mountain. Please grant me your guidance!"

"Are you here to kill Young Lord Gong?" Liu Xiaoyi asked, puzzled. With such a master present, what need had the other six? An assassination was no circus.

Taolong shook his head. "Yes and no. Seeing the Daoist so young yet so skilled, my heart itches with curiosity—I wish merely to exchange a few moves."

"Then I refuse. I can't beat you." After the recent battle, his energy was spent; another bout would leave him at a disadvantage.

Taolong was unhurried. He withdrew and sat on a bench. "No rush, Daoist. Recover first. We’ll spar when you’re ready, and then I’ll let you all go."

Among the spectators, some recognized Taolong and whispered, "They say a martial madman from Song Mountain challenged eighteen sects in seven days and never lost. That must be him!"

Gong Qing’s face darkened. This man was not sent by the family, but likely summoned by Gong Che as insurance, ensuring he wouldn’t leave the tavern alive.

The innkeeper sent someone out the back to alert friends in the martial world—three floors of business could not be ruined by one fight.

Liu Xiaoyi sat cross-legged for a quarter-hour. The diners waited, faces flushed, and the tavern grew restless.

"We must fight, so let’s begin. Mr. Tai, you go first."

The Ice Sword spun a brilliant flower, scattering frost three feet before him. Taolong wasted no words, hands forming the shape of a serpent, right foot lunging forward, arms like agile vipers entwining the shining blade.

Weapons favor length, but Liu Xiaoyi had never faced a master of boxing. Taolong’s hands were nimble, and no matter how he swung his sword, he could not break free.

He retreated half a step; Taolong advanced half a step. He jumped, Taolong followed, using his shoulders and back to press against Liu Xiaoyi’s power points, rapidly draining his strength.

Though their cultivation was not greatly different, Liu Xiaoyi felt helpless. He tried to use the chess pieces to block, but every time they flew out, Taolong’s swirling fists deflected them, sending them spinning back.

"This swordplay is fierce—well done! Serpent form!" Taolong praised. Suddenly, his fists changed. To Liu Xiaoyi’s eyes, it seemed hundreds of arms attacked at once. Off guard, his defenses were breached—every punch struck a joint or acupoint, his body crackling.

This move sealed the opponent’s meridians and immobilized the joints, rendering the body motionless. Anyone else would have collapsed instantly, but as he endured the assault, Liu Xiaoyi guarded his meridians with the "Lin" technique. He felt pain throughout, but managed to stand.

Taolong paused, then clasped his hands and laughed heartily. "Daoist, your skill is superb. I concede! Another day, I’ll come to offer my apologies."

With that, he grabbed his cloth bundle, slung it over his shoulder, and departed without a backward glance, leaving the unlucky six behind.

"Daoist Liu, you’re amazing! That boxing—I’ve never seen anyone use it before." Meng Qiaoqiao bounced up behind him, slapping his back. The two great battles had, in her eyes, surpassed her master’s lessons.

Martial arts were superior; unlike cultivators who fought from afar, lacking spectacle. Novices couldn’t tell what was happening—victory and defeat were decided before they understood.

---

Within the Gong family’s separate residence, over thirty people gathered, including Gong Che, all dressed in night attire, their faces grim.

Soon, a worker rushed in, shouting of trouble. Gong Che slapped the table and vaulted over the courtyard wall, heading straight for the tavern.

The worker had been sent by the innkeeper, seeking help but inadvertently causing greater calamity. Gong Che was no mere fool; he was a genuine eighth-tier Earth Soul.

"Feng Wenhu, Feng Wenlong, you two capture those Daoists later—I’ll go kill Gong Qing."

Within the group of black-clad men, there were also members of the Feng family. "Brother, even Feng Changzai couldn’t win—can we really handle this?" Wenlong asked, nervous. He’d heard at home that Feng Changzai had been twice defeated by a young Daoist, and retreated to the sect for closed-door training.

The brothers Wenlong and Wenhu, upon receiving Gong Che’s message, brought their trusted men to assist. Twenty-five years prior, the Feng family had already made their move on the Gong family, bribing a senior elder to place Feng’s offspring within the Gong clan.

That child was Gong Che. The elder soon disappeared during a merchant caravan journey, never returning. Gong Che’s status in the Gong family was thus assured. Barring surprises, he would become the next clan leader.

Gong Qing was a useless cripple; the Feng family’s scheme was calculated accordingly. Now, Gong Qing had inexplicably recovered from illness—this could not be allowed.

But upon reaching the tavern, only cleaning staff remained on the first floor; the others had vanished.

"Where are they? Damn it, you can’t even keep track of a few people?" Gong Che cursed, terrifying the innkeeper into silence.

"They… they went south. Not back to the Gong estate…"

"Gong Qing has property elsewhere? That useless wretch has some ability. After them!"

Gong Che gave chase down South Street without pause.

On the surface, the Gong family appeared calm, but chaos reigned within. Gong Lichun watched his own son shake off the sickly look, feeling a mix of emotions.

How could he not know Gong Che’s true identity? After twenty years as clan leader, he knew many secrets. He had planned to use Gong Che as leverage against the Feng family, but now he had to accelerate his plans.

Hundreds of assassins were already lying in wait near the Feng estate, along with experts hired from outside Seven Stars City.

Taolong strode into the hall, seeing Gong Lichun’s troubled face, and offered congratulations. "Congratulations, Clan Leader Gong. Your son is most promising."

"Congratulations? On the rooftops of Seven Stars City, assassins leap everywhere. My son’s whereabouts are unknown. What should I do?" Gong Lichun sighed.

"I saw the young master at the tavern. He’s sheltering at a property in South Garden Lane."

"Why didn’t you follow him? If anything happens to Qing’er, forget about that diamond!"