Ninth Generation of the Daoist Sect

The rain fell gently, splashing and creating water sprays two feet high upon landing on the ground. Nie Changqing gripped the pig-killing knife tightly, his eyes bloodshot. The rain ran down his cheeks crookedly, like twisting earthworms sliding down.

He was furious and unwilling, filled with strong killing intent. The inevitable finally arrived; after hiding for five years, he could no longer escape. ** A bright light flashed by, accompanied by a trembling sound that seemed to cut the raindrops in half, overwhelming the sound of the continuous downpour.

Frequent footsteps echoed through the alley. Nie Changqing let out a low roar and swung the pig-killing knife in an arc. The two assassins, their blood boiling, caused the rainwater around them to explode.

Ding Ding! ** collided with the pig-killing knife. The three of them crossed paths, causing the accumulated water in the alley to splash several feet high. The red blood mixed with the rain stained the ground, but quickly washed away.

A deep wound, revealing bones, started from Nie Changqing's shoulder and spread to his abdomen. Blood gushed out from the wound. However, one of the assassins, with a "plop," spurted blood a few inches high and was cleaved in half from the waist, falling to the ground. The other assassin turned around and continued to step on the water, advancing towards Nie Changqing.

Nie Changqing's hand holding the pig-killing knife began to tremble. In the distance, Nie Shuang, despite Nie Changqing's warning, took a few steps before turning his head and witnessing his father kill someone with the pig-killing knife. It turned out that the pig-killing knife was not just an ordinary knife. Nie Changqing himself was also stained with blood on his coarse cloth.

Young Nie Shuang, for the first time, experienced a shock to his mind. He stood still in the rain, crying loudly, his voice tearing apart with fear and concern for his father.

However, Nie Changqing had no time to attend to him. Today, if these assassins weren't killed, both he and Nie Shuang would die. The pig-killing knife flew in his hand fiercely and ferociously. Although it seemed random, it contained hidden trajectories.

The remaining assassin was forced to retreat repeatedly by the power of the pig-killing knife. At the end of the alley, the only standing figure in a raincoat and bamboo hat moved. He took a step forward and took out a wooden flute.

He played softly, and the sound of the flute surprisingly drowned out the sound of the pouring rain, lingering in the alley. Puchi! The pig-killing knife pierced through the back of the assassin, splattering blood. Nie Changqing stood unsteadily, gripping the pig-killing knife, staring at the figure walking slowly, rainwater dripping from his chin. His expression was filled with unwillingness.

"A piece of song, 'Tide Ballad,' Ninth Generation Han Lianxiao of the Daoist Sect," Nie Changqing said, looking through the rain curtain.

Continuous rain poured down. Han Lianxiao, wearing a bamboo hat and raincoat, walking slowly but unknowingly, had already arrived in front of Nie Changqing. The song ended. Under the bamboo hat, a handsome face with long sideburns was revealed.

"The Tenth 'Unrivaled Knife' of the Daoist Sect... still impressive," Han Lianxiao said with a smile. "Even with severed tendons, you can easily kill two top-level martial artists. Junior Brother Nie, I truly admire you."

Han Lianxiao raised the wooden flute and pressed it against the pig-killing knife in Nie Changqing's hand, exerting an irresistible force that caused the knife to press against his chest.

Although his words were praising, they were filled with sarcasm. "If it weren't for your severed tendons, I could kill you with just one strike."

Nie Changqing coughed up blood, which flowed over the wooden flute, his gaze fixed on Han Lianxiao. Han Lianxiao looked at the blood flowing onto the wooden flute and frowned. "Bring Suo'er back with me, bow your head and apologize to His Majesty. Perhaps you can still save your life."

"It has been five years, and I still stand by what I said... I did nothing wrong!" Nie Changqing's neck veins bulged as he spoke.

"In that case, I can only bring back your ** as proof." Han Lianxiao sighed.

In the next moment, blood and energy surged, and a series of five sounds burst out from under the raincoat. The wooden flute pressed against the pig-killing knife suddenly erupted with tremendous force.

Nie Changqing felt as if his soul had been shattered. He spewed blood from his mouth and was sent flying three to five meters away. He knelt in the rain, his pig-killing knife fiercely stuck into the bluestone ground, emitting a sharp cutting sound, stopping his retreating figure.

Nie Changqing struggled to stand up once again, wiping the rainwater mixed with blood off his face, tightly grasping the pig-killing knife. Nie Shuang's bamboo hat was askew as he stood alone in the rain curtain. The pouring rain fell from the sky, making his frail body tremble.

He cried, his voice hoarse from crying. Han Lianxiao's handsome face under the bamboo hat remained cold and ruthless. He raised the wooden flute and tossed it lightly. In the next moment, his palm imprint landed on the wooden flute.

The wooden flute spun rapidly, splashing rainwater, like a water dragon swirling in the rain curtain.

Ha ha!

In the spinning flute, there were unexpectedly sharp blades emerging.

Like a meat grinder, it was grinding towards Nie Changqing.

With his tendons severed, Nie Changqing fell from the realm of a grandmaster.

It was impossible for him to block this move.

Suddenly.

Han Lian smiled and raised an eyebrow.

Just as the flute turned into a meat grinder and was about to grind Nie Changqing to death.

A thin, almost translucent long sword pierced through the rainwater.

Carrying the sound of tearing through the rain curtain.

Ding!

The flute was knocked away and flew back.

The blades on the flute were retracted and held by Han Lian in his hand.

Beside Nie Changqing, at some point, there appeared a beautiful woman dressed in a silk long dress, holding a parasol in one hand and grasping the sword made of cicada wings in the other.

"The person killed in Beiluo City is still someone favored by me, Lufan."

"Tsk tsk..."

"You really don't take me, the young city lord of Beiluo City, seriously."

With a slightly sleepy tone.

The wooden wheel turned in the rain, making a rustling sound.

Han Lian frowned and looked ahead.

There, in the secluded rain alley, a young man with rosy lips and white teeth came in a wheelchair, with maids on both sides holding oiled-paper umbrellas. In the pouring rain, it seemed like a leisurely outing.

The wheelchair stopped beside Nie Shuang, who had stopped crying and sobbing.

Lufan turned his head and glanced at Nie Shuang, with a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Little guy, are you happy to see your big brother?"

Lufan said.

Nie Shuang's eyes were red and swollen from crying. At this moment, he kept sniffling and was somewhat stunned and at a loss.

Upon hearing Lufan's question, in a hoarse and childish voice, he replied, "Hap... happy."

Lufan raised an eyebrow, instantly becoming interested.

"Then... how happy are you?"

Nie Shuang: "..."

He was confused.

Lufan smiled and said, "Your big brother saved your dad, are you happy about that?"

This time, Nie Shuang snapped back to his senses. Upon hearing this, his frail body knelt down on the ground with a "thump", ignoring the rain-soaked ground, and knocked his head hard, even flattening his hat.

"Please, sir, save my dad!"

In Nie Shuang's tearful voice, there was a hint of crying.

Lufan sat in the wheelchair and nodded slightly.

Then, he looked towards Han Lian in the distance.

"You heard it, I promised this little guy, so... give me face."

Lufan chuckled.

Han Lian, holding the flute, pinched his temple with one hand and glanced at Lufan askew, with a smirk on his face.

"So, it's Young Master Lu from Beiluo City."

His voice was very gentle.

Lufan was smiling, and Han Lian was also smiling. The two of them smiled at each other as if they were old friends who had known each other for many years.

Then, Han Lian's magnetic voice lingered in the alley.

Like a greeting between old friends.

"If your father, Lu Changkong, were here, maybe I could give him face."

"As for Young Master Lu... it's not worth that much face."