With the matter settled,
it didn't take long for Luo Ping to inform Luo Yong of the decision. The message was swiftly delivered to Luo Yong's encampment near the superior Qingshi ore vein, a resource-rich stretch that extended over three hundred meters.
When Luo Yong received the letter,
his expression was one of visible astonishment.
"Are you sure this letter came from that guy Luo Ping?"
Inside a large tent pitched near the vein, warmed by braziers and filled with the scent of burning coal,
the man seated in the place of honor radiated a wild, raw strength—his physique robust like that of a fierce tiger or lone wolf. Muscles strained beneath his simple armor as he studied the parchment in his hand.
The familiar handwriting danced across the page.
Luo Yong, clearly a man of terrifying martial prowess, held the letter with one hand and looked incredulously at the Luo Family servant kneeling before him.
"My lord, this letter was indeed handed to me by the Family Head himself to deliver to you,"
the servant said, bowing deeply, his voice measured, respectful, almost trembling beneath the weight of his mission.
Even if the servant dared to deceive, which seemed highly unlikely, Luo Yong knew that the handwriting was unmistakably Luo Ping's.
And yet—he hesitated.
The contents defied what he knew of his elder brother.
Luo Ping, the ever-cautious patriarch of the Luo Family, had always championed harmony between the four great families of Qingshi Town. The idea of taking aggressive action—especially unprovoked—was not just unlike him, it was unimaginable.
And now this?
Now, that same Luo Ping had issued a direct order:
Strike.
Strike first. Strike hard. Eliminate the Zhao Family presence near the Qingshi vein.
Luo Yong's brows furrowed. Confusion tangled within his normally decisive heart.
But then again, perhaps the reason no longer mattered.
What mattered… was that the Luo Family's butcher's knife could finally be unsheathed.
These recent days of inaction, of tolerating provocations, had left a bitter taste in Luo Yong's mouth. Every bone in his body yearned to move, to crush, to act decisively.
"Alright, you can go."
His gravelly voice rang out with quiet finality.
The servant quickly bowed again and exited the tent.
Luo Yong's eyes narrowed with renewed focus. He turned to a nearby elite house servant and issued a single, simple order:
"Summon Luo Qingshan."
His son, his pride. The one who had inherited not only his cultivation talent but also his fierce temperament.
…
"Father, may I know why you summoned me?"
Inside the warmth of the tent, beneath flickering firelight and thick furs lining the walls,
a youth dressed in a gray martial outfit entered. His features were clean and handsome, with the quiet poise of a seasoned warrior.
Luo Qingshan stood tall, his voice calm yet curious as his gaze met his father's.
Luo Yong studied the boy—no, the young man—before him. Broad-shouldered but not overly so, fair-skinned yet still carrying the marks of countless training sessions. His strength had already reached the Skin Refinement Late Stage, a rare accomplishment at his age.
A brief smile tugged at Luo Yong's lips.
"There's something you need to know," he said, his voice low but weighty, like distant thunder waiting to break.
Luo Qingshan tilted his head. "What is it?"
"I've made a decision."
Luo Yong leaned forward, his tone dropping into a steely resolve that sent a chill through the air despite the tent's warmth.
"Tonight, at midnight, we will eliminate every last Zhao Family member near the superior Qingshi ore vein."
"I will see all who dare trespass buried deep beneath the earth."
Though his voice wasn't raised, its force reverberated through the room.
Luo Qingshan's eyes widened.
The tent fell into a hush.
[Creak…]
[Creak creak…]
The crackle of burning charcoal became suddenly louder in the silence that followed.
"Father…" Luo Qingshan finally found his voice. He stepped forward, a crease forming between his brows.
"Father, are you sure you truly want to do this?"
"Qingshi Town is no stranger to tension, but the Luo Family's current position is already precarious. If we act too rashly—if we ignite an open conflict now—we may not survive the backlash."
His voice rose slightly, driven by concern, the words tumbling out with urgency.
But before he could finish—
The man in the seat of honor lifted his right hand, elbow propped against the armrest, and cut him off with a glance.
"Qingshan."
Luo Yong's voice was calm but firm.
"There's something I forgot to tell you."
He reached for a small flask, uncorked it, and took a swig. Then, with a faint sigh, he leaned back.
"The timing of this action was decided by me."
"But the order itself—the intent to move against the Zhao Family—came from your uncle."
"The Family Head himself."
Luo Qingshan's eyes widened further, his breath catching in his throat.
"I know I'm not as clever as you when it comes to scheming," Luo Yong continued. "But even I wouldn't make a move like this lightly—not unless the stakes were life or death."
"Your uncle is cautious by nature. You know that."
"So if even he has chosen this path…"
He let the implication hang in the air.
"This matter is settled."
"Start preparing yourself."
"When the time comes, someone will notify you. Until then… rest."
Luo Yong turned his gaze away, dismissing his son with a slight wave of the hand.
"You may leave."
…
Luo Qingshan stepped out of the tent, the flap falling closed behind him.
The moment he did, the sharp winter wind bit at his face.
Cold.
Bracing.
Like knives carving against his skin.
It woke him up instantly.
His breath misted in the frigid air, and for a brief moment, his thoughts cleared.
But only briefly.
Despite the clarity brought by the chill, a fog of confusion clung to his mind.
Why?
Why would his cautious uncle issue such a brutal order?
Why annihilate the Zhao Family's people outright?
Yes, the Zhao Family had been acting suspiciously near the vein—lurking, testing boundaries.
But was that enough to warrant a total eradication?
It seemed excessive. Unjustified.
Was this truly the right path?
Luo Qingshan exhaled slowly, his breath lingering like smoke.
He didn't understand.
He truly didn't.
…
Time passed. The night deepened.
Above, the sky stretched vast and dark.
A lone crescent moon hung high, spilling its soft light across the earth like a gentle dream.
Outside Qingshi Town, near the three-hundred-meter vein, the Luo encampment stirred quietly.
Outside a different, heavily-guarded tent, cloaked in the scent of iron and frost,
a figure stood watching the moon.
"Master, it's nearly time," a voice murmured beside him.
"Shall we not begin?"
The speaker was a man clad in black, his sharp blade fastened tightly to his side. His eyes were cold and alert, the aura of a late-stage Bone Refinement cultivator emanating from him.
This was Luo Zhong, Commander of the elite house guards—fierce, loyal, deadly.
Luo Yong turned his head slightly to regard him.
This man was more than a subordinate. Luo Zhong had grown up alongside him, fought beside him, shed blood with him.
A comrade. A brother.
A weapon sharpened by trust.
At Luo Zhong's question, Luo Yong's lips curled into a rare smile.
He tilted his head back, gazing up once more at the sky.
"No," he said quietly. "The time isn't right yet."
Luo Zhong blinked, puzzled. "Master?"
Luo Yong raised his hand and pointed upward.
"Only when that thick layer of cloud fully shrouds the moon…"
"Only when not even a sliver of its gentle light touches the earth…"
"Only then will we strike."
"Because when the moon is hidden," he whispered, voice dropping like a blade unsheathing,
"the Zhao dogs won't even see death coming."
Luo Zhong nodded, silent but burning with anticipation.
The wind howled softly through the nearby trees.
Above, clouds gathered like an omen.
Dark. Heavy. Absolute.
And beneath them, the Luo Family's slaughter knife waited—unsheathed, gleaming.
Ready.