Chapter Sixty-One: Relentless Pursuit and Ruthless Ambush

With Li Dali’s guidance, Lin Feng and Nie Xuan rode up to the tent of Meng Xiaojun and her husband. A thick medicinal scent hit them immediately, even more pungent than the alchemy chamber in the Hall of Creation.

“You?” Hearing the sound of hooves, Meng Xiaojun hurried out of the tent. Her face was bare, revealing a rare sense of authenticity.

“Miss Xiaojun, forgive our intrusion—we wondered if we might be of any help,” Lin Feng dismounted and smiled politely.

“Thank you for your concern, but there’s nothing here for you to do. Please leave at once,” Meng Xiaojun’s face first showed surprise, then quickly turned cold as she stepped back into the tent and closed the curtain.

The two, met with closed doors, exchanged wry smiles. Nie Xuan coughed softly, “It seems she has her troubles—let’s not linger.”

Lin Feng shook his head gently. “She’s braving all this hardship alone—it can’t be easy. I’ll try again.”

Years of silent endurance in the Hundred Flowers Sect had left their mark on Lin Feng; he could never forget the bitterness of those days. The sorrow hidden in Meng Xiaojun’s expression stirred something deep within him—not sympathy, but empathy.

“Miss Meng, I mean no offense. If I can be of any service to the patient inside, it would be my good fortune. Please allow me…” He bowed deeply at the tent entrance, his tone sincere.

“Have you said enough? We don’t need your feigned kindness!” Meng Xiaojun lifted the curtain, her delicate brows knit in anger. “Leave here!”

“Xiaojun…” came a feeble voice from within. Glancing through the curtain, Lin Feng saw a man lying on the bed, groping for something with trembling hands.

Meng Xiaojun shot Lin Feng a glare, then hurried to the bedside, lifting a bowl of water and helping the man drink with great care.

Lin Feng, disregarding the rebuff, observed the man: gaunt to the point of emaciation, eyes sunken, prominent cheekbones, hair disheveled—a body tormented by illness for far too long.

“What illness does this brother suffer from?” asked Lin Feng.

The patient answered with a fit of coughing.

Meng Xiaojun glared at Lin Feng again, then carefully wiped the man’s lips and tucked him in with a blanket.

“Cold deficiency,” she replied quietly.

“I have some money here. Use it for medicine, or better yet, find a physician if you can,” Lin Feng said, drawing a gold ingot from his robe and placing it on the only table.

“Thank you, sir,” the sick man managed to lift himself slightly, trying with effort to face Lin Feng.

“No need for thanks. If you ever need more, go to Bamboo Grove Manor and ask for funds—I’ll inform Steward Qu,” Lin Feng sighed, turning to leave.

Cold deficiency was a condition of constitution—difficult to cure, a weakness of qi and poor blood flow. Sufferers must keep warm year-round, and even the healthiest of men could be reduced to a shadow. Most shameful of all, it rendered one incapable of conjugal relations.

“How did it go?” Outside the tent, Nie Xuan gave Lin Feng a questioning look.

“Let’s go.” Lin Feng took the reins. Just as they were about to set off, Meng Xiaojun hurried out, calling, “Wait.”

She held a string of amber-colored prayer beads, her eyes flickering. “We have nothing to repay you with. These glazed Buddha beads were acquired by my senior brother many years ago. Please accept them, Master Lin.”

“Oh? These are the prayer beads blessed with a mantra by the Divine Monk of Great Compassion Temple. How did they come into your hands?” Nie Xuan’s gaze was sharp, immediately recognizing their origin.

Meng Xiaojun smiled bitterly. “Years ago, we passed through the Great Compassion Temple and petitioned Divine Monk Fachen for these, but still, my brother’s illness could not be healed…”

“Since you went to such lengths to acquire them, I cannot accept,” Lin Feng protested.

“No, my brother insists you must take them. Thank you,” Meng Xiaojun pressed the beads into Lin Feng’s hand and retreated briskly into the tent, letting the curtain fall.

“Let’s go… Alas!” With a long sigh, the two mounted and rode away at a gallop.

…

At dawn the next day, the company assembled at the gates of Bamboo Grove Manor, prepared for departure to Zhen’nan Pass in the Dream Liang Kingdom. Steward Qu would oversee the estate in the interim, reporting directly to Prince Rongqing. As the heir, Xia Tong was heading to Quhuai for two purposes: to notify the prince of Xia Baizhu’s sacrifice, and to use the prince’s token and the Xia family name to get their group safely through Zhen’nan Pass.

It was still early, and the group advanced at a leisurely, steady pace. Attired in fine clothes on splendid steeds—Red Wind, Daoli, Dilu, Chitu—each horse was exceptional. After several days of cultivation, Black Mistral had grown stronger, now only a hair slower than a thousand-li steed.

“Beyond Changyang Slope, fifty li to the north, lies Zhen’nan Pass,” Xia Tong, now back in her capable attire, spurred her horse past Lin Feng to lead the way.

“Changyang Slope is densely wooded, with ancient tombs below. Many poisonous creatures lurk there—everyone, be cautious,” Nie Xuan warned.

After a few winding turns, a high slope suddenly loomed ahead, with a dirt road stretching into the distance, flanked by deep, endless forest.

Such places, thick with trees and shadows, were perfect for bandits to ambush travelers. The company slowed, exchanging wary glances.

“This is the only road to Zhen’nan Pass. In broad daylight, who would dare? If you’re not going, I will,” Xia Tong declared, turning her horse to charge forward.

“Wait! I’ll know if anyone’s there in a moment. Hold on!” With a wave of her hand, Nie Xuan released two streaks of green light from her sleeve, sending them into the woods.

“What was that?” Ye Ziyin asked in astonishment.

“Green Wind Vipers. If there’s anyone or any beast, they’ll bite—their venom paralyzes instantly,” the Toxic Child answered impassively.

Ye Ziyin gasped, about to speak, when a muffled thud sounded from the woods—then silence.

“There are people!” At once, everyone dismounted and drew their weapons, tense as startled birds.

Nie Xuan’s expression grew grave. “Whoever’s lurking in the forest is ruthless. Everyone, be on guard—do not…”

She was cut off as five masked figures emerged from the forest path, clad in black, wielding swords and sabers, halting a hundred paces away.

Both sides faced off in utter silence, cold glints flashing in every eye, pupils narrowed in deadly focus.

The masked ambushers stood motionless, like lions awaiting the charge, their gaze fixed on their prey. Their eyes spoke only one word: Kill!

“Attack!” As the leader’s hand dropped, Lin Feng leapt from his horse, seized the Demon Jiao Winged Bow, nocked two Piercing Arrows, and drew with all his might—twang!

Twin arrows sang out, two streaks of gold slicing through the air and punching clean through the bodies of two black-clad men.

The shockwaves from the Piercing Arrows rippled through the hundred-pace stretch like water, the energy swirling and only settling after three breaths.

Demon Jiao Winged Bow!

The two felled men, transfixed by the arrows, were hurled back several yards by the force before crashing to the ground with a final cry.

The twin shot was executed with extraordinary speed and precision!

But after this strike, Lin Feng could not summon the strength for a second draw—his arms trembled, hands numb, barely able to grip the bow.

“Kill!” Of the three remaining, only the leader stood back, his gaze calm and commanding, while the other two swordsmen advanced with uncanny footwork and ferocious speed.

Nie Xuan and Zuo Qingcheng rushed to meet them—blades flashing, murderous intent surging.

“Hurry! Protect me!” Lin Feng sat cross-legged, quickly circulating the Longevity Technique to restore his strength and spirit.

Xia Tong, Liu Yun, and the others surrounded him, weapons raised, alert. Black Mistral galloped over, bristling and baring its teeth.

The leader snorted coldly, hefting a heavy ghost-head saber, advancing step by step with an aura both demonic and divine.

Against Nie Xuan, the swordsman’s technique was ruthless, his blade falling like rain, swift and unyielding. Though the Toxic Child lacked his iron gauntlets, his overall strength surpassed his foe. His swordplay was unrefined but backed by battle experience, darting and weaving, bolstered by venomous serpents hidden in his sleeves—enough to hold his own.

Zuo Qingcheng’s duel was even fiercer—blade and sword clashed in a dazzling display. The enemy swordsman attacked with deadly accuracy, targeting vital acupoints with lightning speed. Zuo Qingcheng countered with his Heart-Crushing Blade, launching brutal strikes at the heart. Both fought with lethal intent—one slip, and it would mean a grisly end.

Though both pressed the attack, their defenses were tight—neither could gain the upper hand.

The masked leader’s pace quickened, his figure a blur. In a few breaths he closed the hundred-pace gap, swinging his ghost-head saber in a sweeping arc—the blade aura flooding outward like a deluge.