Chapter 1

Killing must be swift and decisive, never dragging or hesitant. If you can take advantage of someone’s unpreparedness, do so. If you can strike first, do so. If you can kill with one blow, do so. If you can eliminate all traces, do so. All that talk about white robes, peak duels, martial arts rules, and legends of the jianghu is nonsense. A killer is not an actor; who would they perform these flashy moves and seek these empty reputations for?

Top killers have only one standard: survive, and live long.

Generations of "Solitary King" have educated their successors this way, and now Shangguan Fa uses the same words to educate his own sons.

The first rule of a killer is clarity. When you strike, be sure of your success, and try to take advantage of time and place. Hiding in the shadows is your greatest advantage.

Even if your target is a half-paralyzed beggar, treat him as a world-class expert. Approach quietly, and stab him from behind.

You think it’s dishonorable, don’t you? That’s right, the beggar isn’t dishonored; he’s already dead. There’s even a one percent chance he’s a world-class expert in disguise, luring you into a trap.

"Warfare is based on deception." A general who wins battles is a good general. Who cares about the means he uses? Especially his soldiers, who should be grateful for their commander’s ruthless tactics, because it’s these schemes that keep them alive and allow them to enjoy the fruits of victory.

Great generals always attack from the enemy’s rear or flanks. Only arrogant fools talk about decisive battles.

A killer is not a general, so he must be even more cunning, ruthless, and merciless.

There was once such an expert, born into a prestigious family, with extraordinary martial arts skills. From a young age, he was rarely matched, and those who sought his guidance had to make appointments. After each match, they all acknowledged him as the "Greatest Expert," almost ready to hang a plaque on his door.

What happened to this expert? He died. Before he turned thirty, his body was found in a ditch after ten days, so decayed that the people who collected it couldn’t bear to show it to his parents.

Why did he die? Because he made a mistake and ventured into the jianghu.

Those who sought his guidance had to follow the rules: face-to-face, surrounded by martial arts elders, a "begin" command, and then a test of who could strike faster, more accurately, and more steadily. No one would use underhanded tactics, and any slight deviation in form would be ridiculed.

An expert accustomed to "fair duels" becomes vulnerable once he steps into the jianghu. No one knows who killed him or how, but his fatal wound was on his back.

Everyone sympathized with the expert’s early death, and while they verbally despised the sneaky killer, they privately discussed how the expert wasn’t a true expert. How could a true expert not defend against a sneak attack?

Even those who had been defeated by the expert’s sword gradually changed their tone, claiming they lost because of unfavorable conditions. If they had met in a narrow path, who would have won was uncertain.

What could the expert do? He was dead, turned into a pile of bones, unable to defend himself.

In the end, the mysterious killer became an idol. Everyone spread his stories, claiming to have witnessed his actions, and some even claimed to be him.

This is the true face of jianghu legends. No matter what means you use to rise to the top, admirers will naturally create a glorious and dramatic life story for you. People only see you standing at the top; who cares about the means you used or the bodies with wounds on their backs beneath your feet?

The second rule of a killer is ruthlessness. When you strike, be thorough, and eliminate all traces. Killing is not just to silence, but also to remove the "name."

There was once such an expert who practiced diligently for ten years to avenge his father. After debuting, he swept through all opponents. With full confidence, he found his enemy and almost wiped out the entire family. But when he reached a widow and her orphan, he hesitated, wanting to be a great hero and leave a good reputation for not killing women and children. In that moment, he left a fatal flaw.

Could the widow and orphan take revenge? Of course not. The orphan had low potential and could never match the expert even after a hundred years of practice. The widow had no martial arts skills, an ordinary appearance, and struggled to make a living, let alone lure someone to take revenge for her.

But the expert’s enemy was very wealthy, and this wealth naturally fell to the expert. However, the widow and orphan didn’t see it that way. The woman spread the word that whoever avenged her would get half of the wealth.

This powerless woman’s promise of a share of the wealth attracted many. The expert’s home was never quiet again. The expert had to sleep with one eye open, and in the end, he was killed by an unknown soldier.

Did the widow and orphan get the money? Of course not. The unknown soldier gave them a small piece of land and then ignored them, enjoying the million-dollar wealth alone.

The outcome of the widow and orphan is not important. What matters is the "name." Without them, no one had the right to claim the wealth from the expert. With these two puppets, everyone had the right to kill the expert and claim the wealth.

This is the "name."

The "name" is the most illusory and harmful thing in the world. True killers never seek "name" and never give their opponents the chance to gain a "name."

******

Shangguan Fa, the lord of Jinpeng Castle, the seventh Solitary King, is not a true king. He has no territory, but he can go anywhere in the thirty-six countries of the Western Regions. He has no subjects, but from the highest nobles to the lowest commoners, all tremble at his name.

He is the king of killers in the Western Regions.

No one can say how skilled the Solitary King is. He never participates in public duels, and those who seek him or are sought by him all die cleanly.

The Solitary King has almost no enemies. Those he kills, even their dogs, are decapitated.

Shangguan Fa always follows the two rules of a killer. To him, these principles are more precious than life. So when he learned that his eighth son had not eliminated all traces, his anger was unimaginable.

Seven generations of Solitary Kings, spanning over a hundred years, have killed countless people, exterminating enough families to form a small country in the Western Regions. Such a mistake had never happened before: killing the wrong person!

Several heads were lined up on a long table. The foreign guest identifying the bodies felt the lord’s full fury and wisely hid in the shadows.

Shangguan Fa picked up one of the heads and threw it to his eighth son, whose face was pale and flushed. This head had made him lose face in front of the foreign guest, a loss of face that could not be recovered no matter the cost.

"Are you my son? Are you really my son?"

Shangguan Fa’s face was long and slightly dark, with deep-set eyes. The Shangguan family, having lived in the Western Regions for generations, inevitably mixed with the blood of the Hu people. When he was angry, his gaze was as cold and merciless as the Gobi Desert and the snowy mountains.

His question did not need an answer. The eighth son looked like a younger version of his father, his face flushed as if two red-hot iron plates.

There was only one way to quench the Solitary King’s anger: killing. Even for his own son, he would not hesitate. Sibling and father-son killings were common in the Shangguan family; there was only one throne.

But Shangguan Fa hesitated. He thought of the eighth son’s mother, a woman who had brought him much joy, with her cunning smile and perfect body, still vivid in his mind after many years. She died of an unknown illness, like all women, spending her energy on men but ultimately wishing for her own child.

The illness progressed quickly, and when she was on her deathbed, she still retained her beauty. Her sad and beautiful face made her plea hard to refuse or forget.

"Make Nu'er grow into a man like you."

Shangguan Fa believed he had kept his promise, giving the motherless eighth son the most comfortable life, the strictest training, and the greatest trust.

"Women are a curse." Shangguan Fa thought, his anger slightly subsiding but still like a caged beast, restless and seeking an outlet. He drew the single-edged sword from Shangguan Nu's waist.

Shangguan Fa had to do something. Rules are rules and must never be compromised. He resisted the urge to kill and cut off his son’s right hand, the hand that held the sword.

The sad and beautiful face in Shangguan Fa’s mind gradually faded.

"Seven days. Bring back the correct head."

Who was the escaped wretch? What was his name? Shangguan Fa had only a vague impression. The man would die under the sword of Jinpeng Castle. To make the Solitary King cut off his son’s hand, he had already earned his death.

******

Shangguan Nu pushed away the subordinate who tried to help him, staggering out of the hall, as furious as his father. The blood from his severed hand was finally stopped with a large packet of wound medicine, but no medicine could stop the hatred in his heart.

He hated his father for not giving him a chance to explain, for believing the foreign guest’s denial and accusing him of making a mistake. This was his first independent mission, symbolizing his ability to establish his own name like his brothers. Now, he had lost his right hand, most of his martial arts skills, and his reputation.

He also hated his subordinates, the useless ones who had failed him, ruining his promising future.

He hated the escaped youth the most. A man who was supposed to die but clung to life for a few more days. Even if he were killed a hundred more times, it wouldn’t make up for the lost hand.

Shangguan Nu’s anger needed an outlet. He could only bury his hatred for his father deep in his heart, not even daring to argue. The escaped youth was not present, so his only target for venting was the dozens of killers and swordsmen under his command.

The killers were the elite of Jinpeng Castle, and the swordsmen were its mercenaries. They had all publicly sworn never to betray the young master.

Shangguan Nu drew his sword with his left hand, a bit awkwardly, which only increased his anger.

The killers and swordsmen had heard about what happened in the hall and now looked at the pale-faced young master like lambs to the slaughter.

The sword rose and fell, the hands fell like leaves in the frost, and no one dared to make a sound. When they were assigned to Shangguan Nu, they were already destined to give everything, including their lives.

Shangguan Nu didn’t know how many hands he had cut off before he calmed down. These were his subordinates, and crippling them would only weaken his own strength.

"Go kill! Go kill right now! Leave no complete body except the head!"