Chapter 1 – The Death of Du Li (Part One)

Du Li was a man, a very famous man in the martial arts world.

His fame in the underworld was like that of rabbits and foxes among humans—known to everyone.

Rabbits are known throughout the world for their suspicion and caution. The saying “a crafty rabbit has three burrows” refers to the rabbit’s suspicious nature, quick reactions, and unpredictable movements, which have allowed it to thrive and reproduce for generations in the animal world where the strong prey on the weak.

Foxes are known for their cunning and treachery. The saying “the fox borrows the tiger’s fierceness” describes the fox’s sly and deceitful nature that even the mighty king of beasts can easily fall for its tricks without even realizing it.

Du Li was famous because he was more suspicious and cautious than a rabbit, more unpredictable in his movements. He was more cunning and treacherous than a fox, more skilled in deceit. Lastly, he possessed strength and cruelty surpassing even that of a fierce tiger.

How terrifying would such a man be?

Who could possibly kill such a man?

Du Li had killed many people and plundered countless treasures. The number of people who wanted to kill him probably exceeded his wealth, but in the end, all who truly wanted to kill him were killed by him.

Over the years, wave after wave of those who wanted him dead were killed, yet he continued to live even better than before.

Surrounded by powerful enemies, he remained calm and composed.

No one knew where he would go next or what he would do. Even fewer knew how many traps and ambushes he had set up around himself, not even those who died in those traps and ambushes knew.

The only thing the martial arts world knew was that Du Li was terrifying, unpredictable, and not to be provoked.

Nevertheless, as long as he existed, those who wanted his head would pursue him relentlessly.

Because this was the martial arts world—a world of swift vengeance and bloodthirsty adventure.

…

This was an unremarkable temple, old, simple, and crude, far from any human habitation, secluded and quiet.

Late at night.

Inside the Buddha hall, the statue of Buddha sat solemnly and silently. In the center of the hall stood a large coffin.

The coffin was uncovered, and inside lay an old woman. Although she had been dead for three days, her expression was as calm as when she was alive.

Several monks sat tapping wooden fish drums and chanting Buddhist scriptures in a low voice, performing rituals to pray for the deceased.

The deceased old woman was over seventy years old, with white hair and skin like tree bark. She had lived in this small temple for a full ten years, eating vegetarian food and chanting Buddhist scriptures, never leaving the temple.

She seemed just an ordinary and lonely old woman. Walking on a bustling street, no one would ever look twice at her. Therefore, her secret was well hidden, just as successfully as her son, Du Li, concealed his whereabouts.

She was Du Li’s mother, once a notorious female demon in the martial arts world, who committed many evil deeds and made enemies everywhere.

With age and declining health, she no longer had the ability to stir up trouble.

To escape her enemies, she had taken refuge in this dilapidated temple, where she ate vegetarian food and chanted Buddhist prayers.

The temple managed to barely survive solely because of her financial support.

Three days ago, she died quietly—no warning, no wounds, no struggle—she passed away peacefully.

Everyone—the monks in the temple, her maidservants, the secret guards—believed she had died of old age.

But she could not be buried yet, because her son had not yet arrived.

The news had been sent out, but they could not be sure that Du Li had received it, nor could they be certain when he would arrive.

No one could track Du Li’s movements, not even his mother.

But he would certainly come. The only person he truly cared about was his old mother. She was the only one to whom he still had a shred of humanity.

…

It was the fifth watch. The candle flames in the Buddha hall had been burning all along. It was very quiet.

The monks had gone to rest. The old Madam Du’s maidservants and guards remained to keep vigil.

They had already kept vigil for three whole nights. Their eyelids involuntarily drooped shut, their heads grew heavy and began to lower.

Just as they were drifting off to sleep, the Buddha hall suddenly grew dark. A shadow loomed silently.

It was a human silhouette, but like a ghost—right behind them, silent and unnoticed.

A chilling coldness suddenly filled the Buddha hall.

They jolted awake, all sleepiness vanishing. Ten highly skilled fighters had been completely unaware of this anomaly. If this newcomer wanted to take their lives, it would have been effortless.

They turned around stiffly, then felt a wave of relief and nearly collapsed. The newcomer was Du Li—the son of Old Madam Du.

No one knew how he had arrived or when. Just like all those years, he was unpredictable.

Du Li was forty-two years old, lean and tall, with a fair, beardless face and long hair reaching his waist. His well-maintained figure and skin told the world that he was living well, despite the many people who wanted to kill him.

At four blind spots around him stood four black-clad experts, their faces expressionless and their gazes icy. They looked like four dead men, or rather four sealed weapons, ready to be drawn at any moment.

No one knew how many more invisible sealed weapons were hidden.

Du Li glanced indifferently around the Buddha hall, walked to the coffin, and stood looking down, silently looking at his old mother.

She looked very peaceful. There was even a faint smile on her lips. It seemed her death was not painful.

She had committed so many evils in the past, yet she was able to die peacefully. The saying “evil lives on for a thousand years” was a perfect description of the mother and son.

He couldn’t help but curl his lips into a faint smug smile.

“Seventy years are rare in a lifetime,” he thought. Since she could die like this, it should be celebrated. So he was not sad at all, nor did he shed any tears. But proper etiquette still had to be observed. He had always considered himself a filial son.

He knelt on a prayer cushion, both knees to the ground, placed his hands on the floor, and bowed his head towards his mother in the coffin.