Chapter Forty-Four: The Hunt for the Grandmaster (Part Two)

"That is excellent," Xiahousheng said, and the gloom in his heart was swept away.

The various methods Jiang Yu had displayed left a profound impression on Xiahousheng—such as conjuring formations with a single thought, or gathering fire into a pill with a mere gesture. These were divine abilities, bordering on the supernatural. Thus, Xiahousheng felt strongly that as long as Jiang Yu was present, nothing was insurmountable; not a single worry could linger.

"If there's nothing else, I'll be leaving now. I'll come by again tomorrow to help re-examine Xia Ning," Jiang Yu said, lighting a cigarette. Smoke curled lazily, veiling his face in a hazy, dreamlike shroud, giving him an almost unreal air.

Xiahousheng's eyes darted slyly, and he chuckled, "It's getting late. My home is your home, Master Jiang—there's no need for formality. If you wish, you might as well move in."

Jiang Yu found the proposal amusing. Even if he said outright that he intended to share a room with Xia Ning, Xiahousheng would probably agree without hesitation. After all, this old fox had lived for thousands of years, his discerning eyes seeing through all worldly affairs—how could Jiang Yu not see through Xiahousheng's little schemes? Since time immemorial, even heroes have been ensnared by beauty; Xiahousheng was simply hoping to use Xia Ning’s charm as bait, to entice Jiang Yu. Unfortunately for him, ever since the passing of the Qishan leader, Jiang Yu's heart had shut itself to all women.

After a brief pause, Jiang Yu nodded. "Very well. Prepare a quiet room for me."

Overjoyed, Xiahousheng immediately set things in motion. That very night, a sumptuous banquet was prepared, and he even opened a rare bottle of dry red wine from a famous French vineyard, vintage 1965, worth hundreds of thousands on the market.

At the feast, Xiahousheng and Old Shen conversed cheerfully, their topics ranging from the turbulent world of commerce to the ways of martial artists, then from martial arts to the grand scheme of the nation. Xiahousheng was truly a giant among men; his insightful remarks, delivered with effortless clarity, often struck like a painter's finishing touch, leaving others enlightened.

Jiang Yu remained silent, quietly listening to their spirited exchange, and every so often, the three would exchange knowing smiles. Compared to the cold, impersonal Jiang family, this place was indeed more comfortable. Yet Jiang Yu knew that all of this rested on the foundation of his own formidable strength. What Xiahousheng truly feared was not him as a person, but the unfathomable power he wielded.

Had Jiang Yu been an ordinary man, he wouldn't be sitting here drinking and conversing with Xiahousheng. In fact, he would not even have been able to step through the villa’s gate. Strength, after all, was the ultimate trump card in this world.

For several days, Jiang Yu enjoyed a pleasant life under the Xia family's generous hospitality. Xia Ning found that Jiang Yu was the very image of idleness; if he could sleep until ten, he would never rise at nine, and if he could lie down, he would not sit. Eventually, he didn't even bother to get up for breakfast, sleeping soundly until noon.

But once Xia Ning herself cooked delicious dishes and brought them to his room to feed him, Jiang Yu apparently lost interest in sleeping so much. After a few days of treatment, Xia Ning's injuries improved significantly. Jiang Yu then had the Xia family purchase many rare ingredients at great expense, and he crafted a medicinal elixir that could erase every scar on her body. Applied to the skin, it would soon be replaced by new, tender flesh—smoother and whiter than before, like that of a newborn child.

In truth, Xia Ning was naturally lively and cheerful, but growing up in a powerful family meant her own desires were often suppressed. Over time, the once vivacious Xia Ning became quiet and withdrawn, her demeanor now frosty and aloof.

Meanwhile, Xiahousheng and Old Shen busied themselves making preparations for the martial contest in Jiangbei. With a master of the transformation level on their side, Xiahousheng was brimming with confidence—that kind of commanding presence could only come from decades of battle in the business world.

One day, Jiang Yu received a call from Lin Dong. Xia Qinghan, too, was preparing to set out for the tournament.

This underground boxing competition, spontaneously organized by the bigwigs of Jiangbei, seemed to have drawn the attention of countless people. In the world of light, there were rules; in the world of shadow, there were laws. Even Li Hao would participate, a clear sign of the event’s prestige. There would surely be innumerable martial artists from across the land, and Jiang Yu, who had never truly entered this circle, had only encountered a handful of such fighters.

He was genuinely curious about this underground tournament. His greatest interest was to see just how powerful the martial artists of this era had become. When the moon is full, it begins to wane; prosperity breeds decline. After more than two thousand years, these secular martial artists had all but vanished. Yet, as decline reaches its nadir, resurgence follows. In this age when the old ways were fading, there were signs that martial artists were on the verge of reclaiming their former glory.

With minimal preparation, Jiang Yu hurried to join Lin Dong and the others. Besides Lin Dong and Xia Qinghan, there was also an elderly man with white hair and beard, dressed in a white training suit, his bearing ethereal and otherworldly, untouched by the dust of the mortal world. This old man was a master who had long since reached the transformation stage.

“Let’s go. If we drive ourselves, it should take two days to reach the destination,” Lin Dong said, waving his hand as he climbed into a luxury Range Rover.

Xia Qinghan looked off into the distance and murmured, "It's time for the right branch of the Xia family to assert its authority in the mortal world."

...

Inside a lavish villa, Xia Shenghui wore a set of European aristocratic attire from the previous century, cradling a glass of red wine. Behind him sat a man of eerie feminine beauty, his long hair falling to his waist, lips vivid as blood, and eyes tinged with blue. The aura he exuded was cold and sinister.

“Honored Mr. Arnaud, have the three assassins you sent out succeeded? Several days have passed, and I’ve heard nothing from them.”

Arnaud stood up, lifting a goblet filled, shockingly, with human blood. With a look of confusion, he spoke fluent Chinese: “I, too, have lost contact with Tiger and the others. One late-stage condensation expert and two early-stage fighters of the same class—together, they could kill any target. Why is it that I still haven't received any word from them?”

A savage glint flashed in Xia Shenghui's eyes. “Xia Ning, you wretch, you humiliated me in public. Once I kill you, and then wipe out Xia Qinghan, the Xia family will be left with no heirs, and the entire family estate will naturally fall into my hands.”

In the international arena, China was known as the forbidden land for mercenaries and assassins. As long as Gu Changsheng lived, suppressing the nation’s fate for a hundred years, foreign organizations dared not set foot on Chinese soil en masse. Over the years, countless assassins, mercenaries, and shadowy organizations had tried their luck, only to be slain by Gu Changsheng—some of them even top-ranked fusion experts.

It was said that the number of fusion-level masters killed by Gu Changsheng surpassed the entire roster of such experts in many small countries. For this reason, the Shadowkill Organization remained active overseas, accepting assassination contracts but never daring to cross into China at will.

Xia Shenghui, who had lived abroad for years, had by chance befriended Arnaud, a core member of Shadowkill. This time, his daring was backed by tacit approval from his elders: when Tiger, Black Widow, and the Shadowman were dispatched, his father and uncles had already begun planning the aftermath.

“Honored Mr. Arnaud, I've invited two top models for you tonight. I’m sure you’ll be delighted. They’ve received special training and will certainly provide you with an unforgettable experience.” Xia Shenghui licked his lips, certain of their skills—having sampled them himself, after all.

On any other night, Arnaud would have been thrilled, yet today a sense of unease gnawed at him. “What’s going on? Why haven’t Tiger and the others contacted me?”

His voice was tinged with gravity.

Just then, a cold voice came from the entrance of the villa: “Because Tiger and his two companions are already dead.”

The grand double doors of the villa seemed to swing open under an invisible force. A tall, imposing middle-aged man strode in, hands clasped behind his back, followed by two elderly men.

This was Zheng Tianming, the Shadowkill Organization's chief in China.

His words, laced with anger, exploded in the room like a shockwave, nearly knocking Xia Shenghui off his feet. Even Arnaud was forced to stagger back several steps before regaining his balance.

When a grandmaster is enraged, blood is shed for a hundred paces—such is the awe they command.

“Arnaud, as the South Asia chief, how could you be so unaware of Tiger and the others’ deaths? Instead, you’re here indulging yourself. Hmph! If this reaches the ears of the master, your position will be in jeopardy!”

Arnaud gaped in disbelief. “How could this be? With the strength of Tiger and his companions, even if they failed to kill their target, escaping should have been easy!”

Sweat beaded on his forehead. What appeared to be a routine mission had cost Shadowkill three seasoned fighters. Even for Shadowkill, such a loss was hard to swallow.

The wineglass fell from Xia Shenghui’s hand and shattered.

Dead—dead?

He had seen with his own eyes Tiger lift an SUV with his bare hands, strength like a living legend. And now, to hear of Tiger’s death...

Then whoever killed Tiger must be...

Zheng Tianming spoke: “Headquarters has reported that the life tokens of Tiger, Black Widow, and the Shadowman were shattered at the same time. That means a master slew all three in a single instant, leaving them no chance to flee. By our estimation, only a transformation-level grandmaster could achieve this.”

Arnaud, drenched in cold sweat, bowed deeply. “Forgive me, Mr. Zheng Tianming. I accept whatever punishment my carelessness deserves.”

Zheng Tianming was the chief for China, Arnaud for South Asia. Though their ranks appeared equivalent, in the presence of a transformation-level grandmaster like Zheng Tianming, even Arnaud—a late-stage condensation expert—had to yield.

“Don’t worry. I will fix this,” Arnaud replied, his eyes cold and sinister. A faint aura of malevolence seemed to swirl around him, and the leaves of a nearby bonsai visibly withered.

Zheng Tianming laughed, his voice booming like a great bell: “Fix this? The opponent is a transformation-level grandmaster. With your mere condensation-level strength, you wouldn’t even be enough to pick his teeth with. I’ve already used a secret technique to track him—he left Yun City by car today, heading toward Liusha Town.”

Arnaud frowned. “Liusha Town? That’s the border of three provinces—a lawless no-man’s land. The Jiangbei Tournament is being held there.”

Zheng Tianming nodded. “This time, I will go myself. With two more late-stage condensation experts and you, the four of us will be enough to kill that grandmaster.”

Such a mobilization had not been seen in the Shadowkill Organization for a decade.