0034 A-Zi is, after all, A-Zi.

Before Jiang Mingzhe could even take a step, A’Zi had already darted out, engaging the axe-wielding lama in a fierce struggle.

She was petite, standing only as tall as the lama’s chest, yet her movements were incredibly agile. darting left and right, her robes fluttering like a purple spirit fox dancing alone under the moonlight. No matter how wildly the lama swung his axe, whistling through the air, he could not lay a finger on her.

A’Zi unleashed the Spirit Snake Sword technique, her strikes vicious and cunning. The blade flashed like a viper seeking its prey, and with every thrust, a spray of blood bloomed on the lama’s body. Within just a few exchanges, he was covered in wounds.

This was the first time Jiang Mingzhe had seen A’Zi in combat. He was struck with awe at her ferocity, and the anxiety that had gripped his heart began to fade.

The surrounding lamas, however, changed their expressions drastically. The leader shouted, "Are you disciples of the Star-Plucking Sect? We are attendants to the Tibetan Imperial Preceptor! Cease this at once!"

A’Zi gasped, "Oh? So you are the noble subordinates of the Tibetan Imperial Preceptor? Well, that is a grudge I cannot afford to provoke..."

True to her words, she stopped her assault. The axe-wielding lama, thinking he had been granted a reprieve, looked relieved. As he lowered his axe to retreat, A’Zi suddenly lunged forward, her sword flashing as she pierced his throat.

Having landed the strike, A’Zi leaped back, her sword tip dripping with blood. She giggled, "What a pity—this young lady is neither from the Star-Plucking Sect nor the Moon-Gate. Whether you serve an Imperial Preceptor, a chef, or an Archmage, who are you trying to intimidate?"

The lama’s face twisted between fury and terror. He dropped his axe, clutching his throat as blood seeped through his fingers, before collapsing limply to the ground.

Jiang Mingzhe felt a chill run down his spine. Since joining the Star-Plucking Sect, he had clashed with Mingzhuzi and Zhaixingzi, but those were mere brawls. As a youth, he had once used a brick to strike someone in a fight, so he was no stranger to violence. But seeing A’Zi kill a man with such chilling nonchalance made him shudder.

Although he had long known of her cruel and ruthless nature, their days spent living side-by-side—watching her laugh and play—had caused him to subconsciously separate the "real A’Zi" from the "A’Zi in the book." Only now did he realize that A’Zi was, after all, simply A’Zi; only those she liked or cared about were considered "people" in her eyes.

"Witch!" the leader roared, pointing at her. "Seize this witch! Burn her alive to avenge Tsering!"

He dismounted, and the remaining six lamas followed suit, drawing their weapons: Vajra clubs, iron prayer beads, sabers, bronze swords, iron spears—an assortment of lengths and types. One even pulled out a bow and arrows. The leader drew an iron rod from his saddle; it was about an arm’s length, as thick as a teacup, with an aged, mottled texture.

A’Zi looked on, puzzled, but Jiang Mingzhe knew the significance of the rod. He quickly warned, "Senior Sister, be careful! These lamas are likely warrior-monks. That one with the iron rod is their leader—he’s probably something like the Head of the Arhat Hall at Shaolin Temple!"

Jiang Mingzhe only read martial arts novels to appease his clients; he had no deep knowledge of how Shaolin managed its warrior-monks. He said it merely to ensure A’Zi did not underestimate the enemy.

A’Zi knew the Arhat Hall was responsible for teaching martial arts, and the prowess of its Head would be formidable. She was startled and groaned, "Oh, mother! Why didn't you say so sooner? How can we possibly stand against him? Run, run!"

She turned to flee, but the iron-rod-wielding lama shouted, "You think the witch can escape?"

He took long, powerful strides, closing the distance in an instant. With a leap like a soaring roc, he swung his rod down toward A’Zi’s shoulder. The lama was deeply regretful for having underestimated her, which had cost him a disciple, and he was determined to burn her alive rather than grant her the mercy of a quick death.

"Senior Sister, watch out!" Jiang Mingzhe shouted. He had not mastered any light-foot skills, and though he was only a few steps away, he could not reach her in time. In desperation, he hurled the hunting fork he was holding.

Throwing objects was an innate human instinct. Jiang Mingzhe had a foundation in internal energy, and the fork was perfectly weighted; the throw was fierce and aimed straight at the lama’s chest.

Seeing the fork, the lama felt a surge of relief: she truly wasn’t from the Star-Plucking Sect. Their hidden weapons were incredibly lethal, unlike this clumsy, amateurish toss. He had been worried because, even though A’Zi denied it, they were still within the sect's territory; he hadn't fully trusted her until now. Martial arts could not be faked, and the moment he saw Jiang Mingzhe throw the fork, he knew the boy had no training in hidden weapons. After all, what disciple of the Star-Plucking Sect couldn't use hidden weapons?

The lama flicked his iron rod, and with a skillful touch, the fork spun around and flew back toward Jiang Mingzhe at an even greater speed.

Jiang Mingzhe’s heart tightened. He found that none of the seventeen moves of the Centipede Claw technique were applicable here. In his panic, he threw himself to the ground, instinctively performing the classic "lazy donkey roll" without ever having been taught it.

Just as the lama deflected the fork, A’Zi suddenly stopped, twisted her body, and thrust her sword. The lama, impressed by her impeccable timing, kicked out in mid-air. *Clang!* The sword shattered.

The boots the lama wore were reinforced with iron soles!

Having shattered the sword, he followed through with a kick aimed at A’Zi’s head. She ducked, and with a *pfft* sound, spat a shimmering blue poison needle.

The lama was a master, but he didn't have eyes on his shins. With the two of them less than two feet apart, the needle moved with silent, lethal speed, burying itself into his lower leg.

A’Zi rolled away as she spat the needle. The lama felt a slight itch in the back of his leg, unaware he had been struck. As he landed, his entire right leg went numb. He tried to shift his weight to his left leg, but felt a surge of numbness in his waist and abdomen. Unable to control his body, he lurched forward, barely catching himself with his hands.

A’Zi jumped up and laughed, "Rise, rise! You’re getting on in years; why offer me such a grand kowtow?"

The lama’s posture did indeed resemble a kneeling bow. Realizing he had been poisoned, he was both terrified and enraged. Hearing her mockery, he roared, lunging forward with his hands while swinging the rod with his right.

But A’Zi was cunning; she had learned from Jiang Mingzhe’s "pre-planned move" against Mingzhuzi. As soon as she spoke, she leaped backward, and the blow missed.

The lama tried to lunge again, but the numbness had spread throughout his entire body. His powerful frame collapsed heavily to the ground. Panic seized him, and he wailed, "What a potent poison! And you still claim you aren't from the Star-Plucking Sect!"

Glaring at Jiang Mingzhe with gnashing teeth, he hissed, "You sly little witch of the Star-Plucking Sect! You pretended not to know how to use hidden weapons... even as a ghost, I will—"

Before the lama could finish, blood began to flow from his seven orifices. His eyes bulged in fury, and he breathed his last.

A’Zi clapped and laughed, "Look, Big Ginger! This lama’s cultivation was truly high—his words became reality! He said he’d become a ghost, and he did!"

Jiang Mingzhe felt an overwhelming mix of emotions. On one hand, it was difficult to reconcile himself to A’Zi’s callous disregard for life; on the other, he couldn't help but be shocked by the lethality of the Star-Plucking Sect’s poison.

Poison was truly the ultimate tool for overcoming a superior opponent!

Given the martial arts the lama had displayed, even Zhaixingzi might not have been a match for him. Yet, such a formidable expert had died in such a pathetic, ignominious manner at A’Zi’s hands before he could even showcase his full strength.

The remaining six lamas, seeing their leader dead, were struck with horror. After a moment of stunned silence, they roared in unison and charged forward like madmen. Only the archer stood his ground, drawing his bow and aiming an arrow at A’Zi.