Raising Orphans, Not Assassins-Chapter 69Vol. 1 - - The Bloody Night in Bianliang (Part 1)

"Hiccup..."

Nan Yiyun tossed aside the chicken bone in his hand, his mouth glistening with grease, and let out a full-bellied burp.

Rubbing his swollen stomach, he stood up and drained the rest of the wine in his jar in one gulp.

"Crash!"

He casually flung the empty jar to the ground, shattering it into eight pieces.

Bao Laosan stood respectfully by his side.

Nan Yiyun shot him a sidelong glance and commented, “You’re in your thirties and only at late third-rank?”

"Isn’t that embarrassing? When I was your age, I was already first-rank!”

Bao Laosan responded humbly, “Grandpa is right to reprimand me.”

Seeing his continued obedience and efficiency, Nan Yiyun nodded in satisfaction.

"You know my rules."

"Three spits of phlegm—three palm techniques in return."

"Watch carefully. If you fail to learn them, that’s on you!”

Bao Laosan’s heart pounded, his face lighting up with joy.

"Thank you, Grandpa!"

Nan Yiyun leapt into the air, raising his left palm high before striking downward—

As if he were attacking an invisible enemy.

Bao Laosan widened his eyes, sweat beading on his forehead as he focused intently, afraid to miss even the smallest detail.

Judging from the trajectory, the palm strike was aimed at the Baihui acupoint on an opponent’s head.

But just as Bao Laosan assumed this, Nan Yiyun suddenly flicked out his right hand—without exerting any force—yet with astonishing speed.

Bao Laosan froze.

What the hell was that move...?

It looked an awful lot like a backhanded slap!

Before he could process it, Nan Yiyun landed on the ground and immediately launched a vicious kick—sharp and ruthless.

Judging by the angle, it was a brutal low blow.

After demonstrating the three techniques, Nan Yiyun saw the confusion on Bao Laosan’s face and spat on the ground.

"Pah!"

"Useless. Completely unteachable."

"Remember, only use these in life-or-death situations."

With that, Nan Yiyun grabbed an unopened wine jar and swaggered out of the dock warehouse, leaving Bao Laosan standing in a daze.

"That last move..."

He subconsciously kicked his foot and murmured, "That wasn’t a palm technique either..."

Nan Yiyun, clutching his wine jar, leapt onto the sea and strode away on the waves.

A gang member close to Bao Laosan rushed over and whispered, “Big Brother, who was that just now?”

Still immersed in thought over the three techniques, Bao Laosan snapped back to reality. He glanced around before lowering his voice:

"That was our boss’s master."

The gang member’s eyes widened in shock.

"The legendary Grandmaster, the Southern Sea Phantom?"

"That’s right. It was him."

Excited, the gang member asked, “Boss, did you just fight him?”

According to the rumors, the Southern Sea Phantom always suppressed his cultivation when fighting an opponent—if you were third-rank, he’d lower himself to third-rank as well.

If you managed to defeat him at the same level, he’d teach you a few techniques.

However, he was notoriously eccentric. If you amused him, he might reward you with martial arts secrets regardless.

It was said that their own gang leader, Qiong Longshan, had greatly pleased the Southern Sea Phantom, who then taught him his signature skill—Roaring Waves Palm.

After years of relentless practice, Qiong Longshan used that first-rank palm technique to establish the Haijing Gang as the most powerful coastal force.

Bao Laosan shook his head. “My foundation is weak, and my skills are too common. How could I stand against Senior Nan?”

The gang member sighed in disappointment. “That’s a pity.”

Bao Laosan didn’t respond. His eyes flickered with thought.

In his mind, he replayed the three “palm techniques” Nan Yiyun had just shown him.

A Few Days Later— The Dawu Dynasty’s Capital—Bianliang.

Late at night.

The city blazed with lights, the night markets bustling with life.

People wove through the streets, their faces glowing with joy.

Bianliang had no curfews—it was the most famous Sleepless City in all of Dawu.

On the streets—

A middle-aged man strolled through the lively night scene.

He wore a black silk robe embroidered with gold, his eyes sweeping across the city’s streets, shops, and landmarks, filled with a sense of nostalgia.

It had been eighteen years since he had last set foot in Bianliang.

Now that he had returned, Zhao Kai felt the weight of time—so much had changed.

The site where the Prince Su Manor once stood—had become Hongbin Tower, the grandest restaurant in Bianliang.

A single meal there cost at least a thousand taels of silver, a gathering place for the empire’s elite.

Zhao Kai gazed at Hongbin Tower.

Eighteen years ago, he had lost the imperial succession struggle.

That night—

Prince Su Manor had been engulfed in flames, reduced to ashes.

Had it not been for his loyal Xuanjia Guards, who sacrificed themselves to smuggle him out of the city, he would have perished in Bianliang that night.

Perished alongside his wives, concubines, and children—burned alive in the inferno.

After that night, the world no longer had Prince Su.

Instead—

A new figure emerged.

The Master of Fengyu Tower.

A ghost lurking in the shadows.

"Eighteen years..."

The once-mighty Prince Su, now Zhao Kai, Master of Fengyu Tower, sighed.

Now that he had returned, it was time to settle old debts.

At a steady pace, Zhao Kai walked toward Hongbin Tower.

Tonight—

The Crown Prince was hosting a grand banquet there.

Before he even reached Hongbin Tower, two streets away, he was stopped by the Imperial Guards.

A magnificent Yushi Stallion, pure white and powerfully built, stood in the street.

Seated atop the horse was a young general clad in golden armor.

He held a silver python spear, his cold eyes scanning the passersby.

No one dared approach. People veered away from a distance, avoiding trouble.

Only one man walked forward—his expression calm.

The young general’s gaze locked onto Zhao Kai’s black-and-gold embroidered robes.

Zhao Kai spoke, his voice cultured and gentle. “Tell me—does the Wu family still control the Imperial Guards?”

The young general hesitated.

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The man before him had a commanding presence, as if he were born to rule.

Subconsciously, he answered, “Yes, the Wu family still holds the position.”

Zhao Kai nodded faintly. “Wu Feng had good foresight, choosing to side with Zhao Xie early.”

"Insolence!"

"How dare you address His Majesty by name!"

Enraged, the young general thrust his silver spear forward—

A strike carrying the force of a third-rank martial artist.

Zhao Kai remained indifferent. His deep eyes barely flickered as he gently waved his sleeve.

"Whoosh—"

A bone-chilling gust of wind surged forth.

The spear instantly froze, ice creeping from its tip up to the general’s hand.

"Ah—!"

The young general gasped—his body stiffened.

His skin turned a deathly pale gray.

Life vanished from his eyes in an instant.

Even his Yushi Stallion froze solid, frost coating its pristine fur.

With a loud thud, both the general and his horse collapsed.

Along with them—

The surrounding Imperial Guards fell lifelessly, their bodies frostbitten, hair and beards dusted with ice.

All the guards stationed on that street had been slain by a single flick of Zhao Kai’s sleeve.

Zhao Kai coughed lightly and continued his leisurely walk toward Hongbin Tower.

It wasn’t long before the strange stillness of the street caught the attention of passersby.

…

Fireworks burst into the night sky above Bianliang.

The nearby Jinwu Guards, seeing the signal, immediately mobilized toward Hongbin Tower.

Zhao Kai walked slowly, taking in the familiar yet distant streets as memories surged through his mind.

This was the front street of Prince Su’s residence. As a youth, he played kickball here.

Next door was Bluestone Alley, where he had once ambushed and beaten the son of the Minister of Rites with a sack over his head.

Why had he done that?

Zhao Kai couldn’t quite recall. He vaguely remembered it had something to do with a courtesan.

Memories of his younger years in Bianliang resurfaced one by one, but they were wrapped in a hazy veil.

He could only recall fragments, never the full picture.

The past was separated from him by time itself.

His steps were unhurried, yet his pace was swift.

In just a few strides, he arrived in front of Hongbin Tower.

Zhao Kai tilted his head up, gazing at the grand, four-story restaurant adorned with lanterns. Suddenly, he spoke.

“Come out.”

From the shadows behind him, an elderly eunuch in a purple robe hunched forward, stepping into the light.

His face was aged and pallid, his long, snow-white eyebrows drooping to the corners of his eyes.

It was impossible to determine his exact age, but his entire being exuded the air of someone in decline, his vitality ebbing away.

The eunuch’s complexion was deathly pale. He raised a hand to his mouth, coughing incessantly.

Only after a long moment did his face regain some color.

His voice was hoarse as he spoke.

“Even from a distance, I could smell the blood-soaked stench of the Profound Ice Demonic Art.”

“Prince Su, since when did you align yourself with the demonic sects?”

Zhao Kai remained silent.

He simply looked at the eunuch and smiled.

Then, from within him, several muffled pops rang out.

His internal energy reversed through his meridians, coursing along an eerie, unorthodox path throughout his body.

The eunuch’s expression shifted.

“The Heavenly Demon Dissolution Technique?”

Zhao Kai’s gaze remained calm as he flicked his sleeve.

A misty white vapor surged out.

In an instant, the street was shrouded in thick fog.

A biting cold radiated from within the mist.

The eunuch’s sharp eyes fixed on the fog as his voice trembled with fear.

“You’ve reached the Grandmaster realm?”

As he spoke, he accidentally inhaled a wisp of the chilling air, and a violent coughing fit overtook him.

Forcing his energy into action, his figure blurred as he retreated more than twenty yards in an instant.

His face was ghastly pale, his body convulsing as he coughed uncontrollably.

His internal energy churned wildly, rampaging through his meridians like an unbridled storm.

Several breaths later, he finally managed to suppress the chaos within his body.

His complexion returned to normal, and his coughing ceased.

But Zhao Kai was no longer in sight.

The next moment, piercing screams and panicked shouts erupted from within Hongbin Tower.

The eunuch trembled violently, his body shivering. Deep within his eyes, a fear far beyond mortal terror took hold.

It was as if the mist had awakened the nightmares he most wished to forget.

He knew exactly what was happening inside Hongbin Tower.

But there was nothing he could do.

A dull thud sounded.

From the fourth floor of Hongbin Tower, a severed head was thrown down.

It belonged to a young man.

He wore a white jade coronet, his eyes wide open in death.

His face was pallid, his skin shriveled, and his severed neck bore a clean cut—its fresh blood already frozen solid.

The eunuch’s face drained of all color as he stared at the decapitated head.