Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Ambush

Gathered Moon Pavilion was a place where the elite of Shanghai made their homes. Mansion Number 79, in particular, was famed as the most auspicious location in the entire Pavilion, a treasured site boasting the best feng shui. It was said that those who lived here would attract an endless stream of wealth for generations to come. Yet, sometimes, such beliefs in fortune and geomancy proved unreliable.

A fine drizzle fell from the sky as three figures emerged quietly from the woods outside Gathered Moon Pavilion. Liu Shuangling gazed at the European-style manor ahead; its white walls gleamed with a pristine solidity, standing in sharp relief against the lush, verdant trees—a king’s castle lifted straight from the pages of a fairy tale.

“How beautiful,” she sighed.

“The Zhang family isn’t just wealthy,” Tia replied, her tone laced with irony. “Zhang Jiacheng made his fortune early in real estate. He was the first to promote shared areas, driving up housing prices. Now, he’s shifted to ports, telecoms, infrastructure, and oil. They once called him ‘the man who bought half of Britain.’ He’s also a celebrated philanthropist.”

As she uttered that final title, Tia’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Born into nobility herself, she knew well enough what kind of people these so-called philanthropists truly were. The more loudly a businessman proclaimed his charitable deeds, the filthier his secrets behind closed doors, leaving a trail of misdeeds in their wake—just like the late old man.

The Zhangs, too, were among the most prominent charitable families in the Summer Country, all obsessed with philanthropy.

Liu Shuangling clearly caught Tia’s mockery and smiled. “Tonight, let’s act as the hand of justice. Little Sister, begin.”

Zhu Ying poured her spiritual pressure into the Eight-Faceted Prism Coffin. The engraved scriptures shimmered, and space itself seemed to tremble. Without a sound, eight enormous mirrored panels materialized from thin air, encircling Mansion 79 and capping it from above, severing it completely from the world outside and sealing it within an alternate dimension.

Not even the drifting rain could wet the feathers of their garments now.

“There’s a powerful barrier surrounding the mansion,” Zhu Ying said calmly. “Leave it to me.” The blood-red mandala pattern in her pupils spun slowly.

Liu Shuangling and Tia leapt away, putting distance between themselves and the action.

In an instant, a golden colossus—the Spirit Giant—rose from the earth. Its chilling, overwhelming spiritual aura surged toward Mansion 79 like a tsunami.

Inside, the usually orderly servants suddenly faltered; platters crashed to the ground. The steward did not scold them. Instead, agony twisted his face—each clutched his chest as though suffering a heart attack, crushed under a weight of despair that seemed to force their hearts into their stomachs.

Zhang Zeju’s knife and fork clattered onto the table. His face went deathly pale as he stammered, “Mr. Lin, what’s happening?”

Lin Dong managed to stay composed, his voice steady. “Don’t panic. The entire mansion is shielded by an eightfold Mirror Gate—a top-tier barrier. Even a ninth-level spiritual master would need time to break through. We can call for help.”

But Zhang Zeju could not calm himself. That same barrier had been useless against Bai Yujing, who walked through it as though through an open door. Could it really protect them now?

Outside, Zhu Ying, controlling the golden Spirit Giant, swung its massive axe at the mansion with ruthless force. The blade cut through the air, shrieking as it fell.

Sensing danger, the barrier activated. Shimmering shields rose from the ground like transparent city walls, enclosing the mansion. Faint, cryptic script flowed across their surfaces, emanating a gentle glow, as if boasting of their impenetrability.

With a thunderous roar, the giant’s axe slammed into the shields. The impact sent shuddering ripples across their surface; the runes flickered madly, struggling to absorb the destructive power. But the Spirit Giant’s assault was overwhelming—the cracks spiderwebbed rapidly across the shield, a chorus of splintering echoes ringing out.

With a final crash, the barrier shattered beneath the axe’s weight. Gleaming shards scattered like snowflakes, glinting faintly in the rain.

The four bodyguards maintaining the spiritual energy of the barrier went pale as death, blood spurting from their mouths as they fell to the ground like puppets with their strings cut.

Liu Shuangling and Tia slipped inside, swiftly knocking out every servant and piling them into the guest lounge on the second floor.

Zhang Zeju collapsed onto the sofa, cold sweat pouring down his face, his hands trembling uncontrollably. He watched, helpless, as his servants vanished one by one—without even understanding what was happening. The air was thick with an invisible oppression, as if death itself crept ever closer.

Lin Dong, too, was chilled to the bone. As an eighth-level spiritual master, he could just barely glimpse fleeting shadows. But to defend against an enemy of this caliber was a fantasy. The gulf in strength was insurmountable. He realized that staying meant certain death.

“Run!” Lin Dong barked, dropping all pretense of loyalty. Abandoning his employer without hesitation, he executed a swift step technique, darting for the door like a streak of lightning.

The other three bodyguards weren’t far behind, surging out of the house in his wake.

Zhang Zeju had no time to curse them as traitors before screams split the night outside. The moment the bodyguards crossed the threshold, pure white Southern Bright Departure Fire engulfed them. In less than a second, they were nothing but black ash, drifting away on the wind.

Despair froze Zhang Zeju’s heart, as though he had been plunged into an icy abyss.

The living room doors creaked open. He flinched, staring in terror at the entrance.

A tall figure stepped in. Golden hair flashed brilliantly under the lights, her features so exquisite she seemed an angel inadvertently fallen to the mortal world.

At the sight of her, Zhang Zeju instantly understood who had come for his life. He wailed, “Miss Tia! Do you remember? I once invested two hundred million in your father, Mr. Josson’s business. For the sake of our families’ long-standing relationship, please, intercede with Master Bai for me. I’ll provide financial support for Cloudgate Sect. The Zhangs and the Purple Sky Sword Sect have always had strong business ties. Killing me will bring trouble to Cloudgate as well. As for Zhang Xu’s death, I don’t care in the least—he was a traitor who deserved it.”

He cursed his son through gritted teeth, desperate for any chance of survival. Outside, one hundred and eight mistresses awaited his comfort; a vast fortune was still his to expand; his research on spiritual seeds promised longer life and greater power. With such a future at stake, he had no wish to die.

Tia smiled faintly. “Such matters require Mr. Zhang Jiacheng himself to guarantee, and he’s not here.”

Zhang Zeju seized upon the lifeline, replying eagerly, “My father is at a gathering on St. James Island, negotiating a port deal with the Belaird Group. I can call him back at once!”

But Tia’s smile turned icy. “Is that so? Then you’re of no further use. You may die now.”

Pure white Southern Bright Departure Fire erupted, engulfing him.

At the window, Zhu Ying stood watching, the blood-red mandala in her eyes slowly rotating.

By the spiral staircase, Liu Shuangling descended at a leisurely pace, calm as the clouds and wind. “It’s done. Let’s go home.”