With my sleeves folded, I stood atop the peak of Xian Ling Mountain, gazing at the swirling snow filling the sky. A long sigh escaped me.
In just one month, it will be the 23rd of May—the day marking my full century of cultivation. It should have been a joyous occasion, yet I found no delight in it.
The scouts from the foot of the mountain sent me another report. My master was still in Yangzhou City, indulging in wine and meat, without so much as a scratch on him. The assassination attempt two days ago had, quite evidently, failed again.
My face furrowed deeply in distress, my heart weighed down with a profound sense of gloom.
It wasn’t for any grand reason—just that I had run out of money to hire another assassination group.
Starting today, if I want to kill my master, I’ll have to roll up my sleeves and do it myself.
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