Chapter Twenty-One: Ambush in the Dense Forest

Song Yue moved swiftly through the dense forest.

He didn’t feel reckless in the slightest; recklessness, after all, usually carried a derogatory sense. He was brave, passionate, decisive, steadfast, strong, upright, kind-hearted—and handsome! He was someone who dared to confront all evil, ugliness, and injustice head-on.

Yes, he was just that outstanding.

Song Yue felt no fear of the eerie woods, as if he were born for such places. Here, he was like a fish in water. In the city, he always felt out of place. People called Qian Ge a homebody—though she was a beautiful young woman, she had no desire to go shopping. In truth, he didn’t like wandering aimlessly either and detested pointless socializing even more. He preferred to spend his time training and reading.

In earlier years, his parents would invite renowned masters—those with great status and fame among the martial artists—to instruct him. Song Yue found it deeply irritating. He knew his parents meant well and didn’t want to rob them of their sense of accomplishment or joy as parents, but he truly disliked those sessions.

Those masters always treated him like a child, offering perfunctory demonstrations, never sparring seriously, and talking endlessly. They’d say things like, “Your style is outdated—too old-fashioned, not innovative enough!” or “Your sword technique is too simplistic and forceful, lacking in grace. Swordplay should be agile and elegant—just picture a beauty dancing with a blade, isn’t that pleasing to the eye?”

But what’s the use of an old-fashioned style if it can’t beat someone up? Swordsmanship was for combat, not for show! Every time he heard such talk, Song Yue had to restrain himself mightily, afraid he might spit in their faces out of frustration.

He wasn’t afraid of much, but the problem was, he couldn’t beat them. At that age, even though his martial skills were well practiced, he hadn’t reached the realm of a true master and naturally wasn’t their match. These instructors would leave happily with his parents’ money after a half-hearted session, and he’d still have to treat them to good food and drink in fine restaurants. Even now, the memory was vexing.

This place was far better! Although he couldn’t absorb the area’s abundant spiritual energy, he found the circulation of the Taiyi Body Tempering Scripture here to be remarkably smooth—far more comfortable than at home.

Killing those from the secret realm had left him somewhat uneasy, but this was the world of cultivation: cold and brutal, with bloodshed ever near.

Just now, Song Yue could have ignored Zhang Zixing and his treacherous kind. After all, his protective qi shielded him, making spiritual attacks largely ineffective. Yet he couldn’t stand by watching those rookies from the Cultivation Academy get crippled. The reason that boy hadn’t been ruined earlier was that Zhang Zixing wanted to threaten and coerce him first. If Song Yue truly ignored the situation, that little blond would likely have struck to kill.

He could bully those rookies, but no one else could!

Song Yue unleashed his Phantom Step, weaving through the forest without leaving a trace. At the same time, he channeled the Taiyi Body Tempering Scripture and activated his protective qi. The three Thunder Talismans he carried would only be used as a last resort—they were his mentor’s painstaking creations, and each offensive talisman was hard-won.

As Song Yue ventured deeper, a sense of vigilance crept into his heart. Moments ago, he could still hear birds and insects, but now all was silent!

This meant someone must be nearby.

Aside from the mountains near the city, he hadn’t spent much time in deep forests, but he knew enough to recognize the signs.

Suddenly!

A black shadow leapt out from Song Yue’s right front, brandishing a gleaming blade that flashed with cold white light, swinging straight at him!

Song Yue reacted instantly, swinging his alloy spear up to block.

A thunderous clang echoed through the forest. The impact forced Song Yue two steps back, and he was startled—were it not for the Taiyi Body Tempering Scripture he had just mastered, he might have been injured by that blow.

He had no time to think. He lunged forward, spear in hand, engaging the black-clad assailant in combat.

The attacker was even more astonished than Song Yue. He had launched a sneak attack—striking without warning—yet this clearly youthful boy had reacted with lightning speed and blocked his strike, retreating only two steps.

If this had been an ordinary master, such an ambush would have left them badly wounded, coughing blood at the very least.

Spear and blade clashed again and again, the sheer force making Song Yue’s arms go numb. This was a formidable martial artist, and clearly much older than himself. Could it be Zhang Zixing? But the figure’s build was similar to his own, and much taller than Zhang Zixing.

Suppressing the blood surging through his organs, Song Yue gritted his teeth, circulated the Taiyi Body Tempering Scripture to stabilize himself, and pressed the attack with his alloy spear.

The black-clad man had intended a quick kill. Even deep in the forest, there was no guarantee that those naive academy students wouldn’t stumble upon them. If his image were captured, he might be forced into a massacre. He was a hired killer, paid to eliminate Song Yue, and wanted nothing to do with those influential yet weak students.

But he hadn’t expected Song Yue to hold out so long: a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old master was already rare, but to possess such vigorous life force at that age was unbelievable.

Unconvinced, the assassin unleashed a storm of relentless attacks with his blade, each one more ferocious than the last.

Song Yue felt as if he were dancing on the edge of life and death with every move. If not for his protective qi, he would have been crippled long ago. Even with it, the sharp blade inflicted several cuts, blood flowing freely—alarming to see, but they were only flesh wounds.

Still, they hurt.

Song Yue hated pain.

Yet pain only served to awaken greater reserves of strength in him.

He erupted with energy! With a low roar, he spun his alloy spear in a seamless web, counterattacking fiercely, pressing forward through the pressure toward his opponent.

Having fought since childhood, Song Yue’s battle experience was as rich as any veteran’s. He noticed that while his opponent’s swordplay was fierce, his close-combat skills were lacking.

He edged closer, looking for a chance to strike a low blow.

The assassin realized his intent and, shocked, unleashed his full power as well. Life-and-death combat allowed no room for error. Neither spoke; both searched for the other’s weakness.

Song Yue, shielded by his protective qi, took a direct slash to the chest. The qi nearly shattered and a long gash appeared, blood seeping out. Yet, he succeeded in closing the distance, thrusting his spear at his enemy’s eyes.

As the assassin raised his blade to block, Song Yue’s leg shot up like a spring, slamming into the man’s groin with a resounding thud!

The black-clad man’s body stiffened, and though he wanted to howl in pain, he gritted his teeth and tried to dodge aside.

But—

Song Yue’s spear, which had feinted toward the eyes, plunged straight through the man’s chest.

The assassin’s blade clattered to the ground. He collapsed, curling up like a shrimp, clutching his groin, too consumed by agony to even care about the spear still lodged in his chest. He was on the verge of passing out from the pain.

Song Yue kept his protective qi up. Who knew where this wretch had come from, or if more lay in wait nearby? He needed answers.

Letting his blood flow, he crouched before the man and ripped off his mask.

A face in its forties stared back at him—strange and unfamiliar. Song Yue had never seen him before. With his photographic memory, he could recall anyone he’d encountered, even in passing. There could be no personal grudge; the only possibility was that this man was an assassin, hired to kill him.

So Zhang Zixing truly was a treacherous cur, luring him here with threats just to set an assassin upon him.

Song Yue took out his phone. Though there was no signal and magnetic interference abounded, the camera still worked. He snapped several photos of the pale, sweat-soaked, contorted face before him, then put the phone away.

The man wasn’t dead yet—Song Yue had shown restraint. The spear through his chest would not kill him immediately. If he’d wanted to, he could have finished him with a blow to the head.

“I’ve taken your picture. Once I leave, it shouldn’t be hard to uncover your identity. With that, your family’s information will be easy to find as well,” Song Yue said coolly, ignoring the man’s groans as blood dripped from his own wounds, protective qi still swirling around him.

The assassin’s eyes widened with fury and fear. “What are you going to do? Don’t bring harm to my family! How dare you!”

Song Yue remained unruffled. Facing a foe who had lost all power to retaliate, he had patience to spare. He also needed this time to recover. While circulating the Taiyi Body Tempering Scripture, he gazed impassively at the man.

“What wouldn’t I dare? Didn’t you read my background before accepting the contract to kill me? I follow my own code.”

His voice was calm, his eyes cold as he regarded the assassin. “We had no quarrel, yet you came to kill me. Now you beg me to spare your family? Too late! They enjoyed the blood-stained money you earned—of course, they must pay the price for it.”

Sweat streamed down the man’s face, partly from pain, partly from terror.

This youth was a devil!

From the moment he was struck in the vital spot, the assassin knew he was finished. In this line of work, everyone risked his life; if your skills failed you, you died. He felt unwilling, but accepted his fate.

Yet he hadn’t expected this brat to so quickly use such a ruthless tactic to break his guard.

Was this what people called a simple-minded brute?

He was in agony—torn between professional pride and the rules of his trade, and the thought of never seeing his family again. The middle-aged man was overwhelmed by grief; tears spilled down his cheeks.

For years, he had watched others weep as they died and found it laughable—what was the point of crying over death? Now, faced with oblivion himself, he understood that soul-piercing sorrow.

To open your eyes and see the vibrant world, only to close them and see it nevermore.

After a long while, the man recovered somewhat from his pain and sorrow. Blood trickled from his lips; he knew his time was short. Without waiting for Song Yue’s questions, he began to confess everything in detail.