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A man can see without his eyes, but he cannot see without his heart.
Hua Manlou learned this truth after his sense of sight was taken away from him at a young age. But he's for...
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A piece of cloth swept over the long, elegant blade with sharp, deliberate strokes, the fabric moving like silk over steel. Each pass made the precious sword gleam with a growing brilliance, its sharp edge catching the faint light of the room. Hua Manlou couldn't see its glow, but the sensation of the blade's beauty against his fingertips was enough. Tonight, it was imperative to keep his sword immaculate. Rust and dirt had no place on its surface—not when danger lurked so near, when there were lives within his home that demanded his absolute protection.
Suddenly, his senses prickled, his head jerking toward the door of his guest room. The quiet, distant rustling outside had drawn his attention. Without hesitation, he dropped the cloth, his hand seizing the hilt of his sword. He stepped swiftly toward the door, his every movement precise, deliberate.
"Lu Xiaofeng!" His voice rang through the silence, firm but urgent.
There was no reply.
Hua Manlou's eyes narrowed as he crept toward the threshold, every muscle coiled like a predator in the dark. He descended the few stairs leading to the main hall, listening for any hint of the intruder's presence. His ears caught a soft, almost imperceptible clicking sound, a noise that could only be described as the sound of terracotta tiles shifting underfoot.
Without a second thought, Hua Manlou sprang into motion, his body moving with the precision of a seasoned warrior. He leapt upward, his feet finding purchase on the rooftop tiles, the sudden height giving him a commanding view of the grounds below.
The clicking grew louder as the intruder moved, their footsteps heavier than he anticipated—like the sound of iron boots striking stone. It could only be the Iron-Boot Bandit. No one else would move with such brutal, unmistakable force.
Hua Manlou didn't hesitate. He gave chase, his eyes scanning the darkness as he bounded across the rooftops, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His pursuit was relentless, every leap a step closer to his quarry. The intruder ahead was quick, but Hua Manlou was faster—his breath steady, his sword ready.
It wasn't until the third rooftop that he was nearly close enough to strike. His sword arced through the air, a silver flash in the night. But the bandit was quicker still, dodging the blow with an almost impossible agility. Hua Manlou's sword missed by inches, and before he could recover, the bandit flipped over the edge of the roof, landing on the ground below with a catlike grace.
Without a second thought, Hua Manlou followed, dropping onto the earth in pursuit. He raced into the nearby room where the bandit had sought refuge, bursting through the door with barely a sound. His senses sharpened, and he could feel the presence of others in the room—he wasn't alone. The unmistakable scent of battle hung thick in the air, and the familiar auras of warriors he knew all too well greeted him.
It was the leaders of Shaolin and Kunlun sects—Long Fei of Kunlun leaned heavily against a table, his breath ragged, his face a mask of exhaustion.
"He's here!" Long Fei's voice rasped, his words filled with urgency. "That's the Iron-Boot Bandit!"
