Eyes—the so-called windows to the soul.

Whoever coined that phrase probably fancied themselves profound. Humans cling to such elegant notions when they believe their eyes can decipher others’ actions and expressions. Yet in truth, mortal eyes perceive only surface realities.

Right now, every spectator’s gaze locked onto the man who’d just stepped forward—vanishing and reappearing instantly beside Shen Yuan Yuhu. At first glance, he’d seemed merely a clumsy figure. But in the next heartbeat, he’d slipped from their sight entirely, then materialized anew.

Such fleeting, cinematic shock belonged in manga panels or blockbuster films. No—*had* become reality. People simply refused to abandon old beliefs and accept what defied scientific explanation.

“HAAAH!”

The scar-faced leader’s roar shattered the ceramic tiles beneath his feet. Veins bulged like serpents across his right arm as he swung a hammer-fist toward Shen Yuan Yuhu.

Yet Bai Ming, crouched nearby, tracked every motion. He’d long abandoned thoughts of escape. This was pure spectacle to him—a raw, unadorned brawl with no stage lights or special effects.

*Truly…*

What made it a performance? Shen Yuan Yuhu hadn’t budged an inch to block the crushing blow.

*CLANG!*

The sound of iron striking steel rang out as her katana’s spine intercepted his fist. Left hand steadying the sheath, right gripping the hilt, she didn’t even glance at him. Her crimson eyes stayed fixed ahead.

“Oh? Strong little girl, aren’t we?”

“You chose to strike first.”

“Huh?”

As the scar-faced man yanked his arm back to reset his stance, Shen Yuan Yuhu moved. Her eyes slid shut. An eerie gale swirled around her. Though her hands began drawing the katana, his right arm seemed magnetized to the blade.

He knew—if he didn’t wrench free now, his arm would be severed clean. His mind screamed the warning… but his body froze. Her speed had outpaced his thoughts.

**[Shen Yuan Style Opening Stance: Iron Tree Blossoms]**

Silver radiance erupted from her katana. All the scar-faced man felt was the blade’s killing intent—and the glacial glint of steel under that blinding light. Drawing and sheathing happened in one breath. Like the iron tree’s fleeting bloom, its beauty vanished as swiftly as it appeared.

As the light faded, Shen Yuan Yuhu’s form blurred. To mortal eyes, only a ruthless afterimage remained.

*Oh?*

Bai Ming’s breath hitched. He saw everything. This technique required proximity—within two meters. The instant an opponent touched her, her unnatural speed unleashed nine strikes in one second.

Targets: Baihui, Shenting, temples, Ermen, Jingming, Renzhong, Yamen, Fengchi, Renying acupressure points.

*Why did he know these?* His sickly younger sister’s chronic illnesses had forced him to study acupuncture.

Neck vulnerabilities… limited movement within a second… hence the precision strikes to lethal points.

*If all nine landed… this thug would drop dead on the spot. Panic would erupt.*

Bai Ming’s mind spiraled into grim hypotheticals. Truth was, he was simply bored. This farce needed to end. The outcome meant little—whether Shen Yuan Yuhu or the scar-faced man died, both were strangers. No mercy would stir in him. Such emotional void was the price of his power. Cold-blooded? Perhaps. Inevitable.

Actually, Bai Ming *had* gasped earlier—but his fascination lay not with Shen Yuan Yuhu. It was the scar-faced man, fighting barehanded against her.

“Wha—?!”

Smoke from the strikes cleared. The man Shen Yuan Yuhu had attacked nine times still stood before her. Her crimson eyes widened. Instinct made her stumble backward—then halt. She planted her feet, hands firm on her katana’s hilt.

“Surprised, little girl? In this era, you don’t survive the streets without tricks.”

Dusting off his clothes, the scar-faced man grinned—a thick, guileless smile—as he faced the sweat-drenched fox-eared girl.