Chapter Forty-Nine: Carrying the Assassination to the End

In a secret chamber deep within the imperial palace of the Kingdom of Blazing Fire, an elderly man in red robes and a dark crimson mask stood transfixed before over a hundred white jade plaques, seven of which had already crumbled to pale ash. The mask shimmered faintly with red light, blocking any spiritual sense from probing within. Suddenly, the old man’s eyes beneath the mask blazed with a chilling light. “Who dares oppose our Bloodfiend Alliance? Find them. Kill them!”

Five figures, robed in the same crimson, stood before him. One, a man as wiry as a monkey, gave a deep bow. “Yes, I will investigate at once.”

The masked elder drew a long breath, his tone easing. “If you find them, do not alarm the enemy. Our opponent must be powerful, beyond what you can handle. I suspect at least a Core Formation cultivator.”

The monkey-faced man cupped his fists. “Alliance Leader, who do you think it could be?”

The elder chuckled. “Pu Cheng, you are the strategist of our Bloodfiend Alliance. What’s your analysis?”

“Alliance Leader, first, I believe this wasn’t the work of a single person. One or two wouldn’t have the power. We are the backbone of the Bloodfiend Alliance, unmatched among all Foundation Establishment cultivators in East Yue. Yet we were ambushed so easily—they must have at least ten people. Second, I suggest an order: no member of the Alliance is to go out alone. All must move in groups of at least ten, until our foes are destroyed.”

The masked elder nodded repeatedly. “Sound advice. They must be the remnants of East Yue. We just drove them out—would that dog emperor let things lie? He must have sent people to cause trouble. But I didn’t expect such a large operation. These Foundation Establishment cultivators took us centuries to train.”

Half a month later, on the second floor of the Grand East Yue Restaurant, less than a third of the tables were occupied. At a massive round table in the center, thirteen men in red robes feasted and drank without restraint. Most striking of all, a transparent shield encased the table, each man channeling spiritual power in turn to maintain its operation.

A shield, just for a meal?

The other diners exchanged puzzled glances. Judging by their dress, these must be Bloodfiend Alliance cultivators. The Bloodfiend Alliance had only just conquered East Yue and stood at their zenith—what could they possibly fear?

Only two men at a northwestern corner table paid them no attention. One, a young man with granite-like features, slowly savored a bowl of plain noodles, eating with a rare, deliberate care. His tablemate, meanwhile, did nothing but drink. Five empty wine jars sat before him, accompanied by a single plate of fried peanuts. Face flushed, tongue thick from drink, he still grinned, flashing small tiger teeth. “Innkeeper! More wine! The good stuff! More—” Then, mid-sentence, he slid under the table and soon began to snore thunderously.

The granite-faced youth continued eating his noodles unhurriedly. Not until he’d drained the last drop of broth did he toss a spirit stone on the table, then, with evident reluctance, reached under the table to drag out the drunkard, supporting him downstairs.

Once outside the imperial city, the granite-faced man let go abruptly. The drunken man staggered but did not fall, his eyes suddenly clear and alert, showing no sign of intoxication.

The granite-faced man spoke coldly, his words clipped. “Was it useful?”

Thunderclap blinked. “Dugu, it was. We’ve learned a lot. First, the Bloodfiend Alliance is afraid. That’s why they move in groups, even set sentries at meals. Second, I spotted a weakness in this group. We can exploit it.”

Dugu smiled but said nothing. Thunderclap knew of his companion’s terse nature and continued, “They’re gluttons! Even with demons on the prowl, they come out to indulge their appetites. Eating behind a shield—how uncomfortable that must be! We can use their gluttony to deal with this lot.”

Dugu smiled again, wordless. Thunderclap, ever the clever one—nicknamed ‘Little Zhuge’ even by the Emperor’s uncle—clearly had a plan.

Three days later, a new snack shop opened diagonally opposite the Grand East Yue Restaurant, specializing in deep-fried stinky tofu. A red sign at the door proclaimed: “Grand Opening—One Week Free!”

Free for a week—irresistible. Anything free draws a crowd, and soon the place was packed daily. Two assistants worked frantically: one, with a face like granite, tending the fryer; the other, mouth covered with a tattered cloth, bustling among the customers.

The entire East Yue Street—busiest in the imperial city—now had a new claim to fame: “The Street of Fragrant Stink!”

On the seventh and final free day, word of mouth had made the stinky tofu wildly popular. The queue outside stretched in a long, winding serpent, twisting ten times. Those at the end faced a five-hour wait to taste its legendary flavor.

Suddenly, thirteen red-robed cultivators marched from a street corner, charging straight for the line. “The Bloodfiend Alliance is on official business! Make way!” they shouted.

At the sight of the Bloodfiend Alliance, the crowd scattered. The red-robed men confronted the young man with the cloth mask. The monkey-faced leader barked, “Bloodfiend business! Fry up the tofu, now!” Without waiting, he pinched a half-cooked piece from the hot oil and stuffed it in his mouth.

The other twelve watched hungrily, some swallowing in anticipation. “Well, boss, how’s it taste?”

The monkey-faced cultivator swallowed, grabbed another, and said, mouth full, “Smells foul, tastes divine. The more you chew, the better... Hurry up, fry more.” At this, the others could no longer resist, descending in a feeding frenzy. The monkey-faced one scowled, “Damn it, leave two on watch!”

Those in the queue fumed—was this official business, or just gluttony? How could someone so greedy stay so skinny?

Over a hundred pieces vanished in moments—far faster than the granite-faced youth could fry them. Still, the crowd clamored, “Faster, fry more—no need to cook them through!”

The young man with the cloth mask finally spread his hands helplessly, “All gone. Come back tomorrow, great masters. And everyone else, please disperse.” The crowd was disgruntled, but none dared provoke the Bloodfiend Alliance.

The red-robed cultivators, however, refused to leave. “What do you mean, all gone? Go fetch more now—our cravings have just begun!”

The masked youth packed up, replying, “It’s too far—would take two hours just to get back.”

The monkey-faced one narrowed his eyes, using his spiritual sense to check—neither man had any sign of spiritual energy, mere mortals. Still, he asked warily, “Why cover your mouth with that cloth?”

The youth yanked off the cloth, grinning with tigerish teeth. “It’s for hygiene. Food should be clean—wouldn’t want you to get sick, right?”

The monkey-faced cultivator probed with secret techniques—no sign of poison. He relaxed. “Fine, I’ll take you there—much faster.” He tossed out a flying sword, formed a hand seal, and the sword streaked over.

The youth’s mouth fell open in shock, forgetting even to dodge as the sword whooshed past his nose.

The monkey-faced one was now certain—any cultivator would dodge or counterattack; only someone with nerves of steel, or a true mortal, would react so. Satisfied, he summoned his sword, swept his sleeve, and a flash of spirit light scooped up the two youths and their equipment, setting them down atop the flying blade.

With a whoosh, the flying sword soared into the sky, the two young men staggering as the monkey-faced cultivator smiled and cast a protective barrier around them.

A quarter of an hour later, the sword descended on a desolate village. The tiger-toothed youth grinned, “It’s that house under the big tree at the east end. Please wait here, sirs. We’ll be right back.”

“Hold it!” The monkey-faced one stopped him. “You go alone—he stays.” He ordered two subordinates, “You two go with him. Help carry the stuff.”

The youth managed a wry smile, said nothing, and led the way. The two red-robed cultivators followed, turning the corner and entering the house with him.

The monkey-faced one extended his spiritual sense, firmly locking onto the thatched hut. Half a tea’s time passed. He frowned, hand straying to his storage pouch—suddenly, two faint pops sounded. Instantly, a blood-red sword appeared in his hand. “Damn—ambush! Kill that brat!”

After those pops, he could sense nothing from the three. Most likely, his subordinates were finished. “Boss, the kid... he’s gone!”

He spun around, but the tofu vendor had vanished. What sorcery was this? Some powerful escape art, right under his nose? Or was it some ghostly cultivation technique? “Search! Don’t let anyone escape!” They rushed into the yard.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar—everything changed. The village and houses vanished, replaced by barren rock. A great formation rose around them. At its heart stood a square dais, where six flawless spirit stones ringed a pitch-black hole spouting blue flames, engulfing the eleven remaining cultivators.

Trapped in the blue fire, the Foundation Establishment cultivators struggled, their movements slowing, bodies stiffening as if imprisoned.

Outside the array, a streak of black light appeared—a plain-looking youth astride a jet-black thistle, floating in the air and studying the array. It was Thunderclap, the one with the cloth mask. He tossed out a storage pouch; a beam of white light shot into the array, then split into eleven streams, each striking a red-robed cultivator.

Immobilized by the array, the red-robed men could only move as if in slow motion. None could dodge; each was pierced by the white light. Thunderclap’s heart leapt with joy. He formed a seal with both hands—“Kill!”

No explosion sounded, only a blast of icy air. Instantly, all eleven were frozen into statues of ice. At that moment, Dugu materialized beside him and asked, “What is this?”

Thunderclap replied proudly, “It’s a technique I invented while cultivating Endless Divine Sea. Not as powerful as its ultimate move—Stunning Swan’s Paralysis—but more than enough for low-level cultivators. I call it the Frostbolt.”

Suddenly, one ice statue cracked apart. From the mist strode a skeletal, monkey-like figure. The monkey-faced cultivator laughed wildly, “So, you are the remnants of East Yue. This time, you won’t escape!” Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he began a guttural incantation. Then, with a sweep, a fierce wind roared up, and he grew a full head taller. If he’d once resembled a bamboo pole, he now looked like a flagstaff.

Thunderclap involuntarily stepped back in shock. “This… this isn’t Foundation Establishment—at least early Core Formation! It’s a trap!”