Zhong family patriarch VS Cause and effect

"Why… are you here?"

Zhong Ming's voice trembled as his heartbeat quickened, blood rushing through his veins like thunder pounding in his ears.

Li Hao didn't answer. His gaze sharpened—cold, unreadable.

Two fingers rose, sword qi dancing between them like threads of radiant light.

In a blur, he swept his hand across Zhong Ming's throat.

A red line opened wide. Blood gushed out like a river stream.

Zhong Ming staggered back, clutching his neck, choking as his lungs filled with warmth and iron.

He collapsed to his knees, eyes wide in disbelief.

Li Hao stepped beside him, quiet as a shadow.

"The cause is your arrogance," he said in a low voice. "And your death... is the effect."

In the next breath, he vanished, leaving only blood and silence behind.

Li Hao walked down the stone steps, his pace fast yet calm, unnoticed by the patrolling disciples.

He exited the academy in silence, each step like that of a phantom. Nearing the main gate, he turned to the wall beside it and leapt over.

Landing softly on the other side, he dispersed the force to make no sound. With phantom-like steps, he sprinted across the rooftops of the town.

His direction was the center. About 24 km from the exact heart of the town stood the Zhong Family Estate.

Li Hao sped over countless homes, leaping from roof to roof where no eyes could spot a youth like him.

As he drew closer to the center, each of his steps grew lighter, his intent quieter.

This part of town was different—the closer to the center, the stronger the martial artists one would encounter.

The highest concentration of power was gathered there.

Li Hao paused atop a rooftop, the cold breeze brushing past his ears.

"The Zhong family is only a few kilometers away, according to this map," he said with a serene expression.

"Ultimately, there's a chance of being detected by those with keen hearing. It's best I hide my identity from now on," he thought.

He wasn't foolish. With his young age and immense strength, envy would follow him.

There were plenty willing to risk everything just to end a future threat.

And the strongest of this town were no different—aging, weakening, yet unwilling to see a monster like him rise.

They feared the day he would return to obliterate their clans—though such a thought had never crossed his mind.

This town, as vast as it was, could never contain his growing strength.

Even at his current minor realm, he was already several times stronger than those of the same level.

Li Hao stood atop a rooftop beneath the night sky, eyes locked on the grand estate mansion several meters away.

His expression was calm, the wind tugging gently at his garments.

He wore a black outer robe with bronze claw patterns, the wrists adorned with bands shaped like bronze bones.

His white hair flowed in the wind, his gaze locking onto the fluctuations of time, watching the rhythmic sound-nodes of space-time.

He took a step forward—vanishing under the moonlight.

Just outside stood the tall mansion walls, three meters high.

Li Hao, moving at high speed, stepped onto the wall and leapt over with ease.

He landed lightly on the grassy estate grounds, where small hills and ponds dotted the landscape.

His steps silent, he dashed forward like a phantom.

Approaching the main building, he slowed his pace to a calm walk.

Martial artists of the first and second minor realms were scattered around, but Li Hao's rhythm was perfect—he passed unseen, moving at the right place and time.

He opened the unlocked mansion doors—left so for guards—and slipped inside, the household relying on the strength of those within for safety.

Within, golden-framed paintings lined the halls, alongside ornate vases made of glass and etched with intricate golden patterns.

He walked forward, heading toward the room with the densest spiritual Qi.

Zhong Mo sat in a quiet room, eyes closed in contemplation of his martial path.

"Why does this technique have so many limitations... I can't advance with it anymore. It's reached its end," he thought, teeth gritted in frustration.

Suddenly, the flickering candlelight beside him began to sway.

He opened his eyes slowly, calm yet furrowed with a frown.

He glanced back at the double doors just in time to see a small figure close them behind him.

Their eyes met, and the tension surged to immeasurable heights.

Zhong Mo straightened his back, turning fully to face the approaching figure.

"And who might you be?" he asked sharply, his brows tightening.

Li Hao stepped forward with calm precision, each footfall filled with intent.

He replied softly, his tone like a blade:

"Time births wanderers, and wanderers fade away. Will you, Zhong Mo… join them?"

Zhong Mo paused briefly, then rose from his lotus position, his back straight as he walked to the nearby shelf.

He retrieved a straight sword: a double-edged blade, 79 cm long, 5 cm wide, black with a purple line stretching from hilt to mid-blade.

The hilt was guarded on both sides by extended crossguards, each 6 cm long.

As he held the sword, refined black sword qi—honed through countless killings—flowed out, sheathing the blade's edge.

He turned to face Li Hao.

"You're strong, to have reached here unnoticed," he said.

"But your path ends here."

His tone, sharp and cold, filled the room with killing intent.

Li Hao reached into the air as if grasping an invisible blade. Slowly, he pulled his hands apart.

Between them, the Taiche Sword materialized—silent, cold, and emanating an icy aura.

He stood amidst the killing intent, his blade shrouded in pale grayish-white sword qi.

Lifting it upward, he stroked it gently with two fingers and replied,

"The end of all life is death… and life is the beginning of death."

"Hm." Zhong Mo chuckled lightly. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and unleashed a diagonal rising slash—

A swift arc from hip to shoulder, sharp enough to split boulders.

Li Hao's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, confronting the attack head-on.

He parried with a sliding block, letting the force of the strike glide along his blade harmlessly.

In the same motion, he twisted his wrist, performing a twisting slash—altering the angle mid-motion to catch his opponent off guard.

Sword qi burst from his blade, slicing through the air.

Zhong Mo met it directly—his sword clashing head-on.

"CLANG—!"