Chapter 450: Unending Wind and Rain (1)

Chapter 450: The Storm That Has Not Yet Calmed (I)

"Brother Yangji!"

A voice of furious anger reverberated in all directions, its genuine panic and bewilderment impossible to conceal.

Anyone who heard it could not help but exclaim that the bond of deep affection and righteousness was profound.

Instead, the Taoist of Longhu Mountain who was supporting Yang Long from behind stood with a strange, stiff expression, his lips involuntarily turning down.

They're all dead; why are you still performing so flamboyantly?

Yet the contempt in his eyes vanished in an instant, replaced by a ferocious stare at the murderer who had killed his own sectmate.

Yang Long shrugged off the other's support, his apparently injured body lurching forward, and a dazzling spray of synthetic blood struck the rain-soaked ground, sending tiny ripples.

Yang Long pressed his hands to his knees, forced himself to straighten his back, and declared coldly, 'How dare the Imperial Guard of the Brocade Robes have the audacity to slay a Taoist of Longhu Mountain?'

Fan Wujue could not help but laugh at the sight; the thick‑eyebrowed, wide‑eyed Taoist before him was no match in a fight, and his threat was as clumsy as his mouth.

He lifted his long blade, lightly sweeping it across his body, and sneered, 'So, are the people of Longhu Mountain multi‑nosed or multi‑eyed, incapable of killing?'

'A jumping clown, a fox borrowing the tiger's might, trying to show off in front of Longhu Mountain—do you have the guts to back it up?'

'If you think you have the measure, why not step up and weigh yourself?'

Yang Long, anger flaring across his face, snapped, 'You're courting death; today I will slay you to avenge Brother Yangji!'

Fan Wujue laughed ferociously, 'Come on!'

The two exchanged verbal swords, back and forth, their quarrel loud and lively.

Yet the surrounding Imperial Guards of the Brocade Robes merely stood watch, guns leveled, while the Taoists behind Yang Long gave no sign of moving.

The scene became oddly suspended.

'Yang Long, the dead cannot be revived; this is not the time for a petty quarrel—what matters now is to leave this place safely!'

Those who could represent the nine divisions of Longhu Mountain entering the Wokoku region were all clear‑minded individuals present; instantly they understood the play had turned to their stage, and they began to speak up to mediate.

'Exactly, as long as the green hills remain, firewood will not run out. Moreover, the earthly immortal of our sect will arrive shortly; after that we can still spar with these Brocade Robes!'

Yang Long, unyielding, had his scattered hair blown by a hot wind from his spirit aperture, while the surrounding magical instruments swayed, forming a fragile array as he prepared to charge at Fan Wujue.

'Senior Brother Yang Long!'

A Taoist of Longhu Mountain, his face bronze‑like and his eyes deep, stepped forward and blocked Yang Long.

'Yang He, step aside!'

'Senior Brother Yang Long, wake up; the death of Yang Ji is already settled—if you kill these Brocade Robes, what difference does it make? Can he come back to life?'

The Taoist named Yang He spoke earnestly, 'Everyone who comes to cultivate has long since let life and death fade; if it were yesterday, we would have stood with you to defend Longhu Mountain's honor, even if we had to dissolve and rebuild—nothing to fear. But today is not the time!'

Yang Long suddenly lifted his head, his face twisted with anger, 'Why not?'

'We are dead; what about the White Jade Capital trial? This is our purpose for entering the Wokoku region! The sect weighs that heavenly immortal quota heavily—do you realize you would disregard the greater good for a moment's fury?'

His words were righteous and stirring, shattering the blood‑colored resolve that had simmered in Yang Long's eyes.

He let go of his fists wearily, his black hair drifting down his shoulders, and the floating magical instruments rained down around him.

'Yang He is right; nevertheless, we must rescue our senior brother!'

They could not simply abandon Zhang Qinglu, yet this sentiment had to be voiced by Yang Long himself, a debt of gratitude he must repay.

'Senior brother, rest assured; leave the rest to us.'

Yang He, with a solemn demeanor, flicked his robe's wide sleeves and turned to face Fan Wujue.

The latter scraped his temple with the back of his blade, his eyes playful as if whispering to the air, and gave a slight nod toward the empty space before him.

'This time we surrender, let your people disperse, and we will leave Osaka Castle at once.'

'What joke are you telling? Can't you see the current situation? It's the Wokoku Imperial Guards who have surrounded these illegal entrants among you!'

Fan Wujue raised an eyebrow, smiling coldly, 'I am an official, you are a bandit—does any law in this world permit an official to give a bandit passage?'

'If we keep fighting, everyone here will be slain to the last.'

Yang He raised his hand, pointing, 'Including you!'

'Mock me?'

Fan Wujue suddenly drove his blade into the ground, reached behind him to seize a tiger pistol, and with a sharp 'shhh' pulled the trigger, the sound echoing.

'Believe it or not, I'll dig out your foundation and pulverize it into mud!'

Yang He's expression turned icy, his arms raised, summoning talisman seas and flying swords on both sides.

'If you choose fish‑dead net breaking, then fire!'

Bang!

Before the words faded, the gunshot exploded.

Yet the brief flash of the gunfire arced toward the pitch‑black sky above.

The spent shell struck a not‑broad shoulder with a clatter and fell to the ground.

'Yang Xuan, you finally deigned to appear?'

Chen Qisheng released his grip on the gun barrel, his gaze at his fellow disciple unusually cold, so cold that one could not tell if he would erupt violently at any moment.

'Fellow disciples, enough already?'

A black streak shot forth, cleaving the bewildered youth standing still.

Gore‑stained organs spilled onto the ground, revealing the mechanical structure hidden within flesh.

'Now the priority is to locate this Buddhist disciple and any hidden Buddhist mechanisms, break the earthly Buddhist realm, and rescue people—not gamble our lives here!'

'You still care about rescuing people?'

Yang He shouted angrily, 'I ask you, where were you when Yang Ji died?'

'The four nine of the heavenly way, there is only a single thread to contest. Yang Ji's death has nothing to do with me; he overstepped his bounds. Yet you can still stand here questioning me because I am also a Taoist of Longhu Mountain.'

Chen Qisheng, unmoved by Yang He's grim visage, said calmly, 'Now that a Buddhist disciple strikes at Longhu Mountain, this is no longer our sect's internal dispute but a conflict between orders! Which is lighter, which heavier—do you think I need to teach you?'

'You,' Yang He's words were instantly choked.

Standing among the crowd, Yang Long regarded Chen Qisheng with a complex expression, their gazes meeting and parting in an instant.

'Listen to Yang Xuan.'

Yang Long spoke in a low voice, 'First break the Buddhist realm, kill the outsiders!'

On the other side, the bewildered Night Demon leaned close to Fan Wujue, lowering his voice: 'Head, which act is this? Isn't it over already?'

'Night Demon, you're still too young; didn't you hear that those cow‑nosed ones across are kin with our Chen Keqing?'

'A family? The one you just slashed—what is that? A step‑mother's child?'

Night Demon felt his mind overload, so he shook his head and stopped overthinking.

'Then what do we do now?'

Fan Wujue rested his arms on his shoulders, calmly said, 'Just wait.'

"What are you waiting for?" the Yaksha stared, bewildered.

"First, wait for Brother Jun, then we can strike again," he murmured.

Boom!

The brutal blade's glare cascaded down, slicing through several freshly carved sigils that had not yet been activated, sending them exploding apart.

The raging flames were right before his eyes, the acrid scent of charred flesh clear to the nose, yet Zhang Qinglu still felt a chill run through his body.

This sensation was like the one he had felt in his youth, when, in pursuit of ultimate cultivation speed, he had stripped away all his native flesh at the very beginning of his ascent, leaving his Daoic foundation withered and teetering on the brink of death.

Moreover, this was within the realm of the Buddha, where martial comprehension had lost its efficacy.

If he were struck by this blade, it would mean true death of body and dissolution of Dao.