The moment Yue Tingzhou formed the strange hand seal with his hands, the air in the dilapidated post station seemed to stagnate. The true energy within his body—that chaotic energy that was originally surging through his meridians like a bursting dam, threatening to tear him apart—was suddenly forced to change its flow by a more forceful and unreasonable power. It wasn't a release, nor a suppression. It was a reversal. 祝寒梨 heard a muffled groan coming from his throat, like a beast being pierced by a blade. She caught a glimpse of his face in her peripheral vision—his seven orifices were beginning to bleed, not the slow flow of blood from an injury, but dark red droplets being squeezed out from beneath his skin, from his eyeballs, his nostrils, and his ear canals. "Tingzhou!" she exclaimed. "Don't be distracted," Yue Tingzhou's voice was hoarse, barely audible, but clear, "Left Three, attack his *Shan Zhong*." 祝寒梨's spine turned into an ice pillar. But her short spear had already lunged forward. The blade of the "Frost Blade" assassin was only three inches away from Yue Tingzhou's throat. A flicker of cruel satisfaction flashed in the assassin's eyes—this wounded prey had given up the struggle, even his hand seal was crooked, it was simply laughable. Then he saw Yue Tingzhou's eyes. There was no fear, no pain, not even the madness of someone facing death in those eyes. Only a chilling clarity, like the surface of a frozen lake, with a dark current beneath that could crush bones. The blade continued its advance. Yue Tingzhou completed the final movement of his hand seal. "Reverse the meridians—break the forbidden." There was no earth-shattering explosion, no dazzling phenomenon. Only an invisible, distorting force emanated from him, rapidly expanding. The assassin's sword suddenly trembled. Not a tremor caused by an external impact, but a trembling from within the blade's structure—the ethereal blue cold light on the blade, like an invisible hand wiping it away, the blade began to crack from the tip, the cracks spreading upwards at a visible speed, like ice cracking in the sunlight. The assassin's tiger's mouth exploded. Not a rupture, but an explosion. Flesh, fascia, bone fragments, and blood splattered out, the hand holding the sword instantly turning into a mass of blood and flesh. The intense pain caused him to open his mouth, but no sound came out—his vocal cords seemed to be gripped by an icy hand. Yue Tingzhou moved. He didn't use any techniques, he didn't adopt any stance. He simply raised his right hand, his index and middle fingers extended, and gently tapped the assassin's chest. His fingertips didn't touch the assassin's body. But the assassin's chest caved in. Not a collapse caused by external force, but from within—as if an invisible hand reached into his chest, gripped his still-beating heart, and squeezed it hard. The assassin was thrown backward, crashing into the shaky pillars of the post station. The pillars groaned under the strain, and dust and wood chips rained down. He collapsed on the ground, with no external injury to his chest, only a disturbing purple-blue discoloration rapidly spreading, and the blood frothing at the corners of his mouth mixed with fragments of internal organs. He stared at Yue Tingzhou with wide eyes, making a "嗬嗬" sound from his throat, like a broken bellows. Then he stopped breathing. The other two "Frost Blade" assassins halted their attack. They weren't afraid of death—those who could be chosen by Huo Qingya had long since disregarded life and death. But they were afraid of this kind of death. They were afraid of this invisible, intangible, and even incomprehensible way of dying. Yue Tingzhou remained in place, maintaining the gesture of his fingertip. His fingertips were bleeding. Not the enemy's blood, but his own blood—细细的纹路 appeared on the skin of his fingertips, and the blood seeped along the纹路, dripping onto the ground, each drop carrying a dark golden glow, the痕迹 of true energy mixed with blood being forcibly squeezed out of his body. "He… he used…" the assassin on the left's voice trembled, "reverse meridians…" "Shut up!" the captain on the right shouted sternly, but his voice also contained a barely perceptible hint of fear, "That's a forbidden technique of the Heng律司! Using it means certain death! He won't last long!" Before the words could finish, Yue Tingzhou's body “Hurry!” Zhù Hánlí was no longer hesitant. She released her hold on his hand, and the short spear spun in her palm before pointing at the assassin on the left. The assassin immediately assumed a defensive posture—he had just witnessed how his companion had died, and his entire attention was focused on Yue Tingzhou, fearing that the young man would use another forbidden technique. Therefore, he ignored Zhù Hánlí. Or, he underestimated Zhù Hánlí's speed and ruthlessness when she was backed into a corner. The short spear did not aim for his vital points, but rather for his foot. The tip of the spear swept across the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust, forming a brief visual barrier in the dim light. The assassin instinctively took a step back—this was the most prudent choice, to create distance and reassess the situation. But he forgot about his feet. The floor of the abandoned post station was old and dilapidated, and the wooden planks were long decayed. Zhù Hánlí's shot wasn't meant to hit him, but to force him to retreat, to step onto that piece of wood that she had already noticed, the one that was hollowed out by insects. The assassin's right foot landed on it. The wooden plank made a crisp "crunch" sound and his entire foot sank into it. He lost his balance and, as he was about to fall backward, Zhù Hánlí's second shot arrived. The tip of the spear went from the bottom up, piercing his lower jaw at an angle. There were no unnecessary movements, no flashy tricks. It was the simplest, most direct, and fastest shot. The assassin's eyes widened, and a gurgling sound came from his throat before he slumped, falling into the darkness beneath the floorboards along with the rotten plank. The entire process took less than two breaths. Meanwhile, Yue Tingzhou and the "Frost Blade" team leader had already exchanged three blows. No, that couldn't be called an exchange. It was a one-sided suppression—the team leader was attacking, and Yue Tingzhou was dodging. Or, rather, barely holding on. The team leader realized that the "Reverse Pulse Forbidden Technique" that Yue Tingzhou had used earlier had drained the last of his true qi. Now, this young man was so weak that he could barely stand, and every dodge was shaky, relying only on his willpower to hold on. "You're finished," the team leader said with a cold smile, his blade arcing towards Yue Tingzhou's neck. "The backlash from a forbidden technique is unpleasant, isn't it? The pain of severed meridians, is it more unbearable than death?" Yue Tingzhou did not answer. He simply shifted his body, allowing the blade to graze his shoulder. The blade tore through the fabric of his clothes, leaving a shallow bloodstain on his skin—he was half a step too slow in his dodge, and normally, a blade that fast wouldn't even touch him. But he had dodged the vital area. Then, he did something that the team leader never expected. He didn't retreat, didn't create distance, but instead stepped forward. This step was taken with extreme difficulty, his body swaying as if he would fall at any moment. But he did step into the team leader's blade range—at this distance, the long blade lost its swing, becoming more of a hindrance. The team leader's pupils constricted, and he immediately dropped the blade, raising his right palm to strike Yue Tingzhou's chest. This palm contained seventy percent of his power, and the palm wind was fierce enough to shatter the internal organs and bones of an ordinary martial artist. Yue Tingzhou did not dodge. He couldn't. He raised his left hand to meet the incoming palm. Not a block, not a parry. But rather, he used the palm of his hand to stop the incoming palm. There was a muffled "thud." Yue Tingzhou's left palm felt a clear cracking sound in his bones. He was sent backward by the force of the palm, sliding three feet, and his back slammed heavily against the wall, splattering a mouthful of blood. The blood was black. Mixed with fragments of dark golden true qi, it shimmered with an eerie glow in the moonlight. The team leader was stunned. He hadn't expected Yue Tingzhou to block the palm in such a seemingly suicidal way. What surprised him even more was that, as Yue Tingzhou blocked the palm, his right index and middle fingers were pressed together, lightly touching the team leader's wrist at the "Divine Gate" acupoint. It wasn't painful, not even itchy. But the He felt a chill—not from the outside, but from within, rising from the depths of his meridians. The chill spread along his arm, causing the true qi to stagnate and the muscles to stiffen. "You're crazy..." he gasped, "Using that technique will hurt you too—" "I know," Yue Tingzhou interrupted, his voice chillingly calm, "That's why I only sealed the meridians in one of your arms. It will keep you from moving for half an hour, and it will give me... a chance to breathe." The team leader wanted to rush forward and kill him. But his right arm was unresponsive. From shoulder to fingertips, the entire arm was frozen, heavy, cold, and numb. He tried to mobilize his true qi to break through the blockage, but he found that the chilling energy was like a venomous snake, entwining his meridians. Every attempt to break free was met with a backlash of cold, intensifying the pain in his entire arm. He dared not move again. The short gun held by Zhu Hanli was pointed at the back of his heart. "Don't move," her voice was cold, "Move, and I'll pierce your heart." The team leader froze in place. He glanced at the bodies of his two fallen companions, then at Yue Tingzhou, who was leaning against the wall, his seven orifices bleeding but his eyes clear, and finally at the woman with the gun pointed at his back. He suddenly laughed. The laughter was hoarse, with a touch of desperate madness. "You... you think you've won?" he said, gasping for breath, "I sent a distress signal before I came. There are twelve members of 'Frost Blades' under the command of Lord Huo, and besides the three of us, nine are on standby ten miles away. Once the signal is sent, they will arrive in fifteen minutes." He turned his head and stared at Zhu Hanli. "You can't escape." Zhu Hanli's gun tip moved forward half an inch. Blood seeped from the team leader's back. But he was still laughing. "Kill me," he said, "Kill me, and you still can't escape. Lord Huo has issued a death warrant—Yue Tingzhou and Zhu Hanli must be captured alive, or their bodies brought back. Even if you escape to the ends of the earth, you will be hunted down." Yue Tingzhou slowly stood up, leaning against the wall for support. He was unsteady, each step feeling like walking on a knife's edge. But he still walked to the team leader's front. "Huo Qingya..." he repeated the name softly, then raised his head and looked into the team leader's eyes, "Why is he so eager to kill us?" The team leader sneered: "Do you think I'll tell you?" "You will," Yue Tingzhou said, "Because you only have one option left—tell us, and I'll let you die quickly. If you don't tell us, I'll use the Reverse Meridian technique to seal your meridians, and you'll watch your true qi flow backward, your meridians break, and you'll end up as a cripple, waiting for your companions to come and save you." His tone was calm, as if stating a fact. But the team leader's face turned pale. He had heard of the terrifying Reverse Meridian technique—it wasn't just murder, it was torture. Those whose meridians were sealed by the Reverse Meridian technique would not die immediately, but they would feel the sensation of their true qi surging and tearing within their bodies. That pain was even worse than drawing and quartering. "You..." the team leader's voice began to tremble, "You dare..." "Why shouldn't I?" Yue Tingzhou asked, "I've already used a forbidden technique, causing severe damage to my meridians, and I may never fully recover. What's one more crime?" He extended his hand, his index and middle fingers together, hovering over the team leader's forehead. "Tell me, or don't tell me?" The team leader's breathing became rapid. He looked into Yue Tingzhou's eyes, those eyes devoid of any emotion, only a cold, bottomless darkness. He suddenly realized that this young man wasn't bluffing. He was truly going to do it. "...Because of Shen Litchuan," the team leader finally spoke, his voice hoarse, "Lord Huo found evidence that Shen Litchuan was secretly collecting information about the Tianming Book Codex. The secret letter he sent not only provided you with clues, but also exposed his hiding place. Lord Huo wants to kill you to He walked to the corner of the room and picked up the blood-soaked letter. The letter was torn and damaged, but the handwriting of Shen Lichen was still clearly visible: "Cloud Peak Underworld Palace, seek help at the Twelfth Pivot of the Revolving Wheel. Method to break the seal: Use true energy to strike the璇玑 and 玉衡 acupoints, which can temporarily open the seal for three breaths." Three breaths. What could be done in three breaths? Was it enough for him to retrieve the master scroll from the Revolving Wheel? Or was it enough for him to decipher the algorithmic evidence contained within? He didn't know. He only knew that Shen Lichen had used this letter, and exposed himself to danger, to pave the way for them. "Tingzhou," said Zhu Hanli, walking up to him and speaking softly, "we have to go." Yue Tingzhou looked up. Outside the window, the faint glow of dawn was beginning to appear in the distant sky. It was almost morning. That also meant that the pursuers were about to arrive. "Search their bodies," he said. "See if there are any supplies." Zhu Hanli nodded, crouching down to quickly search the bodies of the three assassins. She found some dry food, water pouches, a few healing pills, and three iron tokens marked with the character "霜" - the identification badges of the "Frost Blade" team. She put the items away and returned to Yue Tingzhou's side. "Your hand..." Yue Tingzhou's left hand was already swollen and deformed, with fractured bones and fingers twisted at a strange angle. But he only glanced at it, then used his right hand to tear off a piece of his sleeve and hastily bandaged it. "It's still usable," he said. "Let's go." Zhu Hanli supported him. The two of them stumbled out of the abandoned post station. Outside was a desolate wilderness, and in the distance were rolling mountains, vaguely visible in the morning mist. Cloud Peak was in that direction. Yue Tingzhou stopped and looked back at the abandoned post station. The dilapidated building looked particularly bleak in the morning light. The knife marks on the walls, the bloodstains on the ground, the lingering smell of blood in the air... all reminded him of what had just happened there. He had followed the rules of the Henglu Division for half his life. Uphold the law, judge cases based on evidence, and never overstep the boundaries. But what happened? The rules became accomplices, the law became a butcher's knife, the senior figures in the respected sect tacitly approved the existence of the evil art of "borrowing life from the Revolving Wheel," and his former colleagues were now determined to eliminate him. He suddenly laughed. The laughter was soft, but carried a chilling coldness. "Hanli," he said, his voice hoarse like sandpaper, "I used to think that as long as I followed the rules, I wouldn't be wrong. Even if I was wrong, it was the fault of the rules, not my fault." Zhu Hanli remained silent, listening quietly. "But now I understand," Yue Tingzhou turned to look at her eyes, "rules are lifeless, and people are alive. If the rules cannot protect those who should be protected, but instead become a knife that kills people... then, perhaps, these rules are not worth keeping." He raised his right hand, which was still functional, and clenched the blood-stained letter tightly. "From today on, I will follow my own rules." Zhu Hanli looked at him. The morning light fell on his face, illuminating the blood on his face, and also illuminating the resolute and almost frantic light in his eyes. She suddenly remembered the first time she met him - the young man sitting in the teahouse, turning the teacup three times before sitting down, restrained, calm, and meticulous. That young man was gone. In his place was a fugitive, his meridians damaged, covered in blood, but more clear-headed than ever. "Okay," she said. "I'll go with you." The two of them turned and walked towards the mountains. Their steps were faltering, but they didn't stop. Behind them, the outline of the abandoned post station gradually blurred in the morning mist. And in the distance, nine figures were racing towards this desolate land from different directions. Their blades gleamed with a cold light in the morning sun. Like a group of vultures smelling blood.