Mu An’s face darkened further, resembling a stone statue with his grayish skin, not quite like an ordinary person. Yet in this world teeming with descendants of gods and demons, he didn’t stand out. On the road, there were many oddly shaped individuals, even some with four arms and two faces.
“Lead the way,” he said. Since no enemy had appeared yet, there was no reason to return to headquarters and request assistance from the Left Envoy and the garrison. Confident in his strength, far superior to that of the useless Ji Tao, he believed he could find an opportunity to call for help and preserve his life if he encountered a trap. So why shouldn’t he take the initiative?
Perhaps he could even kill the enemy in retaliation!
The thin man with a mustache wore a fearful expression, seemingly terrified of the enemy who had previously killed most of his companions. Yet under Mu An’s dark gaze, he lowered his head and reluctantly slipped into the alley.
After walking a few steps, Mu An flipped his left hand, revealing a pitch-black insect in his palm. It spun in place, seemingly savoring the air.
Chirping suddenly like a bird, it grew two pairs of transparent wings on its back and flew into the air, heading toward the corner.
“Hmph, if she takes the crowded route, where scents intertwine, my tracking bug, not yet transcending the limits of heaven and earth, might fail to detect her trail. But now, heh…” Mu An muttered smugly to himself.
If he hadn’t mistaken, the man beside him with the mustache was one of Ji Tao’s subordinates, having earned his trust through their shared past of life and death. Thus, Mu An needed to display his skills, not wanting to be overshadowed by Ji Tao.
Earlier, at the hideout of the local gang leader, he had used the tracking bug to memorize the scent of the girl in green. Unfortunately, outside was a bustling marketplace, full of people and mingling scents, severely interfering with the tracking bug’s function. Now, in this secluded alley, it was the perfect opportunity to showcase his abilities!
Jiang Zhiwei, walking close behind the man with the mustache, was slightly stunned. If not for their careful planning, and if the girl in green hadn’t been Ruan Yushu in disguise, the ambush might have already failed. Witchcraft and insect magic were indeed unpredictable and strange—she was responsible for close-range assault, so she had to lead the way without revealing her presence, lest the enemy, with special bloodline abilities, detect the subtle differences.
Such a decision was a mark of seasoned experience in the martial world. If Yuan Yang and Weng Lingyu’s team had been here instead, they wouldn’t have thought of this. Even though Yuan Yang was also skilled in insect magic, she knew little about the descendants of gods and demons.
The tracking bug fluttered ahead, zigzagging deeper into the quiet alleys. Trees grew thickly, houses became sparse, and occasional voices and curling smoke added to the tranquil atmosphere.
Suddenly, Mu An shivered, a strong sense of vigilance surging within him.
Just as he considered retreating, he suddenly heard a soft cry—indescribably beautiful, an indescribable feeling, as if it came from the heavens, summoning a chorus of birds.
His mind buzzed, his body trembled, his spirit seemed to separate, leaving him dazed and unaware of his surroundings.
“The Phoenix Cry of the Nine Heavens”—one of the twelve divine sounds of Langhuan!
Because they feared the enemy’s witchcraft and insect magic might allow him to escape, and wanting to capture him alive for interrogation, Meng Qi and the others had decided to give their all without holding back.
The phoenix cry soared upward, piercing the heavens, while all around, birds flapped their wings, circling low and chirping softly.
Seeing Mu An dazed, Jiang Zhiwei drew her sword with a metallic ring and thrust straight at his forehead, attempting to pierce his spirit and capture him alive.
This strike had no embellishment, only pure speed and precision. Yet at that moment, bumps began to rise all over Mu An’s skin—tiny, countless, making one’s scalp tingle.
And these bumps were wriggling, like living things, as if insects lurked beneath his skin.
Plop! Plop! Plop! One by one, brightly colored insects burst forth, flying in all directions, each carrying a trace of Mu An’s aura. He seemed to be sacrificing part of himself to escape!
As the lowest-level bugs, they had weak spirits, unaffected by the phoenix cry, so they were the least impacted. To deal with them, the most suitable of the twelve divine sounds of Langhuan was “Silent Sound.”
Mu An was struck in the forehead by Jiang Zhiwei’s sword, his skin and muscles withering, his entire body resembling a giant insect. Above, the colorful insects scattered like fireworks.
Suddenly, the surroundings darkened, stars emerged, dazzling and brilliant, forming a purple river that surged downward.
The star river engulfed everything, crushing all the insects into dust, none escaping alive.
Blood streamed from Mu An’s eyes, nose, and mouth, his gaze both dazed and fierce.
Bang! His head exploded upon being struck by Jiang Zhiwei’s sword.
Could he really self-destruct even while his spirit was separated by the zither sound and locked by the sword qi?
The headless corpse did not fall. Instead, its arms and legs suddenly detached, transforming into four black worms, shooting off in four directions.
Jiang Zhiwei swung her sword, a flash of light cleaving one black worm in half, which writhed on the ground, leaving a trail of black blood.
A red sword light flew over, exuding a majestic and noble aura, like a true dragon descending, with wisps of fire entwining and chasing the three worms along the ground, like a hidden thread revealing a deep trail!
The “Fire Dragon” moved swiftly, catching up to the three black worms and burning them to ashes.
At this point, there was no longer any thought of capturing him alive!
Against the combined efforts of several opponents, Mu An had been helpless all along, yet his witchcraft and insect magic always found unexpected ways to escape, never completely cornered.
Suddenly, his fallen torso began to move, the skin swelling, and a giant centipede emerged.
It was grayish-white, as if its body was made of vertebrae, clearly segmented, its head vaguely resembling a human face—Mu An himself!
As soon as the centipede appeared, it burrowed into the ground, seemingly possessing earth-moving abilities.
A figure descended from the sky, glowing faintly golden, flames rising from its face, obscuring its features, like a Vajra.
Bang! He landed heavily, shaking the ground, then grabbed the gray centipede’s body with both hands, pulling it out.
This centipede was originally immensely strong, yet now it struggled in vain, as if clamped by steel jaws or pressed by mountains, overpowered by sheer force.
It coiled around the figure, wrapping tightly, its many legs clawing and scratching, spewing toxins.
The golden glow remained unscathed, despite the grating sounds that made one’s teeth ache, as all the centipede’s attacks failed to leave a single mark.
Just as it tried to unleash its innate nine orifices, the figure’s body suddenly burst into a layer of crimson flames, searing the centipede in agony and instantly breaking its hold, leaving it dangling lifelessly like a dead snake.
The figure was none other than Meng Qi. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have needed to intervene, but Mu An’s body, seemingly composed of insects, kept finding escape routes, making him hard to pin down—over half an hour earlier, Meng Qi had already reported the situation to the commander of the imperial guards, Jiang Shenghong, flattering him with words of praise for his formidable martial prowess, sufficient to deal with enemies easily, while Mu An, though arrogant, was not particularly strong.
Thus, Jiang Shenghong, pleased with himself, had dispatched “Ji Tao” to assist Mu An in the search.
Holding the scorched centipede, Meng Qi’s aura changed, like a fire deity descending upon the mortal world, or a celestial being gazing down upon the vicissitudes of life and death, the sea turning into mulberry fields, the cycle of rebirth endless.
Mu An’s spirit, riding on the centipede, trembled, feeling the colors around him fade. Below was a deep, unfathomable sea, countless golden lights hidden within, occasionally leaping and shimmering, evoking memories.
After Meng Qi unleashed the “Heaven-Shaking, Earth-Shattering Great Art,” he saw Mu An’s spirit, seated atop the sea of consciousness, shifting unpredictably, its interior swirling with strange, gray patterns, like a grotesque puppet.
Weakened by repeated injuries, Mu An could not resist Meng Qi’s spiritual invasion. Affected by the art, fragments of memory flew out, reenacting “reincarnation,” revealing secrets.
Suddenly, golden fragments coalesced into a circular mirror. Inside, it reflected a dimly lit secret chamber, where a man in his twenties sat cross-legged, wearing a black robe, his demeanor cold, his face pale, his chin sharp.
“Yin Lenghui?” Meng Qi’s spirit trembled.
This man was indeed the “mysterious person” mentioned by Ji Tao, Yin Lenghui. Someone else seemed to be seated opposite him, though indistinct through the mirror.
Yin Lenghui suddenly opened his eyes, dark light flickering, a grayish puppet appearing in his hand.
Black flames erupted from his palm, instantly consuming the puppet.
At the same time, the same flames ignited within Mu An’s sea of consciousness, engulfing his spirit and spreading toward Meng Qi.
The black flames were deep and dark, emitting no light or heat, yet to Meng Qi’s senses, they felt extremely dangerous.
Without hesitation, enduring the backlash of the Heaven-Shaking, Earth-Shattering Great Art, he withdrew his spirit and threw the centipede.
“Scatter!” he shouted loudly.
Jiang Zhiwei and the others had no doubts, fully trusting Meng Qi, and immediately fled far away.
The centipede was already reduced to ashes midair, completely merging into the black flames, which then stretched and transformed into a giant hand, fingers emitting black mist, reaching for Meng Qi.
A chilling coldness surged through Meng Qi’s body, as if his spirit itself would be seized by this hand.
Soul-snatching!
Meng Qi’s body was wrapped in flowing fire, making it impossible to discern his aura or features, thus unafraid of revealing his identity. He formed hand seals in front of him, like blooming lotus flowers.
He seemed to merge with the earth itself, unmoving as a mountain!
The black flame hand reached him, but was struck by Meng Qi’s hands, a series of cracking sounds echoing, sparks flying. When the enemy tried to extract his spirit, it felt as though it were wrestling with the entire earth, unable to lift the heavy spirit along.
The black flame hand disintegrated, and Meng Qi vanished in a flash, reappearing inside a nearby kitchen, where the “fire of humanity” burned.
Using the collective fire of countless homes, Meng Qi quickly fled, erasing all traces.
Shortly afterward, a black-robed man appeared at the site of Mu An’s demise. His demeanor was cold, his face deathly pale.
Yin Lenghui scanned the area with a sinister gaze but found no clues. With a heavy snort, he turned and left.
…
Back at the mansion, Mu An’s death enraged Zuo Hanfeng, who summoned all his personal guards and martial experts for discussion.
Meng Qi’s face was wrapped in white cloth, his heart slightly uneasy. Before an Outer Scenery expert, a single misstep could expose everything.
As for Yin Lenghui, although this encounter failed to uncover his identity, it at least allowed a rough judgment of his strength and supernatural abilities. He was certainly not yet an Outer Scenery expert, but very close, likely possessing powers equivalent to the Queen Mother of the West in certain aspects.
Zuo Hanfeng’s eyes were emerald green, his beard tinged with blue, his aura vast like the sea, pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back, making everyone present too frightened to breathe.
His only son had been killed by the Red Army, leaving behind only a widow and a daughter, fueling his deep hatred toward the Red Army.
Near the upper seat, a woman in her forties, dressed in palace attire, wore a look of grief, seemingly recalling her late husband. Her face was beautiful, her aura extraordinary, like a ripe fruit, somewhat resembling Zuo Yiqian beside her.
Yin Lenghui was the most relaxed among them, his cold eyes scanning everyone. Suddenly, he pointed at Meng Qi and said, “Ji Tao, even Mu An couldn’t escape their hands. With your abilities, how could you possibly have found an opportunity back then?”
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