Aside from a slight sense of discomfort, Gu Ningyun felt no other ill effects.
That demon cultivator’s strike just now had carried the full, devastating power of a late Nascent Soul expert.
He had clearly intended to silence them all—including the two Perfected Persons—and seize the tokens for himself.
After slaying the demon cultivator, the wind blade circled once in the air. Finding no other targets to attack, it slowly dissipated.
Shu Ziming emerged from the sea, dragging two ropes, a cage, and a large net.
Bound by the ropes and trapped in the cage were two Golden Core demon cultivators, while Zhao Quan and his four companions were caught in the large net.
“Even though I refined these artifacts myself and they suit me well...”
Shu Ziming spoke between gasps for air. “Whew! But... whew... with only an early Golden Core cultivation... using three earth-rank mid-grade artifacts in succession against higher-ranked opponents is still too much of a strain.”
The dying roar of the Nascent Soul demon cultivator had been loud enough to be heard by all the demon cultivators in the water.
As they looked at the patch of sea stained red with blood, their faces turned deathly pale.
The late Golden Core demon cultivator bound by the Demon-Binding Rope couldn't hold back any longer and began to curse Zhao Quan.
“Zhao Quan! You’ve been with these Daoist cultivators for so long, yet you didn't realize who they were? ‘Take them down,’ you said! They are disciples of Xiaoyao! How were we supposed to ‘take them down’?!”
The demon cultivator in the cage let out a cold sneer. “What did you expect from this waste? He couldn't even beat a few little Qi Refining kids for a token. If he had actually obtained the token with his own strength, would we have ever raised a hand against these Daoists?”
Zhao Quan didn't respond. In his lowered eyes, there was only a bloody mockery.
This was the Wujian Sect, the sect that possessed the most complete inheritance of puppet arts in the entire cultivation world, a sect ranked among the top five of the demonic path.
Yet from the elders down to the disciples, they were all the same: they bullied the weak and feared the strong, greedy for life and afraid of death.
It was clearly these Golden Core cultivators, responsible for scouting the surrounding area, who had failed and allowed the Daoist cultivators to slip into the inheritance space.
That was what had triggered this entire series of problems.
Now that something had gone wrong and they had run into a brick wall, they wanted to shift all the responsibility onto him.
If his master weren't in secluded cultivation, how would these old fossils dare to treat him like this?
“Zhao Quan, why are you hanging your head? Speak!”
“That’s right. You wouldn't want the righteous and demonic paths to have a falling out over this, would you?”
“This was all caused by you. Hurry up and apologize to them!”
“Fellow Daoists of Xiaoyao, this is all a misunderstanding. We didn't know you were Xiaoyao disciples!”
Seeing that Zhao Quan remained silent, the late Golden Core demon cultivator turned to look at Shu Ziming.
“Fellow Daoist, all of this was due to Zhao Quan’s malicious misdirection. We didn't mean it. Look, you’ve already killed one of our Wujian Sect’s late Nascent Soul elders...”
He carefully observed the expressions of Shen Banxi and Shu Ziming. “Of course, he made the first move with lethal intent, so your counterattack was justified. But the rest of us are innocent! We only wanted to have a word with these young friends at the time.”
“Think about it. You’ve captured so many of us at once. If this triggers a war between the righteous and demonic paths, it wouldn't be good for anyone. Even if you are disciples of the Xiaoyao Immortal Sect, our Wujian Sect isn't exactly...”
He swallowed hard, not finishing the sentence, only emphasizing, “In short, this is all a misunderstanding. We truly never intended to harm anyone from Xiaoyao.”
Jiang Yao had already moved closer to the cage to examine the earth-rank mid-grade artifacts.
Every single word from these demon cultivators drifted into his ears.
He clenched his fists and endured it for a moment, but finally, he couldn't hold back and punched the cage.
“So, if we weren't Xiaoyao disciples, we would deserve to be killed and robbed, our bodies destroyed and our traces erased? If we didn't have a powerful background, we would deserve to be bullied at your whim?!”
“Young friend, you can't say that. Our Wujian Sect searched for this inheritance space for many years before finding it. You are the ones who came to snatch the treasure,” the early Golden Core demon cultivator in the cage retorted, clearly displeased.
“You have to be reasonable. Besides, aren't you all perfectly fine right now? We didn't actually hurt you.”
“The righteous and demonic paths have long had an agreement not to interfere with or set foot in each other's territories. According to you, is the East Sea now the territory of the demonic path?”
Shen Banxi looked down coldly, his usually gentle face now a mask of frigid stone.
“Sneaking into Daoist territory like cowards to plot and steal their chances...”
He raised a hand and waved it, sealing the mouths of the demon cultivators. “If you have anything to say, save it for the disciples of Punishment Peak.”
Jiang Yao’s eyelashes trembled, his expression somewhat dazed.
Because they were Xiaoyao disciples, these demon cultivators didn't dare offend them. But did that mean cultivators without a powerful faction to back them deserved to die in some forgotten corner?
It was just like when his parents were alive. With military power in their hands, the emperor didn't dare act on his dissatisfaction no matter how great it was.
But after his parents died on the battlefield, he became like a common weed that no one wanted.
The emperor could crush him or kill him whenever he pleased.
He had crawled through dog holes and hidden in a swill bucket just to sneak out of the capital.
Sour, foul-smelling grease had soaked his robes, and vegetable leaves with bite marks in them had hung from his hair.
His stomach had cramped as bile rose in his throat, but he could only cover his mouth and squeeze his neck to swallow it back down, not daring to make a single sound.
The city guards had been holding portraits. “What’s in here? Open it up.”
“Officer, it’s just swill for the pigs.”
“Is that so? Open the lid and let me see.”
All sensation in his body seemed to drift away. He clutched his rapidly beating heart, waiting for the sentence of death.
“Blegh—”
“Move it, move it. Get out of here!”
He slowly let go of the fabric he was clutching at his chest and let out a silent breath.
Perhaps the swill bucket he had chosen was foul enough that the soldier hadn't wanted to lift the lid.
Or perhaps...
Jiang Yao’s heart held a flicker of lingering hope.
Perhaps it was because that soldier still remembered that generations of the Jiang family had been heroes who guarded the borders and protected the country.
After leaving the capital, the swill bucket had turned onto a bumpy small path and traveled for a long time, only stopping late at night.
The farmer pulling the cart muttered to himself, “I’m tired. I’ll deal with these buckets tomorrow.”
After an hour had passed without any further sound, Jiang Yao pushed the lid up, revealing a small crack.
There were no voices, no torches, and no barking dogs—only the croaking of frogs and the chirping of insects in the night.
He climbed out of the swill bucket, the liquid dripping from his robes and pooling on the ground.
A rough, animalistic breath came from behind him, and his own breathing nearly stopped.
He turned around, only to see a thin, old horse.
Even a horse this old and thin wasn't cheap. Why would a simple farmhouse have a horse?
With no time for further thought, he surveyed his surroundings.
The back gate was unlatched and slightly ajar. Stepping out of it led directly to the desolate foot of a mountain.
This was the edge of the village.
He took off the longevity lock from around his neck and pressed it down with the lid of the swill bucket.
This was a gold lock his mother had given him on the day of his hundred-day feast. Its design was elegant but lacked any identifying marks of the General's Manor.
Leaving the payment behind, he rode the horse away into the night.
Only when he had traveled far enough did he stop to wash his body in a stream. It was then that he discovered a small bundle on the horse.
Inside the bundle were several still-warm flatbreads, a waterskin, and two sets of clothes.
When he put them on, they were surprisingly well-fitting.
How could a child’s clothes be inside the bundle on an old horse?
He turned and looked deeply back in the direction he had come from. His throat tightened, and a bitter ache spread from his heart to his eyes.
Even when mired in darkness, there was always sunshine in some corners of the world.
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