"What kind of proper Assassination Fist is upright and honorable? Isn't it all about soaring over rooftops, scaling walls, seeking swift vengeance, and killing without a trace?"
the young disciple muttered.
BAM!!
He then received a sharp rap on the head, making him cry out in pain and squat on the ground.
"You little brat, watch your mouth. You have no respect."
Dong Wanming shook his head. He grabbed the young disciple by the collar and, as if lifting a handbag, casually continued walking forward.
"Do you think practicing martial arts is all about seeking swift vengeance and showing off everywhere?"
"Our Holy Heart Sect inherits the Assassin's Path. Do you know what a true assassin is?"
"In ancient tis, when Zhuan Zhu assassinated King Liao, a cot struck the moon. When Nie Zheng assassinated Han Kui, a white rainbow pierced the sun. When Yao Li assassinated Qing Ji, a goshawk struck the palace hall."
"Was it for personal grudges? Was it for selfish desire? No. It was for the sake of a single word: 'righteousness.' For that, they cast aside life and death, abandoning everything."
"Weapons are grave instrunts of death; the Martial Dao is the great Dao of life and death. Therefore, one who wields a weapon must possess great virtue. Before cultivating the martial path, one must first clarify their heart, or Calamity will surely follow. To kill one person for a personal grudge is unacceptable. But to kill one person for the good of the world, one would go through fire and water, unafraid of ten thousand deaths."
"What we cultivate can be a model for the world, the first blood shed to forge a new era. It can shatter a dim and turbid world, serving as an alarm bell in chaotic tis. It can be the asure of good and evil, a Sharp Sword hanging overhead. For the great righteousness in our hearts, for our own ideals, we can cast aside life and death. But what we absolutely cannot do is delight in violence and treat slaughter as a glory. This is the true Assassin's Path."
"Our hands are stained with blood, but our hearts hold Bodhi. Our bodies are in Purgatory, yet we yearn for the light."
"That is why our sect is nad 'Holy Heart.' Is that not upright and honorable enough for you?"
Dong Wanming explained slowly with a faint smile.
"Oh?"
The young disciple scratched his head, looking as if he only half-understood.
"Then, Senior Brother, what is your 'righteousness'?"
the young disciple asked curiously.
"I am fortunate to be born in this prosperous era. Perhaps this age no longer needs assassins like us to fight and die. So now, the weapon in my hand is wielded only for the sake of self-transcendence. Of course, if the world ever needs the Assassin's Path to reappear, I will not hesitate to answer the call."
Dong Wanming said with a smile.
The young disciple scratched his head again. He felt that discussing such topics was a bit much for him. Being so young, it was hard for him to truly grasp the aning behind Dong Wanming's words. So he quickly changed the subject, asking, "Senior Brother, you're definitely going to win the match tonight, right? I heard the people from Tianhe Country have ill intentions for coming here to compete. You have to teach them a harsh lesson and show them what we're made of!"
"I don't know what the other people from Tianhe Country are thinking, but this Feimura Masayuki is certainly not as shallow as the others. He is a worthy and respectable opponent."
"The world isn't black and white. Not all Martial Artists from Tianhe Country have malicious intent. Everyone knows the Tianhe Country's New Yin Style is famous for its 'Killing Blade,' but few know that the ultimate Heart Technique of this school is called the 'Living Sword'..."
"The sword in his hand is not wielded for killing, nor will he ever be a lackey for businessn and politicians."
Dong Wanming said faintly.
...
...
「Shuntian City, De'an District.」
Yunhe Vacation Manor, under the Lingpu Group.
Inside a loft built in the ancient style of Tianhe Country.
Feimura Masayuki knelt on the floor, slowly wiping the Tianhe-style longsword in his hands with a flannel cloth. Sunlight fell upon the blade, making it shimr.
At that mont, two middle-aged n stood behind him. They were dressed immaculately in suits and ties, their faces stern and naturally imposing.
"Zhengyi Monarch, your previous opponents were all insignificant. We did not interfere with how you handled them. But this opponent is different. The Southern Eight Sects have a prestigious reputation in the Donghua Martial Arts Realm. Their successor is a role model for countless Southern Martial Arts Families and is seen as a hope for reaching Saint Awakening. This ti, you can no longer be so willful. You must naturally win the match, but beyond winning, we want you to do everything in your power to kill your opponent and crush the rising spirit of the Donghua Martial Arts Realm!"
the middle-aged man standing in front said to Feimura Masayuki in a steady tone.
"I know what I'm doing. You needn't trouble yourselves. I am not a blade in your hands, and I will not commit slaughter according to your will."
Feimura Masayuki continued to wipe his longsword, his voice calm.
"Feimura Masayuki! Check your attitude! Don't forget, you were once a re commoner! It was the Tianhe Race that nurtured you! The Martial Dao is the nation's sharp edge, and as the successor of the New Yin Style, you are the 'Killing Blade.' The world is on the verge of another great change, and experts at the level of Saint Awakening will be the key. Now is the ti for you to contribute to this country, to this race! Have you forgotten your Samurai spirit!"
the other middle-aged man rebuked him, his expression severe.
"I will not hesitate to protect my country and my race. But how can you claim to represent our country and race? You are only acting for yourselves—for your own ambitions, for your own desires. Has the great failure from decades ago not been enough to wake you up?"
"You only know that the New Yin Style has the 'Killing Blade,' but you don't know that its highest state is the 'Living Sword.' A sword is a weapon for not-killing; the Martial Dao is the skill of stopping conflict. Our school does not find victory in killing others, but in not being killed. The art of the blade should be used to protect oneself and achieve one's own Dao, not to beco a tool of ambition, a source of misfortune, and an agent of slaughter."
"You were born into nobility, high and mighty, living in luxury. To you, the countless common people are nothing but pawns in your hands, tools to achieve your goals. Have you forgotten who you truly are?"
As he spoke, Feimura Masayuki's lowered eyes snapped open, blazing like torches.
SHING SHING SHING SHING!!
The Tianhe-style longsword in his hand was as fast as lightning. The two middle-aged n only felt a fierce wind rise and a cold light flash. Their eyes couldn't track its movent at all.
An instant later, Feimura Masayuki sheathed his sword and knelt back down, his posture the sa as before.
The next mont, all the expensive clothes and accessories on the two middle-aged n tore apart and fell to the floor in pieces.
The two n stood there, stark naked. Cold sweat broke out from their pores, and when a breeze blew in from the window, they shivered uncontrollably.
"Look. Stripped of your expensive clothes and luxurious adornnts, standing plainly in this world, you are nothing more than a 'man.' How are you different from any of the countless other individuals in this world? What makes you so noble that you can decide the life and death of others and represent the country and the race for the sake of your own ambition?"
Feimura Masayuki slowly returned his longsword to its Sword Scabbard. He stood up, walked past the two stunned n, and headed out of the loft.
"My sword will not be wielded for people like you. I will win this match, but not for you. It will be for my Martial Dao alone."
Feimura Masayuki's voice echoed in the loft as he walked out into the courtyard.
The courtyard was lush with flowers and plants, blooming in the sumr, but what first caught Feimura Masayuki's eye were the climbing roses covering a trellis.
He walked over slowly. Their pale pink color, their layered petals—they blood with such purity and beauty. He couldn't help but lean down and bring his nose closer.
A faint, refreshing floral scent reached him, and a small smile graced his lips.
Just then, the two middle-aged n, now wrapped in curtains, erged from the loft and saw this scene. Their eyes widened in shock, and a single sentence naturally surfaced in their minds:
'In , the tiger sniffs the rose.'
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