"Take it outside! Don't involve innocent civilians!" Ma Shengxiong shouted sharply.
The room erupted into chaos. The tavern keeper had been on edge since the trio entered, sensing things wouldn't end well—especially that masked stranger who looked anything but trustworthy. Hearing the commotion upstairs, he grabbed Fu Zhumei and pushed him toward the stairs. "Xiao Fu, go check upstairs. If they're planning to fight in my tavern again, use whatever sweet words you can to get them out. We've already been paid, and I won't even charge them for ruining all these fine ingredients."
"Me...?" Fu Zhumei blinked up at the second floor. "What should I say to make them leave?" The keeper smacked him hard on the head. "Are you stupid? Say anything, as long as those troublemakers get out!" Fu Zhumei gaped, utterly failing to grasp the keeper's meaning, his face blank as he shuffled toward the stairs—clearly without a single coherent thought in his head. The keeper paid him no further mind, quickly ducking into the back room and vanishing from sight.
"Fight?" The Porcelain-Masked Man slowly removed his mask and let it drop midair. With a crack , the porcelain shattered on the floor. "Do you know who you're speaking to?" The moment Ma Shengxiong saw the face beneath, his complexion drained of color. "You—you—" Daoist Xuwu abruptly stood. He recognized that face—years ago, during the great battle at Jiangnan Manor, he'd witnessed this man's ruthless, unstoppable slaughter. This was none other than Wei Beiyin of the Nine Gates Path!
Ma Shengxiong slid into position back-to-back with Daoist Xuwu, both men chilled to the bone. Facing this demon, they knew there was no hope of survival today—but even so, they'd fight with everything they had. Wei Beiyin watched them coldly, flexing the fingers of his right hand as if deciding whose head to twist off first.
In that frozen moment, Fu Zhumei reached the second floor. Wei Beiyin's gaze lifted to him, icy eyes boring into the young man's servant attire. Fu Zhumei remained oblivious to that sinister stare, blinking dumbly at the three men in the room. "The keeper says... if you three guests plan to fight, please take it outside..." Before he could finish, Wei Beiyin flicked a finger, sending a wine cup hurtling silently toward Fu Zhumei's chest. That flick carried enough True Power to pierce clean through three men like him.
Ma Shengxiong reacted swiftly, shouting as he swung his spear to intercept—but the tiny cup abruptly accelerated, nimbly evading the spear's arc to continue its deadly path toward Fu Zhumei. Daoist Xuwu sighed. Wei Beiyin's lips curled into a ghastly smile. Ma Shengxiong cried out in alarm, certain the white-clad servant would collapse with a gaping hole through his chest.
Yet when he retracted his spear and turned back, his eyes widened in shock. There stood the servant, unharmed, holding the cup with the same blank expression as he continued, "...About thirty paces northwest of the Silver Horn Tavern, there's Jinwu Escort Agency's training grounds."Ma Shengxiong and Daoist Xuwu exchanged bewildered glances, unable to discern whether this young attendant was a hidden master or if Wei Beiyin had inexplicably gone easy on him. In their confusion, they suddenly heard Wei Beiyin's icy praise: "What swift hands you have, sir! In all my years wandering the martial world, this is the first time I've misjudged someone!" Fu Zhumei widened his eyes at him, his expression unchanged—no different from when he had served the soup earlier. Yet Wei Beiyin's gaze toward him had transformed entirely. To catch that wine cup, this white-clad attendant's skill had to be on par with the martial world's top-tier masters—something Ma Shengxiong and Daoist Xuwu could never hope to achieve. Just who was this person?
"Who are you?" Wei Beiyin slowly rose from his chair. "You seem very young. Who was your master? Xue Xianzi? Wudang's Qingjing? Or Kunlun's Tianwen?" The attendant appeared no older than twenty-one or twenty-two, so Wei Beiyin guessed he was either a prodigy or had encountered some extraordinary mentor.
Fu Zhumei shook his head. After a long pause, seeing Wei Beiyin still staring intently at him, he rubbed his hair and asked, "Why... why are you looking at me like that?" At these words, Ma Shengxiong and Daoist Xuwu gaped at each other again, torn between disbelief and exasperation—was this man truly simple-minded or just pretending? Wei Beiyin replied coolly, "Since you mentioned the nearby Jinwu Escort Agency's training grounds, it would be petty of me to refuse. Lead the way. If you can withstand a single strike from me, I'll turn and leave. These two men's lives I'll spare, and I'll never set foot here again. How does that sound?"
Fu Zhumei let out an "Ah," hesitated for a long while, then reluctantly agreed, "Alright..." He glanced at Ma Shengxiong and Daoist Xuwu. "It's been decades since I last fought anyone..." His implication was clear—he had no confidence in facing Wei Beiyin and was advising them to leave first. This statement left Ma Shengxiong and Daoist Xuwu stunned once more. Even if he meant well by warning them of his uncertainty, his claim of "decades" without a fight was absurd for someone his age. Was he mocking Wei Beiyin, or was he genuinely unhinged—a fool?
Wei Beiyin studied him coldly. "It seems you're quite confident?" He had never been this cautious even against Rongyin, Yuxiu, or Bai Nanzhu. This dull-witted, white-clad attendant exuded an inexplicable strangeness unlike anyone he had ever encountered.
Fu Zhumei hesitated over the question, not out of arrogance—it was clear he was struggling to decide whether to answer "very confident" or "I really don't know." After another long pause, he rubbed his head again and turned to lead the way. The three men left behind were dumbfounded once more. Wei Beiyin, his fury simmering, laughed coldly and followed.
Ma Shengxiong and Daoist Xuwu had never witnessed such a scene. As Wei Beiyin strode ahead, they trailed at a distance—one doubling back to report the day's events to the Prime Minister's residence, the other watching covertly to see the outcome of the battle between the white-clad attendant and Wei Beiyin. As for this unexpected savior's true capabilities, Daoist Xuwu couldn't begin to guess.The two men, one leading and the other following, soon arrived at the training grounds of the Jinwu Escort Agency.
Wei Beiyin stood with his hands behind his back, while Fu Zhumei turned around. Several disciples of the Jinwu Escort Agency had been practicing martial arts, but upon seeing strangers enter, they retreated to the side to watch quietly. In the capital and the surrounding areas of Luoyang, martial artists were common, and borrowing training grounds for duels was something everyone had witnessed many times.
"Take one strike from me." Wei Beiyin slowly drew a short blade from his sleeve. A gentle breeze brushed past, revealing the mottled edge of his blade, rusted and chipped. Yet this was the same blade that had crossed paths with Rongyin Yuxiu, even Bai Nanzhu and Tang Lici—never once had Wei Beiyin been at a disadvantage in battle. Given the sheer number and variety of lives he had taken, his so-called "one strike" was undeniably a killing blow.
Fu Zhumei took a step back, then another. His gaze remained unchanged, still clear and unclouded. After retreating twice, he suddenly pressed a hand to his waist. The same breeze stirred, but there was no blade at his side, only the white robes stained with minced scallions and garlic. Yet with an empty-handed grip, his eyes abruptly sharpened.
Wei Beiyin's brows lifted. The moment Fu Zhumei mimed drawing a blade, his entire demeanor had transformed—calm, sharp, composed, and, most terrifyingly, suffused with killing intent in an instant. This was no mere posturing; it was the unmistakable residue of someone who had once slaughtered hundreds in a single breath. The change was so startling that Wei Beiyin, who had initially dismissed this young man in white, now dared not underestimate him. Gripping his blade, Wei Beiyin half-stepped back, twisting into stance. His strike, "Heaven and Earth as One," aimed to envelop the opponent's upper body—offensive yet defensive, unless the enemy specialized in leg techniques.
The blade moved, its light flashing like snow. Driven by Wei Beiyin's profound skill, the strike was vast and profound, embodying the essence of the blade. As it was unleashed, the disciples of Jinwu Escort Agency gasped in unison, their faces paling, their spirits shaken. Fu Zhumei stared unblinkingly at the oncoming strike, his complexion growing paler by the second, even his lips fading to a ghostly hue, as if frost had instantly encased him. An unparalleled aura of icy detachment radiated from him, tangible as the blade's gleam flashed before his eyes like a streak of moonlight.
Wei Beiyin saw only a brilliance as dazzling as the moon flicker past—then came the metallic clang of his blade being parried. Had he not poured decades of skill into that strike, his weapon would have shattered from the force alone. Shock flickered in his eyes, and he blurted out in disbelief, "Imperial Plum Blossom Saber!"
Imperial Plum Blossom Saber! A blade as commanding as the plum blossom, cold and peerless, its strike shaking foes, its descent startling gods and ghosts alike. A legend from thirty years ago, a prodigy from thirty years past. "Who are you?" Wei Beiyin demanded sharply.
Fu Zhumei stood empty-handed, as if the fleeting strike had never come from him. He did not answer, his gaze sharp as a blade, piercing through Wei Beiyin.
Such skill! Such eyes! Such presence! This was no mere novice! The words Fu Zhumei had spoken earlier—"I haven’t fought anyone in decades"—flashed through Wei Beiyin's mind. He retreated three steps in succession. "You—you are Yu Mei Zhu!"Fu Zhumei did not deny it. With a fierce cry, Wei Beiyin swiftly retreated. Having confirmed that this person was actually a senior of the Martial Arts World—none other than Yu Mei Zhu—what reason was there to stay? In terms of martial prowess, Wei Beiyin might not have been much inferior to Fu Zhumei. Even if he couldn't win, he certainly wouldn't have needed to flee in panic. But the legends surrounding Yu Mei Zhu were truly terrifying. Startled, he lost all desire to continue the fight and turned to leave.
Yu Mei Zhu?
The Imperial Plum Blossom Saber?
A wave of astonished murmurs rose within the Golden Guard Escort Agency. From a distance, Daoist Xuwu watched in both shock and delight, his mind filled with confusion—how could a seemingly dull-witted young servant like Fu Zhumei be Yu Mei Zhu? Impossible! Yet he had witnessed it with his own eyes—this white-clad youth had unleashed that godlike blade.
If not Yu Mei Zhu, who else could wield the Imperial Plum Blossom Saber?
"Esteemed... esteemed..." A burly man rushed out from the Golden Guard Escort Agency, approaching Fu Zhumei with his mouth agape, unsure of what to say. Fu Zhumei stared blankly at him, the killing intent in his eyes gradually fading. Suddenly, he sighed, ruffled his hair, and slowly turned to leave.
"Esteemed... hero..." The chief escort of the Golden Guard Escort Agency gaped as Fu Zhumei walked away, thinking to himself that this unimaginably powerful hero bore an uncanny resemblance to the servant boy from the Silver Horn Tavern next door. Could he have misremembered?
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