Chapter Sixty-Two: Seizing the Gu and Searching the Soul

As the crowd was on the verge of perishing under the beheading blade, the black steed leaped into the air with a sudden flash of darkness, colliding fiercely with the murderous arc of the blade!

A metallic clang rang out as black met white; the leader's blade faltered, his step slowed, and a strange glint flickered in his eyes. He swung his blade at Lin Feng once more.

Steel clashed against steel—the two swords and two blades struck with relentless force, finally halting the deadly strike.

Ye Ziyin, Xia Tong, and the others were buffeted by the shockwave, spat blood, and were hurled several paces back.

After unleashing its innate skill, “Heavenly Wolf Shoots the Sun,” the black steed staggered, barely steadying itself after several rolls.

“Like striking a stone with an egg!” The black-clad leader spat these words coldly. His ghost-head saber flew from his hand, bearing a murderous force as it hurtled straight for Lin Feng’s head.

“No!” Xia Tong, witnessing the unstoppable attack, was seized by fury and despair. Blood gushed from her lips, and, overcome, she fainted on the spot.

The faces of Ye Ziyin and the others turned deathly pale.

As the snowy edge of the ghost-head saber was about to cleave Lin Feng’s skull, he suddenly opened his eyes, leaping several yards in a flash like a nimble ape or a panther. The blade sliced past, severing a lock of hair and slamming into the dirt road with a thunderous crash.

This was truly a brush with death! Dodging aside, Lin Feng sprang several times more, seized his pear blossom spear, and thrust it at the leader’s chest.

An eye for an eye! The man had no time to retrieve his saber before the counterattack came.

“Hmph!” the black-clad man sneered, sidestepping nimbly. His hand flicked, and with three quick turns, a soft sword flashed from his waist, engaging Lin Feng.

No one could tell what fine material this soft sword was forged from. Its surface shimmered like fish scales, moving like a silver serpent, weaving and coiling with a succession of sharp cracks. The force of their blows sent up clouds of white smoke.

Soft swords and long whips were notoriously difficult to master, but in battle, they granted a distinct advantage—darting up and down, shifting form with endless variation, their sharp, continuous sonic booms enough to strike fear into any opponent.

The leader twisted his soft sword into a braid, lashing out with the power of a raging storm, clashing with the pear blossom spear dozens of times in rapid succession.

Lin Feng marveled at the assassin’s swordsmanship, while the leader was even more stunned.

“I underestimated him. After drawing the thousand-pound bow, he still has the strength to fight! Is he about to break through the late Qi Refinement stage? His recovery is unbelievable! Even if I forced myself to draw that bow, I’d have no strength left to fight—could the intelligence be wrong?”

As the pear blossom spear pressed the attack, the assassin’s footwork grew disordered; a disordered mind leads to disordered technique. With no time to ponder, his left hand darted into his robe and hurled a burst of golden light at Lin Feng.

Plum Blossom Golden Needles!

The spear swept into a curtain of light, roaring like thunder, knocking all the golden darts from the air.

Anticipating such a trick, Lin Feng had watched his foe’s every move, wary of a concealed strike. As the leader’s left hand shifted, the spear spun back, blocking the shameless attack. Then, with a fierce shake, the spear lunged out like a tiger, bursting from the silvery curtain to stab at the opponent’s chest.

Few could block the ferocity and speed of Lin Feng’s spear. In that instant, the black-clad leader twisted his soft sword, his body snaking back like water, tracing an arc through the air and retreating ten yards to face Lin Feng once more.

On the dirt road, a string of winding footprints appeared, each marked by a single twist, forming a pattern like a plum blossom.

Plum Blossom Seven-Turn Footwork!

Unable to decipher the leader’s footwork, Lin Feng’s first strike failed. He thrust again, stepping nimbly to seize the moment as his opponent’s breath faltered, intending to finish him with a single blow.

The black-clad man twisted aside, his uncanny footwork once more in play. Soft sword flicked, it burst with a sharp crack, parrying the spear and buying a scant moment to retreat, the two facing off again from seven or eight yards apart.

Both had exhausted themselves in the fierce exchange. After a brief breath, they launched at each other once more.

Air split with a hiss as their auras collided, the clash sending wild winds across the field. Ye Ziyin and the others lay helpless in the distance, chests tight, forced to watch the battle unfold, powerless to intervene.

The leader, having failed repeatedly, gritted his teeth and unleashed his final, deadly move.

At half a yard’s distance, the soft sword in his hand suddenly exploded: “Soul-Shattering Blade!”

The sword shattered inch by inch, unleashing a storm of silver shards, spinning with force. At such close range, Lin Feng could not withdraw his spear in time to defend!

The sword was inlaid with forty-nine rhomboid silver-mother blades, the hilt fitted with a mechanism that, triggered by true energy, could shatter the blade in an instant, killing in a heartbeat. The silver-mother was mined from ancient underwater veins, sharp and light, and when unleashed, nearly unstoppable.

With this desperate, all-or-nothing strike, there was nowhere to hide!

In his extremity, Lin Feng roared, unleashing the Earthen Azure Flame Incantation. A great blue flame surged forth, engulfing the silver shards and slamming into the black-clad man.

“Ah!—Earthen Azure Flame! How can this be! I—unwilling—” In a few breaths, the massive blue fire reduced the man to ashes, not even a bone left behind.

With a crash, Lin Feng collapsed onto the road, pierced by several blades. Though the Azure Flame was fierce, it could not outrun the flying silver shards; several fragments, wrapped in fire, lodged in his body, slowly dissolving into his flesh.

His strength and spiritual energy utterly spent, Lin Feng’s vision darkened and he was about to faint when a sudden coolness in his chest jolted him awake—there were still two assassins left!

On the road, seeing their leader reduced to nothing by the Azure Flame, the last two assassins’ spirits collapsed. Mistakes abounded, and retreat filled their hearts.

Suppressing his pain, Lin Feng sprang up, spinning on his heel and sweeping his spear at the swordsman battling Zuo Qingcheng. With blades ahead and spear at his back, the assassin was trapped, eyes wide with terror. Desperate, he twisted away from Zuo Qingcheng’s sword, flipped, and struck at Lin Feng’s head—determined to drag one down with him.

The assassin knew Lin Feng was at his last gasp and chose to perish together.

Lin Feng exhaled his final breath of spiritual energy, using his spear as a shield to parry the fatal blow. With a flick of the spear, he pierced the assassin’s wrist, and Zuo Qingcheng seized the opening, splitting the assassin’s skull with a slash.

Having finished his foe, Lin Feng was drenched in sweat, utterly spent. He rested his spear across his knees and began meditating on the spot to recover.

Zuo Qingcheng turned to assist on the other side, joining Nie Xuan. Together, they quickly dispatched the last enemy.

“Check on the others!” Nie Xuan sheathed his sword and, with Zuo Qingcheng, hurried to tend to the wounded.

Ye Ziyin and the others were lightly injured, their spirit disturbed but soon calmed and guided back by Nie Xuan and Zuo Qingcheng.

Miss Xia Tong was revived by Nie Xuan and, after taking a few restorative pills, gradually returned to herself.

“It was a premeditated attack. If not for Brother Lin’s desperate battle, we would all have perished here,” Zuo Qingcheng said, ordering the bodies piled together, masks removed, and their belongings searched.

“Commander, look!” Liu Yun pointed with a trembling voice at a needle mark under one assassin’s arm. “They’re from the same group that attacked us last time!”

“Nonsense! Who else would dress this way?” Zuo Qingcheng snapped.

Nie Xuan came over, frowning at the mark. After a moment’s thought, he took out a sealed golden box, opened it, and produced a half-inch long purple insect.

The insect had golden, luminous compound eyes, a pair of undeveloped wings on its belly, and no legs, tail, or antennae—plump as a silkworm pupa.

The group held their breath as Nie Xuan formed a seal and placed the insect by one corpse’s nostril.

Murmuring softly, the insect burrowed into the corpse’s nose. After the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, it crawled out the other nostril, smeared with blood and brain matter.

He placed the golden box by the corpse’s face, and the insect wriggled inside. With a snap, Nie Xuan closed the lid, placed it in his palm, and pressed both hands atop it, eyes closed and motionless.

A long moment passed. Just as the others grew impatient, not knowing what he was doing, Nie Xuan’s eyes flew open. He exhaled deeply and said, “Take all the silver and gold. Leave everything else.”

“These two swords…” Zuo Qingcheng gestured at the assassins’ weapons.

“Toss them! When Brother Lin wakes, we leave at once—no stopping on the road,” Nie Xuan said gravely, returning to his horse to meditate.

Zuo Qingcheng and Ye Ziyin exchanged a look, shock in their eyes.

After a cup of tea’s time, Lin Feng awoke from his meditation. Glancing around, he saw everyone at rest, the chaotic battlefield already cleared.

“Is everyone alright?” he asked, moving from face to face.

Xia Tong opened her eyes as he approached. Their gazes met; her cheeks flushed, and she turned away shyly.

“You’re awake—good. We leave now. These assassins are not ordinary,” Nie Xuan said, mounting his horse without further word.

“Let’s go!” Lin Feng knew his temperament—so many years struggling to survive had made Nie Xuan cold and distant, but inwardly meticulous as fine silk.

The group mounted up. Lin Feng glanced at the black steed. Before he could ask, the horse sent a message: “I’m fine, big brother. That man’s blade aura was too fierce, or I could have held him off longer.”

Lin Feng smiled, patting the horse’s back. Red Wind led the horses in high spirits toward Changyang Slope.

The party entered a forest path, their pace slowing. Nie Xuan spoke quietly, “Our pursuers are well-paid and organized. The one you burned was called Duan Ming, merely a lower-ranked leader. Even searching the soul imprint of another, I couldn’t find the organization’s name. The others were simply called Duan One and Duan Two…”

“A fine Duan Ming indeed! By the way, Brother Nie, what method did you use?” Lin Feng recalled how, before their duel, Nie Xuan had said he could extract memories from the dead.

Nie Xuan’s eyes flashed with pride. “The Soul-Searching Gu.”

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