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Surrounded on all sides by a thousand blades, Pei Xinyong suddenly found himself cornered.
Lu Yao was after his life.
At a time like this, begging for mercy was useless. He knew full well that unless Lu Yao cut him down on the spot, the other party would have no way to deal with the forces that were upon him.
Wu Shaoyi had warned him to guard against Lu Yao’s sudden betrayal, but Pei Xinyong had still ended up underestimating his foe, and now it was too late for regret.
Regardless, there was no time to be wallowing in self-reproach. Another one of his guards collapsed with a scream, skewered by a dozen spears.
They were packed in tight, getting thrusted at by spears unceasingly. In such a melee, finesse was meaningless. They would all eventually be reduced to human kebabs.
Pei Xinyong locked eyes with Lu Yao. A flicker of rage crossed his gaze. Then, with a sudden motion, he pulled a bronze figurine from his robes. Biting the tip of his tongue, he spat blood over it and hurled it into the enemy ranks with a roar, “Grow!”
The figurine was no larger than his middle finger. It appeared to be nothing more than a rough little bronze doll pitted with dents and crude patches, the sort of trinket one might discard on the roadside without a second glance.
One of Lu Yao’s men reflexively...
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