“In life, you face me; in death, you’ll face the King of Hell. Ten years ago, I urged Mu Zizhe to kill you, but he refused, saying you might be useful someday. Who would have thought this would be his intended use?” Su Jinhui let out a cold laugh. “But you alone wanting to kill me? How absurd.”
The corner of Mu Ciling’s mouth curved upward, his eyes revealing a touch of arrogance. “Whether I can kill you or not, we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he leaped forward, charging into the hall.
Su Jinhui’s robes billowed in the wind as he placed his hand on his sword hilt.
“A mere traitor of the Mu family hardly deserves the personal attention of the Su Clan Leader,” Su Muqiu called out sharply, darting past Su Jinhui and swinging his sword at Mu Ciling.
Su Muqiu wielded an ancient bronze sword, his movements carrying an elegant, classical air, entirely different from Su Ze’s domineering swordplay. Yet these seemingly antiquated sword techniques forced Mu Ciling back into the courtyard.
“Uncle Qiu,” Su Muyu frowned slightly. In her memory, this scholarly middle-aged uncle who always attended Su Jinhui had mainly served as an advisor. It was rare to see him draw his sword.
“Your swordplay isn’t bad, much better than that bald fellow,” Mu Ciling said, casually waving his palm to catch Su Muqiu’s sword with his bare hands. “But ‘not bad’ is all it is.”
Su Muqiu sighed inwardly. The Yanmo Palm technique was indeed as intricate as it was demonic. Each time those bare hands touched his sword, he could feel his sword energy being drained away. After a few more exchanges, his fate would surely match Su Ze’s.
Seeing this, Su Muyu turned to look at Su Changhe.
Su Changhe shook his head slightly.
In the courtyard, Su Muqiu’s sword was finally knocked away by Mu Ciling’s palm. Mu Ciling then pinned Su Muqiu to the ground with his foot and pulled out that red booklet from his chest: “What’s your name?”
A Mu family disciple behind him answered, “He is Su Muqiu of the Su family.”
“I see.” Mu Ciling lifted his foot and suddenly retreated ten paces, tucking the red booklet back into his robes. “Hahaha, Su Jinhui, you’ve finally agreed to face me! Back then, it took all three of you old fellows to plant that heart-piercing stake in me. Now it’s just you alone—are you afraid?”
Su Jinhui stood beside Su Muqiu, holding his unique serpentine sword.
Su Changhe’s lips curved into a slight smile. “Not bad, not bad. It’s been many years since we’ve seen the Clan Leader personally take action.”
Su Muyu whispered, “What exactly are you thinking? If the two of us joined in now, this battle would be over.”
Su Changhe lowered his voice and scolded, “You wooden-headed donkey, there isn’t anyone more foolish than you in the whole world! Do you think the Grand Elder was so willing to step down? He’s merely redirecting trouble, wanting the three families to destroy each other.”
Su Muyu nodded. “I know. But if we help the old master ascend to the position, the Su family can stabilize their position in this struggle, and this deadlock can be broken.”
Su Changhe smacked Su Muyu’s head. “And what good would that do you? Is it worth fighting to the death?”
Su Muyu frowned. “The old master will agree to my conditions.”
“Fool. The Three Officials of the Soul-Summoning Palace would never agree to his demands. They wouldn’t even acknowledge the old master’s position as Grand Elder.” Su Changhe sighed, clearly disappointed in her understanding.
Su Muyu asked in confusion, “Why?”
“Forget it, you wouldn’t understand even if I told you,” Su Changhe shook his head. “Just watch the show and don’t do anything rash.”
“I don’t understand. You work for the old master, chased me all this way, and now with the Sleeping Dragon Sword right before us, you choose to just watch? I met Master on the road, and he said you wanted to change the Dark River. Could it be…” Su Muyu’s thoughts stirred as she recalled what her master had told her in the bamboo forest.
“Shh…” Su Changhe pressed a finger to his lips. “Watch the old master’s Snake Sword technique carefully. You might learn something. Besides, from his stance, it looks like he’s about to win.”
Su Muyu turned to look. She saw Su Jinhui’s snake sword trace an elegant arc, perfectly avoiding Mu Ciling’s palms, lightly touching Mu Ciling’s shoulder before swiftly withdrawing three steps.
A spot of red slowly spread across Mu Ciling’s shoulder.
“Even the most powerful martial arts have their weaknesses. After we three subdued you back then, I pondered how to counter your Yanmo Palm technique alone,” Su Jinhui said coldly, sheathing his sword and turning his back to Mu Ciling.
“Hahaha. Back then, you only saw what I wanted you to see. You think avoiding my Yanmo Palm means I can’t drain your internal energy?” Mu Ciling raised both hands. “This rain isn’t heavy enough. How about a rain of swords!” As Mu Ciling raised his hands, the sound of swords leaving their scabbards echoed through the hall. The Su family disciples’ swords flew from their sheaths against their will, gathering above Mu Ciling’s head.
Only a few Su family swordsmen managed to maintain control of their sword hilts through sheer force of will. Su Changhe lazily played with his dagger while Su Muyu lightly pressed down on the Sleeping Dragon Sword on the ground, seemingly unaffected by Mu Ciling’s power.
Mu Ciling noticed them both and smiled. “More skilled fighters, eh!”
Su Jinhui frowned slightly, leaping forward with his snake sword aimed at Mu Ciling’s brow.
“Sword Rain!” Mu Ciling spread his arms, and dozens of swords fell instantly. Su Jinhui quickly withdrew his sword and began dancing wildly, creating a web of sword energy within three feet around him. The clash of metal rang out continuously as Su Jinhui deflected all the sword strikes controlled by Mu Ciling’s Yanmo Palm energy.
“The old man’s swordplay is truly masterful,” Mu Ciling cursed under his breath. “No wonder Mu Zizhe assigned this task to me.”
“This move has similarities to your Eighteen Sword Formation, except he doesn’t need puppet strings. He’s even more formidable than you,” Su Changhe commented.
Su Muyu slowly rotated her umbrella handle, her pupils contracting slightly.
“You’ve seen my palm technique, but have you seen the King of Hell’s blade?” Mu Ciling reached toward the standing coffin, and a long-handled demon-subduing blade flew from within it into his hands. He gripped the handle with both hands, slightly bowing as he spun the blade once.
The courtyard was filled with broken swords. Su Muqiu retrieved his sword and retreated to the side, saying in a deep voice, “Clan Leader…”
Su Jinhui smiled slightly, raising his snake sword toward the sky.
The rain suddenly stopped.
Or rather, what fell was no longer rain.
It was hail.
How could there be hail during the Qingming season when the earth was warming?
“Here it comes, here it comes, the old master’s Frost Sword Energy,” Su Changhe maintained his spectator’s expression. “Now this will be interesting!”