As the black poisonous mist crept closer, the small porcelain bottle in Su Muyu’s arms suddenly began to shake. He took out the bottle and opened its lid. The small green snake first poked out its head, then flicked its tongue, before leaping out of the bottle entirely.

It circled Su Muyu once, causing the poisonous mist to halt about ten feet away from him, advancing no further. After completing this task, the small green snake crawled back to Su Muyu’s feet and rubbed its head against his foot, as if seeking praise.

“So you had such ability,” Su Muyu bent down and gently scratched the small green snake’s head.

Encouraged by the praise, the small green snake happily coiled in place before climbing onto Su Muyu’s palm and making its way back into the porcelain bottle. It seemed somewhat tired and quickly closed its eyes, remaining motionless inside. Su Muyu tucked the bottle back into his clothes and gazed at the poisonous mist before him, gently rotating the handle of his umbrella.

Outside the poisonous mist, Tang Lingkui fingered a string of jade beads and spoke softly: “The Hundred Poisons Mist should shatter bones and melt entrails, yet there’s no sound from within the poison formation. Is the Umbrella Ghost of Dark River’s will so strong? To face such bone-shattering, gut-melting pain without any reaction?”

Tang Lingro channeled his inner energy, his eyes flashing with golden light as he peered into the poisonous mist. The umbrella-wielding figure still stood there unharmed. He exclaimed in shock: “How can this be?”

“What do you see?” Tang Lingkui asked.

“He stands there completely unscathed,” Tang Lingro shook his head. “Could the Su family head also be versed in poison arts?”

“Impossible. In Dark River, only the Mu family studies poison arts. Su family assassins focus solely on sword techniques and aren’t allowed to study poisons,” Tang Lingkui said gravely. “There must be some other reason.”

“Report, Deputy Commander,” a black-clothed man stepped forward.

Tang Lingkui turned his head: “What is it?”

The man spoke solemnly: “My three-legged golden toad suddenly became agitated and tried to break free from my clothes. This has never happened before.”

“What does it mean if it happens?” Tang Lingkui asked.

The man looked up: “It means a Poison King is present.”

“Poison King?” Tang Lingkui looked toward Tang Lingro.

“How many things in this world can be called Poison King? And it just happens to be with Su Muyu?” Tang Lingro said harshly. “Could this be an excuse you’ve made up because your poison mist was blocked?”

“Not! For the three-legged golden toad to react this way, there must be a Poison King present!” the black-clothed man hurriedly replied.

“So now the poison mist can’t harm him. What can we do? We can’t just keep waiting like this,” Tang Lingkui said.

The black-clothed man nodded: “Though he cannot break through, our poison formation can trap him for at least three hours. During this time, we’ll quickly find Mu Qingyang and kill him.”

“Have we trapped him?” Tang Lingkui sneered. “I don’t think so.”

Deep in the mountains, Mu Qingyang was desperately searching for a way out when he noticed a sparrow circling in the air before landing at his feet. Looking down, he paused: “These Tang clan people must be crazy. Are they trying to poison an entire mountain? Am I, Mu Qingyang, really worth such a grand gesture?”

“He’s here!” a voice called from nearby. Mu Qingyang whirled around to see an iron caltrop flying toward him. He quickly dodged aside as it grazed past his temple. He muttered: “How interesting of the Tang clan to shout a warning before attacking. Such honorable use of hidden weapons.”

As he finished speaking, five or six people rushed toward him.

“Oh, strength in numbers. Never mind what I said.” Mu Qingyang took off running. Looking up, he saw black mist enshrouding the distant forest and thought to himself: Judging by their actions, they must be dealing with others! Perhaps other Dark River members have arrived! Better to join forces than be chased around here!

What if Su Muyu has come!

Then he’d be saved!

The thought that Su Muyu might be there immediately lifted Mu Qingyang’s spirits.

In the poison formation, Su Muyu stood with closed eyes, still gently rotating his sword handle.

Since Su Muyu began learning swordplay, his instructor had told him one thing:

Nothing in this world is invincible.

All things have an eye.

This eye is their weakness.

Break the eye, and you break the formation.

Even bringing down a mountain with one sword stroke is possible if you strike its eye.

Su Muyu suddenly opened his eyes. From closing them to opening them again, barely the time of an incense stick had passed.

But he had found it!

He raised his paper umbrella, suddenly spinning as he flew toward the southwest. Opening the umbrella, its surface spun rapidly, keeping the poison mist three feet away, unable to approach. Within a few leaps, he had passed through the mist and appeared before Tang Lingkui and the others.

“What!” Tang Lingro exclaimed in shock.

Tang Lingkui had already leaped up. Though his body appeared extremely frail, his movements were as swift as lightning. As he jumped, he had already donned a pair of iron gloves, exchanging thirteen moves with Su Muyu in mid-air.

“The Heaven-Crushing Gloves!” Su Muyu said gravely.

“Might I have the honor of witnessing the Su family head’s Eighteen Sword Formation?” Tang Lingkui stepped back after another exchange.

Then over a dozen figures leaped from the forest, all attacking Su Muyu simultaneously. Su Muyu raised his paper umbrella, defending and retreating until he finally halted in mid-air, his hand pressing on the umbrella handle as he gave it a gentle twist.

The umbrella blossomed like a flower.

Seventeen long swords flew out, forcing back all enemies before embedding themselves in tree trunks around them. Puppet strings connected the seventeen swords, creating what looked like a massive spider web spread throughout the forest. Su Muyu alighted on the puppet strings, raising his sword as he gazed at the Tang clan members before him, like a perfect hunter watching his prey.

“You’re fortunate, as I rarely get to use the Eighteen Sword Formation in a forest. But this is how the Eighteen Sword Formation should look at its most perfect,” Su Muyu lightly flicked his Fine Rain sword. “Death Net, cutting off all hope of survival.”

Tang Lingro said solemnly: “For one person to control so many swords simultaneously—in legend, only the master of Wushuang City could achieve this.”

Tang Lingkui narrowed his eyes: “This is different from that sword-controlling technique. This is the ultimate killing art.”