Chapter 191: What Is a Fellow Cultivator?

Chapter 191: What Is a Dao Friend

Boom!

A scorching heatwave vaporized the raindrops into mist; the blinding glare of fire seared cheeks feverish.

At every point of detonation, within a radius of ten feet, severed limbs flew and flesh painted the earth—a tableau of utter misery.

In a heartbeat, the plaza became a churning cauldron of terror, curses, and wails, a pandemonium boiling over.

Shoving, dragging, trampling—those fortunate enough to escape the blasts met their end beneath the feet of the equally innocent.

Clang!

A streak of cold light sang free from its scabbard.

Wang Xie reversed his grip and slashed, felling a Honghu member sprinting past his flank.

The severed head tumbled; a geyser of blood erupted. The headless corpse stumbled forward a few more paces before crashing heavily to the ground.

“Boss, those Honghu beasts have lost their minds!”

“I saw.”

The voice crackling from the other end of the comms was utterly frigid.

Wang Xie gritted his teeth. “Then what now? Send the brothers in to evacuate the crowd?”

“No.”

Squelch!

Another Honghu member fell to the Embroidered Spring Saber, head parted from shoulders.

Too late—the bomb strapped to the man’s torso had already been triggered. Amidst the swirling gunsmoke, Wang Xie’s face turned iron-gray. He lunged forward, seized the corpse by the collar, and hurled it skyward with all his might.

Boom!

Blood rained down in a fine spray, drenching him from head to toe.

Wang Xie shook a chunk of flesh from his shoulder and roared, “Why not? Every life saved counts!”

“Die in a room, or die on the road—which is the lesser evil?”

The voice on the comms spiked in volume. “Wang Xie, listen to me! If the ringleader isn't eliminated, this will happen again and again!”

Wang Xie’s jaw tightened; the hand gripping his hilt creaked, knuckles popping.

“Your job right now isn't to save people—it's to kill! Bring me the mastermind, or I’ll throw you into the Imperial Prison myself!”

“Fuck!”

Wang Xie’s bloodshot eyes locked onto the cyan figure butchering Qixia Group staff.

He coiled low, like an enraged cheetah, and exploded forward!

On the plaza, the chaos raged on.

The packed masses fought for the narrow, slick mountain path; countless arms dragged and shoved, filthy curses turning into blades that stabbed mercilessly at those beside them.

Where were the 'Dao friends' now? Every man beside you was a mortal enemy fighting for a way out.

Even those who had reached the path were yanked back by hands reaching from nowhere, swallowed whole by the throng.

“Let me through, please… my grandson is still on the plaza.”

A gaunt figure fought a desperate upstream battle against the surging human tide.

His terror-stricken face bobbed in a sea of woven limbs and heads; occasionally he lunged forward a few desperate steps, only to be dragged back even further the next instant.

“Please… save my grandson. We are Dao friends… we are Dao friends…”

The mournful plea was barely a whisper, as frail as his aging body, stirring not a ripple in the manic crowd.

Just as despair took him, through vision blurred by tears, he saw a pair of eyes burning with a terrifying, fanatical light.

Their owner was none other than the man who had told him, not long ago, ‘There are no immortals in this world.’

“Honghu, embrace death!”

Boom!

A violent explosion tore a gaping hole in the dense crowd.

Amidst the rising and falling screams, a road slick with blood opened before the old man.

“Thank you… thank you.”

Perhaps his mind was addled by the blast, or perhaps his sanity had been devoured by the hellscape before him.

Or perhaps, of all the immortals in the heavens, only this man had answered his prayer.

In a daze, the old man actually thanked the heretic who had 'cleared the way' for him.

The old man scrambled up, stumbling toward the direction of his grandson.

But he hadn't gone far when his nearly deaf ears caught a faint, yet utterly manic, shout.

“Marquis!”

Boom!

The old man turned woodenly, only to see a crimson, scalding wave of blood surging toward him!

Whoosh!

With a piercing scream of tearing air, a flying sword buried itself in the Spirit Official’s brow, churning his mighty form into dissipating clouds.

Zou Sijiu dropped to one knee, gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his temples like rain.

Stealing permissions while fighting a man a full Sequence above him… it was a bit of a stretch.

Right then, Zou Sijiu missed Li Jun more than ever.

He was a tech guy; the fighting was best left to Li Jun.

“The Yin-Yang Eight Nuo Duke… able to open a ‘backdoor’ and so familiar with my Qixia Grotto-Heaven. You’re the Zou Sijiu from the Peace Hotel?”

Wang Wenqin, clad in snow-white Daoist robes, approached at a leisurely pace.

The world had already dimmed; the sunset’s afterglow was crushed beneath dark clouds, leaving only a thin gold line tracing the mountain’s undulations.

Once that last sliver of light was extinguished, the Qixia Grotto-Heaven would change hands entirely.

A pity that this scene would never come to pass.

Because this giant rat was about to be slain by his own hand!

“This Dao Master, recalling the old ties between the Daoist Orthodoxy and the Yin-Yang School, graciously permitted you to coexist with me in Chongqing Prefecture. I never expected you to bite the hand that fed you, daring to covet my Grotto-Heaven.”

Heavily injured, Zou Sijiu simply sat down cross-legged, narrowing his eyes at the approaching Wang Wenqin.

“Old Cow-Nose, don't flatter yourself. You talk as if you’d dare march up Hongya Mountain and raze the Peace Hotel.”

Wang Wenqin’s voice was deep. “The Southwest is the Daoist Orthodoxy’s foundation. Chongqing Prefecture will be ours sooner or later.”

“You sound so damn confident I almost believed you.”

Zou Sijiu grinned. “If the Orthodoxy truly had the chops, would the Qingcheng Group be sitting tight in Chengdu? Would a bit player like you be bouncing around here?”

“Sharp-tongued and slick-lipped, you Yin-Yang occultists are as detestable as ever.”

Wang Wenqin let out a cold snort. “Hand over the ‘Backdoor’ in your possession, and this Daoist Master can spare you a wisp of your remnant soul, granting you a chance at corpse-dissolution and reincarnation!”

“Blustering again.”

Zou Sijiu shook his head with a swaying gait, sneering, “If you truly had the ability to utterly annihilate me within the Yellow Millet Dream, you wouldn't have failed to detect where the ‘Backdoor’ lies.”

Wang Wenqin spoke with a sinister grin: “I can sever the connection between the Qixia Grotto-Heaven and the ‘White Jade Capital,’ trapping you here for all eternity!”

“That is our ‘Donghuang Palace,’ not your ‘White Jade Capital.’”

Zou Sijiu spat on the ground. “A pack of treacherous, oath-breaking scum!”

“The victor writes history. Since you are obstinate and unenlightened, this Daoist Master shall send you on your way!”

Wang Wenqin pressed two fingers of his right hand together like a sword, pointing them at Zou Sijiu.

That flying sword suspended in mid-air circled once, then shot toward the center of Zou Sijiu’s brow like a nail.

“Indeed, it is time to hit the road, but I won't be needing you to see me off.”

Zou Sijiu suddenly grinned wide, a smile that made Wang Wenqin’s heart sink.

He followed the man’s gaze and saw Zou Sijiu’s right hand forming a familiar hand seal.

Upper trigram Kun, Earth; Lower trigram Gen, Mountain. The Hexagram of Modesty. Supreme good fortune.

At that very moment, the last wisp of the setting sun’s afterglow finally dissipated, the evening sun sinking completely into the distant mountains.

Wang Wenqin’s face abruptly turned ashen pale, a sudden, inexplicable void enveloping him.

It was as if something of utmost importance had been snatched away, leaving his entire being hollowed out.

“My authority, my Grotto-Heaven…”

“The Yellow Millet authority you stole from the Yin-Yang Sequence—I will reclaim it piece by piece. Remember this: Zou Ye said it!”

Zou Sijiu threw his head back in loud laughter, his figure abruptly turning illusory, as if about to vanish on the spot.

But after a moment of chaotic trembling, he coalesced once more.

“.”

Zou Sijiu stared at his own hands in horror, the flesh of his face twitching, every inch of his skin conveying the shock in his heart.

“Escape failed? How is that possible? Where did it go wrong?”

“Why aren't you running? Do you think that just because you seized some authority, you have the capital to wrestle with this Poor Daoist?”

A cold, mocking laugh rang out, followed immediately by a high-pitched, piercing sword cry.

Zou Sijiu felt as though he had fallen into an ice cellar, a single thought flashing through his mind.

I’ve been set up!

Rumble.

Just as the flying sword was about to pierce through Zou Sijiu’s body, a sudden thunderclap exploded in the pitch-black horizon.

Thunder rolled continuously, as if descending from beyond the heavens.

Then Zou Sijiu felt the world before his eyes begin to sway, subsequently melting away into a blurred obscurity.