Chapter Eighty: The Mystery of Origins

Staring into the crystal ball, fragments of Li Goudan’s memories surged forth. Li Pingyang saw that, in his early childhood, he had encountered a similar crystal ball.

Those memories were incomplete, like shards of shattered glass, and many images remained blurry. He saw a woman—a stunningly beautiful woman! Her face was exquisite, with bright eyes and perfect teeth, and she always carried a strange box on her back, never parting from it. At that moment, she was cradling a child in her arms, gently rocking him.

What astonished Li Pingyang was that this woman was not Ah Jiao. Neither her age nor her appearance matched; she was certainly a different person.

Judging from the affectionate gaze and the intimacy she showed the child, their relationship was unique. Li Pingyang even ventured a bold guess: this woman before him was likely Li Goudan’s true mother.

For some unknown reason, the child suddenly began to cry uncontrollably, refusing to be soothed and losing interest even in his favorite rattle.

From the child’s perspective, he saw an assassin hiding atop the roof, holding a concealed weapon, ready to launch a surprise attack at any moment. Unable to speak, the only way he could warn of the danger was by crying.

At that moment, a pair of hands reached over and presented a crystal ball before the child. The instant he saw the crystal ball, the child abruptly stopped crying and broke into a smile.

“Guards!”

A man shouted toward the door, summoning a bodyguard inside. The man cast a lingering, reluctant look at the baby, then handed him to the guard, instructing him to take the child out of the palace—at any cost, the child’s safety must be ensured.

As the child was taken from the man’s arms, he began to cry again. The sound of his weeping pained the woman deeply; she closed her eyes, furrowing her brow in anguish.

The guard glanced at the child, finding the little one irresistibly charming. He tightened the yellow cloth wrapped around the child, then pulled up a black cloth to conceal his own face.

During this process, Li Pingyang clearly saw the guard’s face and was utterly stunned, for he recognized it—it was Li Shenfang!

The child never managed to see the man’s face, so Li Pingyang couldn’t discern his appearance. As Li Shenfang was about to depart with the child, several assassins burst in through the windows, blocking his path.

Simultaneously, the assassin on the roof fired concealed weapons: slender poisoned needles shot downward, all aimed at the infant.

The hidden weapons flew too swiftly for Li Shenfang to fully evade; he twisted aside, one poisoned needle thudding into the wall, but two others struck his shoulder as he shielded the child.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Li Shenfang quickly pressed a point on his body, sealing his meridian, and used his internal energy to force out the poison. He spat out a mouthful of black blood, then smashed through a window and escaped.

Several assassins tried to pursue, but the man inside swiftly gathered his energy between his palms and unleashed two powerful shockwaves, instantly taking down two of the leaping attackers. The force left palm-shaped imprints on their backs and even marked their chests—a display of such overwhelming power that it left the assassins stunned.

Yet their orders were clear: the child must die. Failure meant certain death upon their return. Despite their fear, they had no choice but to press the attack.

Three assassins exchanged glances, then launched themselves simultaneously from different directions, each delivering a killing blow toward the unarmed man.

He remained calm, unfazed.

The woman, anxious for the child, hurried after them with her box on her back. The moment she stepped outside, she was intercepted by another group of black-clad figures, each wielding a weapon.

She hadn’t expected such a large force to be deployed this time.

…

Elsewhere, Li Shenfang tucked the baby into a bamboo basket and soared across the rooftops of the imperial city, the moonlight casting his shadow before a pursuing group of black-clad men.

One among them had a concealed crossbow strapped to his arm. Clenching his fist, he fired four short bolts in Li Shenfang’s direction.

Swish!

The bolts whistled through the air, their tips gleaming coldly in the night. Li Shenfang glanced back, abruptly halted, then moved his hands as if performing tai chi, gathering his inner energy in his palms.

His gaze sharpened, and with a forceful push, he formed a wall of energy before him, astonishingly stopping all the crossbow bolts.

One bolt stopped just inches from his forehead—any closer, and it would have pierced his skull, sending chills through the onlookers.

“That’s dominating inner strength!”

“I hadn’t realized—he’s a grandmaster?”

“We’re no match for him. Should we continue?”

The assassins hesitated and conferred briefly. In that moment, Li Shenfang made the choice for them: none would leave alive. They had already seen his face, and for the baby’s safety, as well as to protect his hidden strength, they all had to die—no loose ends could remain.

Li Shenfang seized a floating crossbow bolt, then darted toward the group in a flash. A blur of movement—a black shadow—and one assassin’s throat was slashed open, blood gushing forth.

As he fell, the two nearest black-clad men were struck—one stabbed in the chest, collapsing instantly, the other slashed as he raised a blade toward the bamboo basket, only to take a punch to the chest from Li Shenfang that sent him hurtling backward.

The bamboo basket’s strap was severed in the attack, but Li Shenfang swiftly reached out and snatched the falling basket. The lid flipped open, and the infant inside blinked, smiling up at him.

Just then, several more arrows flew—reinforcements had arrived, and it was impossible to tell how many enemies had been dispatched.

Cradling the basket with one hand, Li Shenfang pulled a black-clad man in front of him, using him as a human shield to block all the arrows. He silently apologized in his heart.

“Kill him!”

The leader of the group roared, and all the black-clad men surged forward, swords and sabers gleaming as they closed in from all sides.

Among them, Li Shenfang sensed another expert. As he prepared to escape with the basket, this master lunged forward, sword aimed straight at the child within.

Li Shenfang hurled the basket skyward just in time; the sword grazed his abdomen, but his inner energy shielded him, and the wound was not deep.

Grasping the sword blade, Li Shenfang struck the man’s neck with his palm, forcing him back two or three steps, then caught the falling basket.

The child, wise beyond his years, didn’t make a sound. As the basket soared, he tumbled out but landed back inside on the descent, where Li Shenfang caught him and held him close.

Seeing the child unharmed, Li Shenfang’s eyes grew cold with murderous intent as he turned to the black-clad assailants. With one arm securing the basket, he raised his free hand and, channeling his inner energy, made the fallen weapons on the ground rise into the air.

In an instant, the weapons shot toward the attackers. One assassin, about to fire an arrow, was impaled straight through the chest and sent flying. The rest were struck down in turn—throats cut, abdomens pierced.

A fierce wind swept through. When it passed, only Li Shenfang remained standing. The others lay in neat rows upon the ground, utterly motionless.