Chapter 270: Chapter 269: Conflict
The atmosphere was tense and still. Dozens of gazes, like invisible shackles, were pinned on Fang Han—a mix of greed, suspicion, and apprehension. The very air felt thick and heavy.
The rich, lingering medicinal fragrance, along with the sharp sword gashes and claw marks on the ground, frayed everyone’s nerves.
His status as a True Inheritor of the Qingxuan Sect was a layer of protection, but in the face of a Heaven and Earth Spiritual Object like a thousand-year-old ginseng—an item capable of driving people to madness—that protection had grown perilously thin.
"Young Sir."
A middle-aged man in a brocade robe stepped forward. He had a fair complexion, but his eyes held a crafty glint.
He cupped his fists in a salute, a smile spreading across his face—one that seemed friendly but was designed to corner its target.
"It’s not that we don’t believe you, Young Sir, but this matter is of great importance. A thousand-year-old ginseng appeared here, and you just so happen to be on the scene..."
"To avoid any misunderstanding, would you do us a small favor and allow us to inspect your bag? If, as you say, the thousand-year-old ginseng has already escaped, we will immediately apologize and trouble you no further."
His words were immediately met with a chorus of agreement.
"That’s right! Check his bag!"
"Talk is cheap! Let us see for ourselves!"
"As a distinguished disciple of the Qingxuan Sect, surely you wouldn’t object to such a small thing to prove your innocence, would you?"
The clamor grew as the crowd inched forward, looking as if they were ready to resort to force at the slightest provocation.
Fang Han’s gaze swept over the middle-aged man before slowly panning across the surrounding crowd. His eyes were as calm and still as water.
But beneath that calm exterior, an icy chill began to emanate from him, spreading out like a silent tide.
As a True Inheritor, he enjoyed the benefits and privileges that came with his status in the Qingxuan Sect. Naturally, he also had an obligation to uphold the Sect’s honor.
If he were to give in so easily today, word would spread. Not only would he be utterly humiliated, but the Qingxuan Sect’s reputation would also be tarnished.
Besides, if he readily handed over his bag, it would only convince the others that he had something to hide.
’They’d just assume I’d gotten the thousand-year-old ginseng and stashed it somewhere else.’
"Inspect my bag?"
The corner of Fang Han’s mouth curled into a faint but bone-chilling smirk. His voice wasn’t loud, yet it cut cleanly through the surrounding clamor.
"You?"
His gaze was like two daggers of ice, boring straight into the middle-aged man.
The middle-aged man’s expression changed. He sensed the contempt and killing intent in Fang Han’s words, and rage flared within him.
But the sight of Fang Han’s Silver-Striped Cyan Robe and the dangerous aura he faintly exuded forced the man to suppress his anger. He put on a brave front and barked,
"Kid, I suggest you do this the easy way! We’re trying to be civil out of respect for the Qingxuan Sect! If you have nothing to hide, then why...?"
Before he could finish his sentence, Fang Han moved!
Leaving his bag on the ground, Fang Han moved without the slightest warning, his figure abruptly blurring like a phantom.
As he executed the Wind and Cloud Escape, he left a barely perceptible afterimage in his place.
His true form shot toward the middle-aged man like an arrow loosed from a bow.
His speed was beyond imagination!
He crossed more than a hundred feet in an instant as the clear ring of his Flowing Wind Sword being unsheathed echoed through the air.
A condensed beam of cyan sword light, so sharp it seemed to tear at space itself, shot straight for the middle-aged man’s throat.
"So fast!"
"Watch out!"
Cries of alarm erupted. No one had expected Fang Han to dare strike first while surrounded by dozens of capable Martial Artists.
The middle-aged man, a Sixth Grade Martial Artist himself, was aghast. He had never imagined Fang Han would be so decisive and ruthless.
In his haste, he only had time to jerk his Golden Saber upward in a desperate attempt to block the fatal strike as he simultaneously retreated.
But was Fang Han’s sword so easily blocked?
The power of the Nine Swords of Sky Splitting at the Minor Achievement Realm, fueled by the immense Inner Qi of a Middle Stage of Fifth Grade cultivator, made this strike far faster and sharper than the man could possibly react to.
SHHIIICK—!
The sword light flowed like quicksilver, piercing through the man’s hasty saber defense with pinpoint accuracy and sinking into his throat.
The man’s backward retreat came to an abrupt halt. His eyes bulged, his face a mask of utter terror and disbelief.
His Golden Saber fell to the ground with a CLANG. He desperately clutched his throat, but blood gushed between his fingers like a fountain.
"Guh... ghhk..."
A choked gurgle escaped his throat as his body went limp and collapsed. He twitched twice, then fell silent.
A Late-Sixth Grade Martial Artist, a prominent figure in his own right, had been killed instantly, unable to withstand even a single strike from Fang Han.
Silence.
A deathly silence.
The once-raucous crowd was now utterly silent.
Everyone was stunned by the sudden, ruthless, and decisive strike.
Horrified gazes shifted from Fang Han, who stood with a cold expression, sword in hand, to the dead man on the ground, blood still bubbling from his throat. A chill ran up their spines.
Some of the quicker-witted ones with lower Cultivation levels turned deathly pale and instinctively backed away, terrified of becoming the next target.
Fang Han slowly sheathed his sword. His icy gaze swept over the crowd, and all who met his eyes felt a chill and quickly looked away.
"Does anyone else want to inspect my bag?"
His voice was level, yet it carried an undeniable authority and the stench of death.
The crowd shifted uneasily, but no one dared to speak.
Fang Han had made his stance clear in the most direct and brutal way possible.
However, the allure of the thousand-year-old ginseng was simply too great. After a brief, deathly silence, greed finally won out over fear.
"The bag! Just snatch his bag!"
Someone in the crowd yelled, and seven or eight figures, their eyes clouded with greed, pounced like starving wolves toward the gray bag Fang Han had left on the ground.
Their logic was simple: no matter how strong Fang Han was, he was only one person. If they all rushed forward, even if the Qingxuan Sect wanted to seek retribution later, they wouldn’t know who to blame.
"Get back! It’s mine!"
"Let go!"
The men lunging for the bag immediately started fighting amongst themselves, fists and weapons clashing with a deafening cacophony.
In the chaos, a wiry but incredibly quick man spotted an opening, snatched the bag, and turned to bolt into the dense forest.
"Drop it!"
A cold glint flashed in Fang Han’s eyes as he made to give chase.
But he had barely moved when two other Martial Artists intercepted him, their blades swinging, forcing him to parry with his own sword.
Meanwhile, the wiry man who had grabbed the bag didn’t get far before he was surrounded by the others, their eyes bloodshot with greed.
RIIIP—!
In the chaotic struggle, someone’s weapon sliced through the bag, tearing a large gash in the cheap gray fabric.
Its contents spilled out onto the ground—
some dried rations, a waterskin, a few plain Jade Bottles containing inexpensive Healing Medicine and Antitoxic Pills, a couple of changes of clothes, some loose silver taels... and a detailed map of the county.
Other than that, there was nothing.
There was no brilliant golden glow, no intoxicatingly rich fragrance, and most certainly no coveted thousand-year-old ginseng.
The fighting stopped instantly.
Everyone froze, staring at the utterly mundane items scattered on the ground. The feverish greed on their faces receded like a tide, replaced by bewilderment and disappointment.
’It’s... really not there?’
’Could it be that this kid from the Qingxuan Sect was telling the truth? Did the thousand-year-old ginseng really escape into the ground the moment he struck?’
All sorts of theories flashed through their minds, but the iron-clad fact before them—the empty bag—left them no choice but to believe him.
Their suspicious gazes gradually faded, replaced by a hint of embarrassment and regret.
’To have offended a True Inheritor of the Qingxuan Sect over something that wasn’t even there... It was just...’
Fang Han took in their changing expressions and sneered inwardly. In an instant, however, his face became a mask of towering rage.
"Bastards! How dare you destroy my bag!"
He roared in fury, killing intent flashing in his eyes. The Flowing Wind Sword became a streak of cyan lightning, lashing out at the Martial Artists who had been fighting over the bag and were now frozen in disappointment.
The strongest among them was merely at the Early Stage of Sixth Grade, with the weakest only at the Seventh Grade. How could they possibly be a match for an "enraged" Fang Han?
His sword light passed through them like a scythe through grass.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
A series of screams rang out as blood spattered through the air.
In the span of a few breaths, the five or six men who had been fighting for the bag all lay dead in pools of their own blood.
Ruthless. Decisive. Merciless.
The bloody scene thoroughly cowed everyone who remained.
Any who might have harbored lingering ambitions now had them completely extinguished. They looked at Fang Han with utter terror, lowering their heads and daring not to meet his gaze.
Fang Han snorted, his blade-like gaze sweeping across the clearing. No one dared to make a sound.
Only then did he bend down and, with a blank expression, begin picking up his scattered rations, waterskin, Elixirs, and other items.
He proceeded to loot the bodies of the Martial Artists he’d just slain, pulling a relatively new bag from one of them. He haphazardly stuffed his belongings inside and slung it over his back.
Throughout the entire process, no one dared to stop him or even make a sound.
Fang Han gave the crowd one last cold glance. Without another word, his figure flickered as he executed the Wind and Cloud Escape, vanishing into the depths of the forest like a wisp of cyan smoke.
Only after his figure had completely disappeared did the tense atmosphere finally break. The survivors looked at one another, seeing the same mix of lingering fear and relief on each other’s faces.
"Damn it, all that for nothing!"
"And here I thought... ugh."
"That fiend from the Qingxuan Sect... he’s too damn ruthless..."
"Let’s get out of here. This isn’t a place we should be lingering!"
Murmuring amongst themselves, the crowd quickly scattered in all directions, leaving only a few cooling corpses as a testament to the greed and bloodshed that had just transpired.
...
Fang Han didn’t leave the Cloud Mist Mountain Range immediately.
He knew full well that while he had temporarily cleared himself of suspicion, he likely hadn’t fooled everyone who was paying close attention.
Leaving immediately would only make him look guilty.
So, he lingered in the mountain range for several more days, feigning frustration as he thoroughly searched Luoying Creek and the surrounding area once more.
He even deliberately crossed paths with other searching Martial Artists on several occasions, each time displaying the perfect amount of disappointment and irritation.
A few days later, he finally "gave up," heading out of the mountains with the appearance of someone preparing to return to the Sect.
A day later, he was far from the Cloud Mist Mountain Range, having entered an area of rolling hills.
The main road was faintly visible up ahead.
But just then, he stopped abruptly, as if he had sensed something.
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