Jing City, a Certain Market.
This place was unlike ordinary grocery or sundry markets—no loud hawking, yet it was far from empty.
Most of the customers wore masks, some even donned full head coverings, making them completely unrecognizable.
In an inconspicuous corner, a man furtively hung a small bronze bell on a pole. A gentle breeze passed, and the bell emitted a crisp, pleasant chime.
The man was fully armed, with only his eyes exposed, sharply scanning his surroundings.
Just then, two figures stopped at his stall. The man looked up—and froze.
So beautiful…
Especially the younger-looking girl wearing a bronze mask.
As for the other one, though also lovely, she paled slightly in comparison.
“Boss, what are you selling here?” The breathtaking girl was none other than Su Mo, long accustomed to others being smitten by his “beauty.”
Snapping out of his daze, the man began introducing the items laid out on the rug.
“This is a bronze mirror—warding off misfortune and attracting blessings. Once enchanted as a magical artifact, it becomes incredibly durable and even has the power to see through disguises. No illusion can escape its detection.”
“Really? That sounds too good to be true.” Su Mo wasn’t buying it. “Why don’t you use it to see which of us is prettier?”
The man’s expression stiffened. Why make things difficult when you’re just here to shop?
Still, he played along, lifting the mirror and muttering a “chant” before sweeping it over their faces. “Ah! Both young ladies are so stunning! Even with my years of experience, I can’t possibly decide who’s more beautiful. Shameful, truly shameful…”
Ding-ding-dong-dong…
The little bell chimed softly, as if accompanying his performance.
Heh.
Su Mo scoffed.
The man was smooth-tongued, but his goods were clearly fake.
“Ba Jie, what do you think?” Su Mo wanted to hear her “expert opinion.”
Week Eight ignored him, instead staring obsessively at the bronze mirror in the man’s hand, her eyes glazed. “So beautiful… This mirror is so beautiful.”
“Hahaha! The mirror is lovely, but not as much as you ladies! Still, only a treasure like this could ever match your beauty.” The man’s flattery was relentless—despite being in his thirties, he kept calling them “young ladies” without pause.
“That’s right… Such a gorgeous mirror… Only someone like me, Yang—”
“Ba Jie, where’s Master?” Su Mo suddenly yanked Week Eight’s ear and demanded sharply.
Week Eight blinked blankly before tilting her head. “Master… Master was captured by monsters! Hehehe… Brother Monkey, let’s split the luggage! I’m going back to Gao Village… I wanna get married…”
Su Mo whipped around, his gaze piercing as killing intent surged. “What did you do to her?”
The man’s face twisted in shock. “You… Why aren’t you affected?”
Almost instantly, Su Mo lunged forward and locked his hand around the man’s throat. “Answer me.”
The man’s face turned red as choked gurgles escaped his throat.
Worried he might kill him, Su Mo loosened his grip slightly.
Gasping for air, the man took a moment to recover before pleading, “M-Miss, spare me! She’s just under the illusion from the bronze mirror! She’ll snap out of it soon!”
Around them, other vendors and pedestrians scattered in fear, keeping their distance.
“You’re sure it’s just an illusion? Then why am I fine?” Su Mo’s voice was icy, each word heavy as a boulder, crushing the man under its weight.
Tears welled in the man’s eyes. “How should I know?! You’re the first person who hasn’t fallen for it!”
Su Mo frowned, glancing at the delirious Week Eight, who was now calling a random passerby “Brother Sha.”
Then, an idea struck him. He shouted at her, “Bald Qiang is back to cut trees again!”
She froze, then covered her face and shrieked, “Big Bear! What do we do?! Bald Qiang’s back to cut trees again! Hurry, think of something, Big Bear!”
Su Mo: “…”
Passerby: “…”
Suddenly, a cold wind swept through, and the ding-ding-dong-dong of bells rang out again—except this time, it wasn’t just one.
Su Mo’s vision swam as images flickered before his eyes:
A grand hall… Singing maidens… Dancing courtesans… And the clang-clang of—bianzhong (bronze chime bells)!
A massive bronze frame held bells of varying sizes, swaying on their own, their harmonies weaving into an enchanting melody.
The weight of history crashed over him.
With his last shred of clarity, he looked to the side—the man now stood dressed in ancient robes, gently striking the bianzhong with an elegant, almost ethereal grace.
But his smile was eerie. Terrifying.
Hiss— His head ached!
At the critical moment, a wisp of dark-blue flame surged from his qingdan (azure core), purging the foul energy inside him.
“Hah… Hah…” Su Mo panted heavily.
When he looked again, the grand hall and dancing women were gone. Only the sleazy man remained, swaying drunkenly as he shook the bell.
All around, people stood entranced, just as Week Eight had been earlier.
“So that’s the culprit.”
Su Mo finally understood—the bronze mirror wasn’t the real danger. It was that teacup-sized bell all along.
He suddenly realized they’d heard its chime from the very beginning, carried by the breeze. But who’d have thought such a tiny thing could wield such power?
With the dark flame shielding him from mental corruption, Su Mo gripped his Tetanus Blade and charged, aiming to snatch the bell.
Yet the once-feeble man now moved with unnatural speed, dodging every strike.
As the man weaved, the bell’s ringing grew louder. The dark flame faltered, and dizziness crept back in.
Su Mo knew he was outmatched. Escape was impossible—his only choice was to fight to the death.
He fought to stay conscious, but the mesmerizing chime lulled his mind, illusions overpowering reason.
His body trembled, sweat beading on his forehead.
Su Mo refused to surrender, yet he could do nothing but await judgment.
At the brink of losing consciousness, he gritted his teeth and forced his energy to surge. His qidan (energy core) and qingdan were nearly drained as two torrents of power merged inside him, raging like a mighty river.
Mountain-Sea Fist!
Yes—with his last shred of awareness, he unleashed his strongest attack, fueled by every ounce of his energy.
And with the qingdan’s power amplifying it, this strike was even fiercer than when he’d first learned it in the Scripture Pavilion.
BOOM—!
A deafening blast erupted as a crushing wave of force flattened the man’s chest.
Blood gushed from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth—his body mangled beyond recognition.
The buildings behind him fared no better.
As he was sent flying, multiple structures collapsed into rubble.
A single fist—this was its might.