Chapter Sixty-Four: Blue Path

Feng Tong watched Tuoba Hemu, who sat in a pool of blood, with a cold, sinister smile. Duolun twisted his neck; now, as long as they disposed of Tuoba Hemu, everything would be complete. Forming a seal with his hands, Duolun strode up to Tuoba Hemu and was about to strike at the center of his forehead when Feng Tong stopped him.

"Young master?" Duolun looked at Feng Tong in confusion, but Feng Tong shook his head, eyes glinting with cunning.

"He's more useful alive than dead," Feng Tong replied, releasing Duolun's hand and crouching before Tuoba Hemu. Tuoba Hemu, his face pale, stared back at Feng Tong, seeing only deep mockery in his eyes.

"Young Master Feng Tong, you—"

"Shh..." Feng Tong cut him off, holding up a finger and motioning for silence. Suddenly, he gripped Tuoba Hemu's throat tightly.

From his waist, Feng Tong produced a pill emanating a black haze and forced it into Tuoba Hemu's mouth, then drew a dagger from his back and swiftly slashed across Tuoba Hemu's four limbs.

"Ahh..." Tuoba Hemu screamed, his eyes rolling back as his internal energy dissipated completely, vanishing into the air. Feng Tong laughed, delighted; he had severed all four of Tuoba Hemu's tendons.

The pill had destroyed Tuoba Hemu's cultivation. Watching Feng Tong's ruthless actions, Duolun frowned; this cruelty surpassed even his own. Feng Tong, vengeful to the core, was the most terrifying kind of madman.

"When one grows old, one must shine in their final moments, wouldn't you agree?" Feng Tong released Tuoba Hemu's throat, stood up, and nudged the limp, blood-soaked man with his foot, speaking in a deep, icy tone. Tuoba Hemu, his face flushed red, could only roll his eyes and make a buzzing sound, unable to utter a word.

"Hahaha... Well, well, who would've thought the Poison Maiden's pill would be so effective? Duolun, take our clan chief back to the Tuoba clan. Tell them everything was Jiang Pingchuan's doing."

Sheathing his dagger, Feng Tong dusted off his hands while Duolun nodded, grabbing Tuoba Hemu and preparing to leave.

"Wait, nearly forgot something," Feng Tong called out, approaching Duolun. He said nothing, just fixed his gaze on Tuoba Hemu's face.

With a sudden thrust, Feng Tong drove his fingers into Tuoba Hemu's eyes. Blood spurted, splattering Duolun's face as Feng Tong twisted his hand within the sockets.

Satisfied with the result, Feng Tong withdrew his hand, wiped his blood-soaked fingers on Duolun, and waved him off with a look of disgust. Duolun nodded, slung Tuoba Hemu over his horse, and rode toward the Tuoba clan.

Feng Tong watched Duolun's receding figure with a cold sneer. None who crossed him ever escaped unscathed. Mounting his horse, Feng Tong waved and continued on toward Yunshui City.

Duolun, meanwhile, glanced at the defeated Tuoba Hemu draped across his horse, deep in thought. What did Feng Tong intend to do with Tuoba Hemu? He had to figure it out soon, or he might end up sharing Tuoba Hemu's fate.

Jiang Pingchuan lay in the pond, letting the water wash over his body. It had been a long time since he'd felt such coolness. Sitting up, he glanced upward.

Mist shrouded the heights above, hiding the summit from view. If not for the robe he wore, which had dragged him into the water and saved his life, he would surely have perished.

Jiang Pingchuan examined his body's condition. Aside from the injuries from the snow leopard's attack, which would take some time to heal, the other wounds were superficial and not life-threatening. The robe's protection had limited the damage.

"Hyah, hyah!"

"Lan Dao, give it up. You can't escape!"

"Screw you, save your breath. Catch me if you can!"

As soon as Jiang Pingchuan stood, he heard a commotion in the forest nearby—the clamor of hooves and shouting, all headed his way.

He realized someone was being pursued. Glancing behind him, Jiang Pingchuan thought the fugitive was doomed. Here, aside from the bottomless pond, there was only the sheer cliff from which he'd fallen—no escape.

"Out of the way, move!"

Jiang Pingchuan moved toward the forest just as a disheveled man burst forth on horseback, his arm bleeding from a visible arrow wound.

The newcomer shouted at Jiang Pingchuan as he sped past. Jiang Pingchuan noticed a jade token at the man's waist, strikingly similar to the one he wore at his chest—the only difference being the blue jade encircling the other's token.

The man hurried past, then abruptly reined in his horse and stopped.

"This is... this is ridiculous!" he shouted, dismounting and yanking a dagger from his saddle, his face livid as he headed into the woods. He glanced at Jiang Pingchuan with disdain, then thrust a small knife, barely palm-sized, toward him. Jiang Pingchuan shook his head at the sight of the tiny weapon.

"Ha! What, Lan Dao, aren't you running anymore?"

Before Lan Dao could force Jiang Pingchuan to take the knife, his pursuers had arrived, surrounding the two. Five masked figures in black leapt from their horses, brandishing daggers.

Jiang Pingchuan noted that all five were third-stage Qi Refinement cultivators, while Lan Dao beside him wasn't even a practitioner. How had he managed to flee so far?

"Damn it, don't you want money? Why go for my life?"

Lan Dao ignored the silent Jiang Pingchuan, waving his blade angrily at the masked men.

Jiang Pingchuan eyed Lan Dao with interest. Listening to his words, Jiang Pingchuan suddenly thought of someone—or rather, a cat. Lan Dao's way of speaking was just like Furball's, as if the cat had taken human form.

"Tsk, you know, if we took your money, we wouldn't live long to spend it. But if we take your life, wealth will pour in. So, what would you choose?"

One of the masked men replied in a shrill voice, his eyes darting now and then to Jiang Pingchuan standing behind.

"I choose your damn ancestor..."

Lan Dao sneered, glowering at the masked man. Jiang Pingchuan chuckled and turned toward the woods. Lan Dao cursed him inwardly, sensing only mockery in that laugh.

"Stand still, boy!"

A masked man shouted as Jiang Pingchuan tried to leave, but Jiang Pingchuan ignored him and kept walking.

A blast erupted at Jiang Pingchuan's feet, gouging a deep hole in the ground—a warning. Jiang Pingchuan clenched his fists and stared at the masked man, who frowned, surprised to see such composure in the face of his display of power.

"Boy—"

But before he could finish, he could only stare wide-eyed as Jiang Pingchuan, with a single step, closed the distance, seized him by the throat, and lifted him off the ground, kicking the dagger from his hand.

The other four masked men gaped in shock, as did Lan Dao—the scene was too impressive, the very image of what he dreamed of achieving.

"I said, don't block my way. This has nothing to do with me," Jiang Pingchuan declared, tossing the masked man to the ground. Gasping for air, the man glanced at Jiang Pingchuan with terror, as if he'd glimpsed death itself.

With the other four hesitating to make a move, Jiang Pingchuan did not linger. He strode off into the forest, leaving the others stunned.

"Wait, you can't leave! They say in the martial world, one must help those in trouble, draw your blade for justice!"

Seeing Jiang Pingchuan about to go, Lan Dao called out hastily, desperate. He realized that this young man was his only hope of survival—if only he would intervene.

"Boss, we can't let him leave. That kid is dangerous—let him go, and we'll have endless trouble," one masked man urged another. The leader glanced at the companion on the ground, then at Jiang Pingchuan. This was a hard nut to crack, but if they didn't deal with him now, they'd regret it.

"I advise you not to try anything," Jiang Pingchuan warned. His aura exploded forth, whipping up a fierce gale that sent leaves shuddering and rustling.

"Foundation Establishment stage..." the leader murmured in shock. The others froze, unsure what to do—against a cultivator of that level, they were mere ants.

Jiang Pingchuan could crush them without effort. Hearing this, Lan Dao rushed over, hugging Jiang Pingchuan's waist for dear life.

This wasn't just to save his own skin—he had far more important matters at stake. An awkward silence fell over the group.