Soon after, the sound of the zither suddenly rang out again, surging forth like a raging flood or a wild beast. The player abruptly struck with deadly force, and almost at the same time, a sharp shriek came from the next room. Listening closely, it sounded like a flute, but an ordinary flute could never make such a sound—so piercing, so sharp it seemed as if it could tear something apart.

The timing was perfectly calculated; the flute’s shrill cry clashed head-on with the venomous zither.

The zither player’s strings snapped in an instant.

Then, all fell silent.

William Walker stood there for a while longer, shaking his head and murmuring to himself, “Those skilled in sword and blade will die by sword and blade—the ancients did not deceive me.”

Grace Miller finally let out a sigh of relief, wiping the cold sweat from her forehead. “Master, do you think that Qin… whatever his name was, is he dead?”

William Walker said softly, “Even if he’s not dead, his meridians are all severed. From now on, he’s a cripple. I think dying would be more comfortable for him.”

He suddenly reached out and pushed open the window, lowering his voice even further, as if afraid to disturb something. “Alice, the affairs of this world are always so interesting. Whatever you want, there’s always a price to pay. Killing someone with a seven-stringed zither, unseen and unfelt, is certainly exhilarating and fun, but you must beware of others striking back.”

Grace Miller tilted her head and asked, “When would someone strike back?”

William Walker patiently explained, “When others are stronger than you.”

Grace Miller nodded, thought for a moment, and said, “Why bother competing with people stronger than yourself? Wouldn’t it be easier to just bully those weaker than you?”

William Walker turned to look at her. With the moonlight behind him, he seemed to be edged in silver, his expression growing even harder to read. After a long pause, he finally said, “You don’t have to bully anyone. Be like me—be a good person.”

Then he reached out and opened the door. Grace Miller watched in fear as this so-called “good person” walked out.

Samuel Carter himself wasn’t in great shape either. His flute had been whittled out of boredom while traveling, and his craftsmanship was lacking, so the notes it produced were always off-key—discordant and grating. He’d stopped playing with it, never expecting it would actually come in handy tonight. The flute cracked wide open after just one note, but fortunately, he’d lured the enemy into using their full strength, allowing him to land a lucky blow. Otherwise, he really wouldn’t have known how to end things.

Charles Brooks looked as if he’d just been fished out of water. His skills were too shallow; even though Samuel Carter had quickly covered his ears, he still suffered internal injuries and had already vomited once, his face as pale as gold paper.

Samuel Carter, worried that the boy might fall ill, didn’t bother tending to himself. He pressed his palm to the boy’s back and ordered in a low voice, “Focus your mind.”

He then used his inner energy to guide the boy’s qi through one cycle. Seeing some color return to his face, he finally withdrew his hand, but was now drenched in sweat himself.

He thought to himself, luckily they weren’t far from the Zhao family estate by Lake Tai. Otherwise, he might have truly failed his mission. He hadn’t done many good deeds in his life, and if his first attempt at accumulating virtue ended in failure, it would surely be a bad omen.

When it came to the affairs of the martial world, north or south, no one knew more than this former leader of Tian Chuang. The moment the zither sounded, he immediately knew who was outside.

Legend had it that “Enchanting Melody Simon Reed” was a eunuch who loved to dress as a woman, flaunting his poisonous nature in red and green. Because of his bloodless killing skills, he’d truly become a killer for hire, always following the rule that whoever paid more was his master—he’d be anyone’s dog for the right price.

Now that all was quiet, Samuel Carter knew that whether or not he was dead, he was as good as. If he’d been at full strength, there’d be no need to kill such a person outright, but now, with half his power lost and only half a life left, he couldn’t be sure of himself and had grown much more ruthless.

Just then, someone outside the window clapped and praised, “On such a night, hearing ‘Breaking the Willow’ in the music—who wouldn’t be moved by thoughts of home? With such stars and such a moon, Brother Carter playing the flute with the zither—such elegance, only a beauty could pull it off.”

To spout such nonsense at this level was truly impressive.

Samuel Carter thought, without even noticing this person’s approach, he was already standing outside the window. Even at his peak, he would have had to be wary of someone so elusive. As far as he knew, there were only three and a half people in the martial world that no one could afford to offend, and this man was one of them.

He took a deep breath, pushed open the window, pointed at his own sallow, sickly face, and asked William Walker with a dull, wooden expression, “A beauty?”

William Walker choked, swept his gaze over a face that, while not hideous, was hardly worth a second look, and then turned to gaze at the moon.

Samuel Carter lifted his leg and sat on the windowsill, following his gaze. It was a full moon that night, the moonlight like water, the ground like frost, everything especially bright and clear.

In his heart, Samuel Carter pondered which of the three and a half this self-proclaimed William Walker was, and at the same time couldn’t help but wonder about his motives for following him. The more he thought about it, the more mysterious it seemed.