"What?! Ouyezi... assassinated?" In that instant, every hair on Jack Young's body stood on end. His face turned colder and harsher than ever, radiating a chilling aura. He shot a look at Fiona Fang and barked, "You and Rachel Luo stick to Madam Dai like glue. No running off on your own, got it!"
"But you—" Fiona Fang barely got the words out before Jack Young stomped so hard he shattered the wooden floor, vanishing in a thunderous blur.
Outside, the morning sun was bright—about eight o’clock. The street was packed, but suddenly a blast echoed, making everyone turn. The third floor of the Grand Brothel exploded open, leaving a gaping hole. Someone—Jack Young—shot out of it like a rocket, arcing high over hundreds of meters before slamming down onto the street.
Pedestrians scattered and screamed, but Jack didn’t care. With another boom, the solid stone road burst into clouds of dust as he launched skyward again, heading straight for the Qin Family Compound. Usually cool and collected, Jack was now like a rampaging lion—or the Hulk on a bad day—charging wild and unstoppable.
His legs pumped out insane power—Jack could leap dozens of meters high and hundreds across with a single bound. He’d never gone all out like this before; usually, he worried about keeping his landings graceful with lightness skills. But today? Screw it—he was going full throttle for the compound.
And in bustling Eight Directions City, Jack wasn’t the only one moving fast. Martial artists darted across rooftops like swallows, all heading the same way. Ouyezi’s name was huge, and there were tons of fighters in the city—this wild news sparked a stampede. Those connected rushed in, those not couldn’t help but get swept along. The Qin Family Compound was a giant magnet, drawing everyone in.
Back in the Grand Brothel, Fiona Fang and Rachel Luo rushed straight into Madam Dai’s boudoir. They burst in to find Madam Dai shedding her elegant gown for a sharp, practical outfit. She covered half her face with a silk scarf, then pulled nine dazzling hairpins from her vanity box. With a quick twist, she stuck them into her cloud of hair, stood up, and said, "Let’s go find the Phantom Sword Saint. Don’t leave my side for a second."
"Got it!" The two immediately followed Madam Dai out the door.
Right then, all the brothel girls and servants were acting way different than usual. As Madam Dai strode forward, servants hustled up from both sides, giving quick, precise updates—news from all directions, rumors from the streets.
Madam Dai kept moving, listening as she went. Just as she reached the door, the clatter of hooves echoed from every direction. A squad of a dozen riders galloped down the street, ignoring pedestrians, banging gongs and shouting, "Eight Directions City is on lockdown! No one gets in or out! Anyone who tries will be arrested on the spot—resist and you’re dead meat!"
The riders thundered away, their shouts echoing through every corner of Eight Directions City. The crowd was in chaos—ordinary folks had no clue what was happening, just gossiping nonstop. Eight Directions City was a major transport hub, so even locking down for a minute was a huge loss. But by the looks of it, this lockdown might last a while.
People who’d been planning to leave the city kept griping, saying they had cargo to deliver and no idea how long they’d be stuck. If they missed their deadlines, what would their bosses say?
They still had no idea what this lockdown really meant.
"The martial world’s about to explode," Madam Dai summed it up in one sentence. "Let’s go to Ouyezi’s compound—the Phantom Sword Saint headed there, too." She told the two girls, "If you have to, stop your master. When a good guy loses his cool, even ghosts and gods run for cover. Right now, he could do anything."
At the Qin Family Compound, a mob of martial artists was already packed at the gate, shoving to get in—so much that the entrance was blocked. Whoosh—Jack Young vaulted over wall after wall, landing at the courtyard gate. This was the hotspot, everyone desperate to get close to the scene. But the main door was tightly shut, bolted from inside, keeping the crowd out. Out of respect for Ouyezi’s reputation, no one dared scale the walls just yet.
Martial artists care about their reputation. No matter what they’re plotting, nobody wants to get caught red-handed at a time like this.
"You can’t come in!" A faint voice was drowned out by the noise—if Jack Young didn’t have superhuman hearing, he’d have missed it. It was Qin Han, voice trembling but still fiercely unyielding.
"Open up, or we’ll break the door down!" A few people started shoving and yelling, trying to force their way in. Anger flashed across Jack’s face—he reached out to grab the troublemakers by the scruff of their necks.
"Back off!" Jack grabbed two at once and flung them far away. He moved like the wind, tossing everyone at the gate out like raindrops—smacking down on ground and wall, yelping and groaning, all covered in dust.
Jack pointed at the crowd, shouting, "No one’s coming in! Wait outside!"
"Hey, hey, who do you think you are? What’s your deal?" Someone piped up, arguing noisily with Jack Young: "You say we can’t go in, so we can’t go in? Who made you king around here?" "Yeah, why do martial artists get to boss everyone around?" "We’ve got a ton of fighters here, and you’re still acting all high and mighty—where’s the fairness in that?"
Before they could finish, Jack Young didn’t bother arguing. Suddenly, he grabbed the stone lion by the gate. Without any fuss, he hefted the two-thousand-pound beast—base and all—and slammed it down in front of the door. The thick stone slab shattered, chunks flying everywhere, and Jack left two deep footprints that cracked the ground like a spiderweb.
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Then Jack strode forward, right fist flashing like lightning—ten punches in a split second. The first nine shook the stone lion, and the tenth boomed like thunder. With a deafening crash, the whole lion crumbled, two thousand pounds of stone shattering into chunks that flew everywhere, pelting the crowd.
The noisy crowd fell silent in an instant. Some got smacked in the head by flying rocks, blood streaming down their foreheads, but all they could do was stare in disbelief at the scene—nobody could say a word.
Inside this little courtyard, Jack Young and Ouyezi had studied the art of forging weapons together, creating the mystic Nirvana Sword. They’d set up the Hundred Refinement Furnace, the Hundred Arms Pool, and stored priceless divine weapons here—it was a holy place for their lineage. No way were these random busybodies getting in, especially since the Nirvana Sword was still in the furnace. This was the scene of the crime, and letting them in would be chaos.
"Anyone who causes trouble dies." Jack’s cold, sharp gaze swept the crowd. His voice wasn’t loud, but it made everyone shudder. Nobody mentioned martial artists’ rights anymore—raw power sometimes trumps fancy talk. In that moment, Jack understood a whole new side of himself.
Taking a deep breath, Jack walked up to the courtyard door and knocked, his voice steady: "Open up—it’s me."
Three seconds of silence—then click, the door opened.
Jack saw Qin Han behind the door—not in her usual fancy outfit, not in the elegant dress she wore for the big weapon showcase, but in a soot-stained, gray-black blacksmith’s uniform. This tough, hard-headed woman looked lost and fragile now. She glanced at Jack like a distant cousin—normally they’d bicker, but in a crisis, she’d reach out to help.
Jack patted her shoulder, then walked into the courtyard.
Everything was familiar—the courtyard, the setup. But now the ground was stained with shocking splashes of blood, right in the middle. Blood dripped and pooled, a jarring sight. The trail led straight into the forge room, and Jack walked over step by step. Inside, he naturally looked toward the Hundred Refinement Furnace—Ouyezi’s usual spot. But now, he wasn’t standing, he was sitting.
He sat on a stool, facing the flames leaping in the furnace. His eyes were still open, his spine as straight as ever—like he was cast in iron. He looked tired, slumped beside the furnace. In the depths of his pupils, there was hope, regret, and comfort—not about his own life or death, but about finally reaching his ultimate goal. Such deep, complex thoughts showed in his eyes, making you feel it in your bones. That kind of emotion takes a lifetime to build.
But sadly, he was dead.
There was a hole in his chest—right where the heart was. His blood had almost all drained, his skin pale. Jack walked over, laid a hand on the iron man’s shoulder, giving it a firm, warm pat. Then Jack turned to the Hundred Refinement Furnace, looking at the place Ouyezi had focused on at the end. The flames in the furnace burned a pure blue, totally different than usual—dancing with a joyful spirit.
Deep in the furnace, all the iron billets were gone. The literary and martial billets had fused into the blazing flames, finally merging at the very bottom into a brand-new existence.
Countless flames swirled around it, guarding, nurturing, and honoring it. That blazing silhouette was clear in Jack’s eyes—long, elegant, razor-sharp, blending water and fire, literary and martial, shining with a dazzling light.
"The sword embryo’s done—better than I ever imagined, even more beautiful." After all that effort, the result was finally here, but Jack felt no joy. He just murmured, "Your Nirvana Sword is now a blade. This sword will go down in history. Everyone will remember its creator—Qin Han. So—"
Jack reached out and closed Ouyezi’s eyes. The master’s gaze finally faded. "Rest easy, Nirvana Sword."
Qin Han stood at the doorway, covering her mouth, bending at the waist, tears streaming down her face.
Jack waved her over. "Come here."
Qin Han walked over, leaving a trail of tears, but didn’t make a sound.
Jack pointed at the sword embryo in the Hundred Refinement Furnace. "The sword your granddad left behind—now it’s up to you to finish forging it."
Qin Han looked at Jack, wanting to say "I..." but in the end, all she managed was a shaky "Mm." She didn’t dare speak—afraid that if she did, all her strength would collapse in a flood of tears.
"His heart and blood are in that sword embryo—it’s his Nirvana Sword. No one’s more qualified than you." Jack stepped out the door. "Say your goodbyes."
A few people entered the courtyard, locking eyes with Jack. At the front was Yan Taixu—the old friend, now gone, made even the Phantom Sword Saint’s face pale. His expression wasn’t overly sad, but there was a deep pain hidden within.
"Ah—! Ah—!! Ah—!!!" From inside came Qin Han’s anguished cries—not quiet sobs, but the roar of a wounded beast. She burst out the door, eyes blazing red, murder in her voice: "Villain! Villain! Whoever killed him—whoever avenges my granddad, I’ll forge a thousand, ten thousand divine blades for you—my whole life, I’ll serve you!"