Chapter 109: The Assassination

The Old Heavenly Master had departed, leaving Zhang Lingyu alone to guard the side chamber. Outside the door, the sounds of shouting and fighting had been noisy, but within moments of the Old Heavenly Master’s departure, a profound silence descended.

Inside the room, only Ye Yan and Zhang Lingyu remained. In the vast, dimly lit space, Zhang Lingyu stood by the bedside, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Before him lay a man sleeping peacefully, and at the sight of this serene figure, Zhang Lingyu could not help but clench his fists.

It was this man. This was the man who had ruined his Luo Tian Dajiao. In all his years, Zhang Lingyu had never been struck in the face—let alone by a brick. Between the persistent interference of Ye Yan and Feng Baobao, he had ultimately lost to that good-for-nothing Zhang Chulan, a reality he found impossible to accept.

And now? His master had ordered him to stay here and protect this very man—that was what left him most speechless. He would have preferred to be out on the front lines fighting the invading Quanxing sect; that would have been more to his liking.

But... one does not defy a master’s command. No matter how unwilling he was, Zhang Lingyu had no choice but to abide by the Old Heavenly Master’s intent. Thinking of this, a sense of melancholy washed over him. He gave a self-deprecating laugh and turned his head away. "Forget it, why dwell on him?"

With a sigh, Zhang Lingyu sat on a chair by the bed, intending to use this spare time to condense the Qi within his body. Just as he prepared to close his eyes, a rustling sound of footsteps drifted from outside the side chamber. They were light, chaotic, and suggested a significant number of people.

Zhang Lingyu narrowed his eyes and held his breath, threads of golden light coiling around his hands. Although he held no love for Ye Yan, he would not allow personal grievances to compromise the man’s safety, especially not after the Old Heavenly Master’s instructions. Regardless of who was coming, he would not go easy on them.

...

"This is where Ye Yan is staying. Once we go in, be swift. Remember, ignore everyone else; the target is Ye Yan."

"Understood!"

Four figures in black gathered at the entrance of the side chamber, whispering about the assassination. The Nightmare had imprisoned Ye Yan’s soul within a dream world, which meant that in reality, Ye Yan was nothing more than a shell—a shell with no power to resist. Once Wang Ai had confirmed this, he had immediately dispatched several of the Wang family’s death squads to assassinate Ye Yan, hoping to eliminate him while he was defenseless and resolve a major threat to the Wang family.

It was a stroke of luck that they had learned of Ye Yan's location and infiltrated the mountain just as the Quanxing assault began. Their arrival had gone unnoticed by anyone. Now, these assassins only needed to finish off Ye Yan to complete their mission.

The assassins clarified their roles and quickly surrounded the side chamber. However, before they could act, the window shattered. Amidst the shards of flying glass, a scorching bolt of white lightning, like a twisting serpent, surged toward one of them, followed immediately by Zhang Lingyu’s voice:

"What kind of vermin dares to stir up trouble on Mount Longhu? Show yourselves at once!"

As he spoke, Zhang Lingyu appeared at the doorway. He noticed the four assassins, his body wreathed in golden light and crackling lightning, his Taoist robes snapping in the gale. With his refined features and cold, stern gaze, he stood like a sentinel who could hold off an army single-handedly.

"Attack!"

Though Zhang Lingyu’s aura was intimidating, these men were death squads; their concept of life and death was far beyond that of ordinary people, and they felt no fear. They split into two groups, charging from different directions. One group attempted to entangle Zhang Lingyu, while the other tried to slip past him into the room.

"You want to get in? Not a chance."

Charged with protecting Ye Yan, Zhang Lingyu was already filled with pent-up frustration. These four men had delivered themselves as perfect targets. With a cold sneer, he stomped his foot. Surging white lightning erupted around him, rolling across the floor and whistling toward the four, scorching the ground within a ten-meter radius into a white haze.

The lightning was fierce and violent, but the four assassins did not flinch, charging straight through with their Qi projected outward. Wang Ai’s desire to kill Ye Yan was immense; he would not let such a rare opportunity to turn the tide slip away, so the men he sent were naturally skilled.

Seeing the lightning fail to stop them, Zhang Lingyu was surprised but not shocked. "Thunder Call!"

He raised his hand, gesturing sharply toward one of the assassins. A bolt of scorching white light descended from the heavens, striking down.

"Boom..."

The lightning exploded. Caught off guard, the assassin’s Qi shield shattered, and he collapsed to the ground, charred and lifeless. Yet, the others did not stop. They continued their charge, indifferent to the death of their comrade.

With one Thunder Call finished, the remaining three assassins were upon Zhang Lingyu. Two of them drew daggers from their waists and slashed at him. The silver blades danced like blooming, shimmering flowers, enveloping Zhang Lingyu. He dodged the incoming steel, but he did not remain purely on the defensive.

Lightning crackled on his arm as he threw a punch at the nearest assassin’s face. The man dodged, but the lightning grazed his neck, tearing a bloody line and searing the skin. Despite the burn, the assassin showed no sign of pain; instead, he moved with a ruthless, life-for-a-life intensity, aiming directly for Zhang Lingyu’s face.

Zhang Lingyu’s strength was considerable—far superior to these assassins—but when it came to a life-or-death brawl, he lacked their savage ferocity. Moreover, unlike them, he could not afford to move; he had to hold the doorway because Ye Yan lay defenseless behind him. Being pinned to the entrance neutralized the speed afforded by his lightning techniques, robbing him of his natural advantage.

Even so, Zhang Lingyu did not retreat. This was his master’s order. Faced with the pincer attack, he let out a burst of lightning, abandoning the long-range nature of his techniques to engage them in close-quarters combat.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The sound of flashing lightning and rhythmic strikes echoed in the darkness. Zhang Lingyu held his own, one against two. Seeing Zhang Lingyu entangled, the fourth assassin sought to seize the moment to rush into the room. Ye Yan was, after all, the true objective.

"Don't even think about it!"

Having committed to guarding the door, Zhang Lingyu would not let them pass. A cluster of lightning danced in his palm, but just as he was about to unleash the strike...

*Crack.*

A spark flew in the darkness, followed by the sound of a gunshot. A spray of blood erupted from Zhang Lingyu’s shoulder. He gave a muffled grunt, and the Palm Thunder he had been preparing was instantly disrupted. Crimson blood flowed, staining half his shoulder red.

Taking advantage of the moment Zhang Lingyu was struck, the final assassin slipped past him and into the side chamber. Seeing the man rushing toward the bed, Zhang Lingyu panicked. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he tried to intercept the assassin, but the two men he was fighting held onto him like leeches, making it impossible to break free.

It was over!

Watching the assassin draw closer to the bed, Zhang Lingyu’s heart sank. Even as he fought desperately to intervene, he found himself powerless. It was the first time he had ever felt such helplessness—he could not even protect a single person.

Just as the assassin raised his dagger high, ready to plunge it into Ye Yan—at the moment when all seemed lost—the assassin’s movements suddenly became rigid. His body trembled, and the raised dagger froze in mid-air. He stood like a stiff, living statue.

"What's going on?"

The frozen assassin’s face was a mask of confusion. He had no idea what had happened. The others in the room were equally bewildered. Before they could grasp the situation, a tall, stern-looking man in a black tailcoat emerged from the shadows, holding a short black wand.

"As expected, the Dean was right. The one who cast the curse wouldn't give up so easily."

As he spoke, he flicked his short wand in the air. A flash of black light appeared, and the assassin frozen before the bed was sent flying backward as if struck by a giant hammer. He collided with the two assassins still grappling with Zhang Lingyu, knocking them all to the floor like bowling pins before they tumbled to a halt.

Beside him, Zhang Lingyu looked on in astonishment. Though he didn't know exactly what had happened, it was clear that this stern-faced man was on his side. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Failed."

After being knocked down, the assassins scrambled to their feet. They looked at the peaceful figure of Ye Yan on the bed, then at the elegant, cold man and Zhang Lingyu. The assassins knew that their mission could no longer continue. They could not break through the defense line built by this cold man and Zhang Lingyu.

*Retreat!*

Without a word, a simple exchange of glances was enough. The three assassins fled instantly. As for the unlucky one who had been killed by the lightning, no one gave him a second thought.

"Thinking of running? Is it really that easy?"

"Thunder Prison!"

Having been shot and nearly breached, Zhang Lingyu’s temper was flaring. Ignoring the wound on his shoulder, he raised both hands, gathering a massive amount of white lightning in his palms before hurling it forward. The lightning dispersed in mid-air, forming thick, towering pillars that crashed down to create a massive hexagonal cage, trapping one of the slower assassins inside.

With one captured, the other two did not look back, disappearing into the night. With one dead, two escaped, and one captured, the battle was over.

Just as Zhang Lingyu was staring blankly at the shadows where the assassins had vanished, the stern man floated over to his side.

"Who are you?" Zhang Lingyu asked, his eyes filled with suspicion as he looked at the man whose feet hovered above the ground. He didn't recall such a man being in the side chamber; he seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

Seeming to notice the suspicion in Zhang Lingyu’s eyes, the man with the "villainous" face replied, "I am a mentor at Hogwarts Academy. You may call me Victor. By order of the Dean, I will remain in the shadows during this time to protect him from anyone with malicious intent."

Hearing Victor’s words, a flash of realization crossed Zhang Lingyu’s mind. He recalled his master mentioning that two foreign guests had arrived on the mountain. He had been too busy with the Luo Tian Dajiao to pay much attention, but now it made sense—this cold man must be one of them.

Zhang Lingyu nodded. Without further conversation with the mysterious man, he stepped forward to check on the prisoner in the thunder cage.

Before he could reach it, Victor’s voice sounded behind him: "Don't bother. The one trapped inside is already dead."

...

Inside the sanatorium, Wang Ai kept watch by Wang Bing’s bedside. Looking at his grandson, who showed no signs of waking, a flicker of sorrow and melancholy crossed his eyes. Wang Ai, a sly old fox with a notorious reputation in the circle, was perhaps only capable of such genuine emotion in the presence of his only grandson.

Just as Wang Ai was lost in his sorrow, the door behind him was tapped lightly. A low male voice spoke from outside, "Master, they have returned."

A sharp glint appeared in Wang Ai’s eyes, and the worry on his face vanished. "How did it go?"

"Failed."

The low voice spoke only one word, yet it sent Wang Ai’s hopes plummeting to the depths of despair.

"I see," Wang Ai sighed. "Dispose of the others so we don't leave any loose ends. Remember, be swift."

"Understood."

The footsteps outside faded into the distance. Only after the sound had completely died away did Wang Ai look up, staring silently at the ceiling with his cloudy, aged eyes.