Volume One: First Glimmers of Brilliance Chapter Sixty-Three: Murder!

At that moment, Old Lin had only managed to get halfway through his sentence when a sudden whoosh of wind cut him off, giving him no time to react. In the next instant, a sharp pain shot through his hand—the very hand he had been leveling at Wang Jue—severed cleanly at the elbow, falling away. Blood immediately soaked the bedsheets beneath him.

A shrill scream burst from the skinny blond below, his eyes fixed on the blood that dripped steadily from the top bunk above.

“Brother, this… it’s a misunderstanding…”

Old Lin, hearing the terror in the blond’s voice from the bunk below, realized at once the man was petrified. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm, Old Lin tried to speak, but as he opened his mouth, he saw Wang Jue before him leap lightly from the floor.

The jump was not high, but the sword in Wang Jue’s hand struck out like a viper, stabbing toward him with astonishing speed. The attack was so swift it created an almost hallucinatory effect, the sword flashes dazzling like starlight—he could no longer count how many strikes there were.

As Old Lin closed his eyes, only two words echoed in his mind: It hurts.

His entire body collapsed onto the upper bunk, his life snuffed out before he could comprehend what had happened. Fortunately, the bed frame was sturdy and did not collapse, or else the skinny blond below would surely have shared his fate, escaping death at best with a few broken bones.

Gazing at Old Lin, whom he had just killed with his own hands, Wang Jue suddenly felt a wave of nausea rise within him. He wasn’t sure if it was because Lan Yiyi was watching nearby, but he showed no outward discomfort, forcing himself to suppress the sick feeling. He failed to notice, however, that his complexion had grown pale.

Wang Jue had been hesitant about killing anyone, but the instant Old Lin recklessly drew his pistol, he felt a jolt run through him. His body reacted on instinct.

Without a second thought, he struck, cutting the man down.

Now, faced with the skinny blond staring at him in panic, Wang Jue seemed to be confirming something as he asked, “Aren’t you going to make a move?”

The skinny blond appeared truly stunned—frozen, silent, unmoving. Was this man really a gangster? Shouldn’t he be fighting back by now? Why was he just standing there, dumbfounded? This wasn’t his usual self.

Confusion, hesitation, astonishment, and doubt flickered in the blond’s eyes as his mind whirled chaotically.

“No… I—I wouldn’t dare. Please, I beg you, don’t kill me, let me go, spare me…” Staring at the blood streaming down from above and at Old Lin, now silent forever, the blond knew full well that Old Lin’s fate was sealed.

He had thought himself doomed as well, but seeing Wang Jue’s strange demeanor, he suddenly remembered that this was just a high school student—no matter how formidable, surely someone who hadn’t seen much of the world.

The idea sparked a glimmer of hope. Seizing it, he dropped to his knees and began to kowtow, begging for mercy.

“Please… don’t kill me… have mercy…”

“I swear I’ll become an honest man and work a regular job. I’ll never bully anyone again.”

The skinny blond curled up on the floor, knocking his head repeatedly in supplication. How much of his plea was genuine, and how much a lie—no one could say but himself.

At times like this, threatened with death, perhaps his words were sincere, and he truly wished to repent. But true repentance is one thing—what he would do in the future, who could say? There are many who, after repenting, still continue on the wrong path. As the old saying goes: A leopard cannot change its spots.

“You know you were wrong?” Wang Jue asked, watching the kowtowing man. His worldview felt shaken, as if something was off, though he couldn’t quite say what.

“Yes! I know I was wrong. I promise I will change from today on, I’ll work hard, just please give me a chance, spare me…” The blond, hearing Wang Jue’s words, reacted as if he’d heard an angel’s song, his voice trembling with hope.

Wang Jue’s face showed no emotion, his tone unchanged, his slightly distant gaze hinting at deep thought. Lan Yiyi, beside him, watched silently, clearly considering something.

This, after all, was her test for Wang Jue—to see if he was fit to become a true martial artist. For most ordinary people, mindset might not matter much. But for a martial artist, it was crucial.

“Wrong? A promise? Repentance? A chance?” Wang Jue echoed, his brow arching as a thought struck him. Suddenly, he asked, “Have you ever killed anyone?”

His voice was icy—cold and emotionless, almost mechanical.

“No, never, I wouldn’t dare…” The blond, sprawled on the floor, shrank back, his pupils contracting as he put on a look of innocent grievance. “Please, spare me, let me go…”

Had he killed before? Of course he had. But what should he say now? Even a fool would know—the chance to live was in his grasp. He’d beg, grovel, even eat filth if that was required—anything to survive.

“Still trying to lie to me at death’s door?” Wang Jue said. “You’re exactly what I imagined you’d be.”

Though he hesitated, Wang Jue noticed the faint pause in the man’s reply—imperceptible to most, but obvious to him as a martial artist. That slight change in expression revealed the truth: the man had killed before—more than once, and not by accident.

“Shameless, sly, utterly without scruples—you never miss an opportunity. That fits the image of a gang member in my mind.”

Ignoring the man’s changing expression, Wang Jue continued, “Honestly, if you’d told the truth, perhaps I would have felt pity and let you go. But you tried to take me for a fool. I have to say, you’ve taught me a valuable lesson. This way, I can kill you with a clear conscience. Thank you for that.”

“I accept your apology, but I cannot forgive you. Tell your regrets to someone else—perhaps they’ll forgive you.”

As the man tried to speak, Wang Jue cut him off, saying all he needed to say. He had no intention of wasting more words.

With a flick of his sword arm, the blade flashed like light.

Wang Jue, without hesitation, drew the sword across the blond’s throat, ending it swiftly.

Meeting the dying man’s venomous gaze, Wang Jue’s voice was calm: “To give you a chance at their forgiveness, I’ll kill you now. Perhaps, seeing you die so soon, they’ll forgive you after all.”

Having killed two men in quick succession, Wang Jue felt an indescribable lightness suffuse his body. No one knew that, as he’d entered the room and seen the two men asleep, sweat had already been breaking out across his back. An invisible pressure, like an immovable mountain, had weighed down on him. Only when they’d drawn their guns had the feeling eased.

For a while, he’d been stuck, unable to get past a barrier in his heart. He’d wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

“The next room has heard the commotion,” Lan Yiyi, who’d been silent at his side, spoke up at last, then fell silent again.

She was here to clean up the aftermath and prevent any accidents. Unless something went wrong, she wouldn’t intervene. Watching Wang Jue’s swordsmanship just now, she was even more certain her investment in him was worthwhile.

She herself practiced the sword and could see that Wang Jue’s skill had reached mastery—perhaps even perfection. If she watched closely, she might glean something from his technique, but his attack had been so swift, and his opponents so feeble, that they hadn’t even given him a chance to display his full abilities.

“Oh, I think I heard it too. Let’s go see what’s happening.” Wang Jue nodded, coming back to himself.

His senses were razor-sharp now—he could sense what was happening outside the room. But he felt no urgency. He was confident he could handle everyone here.

After killing the blond, he even felt that Lan Yiyi, the formidable presence at his side, might not be his equal now.

It must be said—Wang Jue was getting a little arrogant.

“Let’s go see what’s going on. It’s the middle of the night, and they’re not letting anyone sleep. If they don’t give us a proper explanation, I’ll beat it out of them!”

Next door, the two men had been roused by the noise from Old Lin and the blond’s room. They jumped from their beds, planning to check on the situation. But before they could reach the door, they heard the blond’s desperate pleas through the wall.

Exchanging looks, both men drew pistols from their waistbands, holding them ready as they crept toward the door. Carrying a gun was standard practice for them. They were no ordinary debt collectors—they dealt in black-market debts, so firearms were not just for intimidation but for self-defense, especially when dealing with tough customers.

“What’s going on?” As they stepped into the hallway, the man in front suddenly felt himself blocked.

“Hey, hello there!” The words had barely left his lips when he felt a sharp pain in his throat. Before he could react or even move his gun, he heard another voice from behind—his last.

A scream rang out, followed by two thuds.

Both men collapsed to the floor, blood bubbling from their throats as if water were gushing forth…