Chapter Sixty-Four: The Golden Lotus Flying Dagger

In truth, the martial arts prowess of the White Horse Young Master was nowhere near as formidable as Zhang He had imagined; he himself was only at the second rank. It was merely by relying on the powerful influence behind him that he gained entry to the Peony Pavilion. To put it bluntly, his reputation was nothing but empty fame, as evidenced by the Celestial Musician’s utter disregard for him earlier.

In a contest between two strong opponents, no outside interference could be tolerated. The soup tureen thrown up to the balcony would not have harmed Zhang He, but it was enough to distract him for a moment—and that was all the opportunity the White Horse Young Master needed to turn from defense to attack.

Seeing the soup tureen hurtling toward him, Zhang He’s temper finally ignited. These so-called noble gentlemen and upright sects prided themselves on their honor, yet even under the gaze of the public they resorted to underhanded tricks—shameless!

Fired with anger, Zhang He no longer cared for any rules of the contest. He swiftly gathered his internal energy, thrusting his left palm forward with a forceful strike—the Flying Rock Palm.

With a crisp ringing sound, the ceramic tureen shattered into countless pieces under his palm, sending shards mixed with broth and food flying straight at the White Horse Young Master.

At such close range, with both men leaping through the air from the fourth floor, there was no time to dodge. The White Horse Young Master was drenched head to toe in thick brown soup, his snowy white robes now stained and filthy, and sharp shards of porcelain had left two bloody scratches on his handsome face.

Fortunately for him, Zhang He’s palm technique and internal strength were not yet at a high level. Had this been a fourth- or fifth-rank expert, that single strike would have drawn far more blood.

As Zhang He’s dagger swung down once more, the White Horse Young Master had no choice but to leap away, landing in the center of the hall.

Once on the ground, he looked more like a beggar from the Beggar Clan than a noble scion—hair in disarray, face and clothes so soiled he was scarcely recognizable. Around the hall, many of the distinguished guests wore faintly amused smiles.

From the fifth floor, Young Master Qi called out in a clear voice, “What a marvelous Soup Pot Divine Sword! Truly deserves its reputation. My brother, the White Horse Young Master, faces two foes at once; his martial skills are unparalleled, and his style is unmatched. I am unworthy, and can only salute your superiority!”

His words, resounding with internal force, carried clear sarcasm for all the guests to hear. Everyone on the fourth and fifth floors had witnessed the scene, and, coming from Young Master Qi, his words set the whole assembly roaring with laughter. Even the Celestial Musician’s melody seemed to grow more cheerful.

But to the White Horse Young Master, these sounds were grating beyond belief—an immense humiliation. The next instant, however, the music changed abruptly, the tune growing tense and menacing.

Zhang He, still clinging to the drapery, remained vigilant. He saw the White Horse Young Master suddenly flick his hand, sending a flash of gold flying toward him—it was the Golden Lotus Throwing Knife he had seen at the marketplace earlier.

Throwing weapons were common in the world of the Dynasty, but for someone of the White Horse Young Master’s background, and especially after he had already lost face in front of everyone, to resort to a hidden weapon was hardly befitting a disciple of a noble house.

Simply put, he had lost all dignity and, driven by rage and desperation, used a killing move regardless of the consequences.

Dangling from the drapery, Zhang He had nowhere to dodge. In his peril, he called forth the full force of his initial ascension strength and internal energy, determined to meet the flying knife head-on.

But this time, he was wrong. Mid-flight, the Golden Lotus Throwing Knife emitted a sharp crack as its six golden petals suddenly unfolded, splitting the single blade into six, each arcing toward a different part of Zhang He’s body.

Not only the guests but even Zhang He himself was caught off guard. Only now did he realize why the sleeve arrow sold by Zhong Shuman’s shop, despite its effectiveness, was so cheap, while Drunken Cat’s throwing knives fetched a far higher price. The secret was here.

But it was too late. Zhang He managed to deflect two of the golden petals aimed at his face, but three struck him in the thigh and abdomen.

Wounds appeared:

“-42!”
“-42!”
“-42!”

Zhang He was shocked. Not only had the weapon left his lower body numb and slowed his movement, it had nearly cost him his life.

The White Horse Young Master was even more astonished. He had used the full force of his internal energy at the initial ascension stage, and yet his opponent’s defense far exceeded his expectations. Usually, a strike like this would leave even a third- or fourth-rank expert crippled or dead.

Suddenly, the music in the Peony Pavilion shifted again, the zither notes ringing out in a rapid, urgent rhythm. It was no longer music, but more like the war drums of a battlefield, as if the duel had reached its final decisive moment.

Inside the hall, exclamations erupted. Zhang He had suddenly let go of the drapery and plunged down, his blade swinging straight for the White Horse Young Master’s head. This strike had no flourish or technique, only the pure, thunderous intent to kill. Though blade and man were not one, its momentum and aura were overwhelming—it was a blow meant to take a life.

In that instant, Zhang He, driven by fury, unleashed the combined force of his various martial arts—Boundless Valor, Killing Sword, Flying Rock Sword, Qi Recovery Break Gold, Money Dart—as well as his initial ascension strength and internal energy.

He could tolerate a slight or an insult, but never an attempt on his life.

Such was the cruel, simple logic of the martial world: if I do not kill you, you will kill me; if you try to kill me, I will strike first.

Zhang He would not allow the White Horse Young Master to leave the Peony Pavilion alive tonight—and he had full confidence in his ability.

The White Horse Young Master, for all his shortcomings, had some perception. Seeing the ferocity of the strike, he dared not meet it head-on, quickly sidestepping—after all, Zhang He would be injured by the fall if he missed.

What he did not anticipate was that Zhang He possessed a lightness skill known as Wavewalking Step. Though he fell straight down, the moment his boots touched the ground, he rebounded lightly, soaring four or five meters high.

Halfway through his leap, Zhang He flicked his hand, sending five coins spinning toward the White Horse Young Master. The latter never expected that the fierce blade attack would be a feint and that the true killing blow would come from a handful of dark, heavy coins.

In fact, with his remaining strength, the White Horse Young Master could have dodged, but he lacked the imagination and mental preparation. Thus, in the art of dueling, pure strength alone does not guarantee victory; experience and adaptability are often more crucial.

“Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud!”

A rapid succession of impacts rang out as the coins struck the White Horse Young Master’s chest, shoulders, and abdomen.

The attack was devastating—each coin carried a force of 181 points. Even though the Boundless Valor skill was active, its courage bonus had not triggered, yet the combined damage easily surpassed 550 points, despite the White Horse Young Master’s 70 points of defense. He was doomed.

With a dull crash, the White Horse Young Master collapsed on the floor, arms and legs spread wide. He stared helplessly as Zhang He leapt to the third floor, then, with a few strides of the Songwalking technique, vaulted to the fifth floor. His gaze was filled with terror and disbelief.

The music continued, now somber and desolate, as if to announce the battle’s end.

The change was so sudden and shocking, for all the distinguished guests had thought this was merely a performance—none expected real blades and real blood. And Zhang He, this rogue, had just murdered someone in the middle of the Peony Pavilion.

Before anyone could react, Zhang He was already standing on the balcony railing across from Young Master Qi on the fifth floor, bowing with cupped hands. “Thank you for the wine. I take my leave.”

With that, he turned, leapt through the window, and vanished from the building.

At that moment, the zither string snapped with a sharp twang, and all heavenly music ceased.

The Celestial Musician rose with a long sigh, gazing at her zither. “So few understand, and none remain to hear when the strings break…”

As the music disappeared, the guests seemed to awaken from a dream. The entire Peony Pavilion erupted into chaos—the shouting and commotion were deafening, and all semblance of refined elegance vanished, replaced by the uproar of a marketplace.

Amid the din, Young Master Qi remained seated before the incense table, unmoving. He gazed at the shattered window where Zhang He had disappeared and nodded slightly, raising his cup in a silent toast.

“Seize the joy while life is good, let not the golden cup face the moon in vain. Brother Wu, as you depart, let me offer this cup and wish you swift winds on your journey.”

With that, he tilted his head back and drained the fiery spirit in a single gulp, his expression turning indescribably lonely and wistful.