Zhang Yuanqing rushed into the villa's main hall, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room before he dashed up the stairs to the second floor.
He came to a halt at the stairwell. At the end of the corridor stood a closed door.
Guarding it was a burly, intimidating middle-aged man in a black tank top. Muscles knotted across his arms and chest, his expression fierce and thuggish—like a classic goon or bodyguard from a movie.
The villa was eerily quiet. Aside from the man at the door, no one else was in sight.
"Wang Qian's sister is probably in that room. Xiahou Tianyuan brought her here. Damn it—if he'd kept her with him, I could've caught him red-handed and just called Fu Qingyang."
Zhang Yuanqing peeked out, scanning the second-floor layout. From his angle, he spotted a surveillance camera aimed directly at the room where the burly man stood guard.
"If I were Xiahou Tianyuan, I'd definitely have someone monitoring the feed 24/7. The second anything goes wrong, reinforcements would arrive."
He silently withdrew from view.
Night Wanderer mode had just ended. Back against the stairwell wall, he used the brief moment to recover his stamina and think.
Two options lay before him.
Option one: Leave quietly and alert Fu Qingyang to dispatch a rescue team.
Option two: Eliminate the kidnappers himself and take Wang Qian's sister away.
The first option seemed safer, but involving official Nightwalkers would inevitably expose his involvement.
Xiahou Tianyuan would realize it was none other than the "great" Primordial Lord of Heaven who wrecked his plan.
Back in the day, Zhang Yuanqing wouldn't have cared—he had merits under his belt and plenty of trump cards. But after seeing how far Xiahou Tianyuan was willing to go with Wang Qian's sister, he had to consider: What if the bastard tried to retaliate against his family?
Car accidents, sudden death—those kinds of "accidents" don't follow any legal procedure.
And he didn't have a foolproof assassination plan ready for Xiahou Tianyuan yet.
By comparison, option two seemed more viable—so long as he could end things quickly and avoid being identified. Xiahou Tianyuan's first suspicion would naturally fall on the Palace of Slaughter, not the Primordial Lord of Heaven.
Zhang Yuanqing carefully considered the feasibility of plan two:
"There's no way Xiahou Tianyuan assigned a Saint-level guardian to watch over a normal civilian. That level of expert wouldn't do grunt work like this. At most, there'd be a level 3 practitioner holding down the fort.
"The Xiahou family's a scholar-class clan, so they won't lack enchanted items. Someone in this group must be wielding at least one tool.
"That burly guy at the door… feels like a Firemaster. His aura is solid. The others outside are much weaker. He's probably the strongest of the lot."
After weighing his options, he decided to take the risk—swiftly eliminate the three outside, then take down the brute at the door before reinforcements arrived.
A level-3 Firemaster equipped with a tool would be formidable.
"If worst comes to worst, I'll use the Red Wedding Shoes… but I'll need to destroy the body afterward," he muttered to himself. After all, she's the mother of my child.
He wasn't doing this just for Wang Qian. Half of it was for the rage burning inside him—the desire to strike back at the Xiahou clan. The other half… was for his little dummy.
He'd raised the kid's son into a loyal spirit servant. This was his way of paying back the karmic debt.
Resolved, Zhang Yuanqing opened his item panel and pulled out the Disguise Ring.
He had already mastered the artifact's capabilities and limitations. Once worn, the ring allowed him to transform into anyone he could clearly visualize—so long as they were the same gender and not better-looking than his real self.
[Note: You should know damn well what you look like.]
He slipped on the ring and pictured Xiahou Tianyuan in his mind. A few seconds later, his face rippled like water. When the waves settled, he had become Xiahou Tianyuan.
He activated Night Wanderer mode and slipped silently downstairs.
In the backyard, three middle-aged men lounged around a round table, basking in the late spring sun. One drank beer, another nibbled at some food, and they chatted idly.
"The chick's got some curves," said the potbellied man facing the living room. He rubbed his belly and leered at his companions. "Wanna have a little fun? Young Master Tianyuan's just using her as a bargaining chip. As long as she's alive, he won't care."
The other two weren't buying it. One kept chewing his grilled meat, the other sipping his beer.
"Sure," one said. "Call him and ask for permission. If he's cool with it, we'll go in and have our turn."
The potbellied man gave an awkward laugh. "I'm just bored, y'know? Trying to spice things up."
Suddenly, his face froze.
His eyes locked onto something in the living room.
On the plush carpet, just inside the doorway, a pair of pristine red dancing shoes was rising and falling—step by eerie step.
The scene was both grotesque and terrifying.
The potbellied man's pupils shrank. He gasped, "Behind you—look behind you!"
The other two men stiffened, whipping around—
But they'd been distracted too long.
Zhang Yuanqing had already appeared behind the potbellied man. His left hand clamped over the man's mouth. His right hand, holding the Bloodthirsty Blade, slid gently across his carotid.
The other two heard a muffled "mmph!" and turned just in time to see:
The potbellied man's eyes bulging in terror.
A crimson fountain erupting from his throat.
And a young man, his side splattered in blood, standing beside him.
"Young Master Tianyuan?" one of them exclaimed in shock.
Their hesitation cost them dearly.
Zhang Yuanqing lunged at the man on the left, his blade aiming for the heart.
The target instinctively tried to grab him—only to catch air as the attacking figure burst into shimmering fragments.
An illusion.
The next moment, he felt a chill on his back.
Blood sprayed into the air.
"N-Night Wanderer…" he choked, his voice filled with fury and disbelief as he crumpled to the ground.
The last man barely began to react before the red shoes came stomping at him—clack, clack—across the ground.
He reflexively threw a punch—
Crack!
His wrist snapped backward at a grotesque angle, bone piercing skin.
His hand now dangled loosely at the end of his arm.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The red dancing shoes stomped down hard and fast, each strike heavy and ruthless, hammering the kidnapper's chest like a jackhammer.
The middle-aged man was flung backward and never got up again.
The entire fight lasted less than ten seconds.
Zhang Yuanqing stepped forward and plunged the Bloodthirsty Blade into the last bandit's chest, letting the bewitched weapon greedily suck up the essence blood.
As he gripped the hilt, a wave of scorching and surging power flooded into his body.
The slight fatigue from repeated use of Night Wanderer skills vanished instantly. In fact, his physical condition surpassed its normal peak.
It was the passive ability of the Bewitched Weapon—Bloodthirst.
Clutching the blade, Zhang Yuanqing strode into the living room without hesitation. The moment he stepped onto the soft carpet, a sharp burst of flame erupted from near the door—exploding his head.
But it was just a mirage.
The burly man in the black vest, now wearing red fingerless gloves, punched through the illusion, pausing briefly with a startled expression.
The real Zhang Yuanqing appeared behind him like a ghost and stabbed straight for his back.
Night Wanderers attacked without a sound and were nearly impossible to guard against. As the blade pierced the skin and cut into muscle, the Fire Master reacted with astonishing speed, diving forward to avoid a fatal blow.
The burly man twisted and sprang back to his feet, raising a brow. "You're not Young Master Tianyuan. Who the hell are you?"
At least I broke through his defense. He'll keep bleeding…
Zhang Yuanqing ignored the question, shut the living room door, and cloaked himself in the shadows again, waiting for his next opportunity.
At the same time, he silently pulled out the Heaven Toad Furnace, kicked it beneath the sofa, and mentally issued a kill order to the red dancing shoes.
Tap, tap, tap…
The shoes dashed toward the burly Fire Master with cheerful, deadly rhythm. Zhang Yuanqing flanked from the left, aiming to coordinate a pincer attack.
If he had more time, he could have recreated his victory against Ou Xiangrong in the underground garage. Unfortunately, not every battle came with ideal conditions.
"Hmph!"
The Fire Master snorted. Flames burst from his gloved fists as he punched toward the dancing shoes.
But he soon tasted the same despair as his fallen comrades—his flaming fists passed right through the shoes. Then came two heavy stomps—bang bang—slamming into his chest.
The impact jolted his heart to a sudden stop. He stumbled back, gasping.
Now!
Zhang Yuanqing lowered his body and pounced like a leopard. Just then, the burly man slammed his heel into the ground to steady himself and smashed his fists together in front of his chest.
BOOM!
A blast like a high-powered grenade erupted. Heatwaves and shockwaves engulfed the room. The carpet, the sofa, the wooden cabinets—everything burst into flames.
Zhang Yuanqing was blasted across the room. Agony threatened to knock him unconscious. His hair curled, his clothes caught fire, and his face was marked with blackened, bleeding burns.
The burly man paled, evidently suffering from the blast's backlash as well. He charged forward, muscles bulging along his spine, his right fist drawn back.
Crack!
The air split audibly.
Half-dazed, Zhang Yuanqing couldn't dodge. He made the only right choice—he reached into the void and pulled out a golden-yellow pearl.
The next moment, the brutal fist slammed into his face.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The blows landed heavy and fast on his face, his chest. Each hit was stronger than the last.
It was as if he'd forgotten how to fight back—staggering backward under the relentless barrage, each step heavier than the last, as if he were carrying a mountain on his back.
A muddy yellow glow coated his body, rippling with tiny waves. The "Steady One" pearl absorbed most of the force, though the damage still seeped through—painful, but bearable.
Tap tap tap!
The red dancing shoes rushed in to rescue their utterly useless owner, hammering two kicks into the Fire Master's waist.
Zhang Yuanqing seized the moment, recalled the pearl, and thrust the blade forward into the Fire Master's abdomen.
But the man's body suddenly ignited, vanishing before the blade could land.
He reappeared a moment later in the flames behind Zhang Yuanqing.
Fire Step!
The burly man materialized and immediately kicked out a ball of searing flame.
Feeling the sear of heat behind him, Zhang Yuanqing dove forward just in time. The fireball grazed the top of his head and exploded against the wall—scorching a large, blackened crater.
He hit the ground hard and hadn't even re-entered stealth before two more fireballs hurtled toward him.
He rolled to the side. The first fireball missed. The second struck him square in the waist. His shirt ignited instantly, and searing pain flared across his torso.
Bang bang!
The red shoes attacked again, buying him a window to vanish.
The Fire Master dodged another frontal stomp but suddenly felt a chill above his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Night Wanderer—disguised as Young Master Tianyuan—emerging silently from the left, blade sweeping across.
"Hmph, your ghost tricks again?"
This time, he didn't retaliate directly. Instead, he snapped his fingers, launching a thin line of flame that pierced the fake Night Wanderer cleanly—dispersing it into mist.
Just then, everything went black.
His vision was gone.
Heart sinking, he reacted instinctively—slamming his fists together again, triggering another terrifying blast of flame and shockwave.
BOOM!
The concussive wave shattered the TV and toppled decorative plants. The entire living room turned into an inferno.
Not being ambushed brought him some relief. His sight returned. The chill above his head was gone too.
Then—an itch crawled up his throat.
He coughed once. Then again. Each time more violent than the last. His face turned red, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping, limbs tingling and going numb.
The red shoes seized the moment and launched a ruthless assault, stomping again and again.
At the foot of the stairs to the second floor, Zhang Yuanqing quietly watched it all. By his feet was the wide-eyed, tearful baby spirit. It clung to his pant leg with one hand and pointed accusingly at the Fire Master with the other—saying he had scared him.
Moments ago, the little rascal had perched on the Fire Master's head. Controlled by Zhang Yuanqing, it had stolen the man's vision.
The whole setup had a single purpose—force the Fire Master to trigger another self-damaging explosion.
Zhang Yuanqing had keenly sensed that this move was a mutual destruction skill. One more use would leave the man weakened—making him vulnerable to poison.
The entire strategy had been crafted when he stabbed the man's back.
Use the red shoes and Bloodthirsty Blade to wear him down.
Finish with the Heaven Toad Furnace.
The furnace's poison lingered in the air—technically, a single breath was enough to be affected. Early doses were weak, but they accumulated over time.
If the target was injured and weakened, their immune resistance would plummet.
That's how Zhang Yuanqing designed his plan:
Sustain damage with his cursed items. Deliver the killing blow with poison.
And he hadn't been gambling on surviving the poison himself. He was confident that his Night Wanderer vitality and regeneration far exceeded that of the Fire Master.
The Fire Master didn't have such passives.
When the man finally lay still under the red shoes' assault, Zhang Yuanqing didn't relax. He hurled his willow blade like a throwing knife.
It sank cleanly into the abdomen.
Only then did he breathe easy.
He knelt, reached under the overturned sofa, and retrieved the Heaven Toad Furnace—its bronze base and ebony body still emanating faint smoke—and tucked it into his inventory.
Next, he recalled the Bloodthirsty Blade, the red shoes, and the Fire Master's gloves.
By now, the flames were spreading fast, threatening to engulf the entire living room.
Zhang Yuanqing wasted no time. He charged upstairs, leapt high, and smashed a surveillance camera with his fist.
Thud thud thud…
He ran down the hallway with its polished elm flooring and quickly arrived at a door.
Then—his pupils constricted.
Lying beside the door was a phone.
The screen was lit.
A call was still in progress.
The contact name: Xiahou Tianyuan.