The iron-bound gates of the Black-Tiger Sect were four inches thick.
They were reinforced with defensive runes and braced with heavy beams of mountain oak. To any regular cultivator, they were a symbol of absolute security.
To ***Li Wei***, they were just a collection of structural vulnerabilities waiting to be exploited. He didn't see wood or iron; he saw the tension of the fibers and the molecular stress on the rivets.
---
Li Wei stood at the foot of the stone path. His moon-white robes were an insult to the dirt and blood of the mountain.
He didn't carry a heavy sword or a spear. He carried a silver basin in one hand and a small leather kit strapped to his waist.
He looked like a physician who had lost his way to a clinic—except for his eyes. His eyes weren't looking at the gates; they were scanning the wood grain for stress fractures.
---
"State your business, boy!" a guard yelled from the ramparts. "This is the Black-Tiger Sect. Leave now or we'll feed your liver to the hounds!"
Li Wei didn't look up. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a single strand of **Celestial Silk**.
It was a shimmering line of death thinner than a human hair—a ghost in the wind.
"The human liver," Li Wei whispered, his voice flat and clinical, as if he were lecturing a student. "Is a regenerative organ. But it cannot regenerate if the **Hepatic Artery** is severed cleanly at the base."
"The blood loss alone would cause Stage 4 hemorrhagic shock in under three minutes. Your hounds would have nothing to eat but cold, drained meat."
---
Li Wei flicked his wrist. The silk thread didn't fly like an arrow; it snaked through the air, vibrating with a frequency that hummed at the edge of human hearing.
It wrapped around the heavy iron bolts holding the gate's hinges. He didn't pull with strength. He simply pulsed his Void-Qi.
The metal bolts began to scream—not a sound of magic, but the screech of molecular fatigue. Most cultivators use Qi to smash; Li Wei used it to dismantle the very bonds of matter.
In five seconds, the tempered iron turned into brittle glass.
*CRACK.*
The gates didn't explode. They simply fell forward, the heavy oak slabs slamming into the stone floor with a thud that shook the mountain's foundation.
---
The guard who had shouted earlier was clutching his throat. He hadn't seen the silk move. He only felt a sudden, icy bite as the thread entered the soft tissue of his neck.
It slid precisely between the **Thyroid Cartilage** and the **Cricoid Bone**.
Li Wei pulled. The thread sliced through the **Internal Jugular Vein** with the ease of a hot wire through butter.
The guard's hands went to his neck, but there was nothing to grab. His blood sprayed in a rhythmic, arterial arc—bright, oxygenated red that steamed in the cold mountain air.
He fell forward, hitting the ground twenty feet below. Li Wei walked past the twitching body without breaking stride.
---
Fifty disciples poured into the main courtyard. They were the "Tigers" of the sect—brutes with skin toughened by iron and muscles dense with aggressive Qi.
"Surround him!" the Captain of the Guard roared. He was a Stage 3 master with a chest like a barrel. "The Sect Master wants him alive! Break his limbs if you must!"
Li Wei stopped. He looked at the fifty men. To him, it was a room full of fifty biological machines, each with 206 bones and 639 muscles.
"Your bone density is impressive," Li Wei noted. "You have focused on the **Pectoralis Major** and the **Deltoids**. But you've neglected the **Fascia**."
"You are like a balloon inflated too tight. One small puncture, and the whole system loses integrity. Your strength is your biggest weakness."
---
The disciples lunged, their sabers whistling through the air.
Li Wei danced. His movements weren't a "dance of death"; they were the precise, jerky movements of a man avoiding obstacles.
He stepped two inches to the left. He dipped his head half an inch. Then, he unleashed the strings.
Ten threads of **Celestial Silk** erupted from his fingertips. They aimed for the gaps: the armpits, the backs of the knees, and the soft flesh of the groin.
*Flick. Tug. Slice.*
A disciple screamed as his **Hamstring** was pulled out of his leg like a piece of wet spaghetti. Another fell as the silk entered his elbow joint and severed the **Ulnar Nerve**.
His hand went limp instantly, sword clattering to the floor.
---
Li Wei touched a disciple's chest. His **Star-Iron Scalpel** appeared for a brief, lethal second.
The blade went in only two inches, precisely between the third and fourth ribs. It pierced the **Pericardium** and nicked the **Left Ventricle**.
The disciple took one more step, his heart pumped once, and then the internal pressure caused his chest cavity to fill with blood—a **Cardiac Tamponade**.
He collapsed, his face turning a deep, suffocating blue as his lungs were crushed by the weight of his own escaping life.
---
The Captain was the last one standing. He swung his massive iron saber in a desperate arc.
Li Wei didn't move back. He stepped *into* the swing and caught the Captain's wrist.
"The **Radial Artery** is right here," Li Wei whispered, his thumb pressing down with a tiny, vibrating burst of Void-Qi.
The Captain's arm went numb. The saber fell. Li Wei kicked the back of the Captain's knee—the **Popliteal Fossa**—forcing the giant to his joints.
"Who sent you?" the Captain wheezed, blood bubbling from his mouth.
Li Wei pulled the small silk pouch from his waist. "Do you remember the Mist-Veil Village? The girl who screamed while you threw her into the green fire?"
The Captain's eyes widened. "That... that was ten years ago... we were just following orders..."
---
Li Wei's face didn't change. Emotion was a luxury his brain had long ago discarded.
"And I am just following the laws of biology. If the **Medulla Oblongata** is crushed, the body forgets how to breathe."
Li Wei placed his palm on the Captain's forehead and vibrated.
A shockwave of Void-Qi bypassed the bone and hit the soft tissue of the brain. The **Brainstem** turned into jelly in less than a second.
The Captain's heart kept beating for a few more moments, but the "commander" was gone.
---
Li Wei stood up. His robes were still pristine white. Not a single drop of arterial spray had touched him.
He pulled out a charcoal stick and crossed out a series of numbers on a piece of parchment.
**"Target Count: 2,949,"** he muttered.
The Butcher was only warming up. He didn't want a quick victory. He wanted to hear the mountain scream, one nerve at a time.