“So this is the vaunted Shadow Sect? With such meager strength, they dare to guide the Dark River?” A Mo dao blade carved a path of destruction through the Shadow Sect manor, blood spraying three chi high wherever it passed, with none able to stand against it.
Su Changfeng and Su Zhetian watched in astonishment. Even the usually arrogant Su Zhetian could hardly believe his eyes: “What blade technique is this, so domineering? Is this man truly surnamed Mu, not Xie?”
“Fool.” Mu Ciling swung his Mo dao, forcing down another charging swordsman’s blade. With a casual flick, he cleaved the sword in two, then raised his blade to take the opponent’s head.
“Stop!” A low command rang out.
Mu Ciling lowered his head slightly to see several white paper butterflies dancing around him. He hastily withdrew his blade, erupting with crimson qi. The paper butterflies exploded, but only kicked up dust, failing to harm him. Mu Ciling looked up with a grin: “So you are indeed still alive.”
Mu Zizhi descended slowly, his white robes billowing. He looked at Mu Ciling: “Traitor. As a member of the Mu family, you dare serve the Su family.”
“Idiot.” Mu Ciling stuck a finger in his ear. “The Dark River has already changed, yet you still think in terms of Su and Mu families. You’ve been left behind by the tide—die along with the old Dark River.” He gripped his Mo dao again and charged at Mu Zizhi.
Su Changfeng stood guard with his sword: “Mu Zizhi, former head of the Mu family, the most cunning and demonic figure in the Dark River.”
Su Zhetian gripped his sword hilt eagerly: “And someone I’ve longed to fight.”
“If you hadn’t stolen the Yanma Palm technique, the Puppet Master position would have been chosen from within the Mu family. Your reckless actions made others wary of the Mu family, causing me to lose my chance at succession,” Mu Zizhi said, his long sleeves becoming weapons as they clashed with Mu Ciling’s Mo dao.
Mu Ciling sneered: “If I hadn’t learned the Yanma Palm, I would have been chosen as Puppet Master. You should thank me—I gave you the chance to become the Mu family head!”
“Nonsense!” Mu Zizhi raised his hand, and an ancient zither flew from afar, landing beside him.
Su Changfeng started: “That’s the Mu family’s Nine Transformations Heaven Sound Zither.”
“Such a long name—what’s its significance?” Su Zhetian asked, puzzled.
“It’s a Mu family treasure. I searched for days after returning to the sect without finding it, so he had it with him all along.” Mu Qingyang arrived, carrying his peachwood sword.
“Ah, the Mu family head,” Su Zhetian smiled. “Why not join the fight and see which head is stronger—you or Mu Zizhi?”
Mu Qingyang shook his head: “Obviously, he’s stronger…”
Su Zhetian froze: “You’re quite honest… don’t you have any ambition?”
“What ambition? Our Mu family was never known for martial prowess in the Dark River…” Mu Qingyang looked at the scattered weapons and groaning Shadow Sect members, clicking his tongue. “These two are exceptions, both exceptions.”
“Then who do you think will win between them?” Su Changfeng asked.
Mu Qingyang took out a peach blossom coin and flipped it: “Flower side for Mu Zizhi, sword side for Mu Ciling.” The coin spun in the air before landing on his hand, which he covered while smiling at Su Changfeng and Su Zhetian.
Su Zhetian looked up: “Mu Ciling knows the Yanma Palm—he can’t lose. I bet one hundred taels of silver.”
“If Mu Zizhi can truly use the Nine Transformations Heaven Sound Zither, it’s no less powerful than the Yanma Palm. I’ll also bet—one hundred taels on Mu Zizhi’s victory.” Su Changfeng’s eyes showed rare excitement, revealing his gambling nature.
“You think everything stems from the Yanma Palm. Then today, I won’t use it,” Mu Ciling said as the crimson qi gradually dissipated from his body. He raised his Mo dao. “I’ll take your head with my blade alone.”
“Can I change my bet?” Su Zhetian asked regretfully.
“No, all bets are final.” Mu Qingyang raised his hand, revealing the sword side of the coin. He drew a sharp breath, “Mu Ciling, don’t ruin my reputation.”
Mu Zizhi positioned the Nine Transformations Heaven Sound Zither beside him and lightly swept his fingers across the strings. Countless paper butterflies rose from the shadows.
Mu Qingyang started: “He truly mastered it.”
The butterflies swarmed toward Mu Ciling, who whirled his Mo dao frantically. Explosions rang out continuously, containing his offensive in place.
Mu Zizhi closed his eyes, seemingly lost in the zither’s music. His fingers danced across the strings, the tempo increasing, driving the paper butterflies into an increasingly frenzied assault on Mu Ciling.
“Mere tricks! Is this all you can do?” Mu Ciling roared, slamming his Mo dao into the ground. A powerful surge of qi scattered the smoke and forced the paper butterflies back three zhang before they exploded.
The music stopped abruptly.
Mu Zizhi’s hand rested on the strings, his eyes still closed.
As Mu Ciling moved to shatter the zither, he suddenly noticed that over a dozen butterflies remained, hovering around him.
Mu Zizhi’s fingers trembled slightly, producing faint, intermittent notes.
“Run!” Mu Qingyang shouted, throwing his peachwood sword.
“Back!” Mu Zizhi struck the strings forcefully, releasing a powerful qi blast that knocked away the peachwood sword. Mu Qingyang caught it but was forced back three steps.
Mu Ciling looked down at the threads connecting the paper butterflies, which had formed a net around him.
The zither music changed again.
It turned fierce and swift, like a fisherman’s net at the moment of capture!
All the butterflies flew at Mu Ciling.
The puppet threads tightened instantly.
Mu Ciling knew these weren’t ordinary puppet threads but the sharpest puppet blade threads—the world’s only bladeless weapon, capable of slicing him into eight pieces in an instant. He quickly dropped to the ground, raising his Mo dao to barely block the threads.
Mu Zizhi continued playing, the music accelerating, the threads pressing tighter. Mu Ciling gritted his teeth as he struggled to hold on, his blade’s edge beginning to crack.
“Use the Yanma Palm now, and you might have a chance to live,” Mu Zizhi sneered.
“Said I wouldn’t use it, so I won’t,” Mu Ciling growled. “To kill a sneaking coward who won’t fight face-to-face, I don’t need the Yanma Palm!”
“The Mu family had us both in this generation—it should have been our best chance to rise. But you wouldn’t listen to the master’s teachings, doing as you pleased, which is why the Mu family remains the most marginalized of the three,” Mu Zizhi’s voice carried a hint of hatred.
“I live for myself alone!” Mu Ciling declared boldly.