Not long after the three of them left, an old man with a sword on his back slowly walked onto the ravaged snowy ground.
The old man was not tall; one could even say he was thin and small.
However, this withered old man walked across the battlefield, where a murderous aura still permeated the air, as if he were taking a leisurely stroll in his own backyard.
His pace was neither hurried nor slow, his footsteps making a crunching sound on the snow that sounded exceptionally clear in the silent wasteland.
He walked up to the fine scratches carved by the silk threads and squinted at them for a long while.
“Those little brats from the Ghost Gate Chamber... after all these years, their methods are still so unpresentable.”
He straightened his back, and his gaze fell upon another spot—a deep hole pierced by the tip of Chen Zui’s spear.
The snow around the hole had been blasted outward by a blast of cold energy, forming a circle of regular, ripple-like patterns.
The old man’s gaze lingered on this spear hole for a long time.
“This spear technique...”
He stroked the few sparse white hairs on his chin, a glint of light flashing in his cloudy, aged eyes.
“A bit interesting.”
After saying this, he set off, walking slowly toward the north.
...
Luoyan City.
This city, which dominated the border pass, had a name that carried a hint of poetic sorrow.
It was said that a hundred years ago, Grand Zhao and the nomadic tribes of the north had fought a long, drawn-out war here.
After the battle, a general climbed the city walls and looked into the distance. He saw flocks of wild geese flying south across the northern horizon, but when they passed this city, they circled low and lingered, seemingly reluctant to leave.
The general sighed and said, “If even the geese feel such sorrow, how can a man bear it?”
From then on, the city was named “Luoyan.”
When Chen Zui’s group arrived at Luoyan City, it was dusk.
The twilight was just beginning to settle, and the clouds on the horizon were torn open by the setting sun, revealing a pale orange-red glow.
The orange-red light fell upon the city walls, but instead of providing any warmth, it added a touch of somber lethality to this towering border stronghold.
The walls were extremely high and thick, built entirely of blue-gray stone blocks with glutinous rice mortar filled between the cracks, remaining motionless despite a hundred years of wind and rain.
Large black flags with gold patterns and the character for “Zhao” were planted on the battlements, snapping in the north wind like a pack of trapped beasts roaring incessantly.
At this time, a long line had formed at the city gate.
There were old men driving ox carts to sell charcoal, women carrying bundles and dragging children, peddlers carrying poles and hawking their wares along the street...
One by one, they hunched their necks and stamped their feet, shivering in the cold wind.
The line moved extremely slowly.
Chen Zui glanced from a distance.
On both sides of the city gate stood a row of soldiers clad in armor and holding halberds.
Mixed among these soldiers were several men dressed in black martial attire.
Each of them had a gold-scabbarded long saber hanging from their waist, the scabbards engraved with a rising sun.
“Those are people from the Jinyang Sect,” Ye Zhibai whispered.
Chen Zui nodded but did not respond.
The line moved forward bit by bit.
By the time it was the turn of Chen Zui’s group, the sky had completely darkened.
A row of pine oil torches had been lit on the city walls, their flames flickering in the wind, stretching everyone’s shadows long and short.
A soldier stepped forward to stop them.
This soldier was only in his early twenties, and his face still held a hint of youth, but his gaze had already been sharpened with the keenness found only in veterans.
“Where are you from? Where are you going? What is your business in the city?”
“Coming from the south, entering the city to rest,” Chen Zui answered calmly.
The soldier’s gaze swept over the three of them.
“You must register your weapons to enter the city. Name, sect, and type of weapon—nothing can be omitted,” the soldier said sternly.
Ye Zhibai’s brow furrowed, and she was about to speak, but Chen Zui beat her to it. He planted his long spear on the ground and smiled. “Spear, red-tasseled spear. No sect, just self-taught.”
The man’s gaze lingered on Chen Zui’s face for a moment, seemingly trying to judge the truth of his words.
“Name.”
“Chen Zui.”
The soldier nodded slightly and turned his gaze to Ye Zhibai.
Ye Zhibai said coldly, “Ye Zhibai. Sword. Frost-Sigh Sect.”
As soon as she finished speaking, a Jinyang Sect disciple dressed in black martial attire walked over.
The man approached the three of them, sized Ye Zhibai up and down, and his lips curled into a half-smile.
“Oh, isn’t this Lady Ye of the Frost-Sigh Sect?”
This person’s voice was extremely loud, making the air at the city gate hum.
The commoners in line all looked over but didn’t dare to stare, quickly lowering their heads and pretending they hadn't heard anything.
Ye Zhibai paused and said coldly, “Step aside.”
“Step aside?”
The man exaggeratedly spread his hands and winked at the other Jinyang Sect disciples behind him.
“Did you hear that, brothers? Lady Ye told me to step aside.
Tell me, since when did the city gate of Luoyan City become a place where someone from the Frost-Sigh Sect can give orders?”
The Jinyang Sect disciples burst into loud laughter.
“The Frost-Sigh Sect? You mean that second-rate trash that’s been suppressed by our Jinyang Sect for twenty years?”
“I heard they’re about to be demoted to a third-rate sect and disband on the spot!”
“Lady Ye, why don’t you leave the darkness for the light sooner? Come to our Jinyang Sect to be a maid who serves tea and water. At least you’ll be able to get a meal!”
Ye Zhibai’s face darkened inch by inch, and the sword scabbard in her hand vibrated slightly.
“What, Lady Ye wants to make a move?”
The man narrowed his eyes, his thick palm pressing onto the hilt of the saber at his waist.
“This is Luoyan City, not a place for you to act wild like you’re at the Frost-Sigh Sect.
If you dare to strike first...”
Halfway through his sentence, he suddenly felt a chill at the back of his neck.
A long spear had silently reached out at some point, its icy tip pressing against the fat on the back of his neck.
The second half of his sentence was stuck in his throat, and he couldn’t utter another word.
“If you want to fight, fight. Why so much nonsense?”
A lazy voice drifted from behind him.
...
Meanwhile.
Inside the back hall of the city manor.
A young man dressed in fine silk sat boldly on a tiger-skin chair in the center, his legs crossed as he boredly toyed with a high-quality long saber in his hand.
This young man was only twenty-five or twenty-six years old. He was quite handsome, but the arrogance between his brows was almost overflowing, making anyone who saw him feel an instinctive dislike.
This person was the Young Sect Master of the Jinyang Sect, Meng Huaiguang.
He suddenly stopped his movements, tossed the long saber aside casually, and stretched.
“Boring. To think that person actually risked his life for this broken saber. I wonder what he was thinking.”
“Although this saber is not worth your notice, it is a rare and divine weapon to ordinary people.”
An old man with white hair and a white beard was standing respectfully to his left.
The old man’s face was sallow and his eye sockets were deep, making him look like a dying man in the final stages of an illness.
But if someone with sharp eyes were present, they would surely recognize this man as the head of the four elders of the Jinyang Sect.
The man known as the “Sick Yama,” Xie Jiuzhen.
Meng Huaiguang ignored the remark and changed the subject.
“Uncle Xie, do you think that old geezer will really come? We’ve been squatting in this ghost of a place for two days, and we haven’t even seen a shadow.”
Xie Jiuzhen said indifferently, “That man was already at the peak of the Second Rank thirty years ago. Now that he has come out of seclusion, his strength is unfathomable. It would be best if the Young Sect Master does not underestimate the enemy.”
“Unfathomable?”
Meng Huaiguang smiled dismissively.
“He’s just an old slave who carried a sword for someone else. Even if he draws Sword Immortal Shen’s sword, he’s just borrowing his master’s prestige.
Besides, we have three Grandmasters sitting here. What is there to fear from him?”
“What the Young Sect Master says is true. I am only afraid that those three will be wary of Sword Immortal Shen and refuse to take action when the time comes.”
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