Chapter 11: Since Ancient Times, Those Who Show Off Often Meet Their Downfall

A young man, 1.8 meters tall with solid, well-defined muscles, carried a pitch-black long blade on his shoulder. He ascended the stairs step by step. Opposing him were the thugs, fleeing toward the upper floors in a state of panicked disarray. One side advanced, the other retreated.

Finally, they reached the fifth floor. Since the building only had five stories, there was nowhere left for them to run. Among the thugs, two men dressed in white lab coats stood out prominently. Shen Ye had already activated his Eye of Justice to assess them.

"Gao Yousheng, doctor, specialized in internal surgery. Because his daughter is critically ill and in urgent need of money, he performs kidney harvesting and transplant surgeries for the organ-trafficking syndicate. Sin Value: 28."

"Maba, anesthetist, specialized in anesthesia, extremely greedy for money. He performs anesthesia for kidney harvesting and transplant surgeries for the syndicate. Sin Value: 25."

These two doctors, having harmed countless people for the sake of money, were certainly deserving of death. Shen Ye scanned the others with the Eye of Justice.

"Fang Qi, a core member of the syndicate, participated in drugging victims, matching them, and kidnapping them. Sin Value: 26."

"Niu Ben, low-level thug, Sin Value: 3."

"Zhang Ling, low-level thug, Sin Value: 3.1."

Shen Ye looked at them one by one and committed them to memory. He intended to execute everyone with a Sin Value exceeding five. For those below five, he would use the back of his blade to strike them into critical condition, leaving them bedridden to reflect on their actions.

At this moment, Shen Ye’s gaze was as sharp as a hawk’s. He gripped his Hu-Chan blade in his right hand, his posture like a tiger ready to pounce and devour. The thugs were already terrified.

Then, Shen Ye moved.

The blade in his hand slashed out violently. The black light of the blade lunged toward the core member named Fang Qi. Fang Qi tried to dodge, but as a mere ordinary man, he could not escape Shen Ye’s lethal strike.

*Swoosh!*

A head fell to the ground. Blood gushed like a fountain!

He then struck down several more core members of the syndicate. As he prepared his next strike, aiming for the two doctors, he suddenly halted his movements.

Driven by a sense of impending danger, it was clear that an expert had arrived. Being ambushed from behind would be unfortunate. Shen Ye lifted his head to look at his opponent.

The man was shirtless, wearing only athletic pants. His left arm was visibly larger than his right, exceptionally muscular, and he appeared to be around forty years old. At his right hip hung a sheathed blade. The scabbard was not very large, suggesting the blade inside was equally compact.

In fact, the left-handed swordsman Zuo Leng was a martial artist who favored speed and agility. While most people used their right hand for swordsmanship, he insisted on using his left, employing a strange and unpredictable style. Few people had experience fighting against left-handed swordsmen, and combined with his bizarre technique, most opponents would suffer in their first exchange and ultimately die by his blade.

Zuo Leng walked down the stairs from the rooftop to the fifth-floor landing. While normal people walked with a standard gait, Zuo Leng moved with a peculiar rhythm. He stepped with his left foot first, then his right—a strange and odd cadence that involuntarily drew the attention of everyone present.

The large group of thugs under Zuo Leng, along with Dr. Gao and Maba the anesthetist, had previously been paralyzed by fear and panic due to Shen Ye’s imposing aura. However, the moment they saw Zuo Leng, all their fear vanished. They looked at him as if they were believers witnessing the radiance of a deity. They instinctively believed that once Zuo Leng struck, this young man carrying the black blade would surely die. In the past, Zuo Leng had defeated one strong opponent after another and had never known defeat.

Lu Yi, who had followed Shen Ye up, felt a bitter taste in his throat. This was Zuo Leng, a man who had dominated the Jianghu of the Liangguang region for decades, renowned for his left-handed sword. It was said his technique was eerie and unpredictable; even those of equal strength often fell to his blade. How could Shen Ye, a mere newcomer, possibly overcome him?

The noise and shouting on the floor had vanished completely. It was so silent that only Zuo Leng’s footsteps could be heard. *Clack! Clack!*

Zuo Leng looked coldly at his maimed, broken, or dead subordinates, then finally raised his eyes to examine Shen Ye. He frowned in slight confusion. "Young man, you carry a black blade. Who are you? You are not a name in my memory."

Shen Ye smiled faintly. "A newcomer to the Jianghu naturally lacks a reputation."

Lu Yi wanted to jump out and explain that Shen Ye was the grandson of Captain Shen, leader of the Second Squadron of the Special Operations Group C, and beg Zuo Leng not to kill him, as he had zero confidence in Shen Ye. But Shen Ye, knowing Lu Yi would talk nonsense, flicked a piece of cloth through the air into his mouth, silencing him into muffled whimpers.

Zuo Leng laughed heartily. "A newcomer, yet you dare to strike at my base. You certainly have guts, courage, and spirit."

"Not long ago, there was a thick-browed young man, a secular disciple of the Shaolin Sect—one of the top ten schools—who was quite talented and had a bright future. Hearing I had a kidney-harvesting syndicate here, he came out of youthful bravado. Unfortunately, he died. I used my blade to sever his hands and feet, whittled him into a human torso, and kept him in a jar for two days."

"I can still remember his piercing screams before he died."

"It was... truly painful!"

"Let me teach you, kid: my swordsmanship is called the Left-Handed Ghost Blade. It consists of one hundred and forty-nine moves, each one eerie and unfathomable."

"If you can survive ten strikes from me, I will spare your life."

"Unfortunately, your chance of surviving ten strikes is zero."

He spoke these words as if they were absolute, his arrogance immense. A powerful pressure radiated from him instantly. Zuo Leng placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He drew it inch by inch.

His blade was quite unique. As it left the sheath, it emitted a squeaking sound—harsh and grating, yet carrying a lethal intent of extreme power. At this moment, Zuo Leng’s left hand, already much larger than his right, bulged strangely. It was the prelude to an explosion of power.

This moment was terrifying! Everyone present felt that if they were standing in Shen Ye’s position, they would have been killed by Zuo Leng in a single stroke.

Dark clouds gathered; the scent of slaughter hung in the air. Yet, facing Zuo Leng’s pressure, Shen Ye smiled brightly. "You say? My chance of surviving ten strikes is zero."

"Have you ever heard the saying, 'Those who act arrogant often get their comeuppance'?"