"Bitter-faced Ascetic?"
The Scholar retracted his finger, and the old woman flicked her fingers, causing the wooden doll to swiftly fall into her palm.
He looked up at the ascetic in the middle and heard Grandmother Withered Butterfly coldly laugh and say,
"Just a re Tie Lingyun, and you, a monk, also got involved?
"With the three of us, including Grandmother and the ’Scholar who Paints Dragons,’ joining forces, isn’t it a bit overboard?"
The Scholar snorted and said lightly,
"Old lady, you’re getting old, your mind isn’t clear.
"Tie Lingyun, as the Grand Hall Master of the Iron Blood Hall, isn’t soone easy to deal with.
"To kill him, we must be prepared without any chance of failure!"
"Old?"
The Bitter-faced Ascetic glanced at Grandmother Withered Butterfly, shook his head and said,
"You are mistaken, Grandmother Withered Butterfly is not old.
"She is likely not even thirty this year... just deliberately putting on an aged appearance... Dead leaf butterflies are best at disguise."
Grandmother Withered Butterfly’s face imdiately darkened. Her previously stooped posture straightened up directly, and her voice changed from hoarse and old to a voice typical of a young woman:
"How does this monk know?"
"Buddha says, it’s unspeakable."
The Bitter-faced Ascetic’s voice grew even more bitter.
The Scholar looked at these two people and shook his head gently:
"The hiding place ntioned in the letter is under this Ghost God Gorge. If you want to catch up here, I won’t stop you, but I plan to go down and take a look first."
As he spoke, his figure swayed and he fell from the Half Cliff.
Grandmother Withered Butterfly and the Bitter-faced Ascetic exchanged a glance and also leapt down separately.
As long as they found the right spot, the gap in the rock face below wasn’t hard to find. The three of them entered through the gap and imdiately saw the spot where the Deceitful Poison’s body had shattered earlier in the day.
In that area, all the wild grass was dead, looking quite abrupt.
"I heard the Contact Person left us so stuff in the room."
As the Scholar spoke, he took the lead, intending to be the first to enter the room.
But as his figure appeared in front of the room door, a sizzling noise suddenly ca from behind.
He turned his head sharply and saw the wooden doll had already reached his face.
He imdiately swept his sleeve, covered in Gang Wind, sending the doll flying.
But at that mont, a hand suddenly appeared and was already at the Scholar’s chest.
Fortunately, the Scholar was extrely experienced in combat. Facing this sudden palm, he just took a deep breath.
His chest collapsed down half an inch or more.
When the palm arrived, it was just a hair’s breadth away from the Scholar’s chest and abdon.
But before the Scholar could catch his breath, he saw that hand turn from palm to claw, its arm inexplicably lengthening by three inches, grasping onto his chest and abdon’s vital point, and then flinging him out.
"Little Scholar, you’re still a bit young to fight with your elder sister."
Grandmother Withered Butterfly no longer disguised her voice, smiling as she spoke.
The Bitter-faced Ascetic was montarily speechless, not understanding what was there to compete over before entering the room?
What does it matter whether you win or lose?
But just then, he heard Grandmother Withered Butterfly say:
"Having lost our fight, you’ll need to follow my orders on all affairs once we infiltrate the Iron Blood Hall.
"Ascetic, what do you think?
"Or do you and I need to have our own contest?"
The Bitter-faced Ascetic suddenly realized that they had been competing from the first encounter over who had the right to give orders.
He pondered a mont and thought it made a lot of sense.
The three of them were working together, and to avoid acting like a disunited band, one of them had to take the lead.
Yet, the Bitter-faced Ascetic had no interest in such matters and spoke softly,
"In that case, the upcoming decisions will trouble Grandma to handle them."
The Scholar was unwilling, but having just lost a move, and with the Bitter-faced Ascetic saying so, he could only snort in agreent.
Grandmother Withered Butterfly was imdiately satisfied and turned to push open the door:
"I..."
Just after saying "I," her pupils suddenly contracted.
This room was small, and opening the door revealed a table,
On the table was an already opened box, and behind the box, there was soone sitting.
Dressed in black, wearing a white mask.
A sword lay on the table... the Cyan Night Sword!
And in the black-robed person’s hand was a saber.
The Flying Saber!
The saber wasn’t long, only three inches and seven-tenths.
Shaped like a willow leaf, thin as a cicada’s wing.
A flicker of faint light reflected on that Flying Saber’s surface, refracting the light onto the face mask of the person.
Pupil contraction happened in an instant.
The next mont, the black-robed person suddenly raised a hand.
Then the Flying Saber... disappeared!
The mont the Flying Saber vanished, Grandmother Withered Butterfly had just uttered a single "I," and the remaining words weren’t voluntarily stopped but had to be swallowed back.
She felt her body flying backward.
She also felt the cold sensation coming from her throat.
She even felt herself fall heavily to the ground.
She even saw the Scholar and the Bitter-faced Ascetic, all looking towards her...
She wanted to speak out a warning, but she couldn’t utter a word.
Because that Flying Saber, now buried in her throat, was the reason.
Blood gushed from her mouth while her strength gradually faded.
In her last monts, she saw the black-clad person picking up the sword, stepping out of the room, with a cold voice spreading around:
"I thought I would have to wait here for several more days, but you arrived sooner than I expected.
"You are, the Scholar... and Bitter-faced Ascetic?"
"Night Emperor!?"
The Scholar looked at the man in front, dressed in black, wearing a white mask, and his voice was filled with astonishnt.
User Comments
0 comments from readers