Chapter Thirty-One: The Assassination Plot

Assassination, assassination, and more assassination.

No matter how absurd. No matter how laughable, how far-fetched, how much the plans seemed like the ravings of madmen, or how hard they made Liu Baiyuan struggle to keep a straight face—more than a dozen slapdash assassination plans were slammed onto the table, as if the planners were trying to bolster their courage or vent their frustrations, and immediately put into action.

It wasn’t just Liu Baiyuan who found this ridiculous. Even Guo Decheng, the sharp-eyed leader of the assassins, couldn’t keep himself from bursting into laughter as he reviewed and polished the first draft of the translations. Even without the several teams secretly eavesdropping, these frogs at the bottom of a well, hoping to assassinate Master Lan Yi, would never even make it past the outermost ring of Qi-training martial artist sentries.

These ordinary people, ignorant of the martial path, had no idea. Even a Qi-training martial artist—just in terms of reaction speed, observational skills, and sensitivity to the micro-expressions and instinctive changes in an ordinary person’s body—was on par with a high-precision camera. With minimal training, even if separated by a wall or a hundred meters, a sentry post staffed by Qi-training martial artists might seem full of gaps, but in truth was seamless. In this era of primitive assault tactics and meager assassination tools, any attacker facing such superhuman security would meet only one end: death.

“All right, that’s all their… plans,” Liu Baiyuan concluded the eavesdropping.

“Let that foreign woman in,” Guo Decheng said, having finished his translation and editing. He’d spent time abroad and understood some foreign languages, but not enough to be thorough; it was better to have a foreigner review it for accuracy.

“Aren’t we going to edit it first? Are we really just going to show her all of this?” Liu Baiyuan frowned. Although rumor had it that this Western woman and the Master were nothing more than a brief affair, handing over the assassination plans against Lan Yi directly to her still felt inappropriate.

Guo Decheng snorted. “Hmph, just like a martial artist—narrow-minded.”

“You—”

“We’ve both served under the Master. Tell me, do you really think the Master and those women have a thunder-and-lightning sort of relationship?”

“Of course not,” Liu Baiyuan replied immediately. Anyone who had met Lan Yi in person would never believe that this godlike, almost demonic man—so in control, so cool and rational—would be some kind of philanderer. Lan Yi’s essence was clear: to become stronger—purer than any other martial artist, unmoved by external things, using them only as tools for self-improvement.

“Since nothing happened, why hasn’t the Master said a word about it?”

“…Please enlighten me, Brother Guo.” Liu Baiyuan bowed after a moment’s thought.

“Women, especially arrogant Westerners—the less you treat them as people, the more you force them to kneel and look up to you, the more loyal they become. They worship strength,” Guo Decheng said with a cold laugh.

This leader of assassins had never believed in love. Even though he kept a seductive and gentle female disciple, he’d seen too much death to think much of love—death was worse, love hardly mattered.

Liu Baiyuan, though a man of the martial world, still held more conventional views. Hearing such a shocking opinion—one that trampled on love and exalted brute dominance—was hard to accept. Yet, recalling what he had seen and heard, he couldn’t help but feel that Guo Decheng wasn’t entirely wrong. But if things were truly this way, wouldn’t people be no better than beasts?

Liu Baiyuan fell silent. Guo Decheng stood, opened the door, and went downstairs. Before long, he returned with a Western woman of striking beauty—clad in a high-necked dress, with a voluptuous figure and a cold, exotic allure. Whether it was smoky makeup or dark circles around her eyes, it gave her an enigmatic charm. She wasted no time: just as before, she took up the plans and began reviewing them.

Despite her sultry figure and icy glamour, both Liu Baiyuan and Guo Decheng kept their gazes steady and respectful. The reason was simple: this Mrs. Philia was the first journalist ever to interview Master Lan Yi. Anyone who had witnessed Lan Yi’s unfathomable power would never dare test whether he was particular about certain boundaries. There were plenty of women in the world; no one would risk their head for a Western woman rumored to have been intimate with the Master.

Besides, Philia was capable—far more so than her useless husband. In an era that paid scant attention to women’s abilities, she had easily gathered a band of followers in the foreign concessions to serve her beloved cause, and among them was her own clever daughter, equally lost to love.

Like the two martial artists, Philia found the assassination plans so ludicrous that she couldn’t help but laugh.

“They’ll never succeed,” she said. “This is nothing but trash.”

“They have no idea how powerful Lan truly is. His strength is as profound as his soul, and his body as wild as his spirit.”

Still, Philia completed her review. Her emerald eyes brimmed with scorn and irritation as she recognized her useless husband’s handiwork in the plans—a so-called genius who actually wanted her to smother Lan Yi with a pillow and then stab him with a dagger. For this, he was even willing to endure humiliation and send his wife to the task himself.

A dagger? Was that supposed to be a party favor? Lan Yi’s muscles were harder and hotter than any blade. Not to mention, he had already demonstrated magical powers far beyond the force of gunfire before both mother and daughter.

“That’s enough for today, madam. We’ll escort you home,” Guo Decheng said, ever polite, signaling the end of their business.

“Wait, I have a confidential letter. Please deliver it to Lan,” Philia said, producing an envelope from her sleeve.

“But we can’t just request an audience with the Master,” Liu Baiyuan protested, caught off guard.

“He will see you.” The beautiful woman let a rare smile thaw her icy features, but almost immediately a trace of anxiety and uncertainty flickered in her eyes. The mature face bore the hesitant blush of a girl delivering her first love letter, unsure if it would be valued, if she herself was remembered—for the man in question was a rising god-emperor.

That very night, the letter was delivered to Lan Yi’s desk. He showed little reaction, offering only verbal praise for the two men’s work—their efforts had lived up to his personal guidance.

Liu Baiyuan and Guo Decheng both had the same thought: Master Lan Yi did, in fact, care about Philia.

When Lan Yi finally opened the letter, dawn was approaching. Contrary to expectations, its contents were not passionate declarations from a beautiful woman, nor uncontrollable desire, nor the bold and uninhibited invitations characteristic of Western women. It was simple: since Lan Yi was heading north after tomorrow, the fleet would surely be dealt with, and she hoped for a chance to record his next great deeds. She believed that people both within and beyond the galaxy would be intensely interested in such an account. Of course, if Lan Yi needed it, she could also obtain any information about the approaching punitive fleet.

The letter was signed: Mrs. Philia and her daughter.

“If all the secret letters they sent were like this, things would be much easier for me,” Lan Yi thought, genuinely admiring her intelligence and diligence.