Su Jinhui took a deep breath, finally pulling out his pipe, lighting it, and taking a leisurely puff.
Su Muyu stood holding his paper umbrella, his expression calm, simply waiting.
After a long while, Su Jinhui finally looked at Su Muyu and asked: “What are your conditions?”
“The Family Head, Uncle Zhe, and I will leave Dark River and return to our homeland. We need you, Elder, to have the Soul-Summoning Palace issue a warrant,” Su Muyu said slowly.
“Homeland?” Su Jinhui’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You believe such a place exists?”
“If willing, the Family Head can draw the sword.” Su Muyu didn’t answer Su Jinhui’s question, merely waving lightly at the Sleeping Dragon Sword before him. “Draw the sword, inherit the position of Family Head!”
Su Jinhui put down his pipe and stood up.
Su Muqiu glanced at Su Jinhui and said gravely: “Family Head, now is not the best time to take the Sleeping Dragon Sword.”
“Indeed, the Family Head is testing me. After all, grasping the sword isn’t enough—one must survive holding it while leaving Nine Heavens City,” Su Jinhui’s eyes flashed with ruthlessness. “But when is the best time? Such opportunities are fleeting. So when you grasp it, that becomes the best time.” Su Jinhui leaped forward to stand before Su Muyu.
In the inner hall, Su Changhe smiled, slowly unwrapping the bandages from his wrist.
“The Sleeping Dragon Sword, I’ll take it!” Su Jinhui reached out his right hand to grasp the sword.
Su Muyu tactfully stepped back.
At that moment, a shout of “Wait!” came from outside the courtyard. Everyone turned to see a black coffin flying in from outside, spinning in the air before landing heavily on the ground. Two white-robed men from the Mu family landed afterward, drawing their swords and combining their strikes to cut through the iron chains binding the coffin.
“This is—!” The usually composed Su Muqiu exclaimed.
“Damn it!” The coffin lid was kicked open, and a man wearing red official robes stepped out. The two sword-wielding Mu family members exchanged glances and immediately sheathed their swords, retreating to the courtyard wall. Su Muyu looked carefully at the red-robed man, who wore an official hat and had a flying crane embroidered on his chest. With his jade belt and court boots, except for his handsome features rather than a fierce beard and angry eyes, he looked exactly like the King of Hell from New Year prints.
“I was suffocating! Where’s Mu Zizhe? Get out here!” the red-robed man shouted angrily.
“Who dares act so brazenly on Su family territory!” Su Ze drew his sword and charged forward. Having lost to Su Muyu without the latter even drawing his sword had already filled him with anger, and now Mu family members were causing trouble, thoroughly enraging him. His sword cut through the rain curtain, striking directly at the red-robed man’s head.
“What a big bald head!” the red-robed man marveled. “Just like a braised egg!” He raised his hand, catching Su Ze’s blade, then gently pushed, sending the sword’s tip flying toward Su Jinhui in the hall. Su Muqiu stepped forward to shield Su Jinhui, deflecting the broken blade with his sword. “Has the Mu family gone mad, releasing this person?”
Su Muyu frowned slightly, asking quietly: “Who is this person?”
“Mu Ciling of the Mu family. Years ago, he stole the manual for the King of Hell Palm from the Family Head and practiced it secretly, ending up neither human nor ghost. It caused quite an uproar in the Mu family. This happened before our naming ceremony, so we didn’t know. He was imprisoned by the Mu family before we joined the Su family,” Su Changhe walked out from the inner hall to Su Muyu’s side, speaking softly.
“The King of Hell Palm?” Su Muyu was startled. This was a unique martial art that only Dark River’s Family Head could practice, but it was extremely sinister. Most times it was just passed down as a ceremonial tradition—even the current Family Head had never practiced it.
“Look at his palms—red energy surrounds them, showing he’s reached at least the eighth level of the King of Hell Palm. This person’s strength might exceed even the three family heads,” Su Changhe placed his hand on Su Muyu’s shoulder, whispering, “Don’t be foolish, he’s not here for you. Why draw attention now?”
Su Muyu turned to look at Su Changhe: “You’re injured?”
Su Changhe smiled: “I fought with Mu family head Mu Zizhe—we were evenly matched!”
As they spoke quietly, the Su family members in the hall had no attention to spare for them, all watching Mu Ciling warily in the courtyard. Su Ze stared at his broken sword, completely stunned.
He had considered himself and Su Muyu equals in swordsmanship among their generation, yet today he had lost twice in single moves.
“Braised egg, do you want to die?” Mu Ciling looked at Su Ze, the plume on his hat quivering slightly.
Su Ze nervously swallowed, unsure how to respond.
“The Family Head said if you kill Su Jinhui of the Su family this time, you’ll gain your freedom. You can go anywhere outside Dark River,” one of the Mu family disciples on the courtyard wall said.
“Who does Mu Zizhe think he is to command me?” Mu Ciling raised his hand and pulled sharply, somehow dragging the Mu family disciple down from the wall ten zhang away, then struck down with his palm, shattering the man’s chest. Blood sprayed, spattering Su Ze’s face.
Everyone in the courtyard had experienced countless deadly battles and seen all manner of killing moves, but none had witnessed such brutal and direct killing of one’s clan member as Mu Ciling had just demonstrated. Most of them thought the same thing:
If that pulling technique had targeted them, could they have dodged it?
“Mu Ciling, aren’t you afraid of the Heart-Piercing Gu?” the other Mu family disciple asked, legs trembling slightly but gathering his courage.
“This again.” Mu Ciling picked his ear with a finger. “If I win, you’ll remove the Gu for me? Is that the deal?”
“The Family Head himself said so!” the Mu family disciple replied.
“Though Mu Zizhe isn’t much, I’ll trust him this once. Who am I killing again?” Mu Ciling pulled out a red booklet from his robes.
“Su family head, Su Jinhui,” the Mu family disciple announced loudly.
“Lower your voice, lower your voice.” Mu Ciling bent down, dipping a finger in the blood on the ground. “What was that boy’s name just now?”
“Mu Tianlin,” the Mu family disciple replied.
“Sounds like a name destined for death.” Mu Ciling wrote the three characters in his book, then looked at Su Ze. “What’s your name?”
Su Ze, completely dazed by now, answered reflexively: “Su Ze.”
“Ze as in ‘marsh’?” Mu Ciling asked.
Su Ze nodded, but as his head dropped, it never came back up—instead, it flew from his body.
Mu Ciling didn’t even glance at the flying head, continuing to write in his book: “Another name destined for death.” After writing these two names, he looked up at the building.
“Su Jinhui is different though—that name sounds much harder to kill!”