Chapter 6 The Commission
There was no law left in this world.
Three hundred years ago, a great conflict had erupted between the martial world and the imperial court.
At first, the Great Qian Dynasty held the upper hand, driving the wandering warriors of the jianghu before them as though about to trample the entire martial world beneath their horses.
But for reasons unknown, everything changed overnight. A group of powerful martial experts suddenly infiltrated the royal palace of Great Qian.
That battle shattered heaven and earth. The imperial court crumbled, its armies too far away to reinforce in time. Countless imperial guards and inner court masters perished; the entire royal court of Great Qian was bathed in blood.
Even the Great Qian Emperor himself was dragged to the Meridian Gate and executed by those martial masters.
It was utter rebellion—an overturning of heaven and earth.
After that, the royal family of Great Qian never recovered, disappearing from history altogether.
The martial world, on the other hand, splintered into countless factions. Warlords rose across the land, each carving out their own dominion.
Thus began three centuries of blood-soaked chaos across the rivers and lakes.
The early years were the cruelest. Power shifted, alliances broke, and massacres painted the land red.
Even now, the world remained a realm of turmoil.
In such times, human life was worth less than a dog's.
No one would turn back for a dead waiter—or care for a life so lowly.
No one, except his closest kin.
The teahouse keeper had wept until no tears were left. His eyes now glimmered with a rare, deadly resolve.
He swept his gaze around, then stepped toward one of the corpses.
Gritting his teeth, he pried a knife from the dead man's hand, stood up, and began walking in the direction the Iron Horse Bandits had fled.
But he had barely taken two steps when a hoarse voice suddenly echoed behind him.
"Do you wish for revenge?"
"Who's there!?"
Startled, the teahouse keeper spun around in panic, thinking the Iron Horse Bandits had returned. He swung his blade wildly—
Yet there was nothing behind him. Not a person, not even a shadow.
He froze, wondering if he had imagined the voice. But then it came again, steady and calm.
"You don't know martial arts. Even if you find them, you'll only die in vain."
A chill ran through the keeper's entire body. He now understood—the speaker was from the martial world as well.
But not one of the Iron Horse Bandits. If he were, the keeper would already be dead.
His hands trembled as he released the knife. It clattered to the ground.
He didn't know where the voice came from, so he dropped to his knees with a thud.
"Great hero! My Huzi died unjustly!
"I have no wife, no son—only this nephew, whom I raised as my own since he was a child.
"Now that he's gone, his mother will surely follow him to the grave.
"I know I am powerless… I beg you, great hero, please avenge him!"
He didn't know who the man was, but since he had spoken, perhaps he was willing to intervene.
Even the faintest sliver of hope was worth grasping if it could bring peace to his nephew's spirit.
But after his plea, there was only silence.
Not a sound, not a breath.
Despair began to sink into the teahouse keeper's chest. Just as he thought the mysterious speaker had left, the voice returned once more—low and cold.
"You're wrong about one thing."
The keeper stiffened. "I—I spoke wrongly? Where?"
"I am no great hero. I kill for money."
The teahouse keeper's voice trembled, but he answered at once.
"I'm willing to give everything I have! Even if I must serve as your slave or servant, I will not hesitate!"
"Remember what you said."
The voice turned sharp and icy, sending a shiver through the keeper's heart.
Then, there was only silence.
After a long while, the teahouse keeper finally turned his head to look around—but, as expected, there was nothing and no one.
Even so, the encounter had calmed him somewhat.
He turned back toward the corpse of the waiter, sorrow clouding his face as he knelt down and lifted the body into his arms.
"Huzi… did you hear that? Someone—someone's willing to avenge you.
"Just wait a little longer… just wait."
…
…
[Commission: Assassinate the Iron Horse Seven Bandits (Remaining: Three)]
Hidden among the trees, Chu Qing moved swiftly while opening his system interface.
The voice that had spoken to the teahouse keeper earlier—was, of course, his.
With the memories of the body's original owner fully merged into his mind, Chu Qing understood well that life in this world was as cheap as grass.
Avenging a mere waiter hardly seemed worth the trouble.
Yet he had his reasons for taking on this matter.
After all, since he possessed an Assassin System, how else could he grow stronger if not by taking commissions?
And if he didn't grow stronger, how could he ever withstand the endless pursuit of the Mirror of Retribution?
He might have peace for the moment—but "for the moment" was never forever.
This play between him and the Mirror of Retribution would not end until one side lay dead.
So when an opportunity like this presented itself, how could he possibly let it slip by?
Besides, there was also Chu Fan's enmity with the Iron Horse Seven Bandits—not that Chu Qing felt any brotherly affection toward his second brother.
The real reason was simple: Chu Fan was powerful. He had been born with natural strength and had trained under a famous sect. From that earlier battle alone, his ability was evident.
The bandit leader was being pursued by Chu Fan—and was unlikely to survive.
That meant a third of Chu Qing's targets would be eliminated without him lifting a finger.
Taking such a task was guaranteed profit with no loss—a deal too good to refuse.
Tracking, after all, was a basic skill for any assassin.
Having lived as part of the Mirror of Retribution for nearly a year, Chu Qing had long mastered it.
He reasoned that aside from the bandit leader, the other two fleeing men wouldn't have gone far.
Chu Fan's focus would be on killing the leader, not them. Once they slipped out of his sight, they would inevitably relax their guard.
And indeed, things went just as Chu Qing predicted. Following the road for less than three li, he soon heard the sound of hoofbeats ahead.
The speed wasn't fast—and judging by the rhythm, the rider was beginning to circle back. That surprised Chu Qing slightly.
After confirming the direction of the horse's path, he made a quick detour through the trees and positioned himself along a narrow stretch of road.
Lifting his head, he saw the galloping horse approaching, with one of the Iron Horse Bandits mounted atop it.
When the bandit spotted a ragged beggar suddenly standing in his way, he blinked in confusion before snarling,
"Filthy beggar, looking to die!?"
Instead of slowing down, he spurred his horse even faster, intending to trample Chu Qing beneath his hooves.
Chu Qing said nothing. He simply raised his hand, and the bamboo stick in his grasp shot into the air. With a twist of his wrist—crack!—the stick splintered into pieces.
Whoosh!
The broken bamboo scattered, revealing the sword scabbard concealed within. A flash of cold light burst forth!
Seeing that flash, the bandit's instincts screamed danger. He snatched a chain from his waist, preparing to strike—
But a streak of silver light flashed, and blood sprayed into the air!
Crash!
A severed hand, still gripping the chain, flew skyward.
The bandit barely had time to register the speed and ferocity of that sword before a dull thud echoed from his chest. With the sound of bones shattering, his body was kicked clean off the horse.
…
…