This token is the personal sigil of Sect Leader Wang. Holding it allows one to temporarily issue orders to disciples below the rank of elder. This fat man is Leader Wang’s close confidant—rumored to be a relatively close cousin—so any verbal messages or commands from Leader Wang are usually relayed through him.
Not long ago, Leader Wang hastily entrusted this token to him and sent him here to summon Elder Li to the mountain for discussions. But after delivering the message, the fat man thought it would be too exhausting to descend Sunset Peak and immediately return. Relying on his privileged status, he insisted on resting at Elder Li’s residence for a while before heading back.
Elder Li had no choice but to agree. Not daring to delay, he hurried to Sunset Peak with Zhang Xiuer and a few other disciples.
Not long after, a major incident occurred on the mountain. The fat man, being extremely timid, naturally had no desire to return alone.
The people in the courtyard were family members of the Seven Mysteries Sect disciples living nearby. Most of them knew little to no martial arts, so when the chaos erupted, they panicked, unsure of what to do.
Fortunately, Ma Rong was quick-witted. He urgently requested the help of the more than twenty subordinates Li Feiyu had left behind, gathering these people together to prevent them from running around in the dark and meeting with misfortune.
Because this place was relatively remote, nestled in a valley, although they could hear the alarm and the sounds of fighting, those here had no idea what was actually happening outside.
After organizing everyone, Ma Rong planned to send some people out to gather information. It was at this moment that the fat man, who knew no martial arts, reappeared. Not only did he prevent the reconnaissance efforts, but he also used the token to seize Ma Rong’s command over the Outer Blade Hall disciples. He then decided to hunker down here, burying his head in the sand and refusing to take any action.
Ma Rong understood the importance of assessing the enemy’s situation. He argued with the fat man several times, but the latter, terrified for his life, used Sect Leader Wang’s token to suppress him each time. He even forbade Ma Rong from going out to investigate himself, seemingly viewing Ma Rong as a tool for his own protection.
Thus, Ma Rong anxiously paced the hall like an ant on a hot pan, utterly helpless against this ignorant fat man. In the Seven Mysteries Sect, disobeying orders or acting without authorization was a serious offense—punishable by expulsion or even execution. Though he knew something earth-shattering was happening outside and that the sect might be facing a life-or-death crisis, he was trapped here, unable to move.
Just as Ma Rong was wishing he could strike down this so-called superior, Han Li and Li Feiyu, completely unaware of the situation here, were rushing over.
Along the way, they avoided enemy traces whenever possible, concealing their movements. It wasn’t until they were about a mile from Elder Li’s residence that they ran into a group of green-clad men and could no longer hide. They finally had their first direct encounter with the enemy.
Now, more than a dozen green-clad men armed with steel swords surrounded them from all sides.
Judging by their footwork, most of those with one white line embroidered on their sleeves had the weakest martial skills. The two with two white lines were considerably more skilled. But the most formidable was the man with three white lines and a scar on his face—clearly the leader of this group.
The scar-faced leader was also carefully examining the people his subordinates had trapped, feeling somewhat puzzled.
This was hardly surprising. Among them, Li Feiyu, with his disheveled hair, dirty and torn clothes, looked like a mountain cook. Han Li, with his dull eyes and dark skin, resembled a farmhand who knew no martial arts. The only one who seemed remotely threatening was Qu Hun—tall, wearing a bamboo hat, and stained with blood.
The three of them standing together, such an odd combination, left even this self-proclaimed seasoned veteran somewhat bewildered.
He shot his subordinates a wary glance and shouted across, “Whoever you are, the Seven Mysteries Sect is finished! Surrender now, and we’ll spare your lives!”
Han Li smiled slightly and turned to Li Feiyu.
“Who’s going to handle this? You or Qu Hun?”
Li Feiyu’s eyes flashed with ferocity.
“Judging by their uniforms, these are low-level disciples of the Severing Water Sect. I’ve been hunted by the Wild Wolf Gang for so long—let me vent some frustration on them! Besides, their weapons will suit me just fine.”
With that, he shot forward like a rainbow, instantly closing in on the nearest green-clad man.
The man was startled and tried to swing his steel sword, but suddenly felt his hand lighten—the blade was already in his opponent’s grasp. He hastily retreated, but it was too late. A white light flashed before his eyes, and his head separated from his body.
Li Feiyu’s movements were clean, precise, and lightning-fast. Before the other Severing Water Sect disciples could react, he had already taken a sword and killed one of them.
The remaining men paled, especially the scar-faced leader. As the most skilled among them, his heart sank the deepest. He knew they had encountered an extraordinary expert, far beyond their capabilities. Without hesitation, he commanded, “Everyone retreat! Run if you can! Send the signal—call for reinforcements!”
This snapped the other green-clad men into action. They scattered in all directions, some frantically reaching into their robes, likely searching for the signal device.
One man with two white lines on his sleeve was the fastest, already several yards away after a few leaps.
He felt a surge of relief, thinking he had a chance to escape, when suddenly he felt a chill on the back of his neck. A half-inch sword tip protruded from his throat, then vanished without a trace. Horrified, he tried to scream but found his body drained of strength, turning limp. He watched helplessly as his body slowly collapsed, landing softly on the grass, unable to move another inch.
Only then did he realize he had been pierced through the throat from behind.
Resentment filled him—he had escaped so far, so how had he died so quickly?
With great effort, he turned his head and saw his final sight: a shadowy figure flickering in and out of existence, appearing behind the farthest fleeing green-clad man. With a graceful sword stroke, the shadow vanished again, only to reappear behind another comrade. Another white flash—and by then, the previous victim’s body was already collapsing onto the grass, blood gushing from his throat.
After witnessing this, the green-clad man smiled peacefully and died. He knew he wouldn’t be alone for long—many would soon join him. That ghostly shadow would spare none of them.
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