Chapter 105: The Treacherous World of the Martial Arts Realm
Old Lord Mo and the Master of Black Flag Mountain feasted and drank without restraint, openly discussing how to divide their spoils in front of He Chang’an and Zhang Xiaoyan.
Man is the fish on the chopping block, and I am the meat—nothing more.
He Chang’an glanced toward Zhang Xiaoyan, the Grand Celestial Master of Dragon and Tiger Mountain, only to see him delicately flick his fingers while retrieving a mirror from his robe to begin shaping his eyebrows, seemingly oblivious to the scene before him.
“As a disciple of the Dragon and Tiger Mountain’s Grand Celestial Master lineage, he should have some hidden trump cards… right?” He Chang’an felt uncertain.
He was tasked with escorting Zhang Xiaoyan southward, back to their sect, but the current situation was a death trap for both of them.
Not to mention Old Lord Mo—He Chang’an knew nothing of his background or strength.
And the Master of Black Flag Mountain, who had just arrived, was a true martial warrior at the peak of the sixth realm, his vital energy tightly controlled. Alone, he was an unbeatable foe.
In youth, many dream of soaring to the heights in a single bound, believing themselves to be destined children of heaven, capable of extraordinary feats, even slaying opponents beyond their level.
But in reality, realm superiority, combat experience, secret techniques, and weapons are decisive factors. Anyone who reaches the pinnacle of the sixth martial realm surely has more than one hidden skill.
Thus, from the start, He Chang’an had prepared for the worst.
Not death in battle—but a fight to the death.
His greatest worry was the group that had been scheming against him since Great Scattered Pass—what their true background was, and what reserves they still held.
From the very first night after leaving Great Scattered Pass, when that fleeting sense of danger came and went swiftly, He Chang’an had been silently preparing.
Each night at camp, while hunting in the nearby wilds and forests, he discreetly laid out various “little devices,” unnoticed even by Zhang Xiaoyan.
By the time they entered the small town of Bluestone, he had already studied the terrain and the layout of the buildings out of habit, as naturally as eating and sleeping.
Of course, to those masters, his precautions might seem insignificant, but He Chang’an firmly believed:
In the martial world, even the smallest preparation is never wasted in a life-or-death struggle.
...
The innkeeper, pale and trembling, reheated a table of food and drink, personally served it with a “Please enjoy, honored guests,” then swiftly retreated to the back room.
Zhang Xiaoyan casually looked up, glanced at the innkeeper, cupped his hands at his chest, and sighed.
---
“Old Lord Mo, gentlemen, come, come—drink heartily with me, Black Flag!” The Master of Black Flag Mountain rolled up his sleeves generously, pouring a bowl of wine for each person.
“Even if we’re here to fight and kill, we must still drink and eat, right? Come, come, let us toast together!”
Old Lord Mo, He Chang’an, and Zhang Xiaoyan all refrained from picking up their bowls.
The Master of Black Flag Mountain didn’t care, drinking his own bowl with a praise of “Good wine,” then refilled another.
“What? Not even a sip? To start a fight without wine is just boring.” He raised his bowl again, inviting the three once more.
Old Lord Mo sneered coldly, Zhang Xiaoyan played innocent and cute, but only He Chang’an seemed unable to resist the enthusiasm, reaching out to take the bowl.
Zhang Xiaoyan shot a sharp glance at He Chang’an and quietly transmitted, “Don’t fall for it—it’s poisoned.”
“That innkeeper is suspicious; probably the White Two among the black and white pawns…” he added.
He Chang’an appeared not to hear, took the bowl, frowned slightly, and said, “This wine must be expensive. I can’t afford to treat you.”
The Master of Black Flag Mountain laughed heartily. “Don’t worry. My second brother has refined the Heart-Nourishing Pill with exquisite technique—it won’t cause you pain, but it will draw blood from your heart.”
Old Lord Mo’s face shifted slightly, suddenly turning to the Master of Black Flag Mountain and croaking, “You dare refine the Heart-Nourishing Pill? Aren’t you afraid of being hunted by the Demon-Slaying Division?”
“The Demon-Slaying Division? Ha!” The Master of Black Flag Mountain laughed wildly, his face darkening. “Isn’t this He Chang’an the Demon Slayer himself?”
“I’m the one who kills the scraps of the Demon-Slaying Division!”
Old Lord Mo’s eyes flickered, as if pondering something, then suddenly said, “How about I withdraw? I don’t want the goods, and you can have the man.”
The Master of Black Flag Mountain sneered but said nothing, slumping down and resuming his feast.
He Chang’an hesitated briefly, then took a shallow sip of the wine.
Immediately, before the astonished eyes of Old Lord Mo and Zhang Xiaoyan, he calmly finished the bowl and murmured in admiration:
“Indeed, good wine.”
The Master of Black Flag Mountain looked up at He Chang’an, suddenly grinning, “You’ve got guts, kid. You’re worth killing with my own hands.”
He Chang’an said nothing, poured himself a large bowl, tilted his head back, and drank.
Wiping the wetness from his mouth with his sleeve, he smiled and stood, heading toward the door.
Outside the inn, he looked up at the sky—bright sun high overhead, endless clear blue, a vast expanse that lifted his spirits as he muttered, “Still hasn’t lost its reason, huh?”
---
He Chang’an stood under the dazzling sunlight, squinting. Turning, he saw a figure not far off glaring at a steamed bun—Aji.
That girl looked better disguised as a boy.
He wasn’t surprised by Aji’s arrival.
Just felt a little pang in his chest.
He Chang’an glanced again at the sun, then at the loosely assembled iron cavalry of dozens of black horses and riders standing on Bluestone Street, waiting for the Master of Black Flag Mountain.
After a short while, the Master of Black Flag Mountain finished a large feast, rubbed his belly, and strode out of the inn.
Old Lord Mo wanted to follow but was stopped by Zhang Xiaoyan’s words: “If you dare leave, Dragon and Tiger Mountain will destroy the foundation of your Millstone Mountain sect—three hundred and eight mouths, not a single one spared.”
Old Lord Mo abruptly turned, a gleam of ruthlessness flashing in his eyes, but quickly resumed his smile and sat back down at the table. He picked up a clearly suspicious bowl of wine and stared blankly.
“The Master of Black Flag Mountain’s target is He Chang’an; your target is me. Don’t cause trouble and lose your life,” Zhang Xiaoyan said, standing tall and smiling brightly.
“Old Lord Mo, the demon tribe’s cultivation method you want is actually on me. If you have the skill, come and take it.”
A thick stack of talismans had already been activated; with a flick, dozens of wind blades shot at the gaunt old man.
Old Lord Mo seemed to expect this. He waved his hand, and a blue shield appeared, enveloping him.
The wind blades struck the blue shield with sharp crackling sounds, turning into dozens of yellow talisman papers fluttering down, dissolving into wisps of smoke until gone.
“Not bad—the Great Celestial Cycle of the demon tribe shows some real power,” Zhang Xiaoyan smiled gently, snapping his fingers inside his sleeve. The inn shimmered with a pale light, and within a few breaths, it vanished into thin air.
...
The Master of Black Flag Mountain slowly approached He Chang’an, staring at him for a long moment before asking, “Last time you killed the Swallowing Heaven Ape, you used your fists. It seems your boxing skills are quite good.”
He Chang’an shook his head, sighing softly. “But I am a sword cultivator.”