The story continued: under Nameless's manipulation, Flying Snow turned her sword and struck down Broken Sword.
When Flying Snow pulled the blade from his chest, Broken Sword collapsed to the ground, his eyes closing slowly.
The audience erupted in shock.
"What? Luke just dies like that?"
"What the hell? I came here to see Luke—he's got that little screen time?"
"If that's really it, this movie's a scam."
"Shh, stop complaining—there's a twist coming up."
"Yeah, the trailer showed a ton of Luke scenes we haven't even seen yet."
In the next scene, Moonlight fought Flying Snow in a golden poplar forest, seeking vengeance for Broken Sword.
The endless grove of poplars stretched for miles, glowing gold in the sunlight like a sea of fire.
Golden leaves swirled between the blades of the two women in red.
Leaves scattered across the ground and rose again into the air, falling like a golden rainstorm.
The sight was breathtaking—so stunning that the foreign audience sat frozen, jaws dropped.
They had never seen beauty like this—not even in their wildest dreams.
"Where is this? It's incredible!"
"I've gotta visit that place before I die!"
"I thought I was just here for Luke, but this is beyond worth it."
Watching their reactions, Luke smiled to himself. Just wait—there's more where that came from. I love seeing you all get your minds blown.
Moments later, Flying Snow's sword pierced Moonlight's body—
—and the golden forest turned blood red.
The screen exploded with color: crimson trees, scarlet leaves whirling like drops of blood, and two women in red standing in the middle of it all, merging with the fiery world around them.
"Oh my God, that scene is unreal!"
"I love the director's color choices!"
The audience's reactions were exactly what Luke had expected. Hero wasn't just about its stunning fight choreography—it had two other defining strengths:
the majestic landscapes and Director Zhang Mou's masterful use of color.
The black tones of the Qin Palace, the red hues of the Zhao Academy, the gold of the poplar forest, the green of Guilin's rivers and mountains, the blue of Jiuzhaigou Valley…
Zhang Mou had elevated visual storytelling to an art form—a true master of color.
Nature natural beauty was already breathtaking, but through his lens, it became transcendent.
Even though Hero's script hadn't been universally loved, its visuals won over Western audiences and film critics alike.
On the big screen, the story pressed on.
> "That's how I used the conflict between Broken Sword and Flying Snow," Nameless explained to the Qin King. "I turned them against each other, divided their strength, and took them down one by one."
"You underestimate someone," the King replied.
"Who?"
"Me."
Nameless realized the King had seen through his lie.
"Three years ago," said the King, "I fought them both. I know their character—they are honorable warriors, not schemers."
"So their one-night affair is false."
"Their hatred for each other is false."
"The story you told me—it's all false."
"There is only one truth: you are the most dangerous assassin."
The King had unraveled everything.
Nameless and Sky were old friends; Sky only pretended to lose to Nameless to help him gain the King's trust.
Flying Snow and Broken Sword had also joined the plan, willing to sacrifice everything to help Nameless get close to the King.
That's why Flying Snow allowed herself to be publicly struck down—so the deception would look real.
The King pieced it all together but didn't flinch. "Only one thing still confuses me," he said.
"Please, Your Majesty," Nameless replied.
"Three years ago, Broken Sword and Flying Snow attacked me together. But in the crucial moment, Broken Sword stopped himself. Why would he now help you?"
The film shifted to a flashback.
Three years earlier, Broken Sword and Flying Snow, both dressed in green, raced through the Qin army, blades flashing.
Thousands of black-armored soldiers surrounded them, but their coordination was flawless—one attacking, one defending, switching roles seamlessly as they spun and struck.
They moved like a living whirlwind, cutting through the ranks of the elite guards guarding the palace gates.
"Whoa, this is insane!" someone in the theater gasped.
"A two-person battle against an army—this makes The Lord of the Rings look tame!"
"Word is Luke designed this entire fight sequence himself—amazing!"
"Man, he's so talented. He's never let us down."
The audience was on the edge of their seats. The battle was fierce yet refreshingly grounded.
All those elegant, gravity-defying duels earlier were beautiful—but if the whole film had been like that, it would've grown repetitive.
Luke, as the film's chief action designer, had deliberately crafted two contrasting styles for Hero:
the romanticized duels of wandering swordsmen, and the realistic, weighty fights involving the court and the fate of the empire.
The two styles intertwined, giving the film rhythm and emotional variety.
When Broken Sword and Flying Snow reached the palace gates, she stood her ground, holding off the Qin soldiers.
Broken Sword pushed through alone, straight toward the King.
The King calmly drew his sword and advanced—but Broken Sword slipped past him effortlessly.
The King reached for his neck and found his fingers stained with blood. Broken Sword had grazed him—but spared his life.
"What does this mean?" the King asked.
"As a man of Zhao, I must strike this blow," Broken Sword said solemnly.
"But for the sake of the world—you must live.
End this age of chaos, unite the land, and free the people from suffering."
That was why Broken Sword had spared the King—and why Flying Snow, misunderstanding him, refused to speak to him for three long years.
"So why help you now?" the King asked Nameless.
"Your Majesty is truly wise," Nameless said. "It was Flying Snow who helped me."
"I see," said the King. "She's always hated me. She stole Broken Sword's weapon—and risked her life to give you this chance."
"Yes."
"Then do it."
Nameless leapt forward, seizing Flying Snow's sword.
Without hesitation, he thrust it toward the King.
The King closed his eyes, waiting calmly for death.
Clang!
The sword was deflected.
Broken Sword stood before the King, his own blade drawn—protecting the very man he once sought to kill.