Outside the Weiyun Sect, torches blazed against the sky.
Blood trickled down the steps, step by step, and a thick, coppery stench of gore filled the air.
The moment Feng Ling and the others stepped out through the main gate, they sucked in a breath of cold air.
Eight brutally slain disciples lay sprawled in a pool of blood, eerily arranged into a two-meter-wide crimson character—"Death"!
The main gate was the sect's face. Placing corpses there and arranging the character for death signified that Deathly Energy had reached the gate and death itself loomed close!
"Bastards! Who dares act with such arrogance? Do they truly think so little of I, Ling, an Eighth-Rank Advanced Ghost Spirit Master?"
Feng Ling flew into a towering rage,
his white beard trembling with fury.
The Impostor Madam Pan Yuan and the Mole hidden among the disciples were both present, so he couldn't afford to drop the act.
He deliberately emphasized the words "Eighth-Rank Ghost Spirit Master." Nearly a dozen figures in the crowd trembled. Feng Ling's heart gave a start: there were that many!
A cold wind rose, blowing up one of his sleeves.
Feng Ling cursed inwardly. A true expert should face wind and rain without the slightest ripple showing.
To divert attention, he raised a hand, crooked his fingers, and bellowed, "What are you all standing around for? Drag them away, now!"
At his words, several disciples hurried forward, dragged the corpses away, and scrubbed the ground clean with water.
"Hm?" The Impostor Madam Pan Yuan watched everything closely, a flicker of doubt passing through her eyes.
Feng Ling's heart lurched. Could she have seen through it?
Might as well have someone come and stir up trouble!
"Father, something's wrong—Second Uncle is missing!"
Ling Chi and Ling Han had just passed Ling Chen's quarters. When they saw the unlocked door, they went inside and found the room empty.
"Could it be that he did it, and now he's fled to escape punishment?"
At those words, everyone's face darkened, as if the pieces had fallen into place.
"My lord, I told you before, don't keep that wild brother of yours around—he's no good, but you wouldn't listen! Now that disaster's struck, what are we supposed to do..."
A complaining voice rang out, with enough momentum to nag without end.
"Shut your mouth!"
Feng Ling put on a look of fury and used the moment to snap at the impostor Madam Pan Yuan.
Otherwise, judging by how nagging she was getting, she'd talk his ears clean off.
"Hmph!" The Impostor Madam Pan Yuan bit her lip, lowered her head, and fell silent. A trace of venom flickered in her dull yellow eyes, but Feng Ling had been watching and saw it clearly.
"Sect Master! Elder Lingchen must have destroyed the Treasure Pavilion. We ask the Sect Master to decide!"
"Yes, Father! Second Uncle has belonged to the Withered Leaf Sect for a long time—who knows whether he has coveted our sect's Ghost Technique Manual!"
Voices rose from the crowd one after another. Feng Ling's face darkened, his eyes shifting with uncertainty.
He sneered inwardly: Very well. He would play along and turn their scheme against them, lowering their guard first.
The Weiyun Sect, the Withered Leaf Sect, and the Blackwater Sect formed a perfect triangle.
They were no more than a few dozen li apart from one another.
At the speed of Elder Lingchen and the others, a round trip would take at most five hours.
It was past the hour of the rat. If they held out until the sun rose at the hour of the rabbit, they could break ties completely and launch a counterattack!
"All disciples, hear my order! Lock down everything within a thousand zhang and search every inch for the traitorous brother! Leave no blade of grass or single tree unchecked... The moment you find his trail, report to me!"
With those words, battle cries shook the heavens.
In an instant, everyone had scattered.
Clusters of torches spread out in every direction, sworn to capture the traitor Ling Chen!
"Whew, that was close!" Feng Ling gave a wry smile. "She's already starting to suspect me!"
The aura of an Eighth-Rank Ghost Spirit Body alone wasn't enough to convince an Evil Spirit Master!
Feng Ling decided to review the memories of both his lifetimes. If he slipped like this again, he couldn't guarantee that the other side would keep her composure.
He returned to the main hall to rest with his eyes closed, and several hours slipped by in a blink.
When a ray of sunlight fell across Feng Ling's aged face, everyone finally returned, dragging their exhausted bodies behind them. Weariness showed on every face.
"Sect Master, we didn't overlook so much as an ant on the ground, yet it's as if we ran into a ghost—we still couldn't find any trace of the traitor. We beg the Sect Master's punishment!"
The speaker was Xue Jiu, Ling Weiyun's eldest disciple. His talent was middling, but he was over forty and had reached the Sixth Rank!
More than fifty disciples knelt to receive punishment. Most were at the Third or Fourth Rank, while two were at the Fifth Rank—the two good-for-nothing sons of Ling Weiyun.
"Hmph! It would have been a miracle if you had found him. Get up and step back."
Feng Ling sneered inwardly. If they had found him, that would have been the real miracle.
"Xue Jiu, take some men and set up a banquet outside the sect. I have a feeling honored guests will be arriving!"
"Yes! We will obey your orders, Sect Master!"
Everyone rose, bowed respectfully, and took their leave, puzzled. After searching all night, they hoped to finish setting up the banquet quickly and get some rest.
"A Feast at Hong Gate!"
A familiar allusion flashed through Feng Ling's mind. His current situation was remarkably similar.
Here, however, he played Liu Bang as the host, calmly preparing the feast while waiting for the Overlord to appear, with Ling Chen and the others in the role of Fan Kuai...
He rose and made his way out of the sect.
In the bright morning sun, a White-Haired elder slowly began running through a set of fist forms.
As his strikes accelerated, an indescribable, ineffable air spread around him.
"Look! The Sect Master is practicing his fists! That first set is fierce and powerful!"
"That's the Stone-Shattering Fist! To think the Sect Master's Stone-Shattering Fist has reached such a level!"
"And what's that flowing, soft style that never seems to stop? Could it be something the Sect Master invented himself?"
A few diligent disciples who had risen early to sweep the mountain paths murmured among themselves. They gazed at the figure as it shifted between force and softness, their eyes filled with reverence.
At the Advanced Ghost Spirit Master Realm, one could create original Ghost Technique forms based on one's own strengths.
"Hah—" Exhaling a breath of turbid air and wiping the sweat beaded across his forehead, Feng Ling smiled warmly at the disciples. "That's called Taiji Fist!"
He alternated between the Stone-Shattering Fist and Taiji Fist, performing each three times. Feng Ling deliberately avoided using Ghost-God Power and relied on his keen senses to feel the pulsation of every muscle and bone in his body.
Though sweat soaked him and fatigue weighed on him, he felt more invigorated than ever. Thinking of his past life, he couldn't help marveling at the profound, boundless culture of ancient China!
"Forgive us, Sect Master! We three didn't mean to disturb your practice!"
These disciples were no older than twenty, and their cultivation had only reached the Third Rank. When Feng Ling paused and looked their way, they panicked, dropped their brooms, and knelt to beg forgiveness.
Heaven rewards the diligent!
When taking on disciples,
don't fear that they're slow-witted,
only fear that they lack diligence;
don't fear mediocrity,
only fear a crooked heart!
"Good nature and a pure heart—truly, a child worth teaching!"
Feng Ling looked at the three kneeling with bowed heads, unable to hold back a note of admiration in his heart.
Just as he was about to tell the three to rise, figures appeared on a distant mountain ridge and raced toward them. The leader was none other than—
The Sect Master of the Withered Leaf Sect, the Withered Leaf Ape!
A Seventh-Turn Expert, wielding his unmatched technique—the Withered Leaf Palm!
"You three, descend the mountain at once and don't come back—the sect is about to be drenched in blood!"
"Sect Master..."
The three thought "Ling Weiyun" was using a pretext to drive them from the mountain, and they cried out in aggrieved voices.
"Get out of here! I have no time to explain." Feng Ling furiously drove away the three resentful disciples. He didn't want any more innocent people caught up in this.
The main reason, though, was that he found these three more likable than the others...
Was it about to begin at last?
Feng Ling stared blankly at the thirty figures approaching in the distance and silently asked himself: Was it finally about to begin?
Though the morning was bright and sunlit,
over the entire Weiyun Sect
a dark cloud hung faintly in the air!
Feng Ling had never intended to place all his hopes in the Withered Leaf Sect. He only wanted to muddy these already troubled waters further. The more uncertain factors there were, the easier it would be for him, the assassin, to adapt!
Within a hidden courtyard in the rear hall...
"Sect Master, stop hesitating! Everyone's already in position—it's time to close the net!"
"Xu Laosan, it's still only a guess. I haven't confirmed whether Ling Weiyun's cultivation truly dropped!" An old woman glared at the masked man, then turned to the Black-Clad Leader. "Sect Master, we'd best proceed with caution!"
"You wretched hag! Are you that afraid of dying?"
The masked man barked in anger, and the old woman's face darkened; the two of them fell at once into a furious quarrel.
Amid the storm of curses, the Black-Clad Leader frowned and stopped them.
"Black Smoke, you're too cautious! I agree with Third Brother's proposal!"
The old woman bit her lip, her eyes flickering as though she still had something to say.
But the Black-Clad Leader sighed wistfully. "We've been lying in wait for ten years—it's time to close the net! As for this banquet... it'll serve as his funeral!"
The Black-Clad Leader tilted his head back and gazed at the sky. He had everyone disperse to prepare.
Every hatching from the shell is a new birth!
Life does not persist because of hope; it is through persistence that hope exists... Amid all the tangled troubles of this world, may the Sage grant each of you, esteemed readers, a Pure Land of the Soul.