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"Who?!"
The sound of Huangmei opera sung eerily through the mist.
At the same moment, a viscous and chilling scent of blood wafted through the air.
The face that had been haunting Wang Anfeng like a wronged spirit now vividly materialized before him, with hair as white as a crane’s and an expression full of kindness. Yet, it bore a pair of slender, pale hands as exquisite as jade.
Those hands were holding a human head; with a casual flick, the head tumbled before Wang Anfeng. After a few rolls, it came to a stop, its eyes staring at Wang Anfeng, filled with terror, dread, and a lingering reluctance.
The old crone smiled benevolently,
"Young Master Wang, where might you be going..."
The head’s eyes gazed woodenly at him.
Wang Anfeng’s countenance was more than just pale.
It was as if a vicious stab had plunged into his heart, and after it penetrated, it twisted cruelly.
The cruellest thing in the world isn’t the struggle between life and death.
It’s that after such a struggle, the one you protected delivers a fatal stab from behind!
All of the existing puzzles, including those he hadn’t seen before, now emerged with unsurpassed clarity in his mind at this moment.
Deception,
Conspiracy,
Utilization.
The youth gripping the longsword tightened his fist, his path of retreat now utterly blocked. For some reason, his clear voice had turned hoarse. Lowering his gaze, he asked,
"Why..."
Why deceive me? Or why murder?
Or perhaps,
it’s why treat the lives of others as if they’re mere ants.
The old crone didn’t know, Wang Anfeng himself didn’t know, but at this time and place, only these three words could express his anger, confusion, and pain.
From within the fog, a gentle voice chuckled, saying,
"Betrayal, deception, you kill me, I kill him."
"Jianghu is just like that.
You, why the curiosity?"
The clouds dissipated, the fog cleared.
A man in grey, taking leisurely steps, emerged. His shoes were thick-soled, yet now the thick white soles were soaked in fresh blood.
With each step, a bright red footprint remained on the ground.
Yet those footprints were swiftly engulfed by the thick mist.
The man in grey sent a shiver through his wrist, the bizarrely narrow longsword in his palm wailing ceaselessly, its sound terribly piercing. The man bowed slightly towards Wang Anfeng and smiled,
"Archivist, did you enjoy the snacks I brought you that day?"
The fury, his personal anger and rage towards the man before him, had reached their peak.
Yet the young man’s blood had turned cold.
.........
The once overtly presumptuous man in the green robe had become much calmer, a composed master of his domain. He pulled out his longsword, casting a large, vivid splash of fresh blood.
The man in the green robe rested his longsword obliquely on the ground.
Without the support of the sword, the old man knelt on the ground, half-fallen as the man in the green robe walked steadily towards him.
The blood dripped from the sword’s blade to the ground.
One could almost hear it fall.
The man in the green robe spoke lightly,
"Master... when you accepted me as your disciple all those years ago, did you ever imagine this day would come?"
The old man lifted his head, his face marred with pain and disbelief. His lips parted as if he intended to explain something, but then he coughed up large mouthfuls of blood. At first bright red, it soon turned to an unnervingly deep blue, foul-smelling, obviously indicating a fierce poison on the sword’s blade.
In just a few short breaths, the poison had spread through the old man’s body via his blood.
The man in the green robe placed his hand on the head of the old man kneeling on the ground.
Thirty years earlier, the same tall old man had placed his large hand on the one kneeling to become a disciple.
Today, the roles were reversed.
That day marked the beginning of a master-disciple relationship.
Now, it was the end.
The man in the green robe’s expression softened, and his reflection on the kneeling old man made the elder seem insignificantly small.
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His eyes narrowed slightly as he murmured,
"It’s all over now, Master."
"Back then, if you had given me all those things, we wouldn’t have come to this point of crossing swords but, to talk about it now, it’s all pointless."
"’Shennong Scripture,’ elixirs, secret tomes..."
"I’ll take back all that’s mine, one by one, everything."
"And there’s also Pharmacist Valley."
The man in the green robe calmly said,
"Pharmacist Valley should’ve been mine too, but now I’ve joined White Tiger Hall, so I can’t take care of both."
Just then, the fog outside the Inner Valley began to churn, and the sound of fluttering garments intensified. One after another, figures dressed in black soared up from the foot of the mountain, their qinggong skills exceptionally extraordinary. In just a few breaths, they had encircled everyone in the Inner Valley.
They were all clad in black, with hand crossbows strapped to their right arms, though most no longer had crossbow bolts. Just a few retained one or two, each emitting a faint green glow.
With three types of thin willow-leaf sabers on their backs and masks over their faces, whether standing or crouching, they remained silent as a subtle chill spread around them.
At this moment, Wang Anfeng, whose state of mind was already overwhelmed by anger due to betrayal and exploitation, had a slight change in his expression.
Murderous intent!
Even though he was in an absolute disadvantage, he couldn’t help but turn slightly to glance at those men in black, catching sight of their sinister and fierce eyes, the blood on their weapons that couldn’t be wiped away, as if realizing something. His face grew increasingly pale, to the point it almost seemed translucent.
The man in the green robe gently stroked the white hair on the old man’s head and murmured,
"You understand me, Master."
"At the age of six, when my kitten was coveted by my little sister apprentice, everyone wanted me to give it to her, but I was unwilling. I refused and, using the short dagger you gave me, I slit the kitten’s throat..."