54-Found The Technique at Last.

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"Kill!"

Zhong Lin leaped into the crowd in a single bound, swinging his ghost-head saber downward through the air. The surrounding air was forcibly compressed, creating a brief vacuum, followed by a flash of white light. A guard in front of him was instantly disemboweled.

The might of one slash—ferocious and unrelenting.

At that moment, Zhong Lin and his long knife seemed to fuse into one. Wherever his thoughts went, the blade followed.

This was the charm of the max-level *Wind-Splitting Blade Technique*, reaching the realm of its creator.

Man and blade as one—a master of the blade.

A savage grin curled Zhong Lin's lips. With a stomp of his foot, power surged through him. His blade flashed like a ribbon, unstoppable, invincible—no one could stand in his way.

Killing.

Leaping.

Striking.

Killing again.

In the midst of the crowd, Zhong Lin moved like an ape, his blade a flowing ribbon, his aura brutal, his momentum growing heavier with each strike.

The other five masked figures weren't about to be outdone either. Each unleashed their own skills, cutting down the guards.

Among these five black-clad figures, three were, like Zhong Lin, Seventh Rank Bone-Forging Realm experts, wielding five hundred kilograms of strength. Every move they made brimmed with immense power.

The other two were only Eighth Rank Tendon-Refining Realm, but their fists struck like the wind, swift as arrows, and paired with their weapons, they too were formidable.

In mere moments, the dozen or so guards left to hold the line were all sent to the underworld.

"Chase!"

Someone shouted, and without a second's pause, the six of them raced after Du Chong.

…

"Young Master, hurry! The city gate's not far ahead. County Magistrate Mei will surely save us—we're about to escape alive!"

Yun Ye's voice carried a hint of joy.

"Good, Yun Ye, don't worry. Once we get through this ordeal today, I won't let you down."

True to his elite upbringing, even now, Du Chong was instinctively painting promises.

But at this point, he was panting heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead, hair disheveled, body smeared with blood—nothing like the refined young gentleman of old.

Just as the two were reveling in their hope, a streak of black light shot through the air.

"Ah! My leg!"

Du Chong screamed and collapsed, blood gushing from his calf where an iron caltrop had pierced clean through.

"Young Master…"

Yun Ye halted abruptly.

*Whoosh!* 

Six figures appeared in quick succession, encircling Du Chong and Yun Ye.

Each held a weapon, their cold eyes staring down at the pair.

"Young Master, step back."

Yun Ye's expression darkened as he positioned himself in front of Du Chong. He drew his long knife, scanning the six masked figures. A wave of despair washed over him.

"Young Master, please take care of my wife and children."

With that, he tapped his toes, launching himself into the air like a bird, slashing down at Zhong Lin with a mountain-splitting strike.

Zhong Lin: "…"

Damn it, out of all these people, you pick me? Do I look like an easy target? 

Zhong Lin stepped forward, then back, his body swaying like a willow in the breeze. He dodged the strike with a slight tilt, his right hand brushing lightly.

"Instant Kill Technique." 

A sword shadow flickered, and a short blade appeared in Zhong Lin's hand out of nowhere, slicing delicately across Yun Ye's throat.

*Splurt!* 

With almost no effort, a crisp sound rang out. Blood sprayed as Yun Ye, midair, crashed to the ground. He clutched his throat, but couldn't stop the gushing crimson.

"Gurgle, gurgle."

The other masked figures' expressions were hidden, but the shock in their eyes was unmistakable.

They knew Yun Ye, the black market gatekeeper—a Seventh Rank Bone-Forging Realm powerhouse. Yet he'd been felled in one strike, and they hadn't even seen how Zhong Lin drew his blade. Instantly, they grew wary, fearing Zhong Lin might monopolize Du Chong.

As if by telepathy, the five masked figures exchanged glances. Their stances shifted subtly, their steps adjusting, slowly forming a united front.

Zhong Lin twirled his knife in a flourish, the blood on it rolling off like dewdrops under the vibrating force. With a flick of his wrist, the short blade vanished again, as if it had been an illusion.

He looked up, scanning the group, and rasped in a hoarse, aged voice, "Techniques aren't like gold or silver—they can be copied. This old man has no wish to make enemies of you. You two, search him."

Zhong Lin pointed at the only two Eighth Rank martial artists, directing them to frisk Du Chong.

Facing Zhong Lin, the strongest among them, the two didn't dare refuse. They stepped forward quickly to search.

The other three Seventh Rank martial artists quietly exhaled in relief. Though they could take Zhong Lin together, they didn't want to cross such a powerhouse.

Du Chong sat slumped on the ground, his calf pierced through. With his last guard, Yun Ye, now slain—and him only an Eighth Rank martial artist—despair had long since taken root.

He instinctively raised his sword against the two searching him, but it was like a mantis blocking a cart—easily disarmed.

One of the masked men snorted coldly, stomping on Du Chong's wounded leg. A piercing scream tore from his throat.

After rummaging, they indeed found a book tucked at Du Chong's chest, its cover bearing the bold words *Red Sun Stance Technique*.

As the book emerged, Zhong Lin could sense the breathing of the black-clad figures around him quicken.

"That's it, that's it! A stance technique—it's a stance technique! They say middle-tier martial arts aren't dynamic like the lower tiers but static, using stances to sense qi and blood, nurture it, strengthen it, then condense it. Yes, this is the middle-tier blood-condensing technique I've sought for twenty years!"

One masked man trembled with excitement, his voice cracking with emotion—a sign of overwhelming joy.

The two Eighth Rank martial artists instinctively flipped open the manual, but their faces darkened instantly. One snarled, "The manual's been tampered with!"

"What?"

"How could that be?"

"Let me see!"

The words sent a jolt through the group, several reaching to snatch the book.

"Enough."

Zhong Lin's roar steadied their nerves.

"Hand it over—I'll look."

The man hesitated but tossed the manual over. Zhong Lin caught it and flipped it open.

The manual was a mere dozen or so pages. As soon as he opened it, the scent of ink hit him, sinking his heart.

The ink smell meant this copy was freshly written.

The first half was filled with illustrations—indeed, as the man had said, not dynamic forms like the *Iron Mountain Technique*, but static stances.

The last two pages were text, describing a breathing method to pair with the stances. But large sections were blotted out with ink, leaving the words fragmented.

Zhong Lin's face darkened as he passed the manual to another.

"It's definitely been altered."

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