Qiaomu had barely hesitated when Xue Gu was already out the door of the inn, vanishing into the night sky in an instant.

“Xue Gu, wait for me!” Qiaomu quickly covered her face, blew out the candle in the room, and hurried after her.

But she never could have anticipated what she found — barely moments after leaving the inn, she saw Xue Gu come to a stop on a rooftop.

Before them, a tall and slender silhouette stood against the wind.

A cold mask gleamed in the moonlight with a chilling brilliance that made one’s blood run cold. The aura of bone-deep cold emanating from that figure seemed to come from the depths of the underworld itself — pallid, deathly, and frigid.

Qiaomu stopped beside Xue Gu and said quietly, “Xue Gu, I can’t read the depths of this person’s martial skill at all.”

Xue Gu’s fingers tightened. Her entire aura lowered into a state of cold, heavy stillness.

“Qiaomu, go ahead to the north of the city first and wait for Jiuqing and Mu Mu.” Her voice was low.

A flash of panic crossed Qiaomu’s heart, and she immediately tightened her grip on her long spear.

Tonight, they had encountered a truly formidable master. Xue Gu had already made her decision — this fight would certainly end in defeat.

Telling her to go find Jiuqing and the others now was the same as Xue Gu resigning herself to dying here.

“What kind of person do you take me for? If we leave, we leave together — if we stay, we stay together!”

She would not run ahead alone. Never. They had agreed from the very beginning of this journey — they would live and die as one.

“Qiaomu, listen to me and go find Jiuqing and the others first!” Xue Gu’s hand settled onto the hilt of her sword. There was no time to argue.

The masked man’s entire being radiated a deathly, desolate stillness. His killing intent was oppressive, and his internal energy was unfathomably deep.

Three moves. She could hold out for three moves at most.

“Go!” Xue Gu suddenly stepped back two paces, seized Qiaomu by the waistband, extended her long arm, and flung her away.

A flash of sword light — before the masked man could give chase after Qiaomu, Xue Gu launched herself forward and drove her sword directly toward Feng Li.

At some point Feng Li had come to hold a long sword of his own. Its cold light glinted in the moonlight. With a resounding clang, Xue Gu was sent staggering back several steps from the force of the impact, nearly losing her footing, pain surging through her heart.

“Move!”

She shouted the word and lunged at Feng Li again, driving her sword forward a second time.

Three moves — that was already her absolute limit.

Qiaomu was completely rattled. This man’s swordsmanship appeared deceptively unremarkable on the surface — and yet even an expert of Xue Gu’s caliber could not withstand three strikes at his hands.

Against someone this formidable, she herself would certainly die.

But Xue Gu…

Xue Gu leapt high into the air, gathering every ounce of her most powerful internal energy and channeling it through her sword aura as she bore down on Feng Li.

Yet he remained completely unmoved. He looked coolly at the figure hurtling toward him, turned his wrist, and extended a single sword thrust — unhurried, utterly unassuming.

But this seemingly unremarkable strike, just as it neared its mark, transformed in an instant. It was as though ten thousand sword auras had materialized out of nothing, enveloping her completely on all sides.

Three moves — and she had still underestimated him.

She, Ye Feixue, had spent her years at Long Feiyan’s side and had witnessed countless grand encounters, met countless figures of renown.

But never — not once — had she crossed blades with anyone this formidable.

With the second move, she found herself trapped within an endless web of sword aura, utterly unable to struggle free.

The sword aura slowly drew inward, tightening like a net, binding her completely.

The very breath was stripped from her lungs in an instant — she could not even raise her sword hand.

The sword aura poured in from every direction, and in the next moment, it was as though ten thousand arrows had pierced her heart at once.

She could no longer tell whether what she felt was pain or despair. Blood seeped from her nostrils, her lips, even the corners of her ears. Death — it had come so terribly close.

In the depths of that despair, she saw Qiaomu come charging back, sword drawn, hurling herself at the black-clad masked man.

The man raised a hand. With a thunderous crash, Qiaomu was sent flying off the rooftop like a kite with a severed string, crashing onto the street below — and after that, she did not rise again.

She’s still just a young girl. Don’t kill her…

Xue Gu opened her mouth to speak — but the sword aura seemed to leave no opening anywhere, and in the very moment she parted her lips, it was as though it had driven itself straight in through her mouth.

Blood poured out in a torrent. She looked at the masked man through dimming eyes. Her pupils contracted — and then gradually lost all focus.

The Feng Clan truly was a dangerous place. Jiu’er… was Jiu’er safe…

“Jiu’er…”

That cry came out ragged and broken, like a leaf caught in the wind — barely fallen before it was swept away to some unknown place.

And yet somehow, that fragment of sound reached Feng Li’s ears.

Jiu’er…

His eyes grew heavy. He stared at the woman caught within the sword aura, nearly out of breath.

Why did she know Jiu’er?

The long fingers gripping his sword loosened slightly — and the sword aura that had bound Xue Gu so tightly dissolved completely in an instant.

Xue Gu opened her mouth, and with a muffled sound, a mouthful of blood surged up before she collapsed onto the ground, too weak to lift even a finger.

What terrifying sword aura. What a terrifying man.

After years of grueling martial training, she could not even withstand two strikes beneath his sword.

Feng Li narrowed his eyes. He lowered his sword tip and was about to take a step toward her —

But in an instant, a faint ripple of movement stirred in the wind behind him. Without even turning his head, he flicked his long sword upward.

A sharp clang — sword aura detonated in the air like an explosion.

The tremendous force of internal energy sent Jian Yi hurtling backward through the night sky, stumbling back several steps before he barely managed to catch himself.

That internal energy — it was something he could not resist at all.

“Xue Gu!” Jian Yi crouched beside Xue Gu and found her bleeding from all seven orifices, barely clinging to life.

Xue Gu looked at him. She did not even have the strength to speak. Her lips trembled. She wanted to tell him to go, but the words refused to come.

Don’t worry about me — run, Jian Yi, you’re no match for this man, run…

But Jian Yi gripped his long sword and stood, staring at the black-clad figure advancing toward them.

He understood what Xue Gu meant. But leave? That was absolutely impossible.

He simply had not expected that within Feng Clan territory, there could exist someone this formidable. This was a level of existence that surpassed all imagination.

Even with both Jiuqing and Mu Mu here, they would not necessarily be this person’s match.

Truly, overwhelmingly powerful.

Feng Li advanced step by step — his pace unhurried — but the immense, crushing force of his presence arrived before him, bearing down on every soul in the vicinity and making it impossible to breathe.

Jian Yi gripped his long sword, the tips of his fingers trembling faintly.

As Bei Mu Nation’s foremost assassin, he had faced battles to the death his entire life.

But in this moment, before the fight had even begun, he had already caught the scent of death.

Feng Li suddenly raised his wrist. Jian Yi’s expression darkened. He held his breath, calmed his nerves, and launched himself into the air.

Sword shadows flashed like a dragon, reflected in the shimmering moonlight, shifting through countless variations in an instant.

This was the most formidable technique of Bei Mu Nation’s foremost assassin — leading with a killing blow from the very first strike.

Against an ordinary person — even someone as formidable as the Ninth Prince — a strike like this would demand careful attention.

But the black-clad man continued to observe the figure and sword blade that had become one with the night, utterly unmoved. This strike’s radiance seemed to stir not the slightest reaction in him.

Young as he is, to have cultivated sword aura to this level of mastery — if he has a future, he would become the finest swordsman of his generation. A pity.

Feng Li’s eyes darkened slightly. He turned his wrist — wind rose, clouds shifted — and his sword aura swept around the young swordsman before him, tightening in an instant…