The extremely brief moment seemed to stretch as long as a century, time seemingly frozen by extreme terror.

But in reality, the flowing light lasted only an instant.

The extreme silence was suddenly broken by a familiar roar.

The next moment, the black fire and red flames ahead suddenly deformed and flowed—this was caused by being torn by rapidly moving air. A black streak of light burst through the flames—it was the flying vehicle.

The purple-robed figure on the vehicle crouched low, pressing close to the vehicle body. As he sped past You Weixing, he reached out and scooped him up onto the vehicle once more.

You Weixing had first been scooped up by Tie Ci, then by Murong Yi. He showed no surprise or alarm, sitting steadily at the front of the vehicle, just short of spreading his arms to embrace the wind with his head raised.

The person on the vehicle neither stopped nor looked back, speeding away frantically just as Tie Ci had before, only raising his hand in a distant gesture.

His figure headed toward the sunlight, etched against the cold and blurry light of the winter desert sun.

Tie Ci watched that rapidly retreating figure in the sunlight, exhaled a long breath, and suddenly lay back on the cold sandy ground.

She wanted to cry, but in the end curved her lips in a smile.

…

Half of the Hanli Desert had been stirred by the dust from the flying vehicles, while the other half remained shrouded in peaceful atmosphere.

This was the edge of the desert. Going further ahead over a mountain would reach Da Feng’s nameless snow plains.

Ahead lay the vast desert, behind rose craggy stone mountains. Beyond the stone mountains stretched endless white snow plains—the most extensive and harshest terrain between Da Feng and Da Qian, which had always been sparsely populated.

At the foot of the mountains, however, stood two stone houses that looked quite solid, with low stone walls built in front. They had forcibly created a small world within this vast desert.

Wind was rising in this small world.

The wind was like a small tornado, swirling from the left side of the courtyard to the right. When it stopped, a cup of hot tea had appeared on the small wooden table on the right side, not a drop spilled.

A voice with a hint of laughter came from inside the house: “Chen Tuntian, how was that move of mine?”

No one answered, and another cluster of swirling sand arose in the courtyard, spiraling toward the table.

The voice suddenly became urgent, shouting: “Old Scorpion, don’t drink my tea! That’s specially brewed for Sangtang…”

Before the words finished, the wind swept past and the tea was gone.

Duanmu’s voice stopped abruptly. The next moment, all around suddenly fell quiet, and Sangtang’s gentle voice of persuasion rose: “Duanmu, don’t—”

A figure flashed, and suddenly a black hole appeared in the small courtyard, as if the air had been torn open in a crack. A human figure was sucked into that hole with a whoosh, and in an instant the hole vanished.

The curtain of the inner room was lifted, and Sangtang walked out. Looking at the empty courtyard, he shook his head: “Why bully people again?”

“He clearly stole the tea I brewed for you,” Duanmu said. “A small punishment as a big warning—I’ll let him out in a quarter hour.”

“Did you learn this from that Murong Yi’s people last time?” Sangtang walked to the table and sat down, beginning to boil water and brew tea again.

Duanmu made a sound of agreement. “These past few years, I’ve kept ‘coincidentally encountering’ various people with natural talents, learning a bunch of inexplicable abilities. At first I thought it was just chance, but where are there so many coincidences in the world? Atang, tell me, why would Murong Yi send so many talented people here? Surely not just to give me more abilities?”

“What else?” Sangtang said. “You also know he hasn’t harmed you. These people all genuinely have natural talents. Like that technique you just used—it must not have been easy for him to find these people.”

“That’s exactly what I don’t understand. Given his character, he’d pluck feathers from a passing goose. Why would he be so kind to us?”

Sangtang fell silent. He also found it very strange. After all, Murong Yi was not a generous person—calling him one of the most vicious and cunning people in the world wouldn’t be excessive.

So why did he go to such trouble to send these supernatural ability users?

And it wasn’t just this. Over the years, while they stayed in the snow plains to recover from their injuries, Murong Yi spoke harshly but was quite generous with supplies. Strange medicines and rare treasures flowed endlessly, healing their injuries almost completely, even improving their skills.

Sangtang knew Murong Yi’s foundation was damaged, and some medicinal materials would be useful and precious to him too. Yet he didn’t use them himself and gave them away instead. Was he really such a selfless person?

Unable to figure it out, he stopped thinking about it. In any case, they owed a debt of gratitude whether they wanted to or not, and who knew when circumstances would arise requiring them to repay it.

The courtyard was peaceful inside, but outside, sand and wind rolled.

Duanmu’s ears suddenly twitched.

Only he could detect the extremely subtle abnormality in the trajectory of the wild wind.

Then he raised his hand, and a piece of charcoal from the small copper stove flew out of the courtyard.

The charcoal turned to powder flickering with countless red lights in the air, apparently covering someone. There was a resentful spitting sound in the wind, and among the red charcoal powder a slender figure was vaguely outlined before disappearing.

Duanmu shook his head and sneered: “Never giving up hope.”

Sangtang gathered his sleeves and poured tea, his expression calm.

When they had pursued Little Shadow all the way, they had given that first assassin plenty of trouble. They had fought their way to the northern lands, and later when they grew tired and stopped, the other party refused to give up, also staying in the area. Every few days there would be harassment, repeatedly defeated but never stopping.

It was as if they were being used as whetstones.

Or perhaps the long nights were boring—after all, of the Three Lunatics and Five Emperors, only a few of them remained.

Their era had already passed. Looking up, all they saw was yellow sand and lonely wind.

Only wandering heroes who had reached the end of their road could know this feeling.

Duanmu also seemed to lose interest. He raised his hand and grabbed, forcibly creating a black mark in the air. The mark grew larger and larger, with pitch blackness inside and stars twinkling. He reached in again and pulled out Chen Tuntian, whose skin was like gold and copper.

After landing, Chen Tuntian looked bewildered.

Sangtang became curious and asked him: “Where did you just go? What did you see?”

Chen Tuntian’s expression became even more bewildered. He blinked his bell-like large eyes for a while and said: “I don’t know either. Just a very dark place. Though it was clearly empty all around, I didn’t sink down. There were also some things I couldn’t recognize floating beside me. Earlier I saw a huge silver monster with two rotating wings pass by me. There seemed to be something inside that monster pointing at me and making a big fuss about something, but unfortunately it was too far away to hear clearly. Then I came back.”

Duanmu raised an eyebrow.

So that was a place where other people existed?

This was the large-scale spatial technique he had copied from a blonde, blue-eyed Westerner. The other party had given it this name, saying he could go to the divine kingdom of heaven. As far as he could see, he thought it should be hell.

But hell actually didn’t have eighteen levels—quite strange indeed.

Chen Tuntian burrowed into the sand and left. Sangtang looked at the sky and peeled off the flatbread that had been warming against the stove, wrapped it in a paper bag, and walked toward the door.

Duanmu sat without moving, saying with slight jealousy: “Going to feed your little girl again?”

Sangtang said gently: “Her name is Sang Ruo, not ‘little girl.'”

Duanmu snorted coldly.

Sangtang smiled: “Why compete with a seven-year-old child? I’ll stew small dried fish for you tonight.”

Only then did Duanmu stop talking.

He wasn’t really being petty, just didn’t want Sangtang to be lost in memories of the past because of someone’s resemblance.

Sangtang had a tragic childhood. Originally the son of a wealthy family, his parents were murdered for money by distant relatives who had come seeking refuge. While boating on the lake, they conspired with water bandits to strike in a deserted place, disposing of bodies without a trace. Of the entire household, only he survived. His sister, only one year older than him, took a club blow meant for him and held him tightly as they fell into the water, tying him to the reeds to save his life.

At that time, he had watched helplessly as his sister, only slightly older than himself, gradually stopped breathing beside him.

Later he had a fateful encounter and took revenge, but the dead relatives could never come back to life.

He opened up a darkness that belonged only to himself, and from then on only walked in darkness.

Who would have known that years later, in this borderland between Xirong and Da Feng, where snow plains met desert, Sangtang would encounter a local Moge tribe child who resembled his sister.

He said the child’s smile was exactly like his sister’s, and she also had a pair of cute little tiger teeth.

For this reason, he gave her the same name as his sister.

There was an oasis nearby, and when the child came to fetch water, she often passed by here. Over time, Sangtang would always prepare some food for her when she came.

Today, seeing it was time, he opened the door to go out.

But as soon as he looked up, he saw rolling dust on the distant horizon.

He also saw a streak of smoke shooting straight up into the sky from the northwest.

Then he heard a familiar cry, and turning his head, he saw that by the water pool not far away, a water jar lay on its side with water spilled all over the ground.

And further away, a gray shadow fled like light smoke toward the northwest, vaguely carrying someone under its arm.

Without thinking, Sangtang gave chase.

The moment his figure moved, the other party turned back, raised a hand, and with a faint bang, a beam of light came straight at him.

Sangtang thought it was some weapon and casually flicked his sleeve.

Suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder, and with a turn, had already moved him three zhang away.

Sangtang turned his head and saw that where he had just been standing, gray smoke was passing through, and behind him the courtyard wall now had a silent hole punched through it.

The hole was perfectly round, without even any sand or stone falling.

Sangtang’s face grew stern.

Not to mention that the courtyard wall, though it looked ordinary, was made of extremely hard stone—just the fact that the opponent’s casual strike from over a li away still had such power—what kind of weapon and internal energy was this?

He felt he could do it himself, but not with such apparent ease.

How could Sang Ruo, a seven-year-old girl, provoke such a powerful enemy?

But Sangtang had no time to think further. The opponent’s speed was alarming and was about to disappear from view.

His figure rose and gave chase. Duanmu had no choice but to follow closely.

…