SS CH69

As deep autumn bordered on winter, even in the southwestern mountain forests, the vegetation had mostly withered and yellowed. Even if a third of the greenery remained, it merely added a few spots of lingering, stubborn resilience.

Although the mountain stream flowing down the cliff had not dried up, it no longer possessed the rushing rapids of summer. A bare, cold, and hard boulder was exposed, unmoved by the wind and water, as stubborn as the person sitting cross-legged upon it.

The white-haired Daoist sat in meditation on the rock, holding a flute with both hands, his eyes lowered as he played slowly. The sound of the flute was not clear and distant, but continuous like a babbling stream. However, despite the beauty of the melody, the person currently struggling in the water had absolutely no mind to appreciate it.

Beneath the waterfall was a pool. Though the surface was wide, it was not particularly deep, shaded by nameless flowers and plants. It was originally an excellent place for bathing, but because it was located on the main peak of the Burial Soul Palace, serving as the secluded cultivation and martial arts training ground for the Palace Master Helian Yu, very few people within Mizong Ridge ever came here.

At this very moment, Bu Xueyao stood in the water. The freezing spring water rushing down from high above battered his body, a bone-deep agony that nearly froze his marrow. His exposed skin had turned a pale, sickly blue-white, yet he could not move a single inch, unable to step out of this small pool.

Half a month ago, after their schemes in Guyang City failed and Li Feng lost an arm and fell severely injured into the hands of the Hundred Ghosts Sect, Bu Xueyao took advantage of the chaos to lead his men and flee back to Mizong Ridge. If the Palace Master hadn’t been away on business and didn’t need him to rescue Li Feng, Bu Xueyao’s punishment would not have been as simple as receiving three bone-nailing tortures in the Black Tortoise Hall.

He thought he had escaped a disaster, but before Bu Xueyao could even formulate a rescue plan, Li Feng returned. He had not returned alone; rather, he was held captive by this white-haired Daoist. The intruder had used the Azure Dragon Hall Master to knock open the gates, smashing through eighteen checkpoints, bluntly demanding to see Bu Xueyao.

Having someone march right up to their doorstep to smash the place would infuriate even a clay Buddha, let alone Bu Xueyao, the “Flying Rakshasa.” Unfortunately, before he could deploy any of his myriad techniques, he saw the man toss aside the acupoint-sealed Li Feng and arrive directly in front of him in the next instant, one hand clamping shut around his throat as if snapping the most fragile of flower stems.

For half his life, Bu Xueyao had relied on the Dust-Gazing Steps to leave heroes in awe, believing his qinggong to be unrivaled under heaven. Yet he never expected that after having his arrogance thwarted by Ye Fusheng at the Duanshui Manor, he would now fall into enemy hands within the very first exchange. He dared not believe it, nor did he want to believe it, but the reality left him no choice.

Bu Xueyao always carried poisonous creatures on his person, but this Daoist, of completely unknown origins, showed no reaction whatsoever even after a Soul-Hooking Scorpion stung his hand. He didn’t even seem to feel the pain. The hand gripping Bu Xueyao’s throat merely tightened, and the man simply said, “It seems this poor Daoist has not found the wrong person this time. Let us step aside to talk.”

This so-called “stepping aside” meant moving from the front mountain to the rear cliff, arriving at the Palace Master‘s secluded cultivation grounds. Right now, with Black Tortoise Hall Master Wei Changjun out on business, Bu Xueyao was the only one in Mizong Ridge who could take charge. Yet he had been escorted here as a prisoner. His subordinates could only surround the cliff so tightly that not a drop of water could leak through, but none dared to cross the boundary.

The white-haired Daoist called himself Duanqing. But even as Bu Xueyao mentally pulverized those syllables, he couldn’t scrape together a single shred of information regarding this person. There were only two possibilities: either this man was truly a hidden master who had never entered the mortal world, or he was simply using a fake identity.

Upon arriving, Duanqing released him. Holding his horsetail whisk, he asked with a cold expression, “Where is Gu Xiao?”

Having never heard the name, Bu Xueyao frowned. “You are completely unreasonable, Daoist. This servant has never heard of this person, so how can I answer?”

Duanqing merely glanced at him before suddenly striking with his whisk. Like a comet striking the moon, it swept out a phantom blur. Although Bu Xueyao retreated in time, the sheer gale ripped open his robes. The already slightly parted crimson garments fell wide open, revealing the saber scar slicing diagonally across his chest.

“The person who left you this scar—where is he?”

Duanqing‘s tone was entirely flat, as if speaking of someone utterly inconsequential. Unable to discern his true thoughts, Bu Xueyao asked, “If he is alive, so what? If he is dead, what then?”

Resting the whisk against his wrist, Duanqing replied, “If he lives, you lead the way. If he is dead, you will be buried with him.”

Thinking of how Ye Fusheng had ruined his plans twice, Bu Xueyao hated him to the marrow of his bones. Now, aggressively cornered by Duanqing, he laughed in extreme fury: “Fine, this slave will let you know… he is still alive, but he isn’t far from death! Since the Daoist cares for him so much, why don’t you go down to the underworld and wait for him first!”

Before his words could fall, the Dust-Gazing Steps were executed to their absolute peak. In a flash, he closed the distance. His body settled, his eyes focused, and his hands unleashed a rapid sequence of seven offensive and four defensive strikes. Two poison-laced silver needles held between his fingers spat cold light, narrowly brushing past Duanqing multiple times.

Bu Xueyao’s movement was blindingly fast, his strikes moving like a sweeping gale. His path was utterly bizarre and unpredictable, his techniques flowing endlessly, as agile as a mountain spirit or a ghost. But the longer he fought, the more terrified he became.

Every time, it seemed Duanqing barely evaded his attacks, but Bu Xueyao knew he was being confined within the battle perimeter. From the initial forced close-combat, he now found it impossible to extract himself.

Duanqing evaded with one hand behind his back, his footwork akin to treading lightly on water, generating no dust. Yet he constantly rotated and shifted within a mere two-foot radius. On the muddy ground from a previous rain, he stepped out a perfect circle, as if drawing a prison on the earth.

His movement speed was fast, yet slightly inferior to Bu Xueyao’s. The reason he was able to subdue him in a single move earlier was mostly due to capitalizing on Bu Xueyao’s shock regarding Li Feng. Only then did Bu Xueyao realize: he had been startled, overestimating his opponent’s qinggong, which is why he had opted to initiate close-combat. Duanqing, in turn, seized this opportunity to control his movement rhythm, trapping him in this tiny circle, making it nearly impossible to utilize his qinggong to leap away.

The moment his focus scattered, his footwork stagnated. Duanqing‘s eyes went cold. His feet shifted, slicing apart Yin and Yang. His right hand whipped the whisk out, wrapping it around Bu Xueyao’s throat and pulling him close, while his left hand shot out rapidly, sealing eight major acupoints on Bu Xueyao’s body, plunging him straight beneath the freezing spring.

From beginning to end, Duanqing repeatedly asked only one question: the whereabouts of that man.

Unwilling to yield, Bu Xueyao clamped his jaw shut and refused to speak. But enduring the agony of his stagnant internal energy within his meridians in this freezing water for exactly three days and three nights was too much. No matter how tough Bu Xueyao’s bones were, he could no longer bear it.

With a total of eight major acupoints sealed across his chest and back, the internal energy injected into his body was not tyrannical, but extremely difficult to expel. The moment he tried to move, his meridians felt sluggish. Combined with the freezing spring water, it felt as though his entire body had been encased in ice.

Frost had congealed on the half-mask covering his face. Unable to hold out any longer, and lacking the strength to feign his usual delicate persona, his teeth chattered as he spoke: “Daoist, what grudge is there between us that you must show such utter ruthlessness?”

Duanqing stopped playing his flute, his gaze lowered. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” Bu Xueyao gnashed his teeth. “Yes, I fought him at Jinghan Pass. He was inflicted with my poison, and I took his blade strike. I thought he was dead, but he turned up in Guyang City to get in my way again!”

Duanqing demanded, “Explain clearly. Do not omit a single word.”

With a voice full of hatred, Bu Xueyao recounted the events at Duanshui Manor, clarifying how his pursuit to kill Ye Fusheng and Xie Li had failed, and how the man had vanished ever since. “I have said all I can say. Believe it or not!”

Duanqing pondered for a moment before suddenly rising and leaping down to the spring. With one hand, he grabbed Bu Xueyao’s shoulder, hoisted him out of the freezing water, and tossed him onto the grass.

He stared at Bu Xueyao, his eyes still a pool of stagnant water without ripples. “The poison he suffered—do you have the antidote?”

Sneering internally but maintaining an impassive face, Bu Xueyao replied, “Naturally I have it. I just don’t carry it with me. If you let me go back…”

“Just speak the prescription.”

Bu Xueyao narrowed his eyes and immediately rattled off a string of medicinal herbs and dosages, detailing the brewing heat and water measurements perfectly. The combination of these herbs was technically flawless, but regrettably, it was not the antidote for Youmeng. Instead, it would breed chaotic and crazed thoughts within a person’s mind. If Ye Fusheng truly drank it, he would quickly suffer qi deviation, go mad, and die.

Bu Xueyao’s heart was steeped in venom, completely unaware that Duanqing wouldn’t fall for it at all.

Although he hadn’t entered the Jianghu in a long time, on his way to Mizong Ridge, he had already extracted information about Bu Xueyao from Li Feng. Even though Li Feng was also a stubborn mule who refused to cooperate, he couldn’t withstand the Daoist’s unique methods.

Youmeng fundamentally possessed no antidote.

Duanqing hadn’t believed this, which prompted his question. But the moment Bu Xueyao spoke his prescription, he immediately understood that this poison truly had no cure. He did not understand medicine, but he understood people. This ability to read others had been refined since he first entered the martial world; over the years, he had only misjudged once, and by now, his intuition was honed to perfection. The moment Bu Xueyao opened his mouth, Duanqing could tell whether he was lying.

Securing his jade flute back onto his waist, Duanqing suddenly crouched down and reached into Bu Xueyao’s waistband. He fished out a small bottle wrapped in oil paper. Written upon it was the exact word: Youmeng.

Bu Xueyao’s pupils constricted as he heard Duanqing‘s emotionless voice state, “Since that is the case, why not trouble Your Excellency to test this medicine? If your prescription is effective, you naturally have nothing to worry about, and I will certainly not make things difficult for you.”

Without another word, he clamped a hand around Bu Xueyao’s jaw, preparing to pour the Youmeng straight down his throat. The toxicity of Youmeng was exceptionally vicious. Just a trace coated on a needle had brought Ye Fusheng to the brink of collapse back then, let alone having a whole bottle poured into one’s mouth!

Terrified, Bu Xueyao hurriedly shouted, “Stop! The… the prescription is fake! There is no antidote!”

Duanqing‘s hand paused. “No cure at all?” he asked softly.

A chill ran down Bu Xueyao’s spine. He felt that this Daoist, who looked like a banished immortal, was every bit as terrifying as the Palace Master. The man merely concealed his bloodlust beneath his skin, showing no outward signs, but the moment he tore off his painted skin, he would devour a person’s heart and liver.

Daring not to lie again, Bu Xueyao gasped, “No… urg!”

The rest of his words were cut off in his throat. The medicine bottle tipped, and nearly half a bottle of the poison poured into Bu Xueyao’s mouth. With a quick tap from Duanqing on his throat, he was forced to swallow it down.

Duanqing stood up. Watching Bu Xueyao cough violently on the ground, he said faintly, “In the future, there likely will be one. As long as you remain alive.”

After speaking, he heard light footsteps from behind. Duanqing turned to see a man of average build, over fifty years old, wearing a brown long tunic with narrow sleeves. His temples were already white, and his face was so exceedingly plain that he would be impossible to spot if tossed into a crowd. Strapped to his back was a massive, wide heavy sword weighing over a hundred catties, yet the man carried it as though it weighed nothing. Even his footprints were shallow, demonstrating an immense mastery of qinggong and internal energy.

Sizing him up, Duanqing finally spoke, “It has been many years, Hall Master Wei. You remain as robust as ever.”

Black Tortoise Hall Master Wei Changjun, permanently stationed at Mizong Ridge, was the person most trusted by the Palace Master Helian Yu within the Burial Soul Palace. Wei Changjun was the most senior among the four Hall Masters. He had been an altar master of the Burial Soul Palace long before Helian Yu ascended to the position of Palace Master. If one were to speak of the past, no one in Mizong Ridge knew it better than him.

Upon seeing the white-haired Daoist, Wei Changjun’s pupils instantly constricted. This man, who was usually as immovable as a mountain and acted like a bastard turtle, suddenly revealed an expression of absolute disbelief. With a subtle wave of his hand resting behind his back, Wei Changjun signaled the hidden assassins surrounding them to lower their crossbows. He stepped forward alone, cupping his hands in a formal bow. “Daoist Duanqing… it has been a long time.”

The Black Tortoise Hall was the core of the four halls. Normally, no one had ever seen Wei Changjun show such reverence to anyone other than the Palace Master, let alone tremble slightly while bowing.

Straightening up, Wei Changjun cast a glance at Bu Xueyao. “The Vermilion Bird Hall Master is young and impetuous. If he has offended the Daoist, I ask that you look upon my meager face and deal with him leniently.”

“Since this was the doing of the Vermilion Bird Hall Master, this poor Daoist settles accounts with him alone; it has nothing to do with Hall Master Wei.” Duanqing bent down to grab Bu Xueyao and leave. “I shall intrude no further. Please accommodate my departure.”

“Why speak of accommodation?” Wei Changjun sighed. “If the Daoist wishes to leave, neither I nor these men possess the ability to make you stay. However, the Daoist is a man who understands etiquette. Since you have already come all this way, why not meet with our Palace Master?”

“Heh, what a joke.” Duanqing‘s lips curled slightly, but his smile held no warmth. His gaze bypassed Wei Changjun, looking toward the vast mountain forest. “If this poor Daoist refuses to see him, will he just leave?”

From the shadows, a man clad in purple robes and wearing a silver mask stepped through the dew and weeds, approaching from afar. The unwashed dust of travel clinging to his body only amplified his murderous aura.

Helian Yu had actually returned.

From the northwest to the southwest, a carriage would take nearly a month. Relying on his qinggong and internal energy, Helian Yu had dashed madly the entire way, running two divine steeds to death by traveling day and night without rest, forcing his way back to Mizong Ridge by this very moment. Pushing his internal energy so severely for the journey meant that, despite his immense capability, he had nearly lost his footing when dismounting. Sweat had completely soaked his clothes long ago, yet he stood straight as if nothing were wrong, even throwing on a fresh outer robe before arriving here alongside Wei Changjun.

Behind the mask, his face twisted in ecstatic rapture. A pair of abyss-like eyes peered through the eyeholes, burning with the desire to whip up towering, monstrous waves and drag Duanqing into bottomless darkness.

Helian Yu placed a hand upon the Qianyuan sword at his waist, his tone as delighted as a child whose ultimate wish had finally come true: “You really aren’t dead after all… Daoist Duanqing.”