The fierce flames burned blazingly.

Crackling and thunderous sounds echoed dully as roof beams collapsed one by one. The fire soared ten feet high, and before Mo Ziru’s eyes, crimson flickered—apart from black and red, he could see nothing else.

Around him lay fallen red-robed crossbow archers scattered across the ground. After Cao Wufang fought with him and saw that Mo Ziru remained alive despite being severely poisoned, she suddenly fled. Mo Ziru wanted to pursue and kill the enemy, but he could no longer see clearly which direction Cao Wufang had escaped, so he had to give up. Her escape surely meant she was going to find reinforcements, but Mo Ziru had no time to worry about this—behind him, a cold sword intent soared skyward.

Shui Duopo finally leaped up from underground.

Mo Ziru turned around with sword in hand.

Shui Duopo’s long hair hung loose, the red mole on his forehead had disappeared, half his body was covered in blood, and in his hand he gripped an iron arrow.

This was not Tang Wujun’s fire-poison arrow.

Shui Duopo had no sword in his hand—he held only an iron arrow about three feet long.

Earlier, he had used this iron arrow to execute a sword technique, overturning the ceiling of the secret passage and leaping up from underground. But no one followed behind him—Liu Yan, Yu Tuan’er, and those three hundred disciples in the secret passage seemed to have suddenly vanished without a trace.

Mo Ziru could not see Shui Duopo’s appearance clearly, but he could feel the killing intent.

The renowned physician Shui Duopo of Bright Moon never killed people.

But Sword Emperor Shui Qiqi’s killing intent was cold and chilly, like a pool of lake water under a desolate wind and sorrowful moon.

Mo Ziru smelled the rich bloody scent in the wind—he couldn’t tell whether it came from the corpses lying scattered on the ground or from the person opposite him. His Long Clothes Sword had long since been thrown and lost somewhere unknown. Now Mo Ziru gripped only half of Tang Wujun’s broken bow in his hand.

Shui Duopo walked toward Mo Ziru step by step with his eyes slightly closed.

Mo Ziru’s eyes streamed blood like tears—the “Ghost Rain” poison had fully erupted. Even with his world-shaking martial arts, he could barely move. He heard Shui Duopo’s breathing suddenly become erratic, as if he had caught a scent that surprised him. Then fierce wind struck as Shui Duopo thrust his “sword” forward in an attack.

Mo Ziru half-knelt on the ground, trying to parry with the broken bow, but blocked nothing—only then realizing that what Shui Duopo held was not a sword. Hearing Shui Duopo’s increasingly rapid breathing, Mo Ziru suddenly remembered—those afflicted with “Bee Mother Frost” craved highly poisonous substances—and wasn’t he, poisoned with “Ghost Rain,” exactly such a “poisonous substance”?

At this moment, in his dear friend’s eyes, he was probably not a person but food.

Yet he could not see what ghostly form his dear friend had become.

“Shui Duopo?” Mo Ziru said. “Shui… do you still remember the White Emperor Sword?”

Seeing Mo Ziru already resembling a blood-soaked man, Shui Duopo seemed not to notice at all, gripping the iron arrow tightly and walking toward him step by step.

Mo Ziru could not hear his footsteps but could feel his killing intent. “Do you still remember Wen Shanhe?”

Shui Duopo suddenly paused, his hand gripping the iron arrow turning pale and beginning to tremble.

Mo Ziru continued, “Was Wen Shanhe’s blood good to drink?”

Shui Duopo’s eyes suddenly moved, and with a “clang,” the iron arrow in his hand dropped to the ground. His gaze gradually filled with killing intent, changing from a blank stare at nothing to one gradually charged with murderous rage.

Mo Ziru wiped the bloody tears from his face once more—he was already at his limit. “Do you still remember why you buried the White Emperor Sword! Why you stayed at Bright Moon Tower… why you decided to spend this life healing and saving people, never again…” Before he could finish, Shui Duopo strode forward and grabbed his throat, choking off Mo Ziru’s unfinished words.

Mo Ziru’s neck bones creaked as fresh bloody tears burst forth, wetting Shui Duopo’s hand.

Shui Duopo released his fingers and licked Mo Ziru’s blood.

Mo Ziru struggled for breath. “You—” The broken bow in his right hand suddenly wrapped around Shui Duopo’s neck. With Shui Duopo’s poison having reached this stage, his reason was completely gone. If he broke free and escaped—who knew how many people in this world would suffer at his hands.

How many people in this world could match the Sword Emperor’s blade?

Mo Ziru smiled miserably and applied force to the broken bow, preparing to strangle Shui Duopo’s neck as he had done to Tang Wujun.

With a soft “crack,” he felt a chill in his chest as a long sword pierced through his body and was immediately withdrawn. The person opposite had tremendous strength, casually pulling away the strangling broken bow and tossing it aside.

Mo Ziru spat fresh blood and fell backward. Shui Duopo picked up a sword from the ground and pierced his chest—that sword thrust could hardly be called swordsmanship, directly penetrating his lungs and meridians. Mo Ziru spat blood wildly, and the “Cotton Robe” blockage in his qi channels was actually broken through by Shui Duopo’s sword piercing his meridians, causing his true qi to flow smoothly again. He had never spat so much blood in half his lifetime, but after violently expelling the poisoned blood, he opened his eyes and vaguely saw a human figure.

Shui Duopo gripped an unknown person’s discarded sword with both hands, standing before him with the sword raised high, as if to strike down upon his head. Mo Ziru frowned—he had known Shui Duopo for many years, both being sword masters who had practiced swordsmanship for decades, yet he had never seen such a technique of raising the sword with both hands to chop down from above. This two-handed sword raising left both front and back completely open, and a sword was not a mountain-splitting blade—striking down from above had limited power… Had Shui Duopo gone so mad that he had even forgotten swordsmanship?

Shui Duopo paused slightly, then brought the long sword chopping down.

Mo Ziru forced himself to struggle for breath and rolled aside to dodge.

Shui Duopo still gripped the sword with both hands to strike again. Mo Ziru had no strength left to dodge and could only say with effort, “After you… drink my blood… don’t return to Bright Moon Tower…” He propped himself up with his hand and raised his head to look at Shui Duopo. “Don’t go back to see her. I’m afraid you’ll regret it.”

Shui Duopo said nothing, applying more force to the blade, about to strike Mo Ziru dead with one sword.

Suddenly, someone from the side reached out and pinched Shui Duopo’s sword tip.

The brute-force-only Shui Duopo raised his head, his eyes devoid of spirit yet full of killing intent shifting slightly to glance at the newcomer.

The newcomer wore black embroidered robes and a smiling Vairocana Buddha mask, was quite tall, and moved with the bearing of a dragon and tiger. Gripping Shui Duopo’s sword tip, he said eerily, “If Mo Chunfeng with such martial arts were to die so easily, wouldn’t that be extremely regrettable? The Sword Emperor and you have been close friends for many years, like spring orchids and autumn chrysanthemums, neither superior nor inferior. If both were to join my sect, wouldn’t that be wonderfully convenient?”

This person did not identify himself. Mo Ziru coughed and said, “You are Huang…” He had just heard Song Xiaoyu call out “Huang…” earlier, and since this person had appeared, he decided to test him with deception.

The newcomer said, “I am Gui Mudan, coming from Haoyun Mountain. Mo Chunfeng truly possesses exceptional martial arts—my red crossbow archers who flattened Haoyun Mountain were actually killed clean by you alone.” He did not take the bait, pushing with his fingertip to shove the mentally unclear Shui Duopo back three steps, then crouched down before Mo Ziru. “But how the Snow Thread Sword and the Imperial Plum Blade fell into my hands… even though you’re about to die, you surely want to know.”

Mo Ziru asked in a low voice, “Is Zhong Lingyan really dead?”

Gui Mudan smiled without answering. He took out a bamboo tube from his sleeve containing several pale golden spiders the size of soybeans. These spiders had spun webs inside the tube that glittered like gold and jade, quite beautiful to behold.

Mo Ziru could not see clearly what he was doing. Gui Mudan gripped his face, lifted his chin, and began pushing the bamboo tube toward his mouth.

Heaven and earth seemed to quiet momentarily. With a soft “crack,” blood light suddenly erupted, and several tiny drops of blood splashed onto Gui Mudan’s black robes, disappearing without a trace. The seemingly dazed Shui Duopo beside them suddenly struck with his sword, just as he had done to Mo Ziru earlier, piercing Gui Mudan straight through from front to back!

Gui Mudan spat a mouthful of fresh blood onto Mo Ziru with a “wah” sound, turning his head in disbelief. He had been lurking nearby for a long time, only emerging to play the mantis stalking the cicada when Shui Duopo was truly about to kill Mo Ziru. He had never expected Shui Duopo to attack him! After all, “Bee Mother Frost” was an extraordinary poison—Shui Duopo had been poisoned for over twenty years, with the toxin already penetrating to his bones.

But the Sword Emperor was not just anyone. Whether conscious or unconscious, when the Sword Emperor held a sword—if he wanted to pierce a hole through Gui Mudan’s body, he could pierce that hole!

Shui Duopo’s sword intent was traceless, cool as the bright moon, without heart or trace.

Mo Ziru was an unextinguishable sword.

Shui Duopo was a cold sword.

As Gui Mudan was pierced through the chest by the sword, Mo Ziru struggled to rise and counterattacked with the bow, the poisoned broken bow wrapping around Gui Mudan’s neck like a ghost. With a sword in his chest and a bow at his neck, Gui Mudan was not Tang Wujun—as Mo Ziru’s half bowstring wound around his neck, he lightly flicked with his fingernail, and the bowstring snapped at his touch. Mo Ziru lunged forward, and with the momentum of his fall—he struck the broken bow with a “crack,” grasping the thinnest, sharpest piece of broken wood to stab toward Gui Mudan’s dantian!

That piece of broken wood was only about three inches long, and Mo Ziru was already a dying, blood-soaked man.

But he threw his entire body into the attack, completely refusing to accept that he was a blood-soaked man.

With a muffled sound, the sharp broken wood entered Gui Mudan’s dantian by two inches! In that instant, with a sword in his back and a stab in his abdomen, Gui Mudan roared and gathered all his internal power to strike Mo Ziru’s back as he lunged into his embrace.

With a muffled “crack,” both Gui Mudan and Mo Ziru spat blood. Mo Ziru raised his head while Gui Mudan knelt down, tiny blood drops splashing onto each other’s robes.

Shui Duopo still stood behind Gui Mudan. He twisted his blade, grinding the dying Gui Mudan’s heart and lungs to shreds!

Mo Ziru, struck by Gui Mudan’s full-force palm, raised his head, swayed slightly, and fell backward.

Before his eyes was still a sea of blood—he could only vaguely see that the sky had not yet completely darkened.

Beside him, Shui Duopo flicked his wrist, flinging the dying Gui Mudan away with his sword. Mo Ziru could not see whether he was mad or demented… he was going to die.

Before death… having stopped so many people, Liu Yan… should… also be able to… right…

With a resounding “clang,” he heard fierce wind above his head and the sound of two swords clashing.

Shui Duopo raised his sword to strike him again—suddenly someone burst out from the fire, also wielding a sword, blocking Shui Duopo.

Mo Ziru opened his eyes in confusion.

His bloody tears had run dry, and his once clear black and white eyes had become two masses of red, turbid matter.

But hearing the sound of clashing swords, was that Pu… Zhu…?

Puzhu had also burst out from the underground secret passage, also in a sorry state. His black hair was disheveled, his entire body’s clothing was torn, as if he had been burned by fire then soaked with water, making him appear thin as a skeleton. Blocking Shui Duopo with one sword, Puzhu said gravely, “Benefactor sacrificed himself to save others with great benevolence and righteousness… Please stabilize your mind. The poison of ‘Bee Mother Frost’ is not without solution.”

Shui Duopo completely ignored him. Having failed to kill Mo Ziru with one sword, he flicked his wrist and suddenly executed a move called “Soaring Paired Phoenixes,” striking left and right with separate swords at both Puzhu and Mo Ziru. His swordwork was extremely practiced, the blade passing through air like moonlight on flowing water, silent and waveless. If not for this life-and-death struggle, Puzhu would surely have admired it. But with both wielding swords in opposition, Shui Duopo’s sword power was slightly superior, and with a “swish” he pierced Puzhu’s left arm.

“Amitabha…” Puzhu had clearly encountered something in the underground depths and was obviously exhausted, his voice hoarse. “Liu Yan has already escaped with his disciples. Benefactor need not fight anymore—we won!”

Shui Duopo seemed not to hear. He found the bloody scent on Puzhu quite repulsive—probably because they both carried the poisoned blood of “Bee Mother Frost,” making him strongly reject it. After sniffing several times, Shui Duopo still turned toward Mo Ziru, suddenly losing his form and instantly appearing beside Mo Ziru—actually using Xue Xianzi’s Thousand Traces Arc Transformation.

Puzhu could not catch up, supporting himself with his sword on the ground, only managing to send a palm strike toward Shui Duopo’s back.

Shui Duopo lifted the dying Mo Ziru, bit his neck, and drank deeply of his blood.

Puzhu summoned the Buddhist Lion’s Roar, expending all his internal power: “No need to fight anymore! We won!”

The Lion’s Roar shook the universe like evening drums and morning bells. Echoes came from mountains, rivers, forests, and seas, voice after voice roaring angrily: “No need to fight anymore! We won!”

“No need to fight anymore!”

“No need to fight anymore…”

Shui Duopo raised his head, his sword gracefully turning as he struck directly at Puzhu’s heart without looking back.

Puzhu raised his sword to parry—with a “clang,” the sword flew from his hand. Shui Duopo grinned ferociously, threw down Mo Ziru, and followed his sword with his body, again using Thousand Traces Arc Transformation to instantly appear before Puzhu. His five fingers like hooks grabbed Puzhu’s shoulder and casually twisted, about to break Puzhu’s arm.

Puzhu had just witnessed Shui Duopo’s critical sword that saved over three hundred lives. Even with the power to counterattack, he found it difficult to strike—moreover, with both qi and blood depleted, he had no defensive power at all. He could only watch helplessly as Shui Duopo broke his arm with a “crack,” then struck down at his crown with one palm.

If this palm connected, Puzhu would surely have his brains splattered and die horribly disfigured. He closed his eyes awaiting death, his mood strangely peaceful. This body had committed countless sins and death was not regrettable—only regrettable that he had not done his utmost for jianghu affairs, failing Tang Lici’s trust.

With a soft “crack,” sharp pain shot through his shoulder as a layer of warm blood mist sprayed across his face. Puzhu suddenly opened his eyes to see half a sword blade withdrawing from the chest of Shui Duopo who had been gripping him, blood flying everywhere.

Behind Shui Duopo, sword light had not yet faded, still showing swirling sword radiance like approaching spring.

Flowers about to bloom, rain about to fall, green robes and spring grass—do not waste the spring wind.

Remembering youth, like youth, a lifetime never aged, neither dead nor retreating.

Mo Ziru made a final desperate strike—he had groped for a sword on the ground and pierced Shui Duopo’s heart with one thrust—this sword was even with the one Shui Duopo had just given him.

Shui Duopo suddenly turned around, his sword like flowing light passing through Mo Ziru’s ribs.

Both men’s swords pierced through each other, pinning each other in place.

Mo Ziru coughed and spat out a mouthful of bloody foam—his blood was already very pale, having nearly drained all the blood in his body. “…Puzhu… hope you have… better… luck than… him…”

Witnessing this human tragedy, Puzhu was greatly shocked. For a moment he could not speak, his true qi suddenly flowing in reverse, his whole body’s bones creaking. The Bee Mother Frost poison suppressed by Buddhist mental methods actually began stirring restlessly.

Mo Ziru gave a low laugh. “Ha…”

He pitched forward and died with closed eyes.

Shui Duopo, struck by his collision, fell backward to the ground. Perhaps due to the pain of the blade piercing his heart, he suddenly opened his eyes wide.

He could no longer remember that twenty-eight years ago, the reason Mo Ziru and Shui Duopo lived as neighbors was that if one day the poison on his forehead broke through and he could not suppress it, when he would massacre innocents, Mo Ziru would keep his promise… and kill him with one sword.