“Leaving?” A throwing knife whizzed past Xie Bu Xie’s forehead, embedding itself in front of him. “We finally corner one lone spider, and you just kill him like that?”
Xie Bu Xie turned and looked up to see a woman standing on the eaves. She wore distinctive silver clothing, white silk gloves, and a white veil covering all but her eyes—which were an unusual light gray. Xie Bu Xie frowned slightly: “Who are you?”
“Mu Xuewei of the Mu Clan, codename Poison Flower. Her entire body is poisonous—touch even a bit and you’re dead. Keep your distance,” the robed man strolled to Xie Bu Xie’s side and looked up. “Did the Mu Clan only send you?”
“Am I not enough?” Mu Xuewei leaped down gracefully, then flicked her sleeve, sending a mist toward them.
“Dodge!” the robed man shouted.
“No!” Xie Bu Xie swung his Dragon Fang Blade, cleaving the mist apart.
Mu Xuewei gave a cold laugh: “Your blade work is decent, but unfortunately…”
“Unfortunately what?” The robed man smirked, waving his sleeve. Suddenly, windows opened in the dilapidated shops on both sides, revealing two mechanical crossbows aimed at Mu Xuewei.
“He is Xie Qianji of the Xie Clan, their foremost expert in mechanisms and formations. From the moment you landed, he’s been leading you to this spot.” A man in Daoist robes walked leisurely from the other end of the street. “We’re all here for the same purpose—why must we be at odds?”
“Precisely because we share the same purpose, we must test each other. After all, in two days, we’ll be entrusting our lives to one another,” Mu Xuewei said gravely.
“Hahaha, you’re an interesting girl, speaking like you’re in a novel,” Xie Qianji waved his sleeve, closing both windows.
The Daoist walked to Mu Xuewei’s side, smiling: “That was from a novel—Act Nine of ‘The Chronicles of Luoyang,’ the Death Battle scene.”
“Mu Qingyang, you’re that fortune-telling Daoist from the Mu Clan?” Xie Qianji narrowed his eyes at the robed man.
“Indeed. Let me divine the fortunes of our venture.” Mu Qingyang pulled out a copper coin—one side showed a peach blossom sword, the other a peach blossom.
“What coin is that?” Xie Qianji asked.
“The Peach Blossom Coin. They say the Sword Immortal Zhao Yuzhen of Qingcheng Mountain had it specially made. I got someone to acquire one for me from there. The sword means ill fortune, the blossom good fortune.” Mu Qingyang flipped the coin, letting it spin in the air before catching it on the back of his hand and covering it. “What do you think?”
“This is fortune-telling?” Xie Qianji stared in disbelief. “When I was young and wanted to know if I’d pass my trials, I also flipped coins. You wear Daoist robes and flip a Qingcheng Mountain coin, and that makes you a fortune-teller?”
“Ah, but the greatest truths are the simplest!” Mu Qingyang lifted his hand and glanced at the coin.
The peach sword.
“I truly am a fake Daoist—completely inaccurate!” Mu Qingyang pocketed the coin and stretched. “By the way, is everyone here now?”
“He’s always like this, don’t be surprised,” Mu Xuewei rubbed her forehead, seemingly exasperated with her companion.
Xie Qianji tucked his hands back into his sleeves and shrugged: “Your clan’s Daoist is quite infamous.”
Xie Bu Xie suddenly gripped his blade, eyes scanning the street. “Someone’s here.”
“Hahaha, truly worthy of being the Xie Clan’s finest blade of the younger generation. Among the four of you, you noticed me first.” An eerie voice echoed as doors along the street opened and closed in succession. A white figure darted between them, the voice shifting near and far, rising and falling.
Xie Bu Xie’s gaze tracked the figure while Mu Xuewei and Mu Qingyang exchanged glances, remaining still. Xie Qianji closed his eyes, choosing to track the white figure by sound alone.
“Enough tricks!” Xie Bu Xie spun, slashing behind him.
“Not bad!” The white-robed figure had somehow appeared behind Xie Bu Xie, meeting his blade with a palm strike. Wearing golden silk gloves, he caught the Dragon Fang Blade, then twisted. Xie Bu Xie followed the blade’s momentum, spinning into a blade technique aimed at the white-robed figure. The man laughed coldly, leaping away and vanishing, only to reappear on the rooftop.
“No need to fight—that’s Mu Bai of the Mu Clan,” Xie Qianji held Xie Bu Xie back.
“Mu Bai? Mu Zizhe’s son?” Xie Bu Xie froze.
“How dare you speak our Mu Clan patriarch’s name so casually!” Mu Xuewei scolded.
“Surprising that the Mu Clan sent you—that shows real sincerity.” A door suddenly opened, revealing a thin man seated inside.
“But the Xie Clan’s sincerity seems lacking, sending a dying man,” Mu Bai laughed. “Xie Fanhua.”
“Because I’m dying, I don’t fear death,” Xie Fanhua coughed lightly, rising and walking out. “Now we’re all here. Xie Clan: Xie Fanhua, Xie Qianji, Xie Bu Xie.”
Mu Bai leaped down from the roof: “Mu Clan: Mu Bai, Mu Qingyang, Mu Xuewei.”
Xie Fanhua wiped the blood from his lips with a handkerchief: “We six, three days hence, will tear apart the Spider’s web.”
At the Luojiuxiao Inn.
Su Changhe opened the window, letting in a spring breeze carrying fine rain droplets. He smiled: “What pleasant weather.”
“Outside the Spider’s Nest, the blade was Xie Clan’s, but those forming the Sky Net Formation are Mu Clan’s people,” Su Zhe said slowly.
“Yes, the Xie and Mu clans have allied, leaving our Su Clan isolated,” Su Changhe smiled faintly. “But this battle can have only one victor. Even if they’re allied now, they’ll still fight to the death later.”
Su Zhe asked quietly: “What do you think?”
“Me? I’ll just watch,” Su Changhe laughed. “Uncle Zhe, just wait and see.”
“I can wait, but the old man won’t,” Su Zhe said gravely.
“To hell with the old man,” Su Changhe sneered. “If he doesn’t even have the patience to claim the Sleeping Dragon Sword properly, he’ll just die faster once he gets it!”