Chapter 57: The Times Have Changed

To An Ziyang, the situation seemed utterly desperate.

Hidden weapons and poisons relied entirely on secrecy to be effective. In a direct confrontation, with the opponent already on guard, most of his advantages were rendered useless.

Wary of An Ziyang's poisons, the members of the Bright Cult did not charge in recklessly, choosing instead to close in and constrict his space step by step.

Once within range and striking together, no matter how resourceful An Ziyang might be, he would never be able to simultaneously evade nearly ten attacks, none of which were inferior to his own strength.

An Ziyang seemed to have panicked, charging left and right only to be driven back every time.

His expression grew increasingly frantic, as if he had lost his composure. After being forced back once more—leaving a wound on his body—he violently smashed the scabbard of his left-hand sword toward one of his adversaries.

The man sneered, raising his weapon to block the blow.

"Don't move!"

A calm voice rang out, its owner leaping forward to intervene, but it was already too late.

Hearing the warning, although he had no time to retract his stance, the man actively dissipated most of his internal force, intending merely to catch the scabbard gently against his weapon.

Unexpectedly, it was nothing more than the slightest touch.

Bang!

Abruptly, the scabbard shattered into two pieces, and thick white smoke spewed forth from the fracture!

"Damn it!"

"What the hell! Not this trick again!"

The members of the Bright Cult were utterly speechless!

Just how much lime powder and alchemical poison did this brat hide on his body?! Were you trying to burn opium in Humen?!

If you were caught in the rain, half the population of Quanzhou City would probably end up poisoned!

Amidst the dense smoke, An Ziyang laughed uproariously.

"Go on, be arrogant! Keep being arrogant!"

"This young master simply has money to burn! This Tang Sect alchemical poison costs me three thousand taels a year! More than enough to choke every last one of you poverty-stricken wretches to death!"

"Care to guess how many pounds of it I'm carrying on me?"

The calm voice could no longer remain calm.

"Ignore him! Just protect yourselves! He's already cornered; as long as we don't panic, he can't escape!"

He was starting to grow anxious.

A mere second-rate fighter—since when had he ever taken a second-rate nobody seriously? If they fought a fair, direct duel, and An Ziyang managed to last three moves in his hands, it would mean he had utterly failed his master! Meanwhile, the commotion upstairs had gradually subsided, clearly indicating that Li Miao had already won and might come searching at any moment to chop them all into fine mincemeat.

How on earth had they been delayed by this brat?!

Just as he was fully exerting his internal energy to disperse the poisonous mist, another miserable scream pierced his ears.

"Ah!"

"What happened?!" he hurriedly shouted.

"Caltrops! The brat scattered caltrops on the ground!" The injured man barely managed to reply before his voice sharply faded away.

Followed by a dull thud as he collapsed to the ground, motionless.

Without a doubt, those caltrops were also poisoned.

"Is this brat surnamed An or Tang? Is there a single thing on him that isn't poisonous?"

"We can't drag this out any longer! Even if it means getting injured, we must slaughter this brat first!"

"Forget about the lime! Cover your mouths and noses and charge together!"

"Understood!"

The group shouted in unison, forcing their eyes open amidst the lime powder to lock onto An Ziyang's position.

Bright Light Palm!
Unfettered Saber Technique!
Great Wind and Cloud Flying Palm!
Five Elements Blazing Fire Slash!

Leaving only their leader behind to guard against any lingering tricks from An Ziyang, eight peerless Bright Cult martial arts techniques simultaneously assaulted him.

An Ziyang had nowhere left to retreat, every inch of space before him completely blocked.

He seemed entirely trapped in a desperate situation.

"Sigh—"

He let out a long sigh.

"There's still one who didn't fall for it."

In an instant, he pulled out a pitch-black cylinder from behind his back and aimed it straight ahead.

The cylinder was only as thick as a forearm and about a foot long. Cast from crude iron, one end was fitted with a spring mechanism, while the other was riddled with dense, tiny holes.

Struggling to keep their eyes open through the lime powder, the vision of the Bright Cult members was already severely blurred. In the blink of an eye, it was impossible to distinguish what the object was.

Click.

With a crisp snap, An Ziyang triggered the spring mechanism.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—

Rainstorm Pear Blossom Needles.

The eight Bright Cult experts felt as though they had been caught in a sudden downpour, a dense and gentle sensation washing over their entire bodies.

Immediately after, their stances lost all their power. Tossing the cylinder aside, An Ziyang raised his sword to parry left and right.

Even though the Bright Cult experts had lost their strength, An Ziyang was still only a second-rate martial artist.

Now, he found himself facing mortal danger at every turn.

Finally, after suffering four deep gashes on his body, An Ziyang panted heavily, planting his sword into the ground to steady his stance.

As for the eight Bright Cult experts, they had already collapsed one by one, their chests no longer rising and falling.

The remaining Bright Cult expert, who had not joined the attack, had finally dispersed the poisonous mist. Opening his eyes, this was the exact scene that greeted him.

His gaze swept over the shattered cylinder on the ground and then fixed firmly upon An Ziyang.

"Rainstorm Pear Blossom Needles."

"The supreme treasure of the Tang Sect—how do you possess it?"

Panting heavily, An Ziyang let out a scoff.

"When did I ever say I wasn't a member of the Tang Sect?"

"But your surname isn't Tang."

"Heh... You poor wretches naturally wouldn't understand."

An Ziyang flashed an arrogant smile that practically screamed, *Sorry, having money really solves everything.*

"This young master pours tens of thousands of silver taels into the Tang Sect every year. Does my surname even matter?"

"As an elder of the Tang Sect, is there any problem with borrowing a few items from the sect to protect myself? If there is a problem, this young master will just bring out another two pounds of alchemical poison, which would only prove that I am far too honest and should have borrowed another ten or twenty varieties to use up completely!"

The Bright Cult expert was left completely speechless.

After a long moment, he slowly spoke.

"However, you still failed to kill me."

"Which means you're still going to die."

If hidden weapons were truly this invincible, the jianghu would have long since taken the surname Tang.

The danger of these Tang Sect hidden weapons lay in their silent deployment and seal-the-blood-upon-contact lethality. However, their velocity was not exceptionally high, they lacked the varied techniques of a true hidden-weapon master, and their effective range was limited. In a direct, open confrontation, they posed little threat to first-rate experts.

Had it not been for the narrow terrain, the cramped formation of the Bright Cult members with nowhere to dodge, and their obstructed vision, they would never have been hit.

Now, only An Ziyang and this calm-mannered Bright Cult leader remained, and the poisonous mist had entirely dissipated.

No matter what other hidden weapons An Ziyang might carry, they would no longer be effective.

The Bright Cult expert slowly raised his sword, bringing it up before him as he glared at An Ziyang.

"Don't you still have a sword? Let me see what skills you have besides these disgusting parlor tricks!"

With that, he lunged forward with his sword!

He thrust straight toward An Ziyang's face.

An Ziyang similarly raised his sword, pointing it vaguely at the man's visage.

Seeing this gesture, the Bright Cult expert sneered coldly.

"You rely too much on schemes; it turns out you have no true skills of your own!"

For An Ziyang's sword stance was formless, unfocused, and entirely devoid of threat.

With a single strike—just a single strike—he could flick away An Ziyang's blade and sever his head!

In the fraction of a second, the distance between them vanished.

He caught a clear look at the sword in An Ziyang's hand: its design was bizarre, with a curved hilt and two thin metal tubes extending along the crossguard, sandwiching the blade in between.

"Hah, utter nonsense!"

He sneered, moving to deflect An Ziyang's weapon.

Only to hear An Ziyang sneer right back.

And then.

Bang!

A deafening roar, accompanied by a flash of fire, erupted from the thin tubes attached to An Ziyang's sword.

He felt as though something had brushed past his neck, followed by a sudden jolt of pain.

In a daze, he heard An Ziyang's wild laughter.

"What era is this, and you're still practicing traditional martial arts!"

"The times have changed!"