Today, Thousand Canal Bazaar was crowded with people—not only locals from Thousand Canals, but also competing teams from neighboring Hongfu County, merchant caravans from other counties and kingdoms, and rogue cultivators traveling here to watch the excitement.
Painters occupied specially designated tables and chairs in prime viewing spots.
Young women waving flowers and colorful silk ribbons squeezed to the front of the crowd, vying for a glimpse of the Immortal Official.
Most elderly people and women holding children stayed toward the back, where the crowd was sparser.
Ornate tall carriages, simple donkey carts, and ox-drawn wagons loaded with vegetables and grain were tethered to roadside posts. Some people lifted carriage curtains to peer out, while others stood on carts to get a better view.
Hunt team disciples stationed on rooftops looked down upon the scene. The entire Thousand Canal Bazaar resembled a vibrant, richly filled pot of stew—yet everything lay exposed under the clear winter sunlight.
Under the bright sky, a sea of people gathered.
When the blade light flashed, everyone initially thought it was a planned impromptu performance—a sword dance similar to dragon and lion dances.
In that moment of collective stunned silence, Wei Ping leaped forward to meet the blade light.
Instead of engaging in close combat with his sword, he unleashed eighteen Frozen Talismans at once.
The assassin instantly froze into an ice sculpture, locked in a striking pose.
Wei Ping, still shaken, inwardly cursed as he saw the assassin—who bore Lin Feiyuan's appearance—emit white smoke from his entire body. In the blink of an eye, the figure transformed into a flimsy paper cutout of a person, spontaneously combusting until only a set of garish clothes crumpled to the ground.
"It's the Avatar Technique! Lin Feiyuan isn't the only one here!"
Lin Feiyuan only knew blades and swords, not mystical arts.
Another blade light flashed behind Wei Ping, who hastily turned to defend himself.
Simultaneously, a piercing whistle sounded from somewhere unknown.
Startled horses neighed by the roadside, rearing up on their hind legs as dozens of them stampeded wildly. Buildings collapsed, and dust clouds billowed into the air.
Screams, shouts, and wails erupted all at once. The crowd surged in panic, and chaos instantly engulfed the scene.
Carts overturned, horses whinnied, fruits flew everywhere, fireworks exploded, and flames shot skyward.
Horses trampled people, carts crashed into people, and people pushed one another.
Zhou Xiaoyun screamed hoarsely, "Protect Senior Brother Song—"
Song Qianji stood with his hands behind his back, unmoving like a mountain: "Clear the area."
His voice was not loud, but carried immense authority, brooking no argument.
Zhou Xiaoyun gritted her teeth and shouted, "Guard Squad, follow me to clear the area!"
The Guard Squad turned and dispersed into the human sea, reining in frenzied horses, carrying away fainted elders, and rescuing crying children from beneath hooves.
The Protective Array activated, bathing Thousand Canal Bazaar in a soft golden light that dampened all impact forces.
Outer sect disciples leaped down from windows and rooftops, extinguishing fires and eliminating paper assassins causing havoc among the crowd.
The Guard Squad and city defense teams quickly organized. Order was restored to the scene as if rehearsed many times before, with people evacuating nervously but orderly under protection.
A panicked horse, ten feet tall with blood-red eyes, charged toward Song Qianji while pulling a carriage.
As the carriage driver drew his sword, a pole-carrying vendor, a wealthy merchant covering his head in flight, and a woman holding up her skirts all moved simultaneously. Their terrified expressions vanished as they attacked in unison, sealing off the Immortal Official's escape routes from all sides.
Wei Ping looked back, his eyes wide with fury.
Who said assassinations must happen on moonless, windy nights in deserted places?
Lin Feiyuan had deliberately led Wei Ping to believe he was the only assassin.
But an assassination was never a duel between two individuals. Both sides deployed every means at their disposal—strength, speed, mystical powers, and deceit—holding nothing back.
Song Qianji stood unprotected on all sides, surrounded only by enemies.
The four attackers' eyes flashed with cruel, triumphant smiles, when suddenly a golden light shot toward them like a blade piercing through the air.Four figures were pierced by golden light, blood spraying in all directions.
The carriage crashed violently as the horses collapsed, a wretched cry emanating from within before falling silent.
On the rooftop, Ji Chen’s legs went weak, his hand gripping the Array Disk trembling uncontrollably, his face as pale as paper: "So close, so close... four Golden Cores..."
His Killing Array could only be used once. Amid the chaos, he knew he had to strike at the most opportune moment to eliminate the most deeply concealed and powerful assassin.
The bustling market that had been teeming with people moments before was now a scene of devastation, shrouded in swirling dust and smoke.
The paper puppets burned to ashes, the crowd mostly dispersed, leaving the street empty. Wei Ping rushed toward Song Qianji at top speed.
It seemed the dust had settled—they had survived this calamity.
But someone moved faster than Wei Ping, Ji Chen, or any member of the Guard Squad.
Unexpectedly, the carriage lying at Song Qianji’s feet exploded violently, and a blade light shot out.
The gleam of the blade illuminated Song Qianji’s face.
Reflecting the sunlight, it was dazzling.
"Senior Brother Song!" Countless frantic shouts erupted almost simultaneously.
The blade’s energy formed a barrier, enveloping Song Qianji.
It stirred his raven-black hair, brushing against his cheek with a faint, tickling sensation. He blinked, as if stung by the blade’s radiance.
The blade was broad and long—a weapon that had slain countless Nascent Souls, capable of splitting a small hill with a single strike.
Song Qianji merely extended one hand, his wide sleeves billowing in the energy’s wake like withered blossoms in the wind.
Even at the final moment, Lin Feiyuan remained expressionless and composed.
Create chaos in the market, kill amid the turmoil.
It had to be in broad daylight, under the watchful eyes of all.
The drugged horses, the paper-cutting technique, the coachman, the vendors, the wealthy merchant, the woman—each move swift and interconnected.
Unfortunately, Song Qianji had ordered the area cleared without hesitation, ending the chaos too quickly. Otherwise, they could have gained a greater advantage.
But no one would remain wary of a carriage from which a wretched cry had already emerged. No matter how deep Song Qianji’s thoughts ran, he would instinctively assume it held an innocent civilian caught in the crossfire.
When Lin Feiyuan devised the plan, someone had asked him: Was it necessary to go this far?
Wasn’t it just about killing a minor Immortal Official with low cultivation but powerful backing?
Song Qianji appeared to be a protected figure—skilled in farming, fond of plants and trees. No one had ever seen him take action firsthand.
Lin Feiyuan was not fooled by such surface appearances. He firmly believed that someone who commanded such reverence and admiration could not rely solely on virtue or favors.
Or perhaps, he simply did not believe in concepts like "virtue," "gratitude," or "winning hearts through moral integrity."
The weaker Song Qianji seemed, the more vigilant Lin Feiyuan became.
What if Song Qianji opened a treasure box and hurled a Painted Spring Mountain at him?
What if he used the Seven Wonders Zither? Or the Dragon Slaying Formation?
No matter which Sage’s legacy he employed, it would surely be earth-shattering and magnificent—a devastating move if unleashed on the plains or in the clouds.
But in the densely built Thousand Canal Bazaar, with its teeming crowds, once the assassination began, chaos would reign. Grand supernatural powers would be difficult to deploy, leaving one constrained instead.
Lin Feiyuan poured all his Spirit Qi into delivering his strongest strike. Though the blade was massive, it was swift enough.
Winds rose, clouds swirled, sand flew, and stones scattered.
Song Qianji’s hands were empty, one extended.
His two fingers moved slightly, actually flicking the blade barehanded.
"Clang—"
The sound of metal striking stone echoed.
In an instant, a chilling cold seeped from the blade into the assassin’s limbs, rendering him immobile.Lin Feiyuan saw a light brighter than the sun and felt the shadow of death and overwhelming terror.
The blade snapped in half, and the bones in his right hand—from fingers to wrist—shattered into fragments.
Song Qianji had merely flicked a single drop of water.
Before leaving this morning, to suppress his cultivation realm, he had compressed the saturated Spirit Qi in his meridians a hundredfold, condensing it into liquid.
"Hopefully, nothing happens today. Otherwise..." He watched the assassin's horrified, disbelieving eyes and mentally completed the thought—
"He's out of luck."
With his Natal Blade destroyed, Lin Feiyuan vomited blood and fled.
Wei Ping rushed over: "Song Qianji!"
He forgot to address him as "Sir" or "Senior Brother."
Song Qianji's combat prowess was formidable—so absurdly and unimaginably strong that it defied all expectations.
He hadn't anticipated it, nor had the assassin. With the ensuing lockdown and search, Lin Feiyuan wouldn't get far...
"Watch out!" A powerful force slammed into him, yanking him behind Song Qianji in an instant.
Only when the sword tip pierced Song Qianji's body, splashing scalding blood across Wei Ping's face, did Wei Ping realize what had happened.
An assassin never relies on just one Lifebound magical artifact.
Who could have imagined that, despite his severe injuries, Lin Feiyuan would feign escape only to strike back with a sword?
And his target was Wei Ping.
The sword moved silently, without a trace of Spirit Qi leakage or the whistle of cutting air.
The blade was pitch-black, reflecting not a glimmer of light even under the midday sun.
An open blade, a hidden sword.
Blood dripped from Wei Ping's cheek and brow.
He heard Song Qianji's muffled grunt, saw the blood-soaked back shielding him, and in that instant, his entire body turned cold, his pupils dilating.
Song Qianji had been stabbed.
So, he himself was the final piece of this assassination plot.
Song Qianji snapped Lin Feiyuan's Lifebound Sword, sending the assassin flying backward to crash through a high platform.
The Guard Squad swarmed in from all directions.
Ji Chen, eyes red, pressed his sword against the assassin's nape.
The assassin lay vomiting blood, surrounded by countless furious blades and swords, yet he lifted his gaze toward Song Qianji with a complex expression.
As if asking why he had shown mercy, willing to take a wound himself rather than kill his enemy.
"Hold your strikes," Song Qianji said, pulling back the frenzied Wei Ping with one hand.
This sword shouldn't have wounded him.
The assassin had means to disguise his appearance, but the moment Song Qianji recognized the sword, a flash of insight made him hastily withdraw and change his move.
It was Lin Feiyuan's "Obscure Sword." He didn't want to kill this man.
Wei Ping's face was deathly pale, his body trembling: "You—you're alright?!"
Song Qianji shrugged it off: "A flesh wound."
Nourished by the Fountain of Immortality, his body had already stopped bleeding.
Song Qianji walked toward Lin Feiyuan: "Take him to Song Courtyard."
If rage could kill, Lin Feiyuan and his accomplices would have died a thousand times over—not be pressed down like dead dogs.
Lin Feiyuan's voice was hoarse as he glared at Song Qianji: "The victor is king, the vanquished, a bandit. Kill me if you will, cut me down if you must..."
His arm bones were broken, his organs severely injured. With every word, blood gushed from his mouth and nose, yet he still lifted his head with a cold laugh: "Why the hypocritical act?"
That familiar gaze, that familiar expression.
Song Qianji frowned, turned, and walked away: "Treat his injuries."
"Senior Brother Song, this man..." Wei Ping chased after him but was cut off.
Song Qianji ignored him, striding forward as he roared sharply:
"Whoever wants me dead, come at me with your sword—I'll be waiting—"
The wound on his shoulder tore open, blood streaming down to drip onto the bluestone pavement.The voice echoed through the wind-scattered, debris-strewn long street, spreading beyond Thousand Canal Bazaar toward distant lands.
Wei Ping had never seen Song Qianji raise his voice.
Neither Ji Chen, Zhou Xiaoyun, Xu Kanshan, Qiu Dacheng, nor any Outer Sect disciple had ever witnessed Song Qianji in such a state. Whether answering questions, drawing talismans, playing chess, or tending crops, he had always remained gentle, with laughter often dancing in his eyes.
The long street fell silent, save for Song Qianji's stern shout that reverberated like thunder.
The crowd stared in astonishment. Who was he speaking to?
Why did he act with such calm and restraint when striking, leaving room and showing measure, yet now suddenly erupt in fury?
"Boom!"
Real thunder cracked open the sky.
Daylight abruptly dimmed as Spirit Qi churned chaotically between heaven and earth, while Tribulation Clouds gathered overhead.
Song Qianji's emotional surge sent his aura shooting straight into the clouds, his cultivation no longer suppressable.
A purple lightning bolt, like a coiling dragon, tore through the rolling black clouds.
The Thunder Tribulation had arrived!
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