Chapter 207: The Truth of the Killing
Beneath his body, Liu Mubai’s right hand had secretly closed around a talisman flickering with spiritual light…
It was a Second-grade High-grade Golden Sword Talisman, a weapon of immense lethality.
Draining the very last dregs of his spiritual power, he activated it!
“Die!”
Liu Mubai roared. A streak of golden sword light, radiating a bone-chilling sharpness, dissolved into a pure beam of gold and shot straight toward Han Feiyu’s throat at point-blank range!
The speed was blinding, the distance negligible. If Chen Ping attacked at this exact moment, it would be an inescapable kill box!
However, at this critical juncture, the “sudden eruption” expected from Chen Ping never came.
He remained prone, looking “weak” and helpless, even managing to cough violently and hack up a mouthful of “blood.”
Han Feiyu’s face, however, wore a sneer of anticipation.
Facing a golden sword light capable of piercing the defenses of a mid-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator, he neither dodged nor flinched.
A palm-sized, pitch-black tortoise shell shield, carved with profound arcane runes, materialized before him.
The shield expanded in the wind, emitting a heavy, earthen-yellow radiance!
Clang!
A deafening metallic collision erupted, sharp enough to pierce eardrums.
The golden sword light slammed viciously into the tortoise shield, exploding in a blinding flash. The shield trembled violently, its earthen light flickering wildly as a hairline crack fractured its surface.
But it held. The fatal blow was blocked.
The massive impact forced Han Feiyu back three steps, his blood and Qi churning, yet he remained unharmed.
The wild ecstasy in Liu Mubai’s eyes instantly curdled into boundless despair and disbelief.
He looked toward the prone Chen Ping, his throat producing a hoarse, rattling gurgle filled with venom and unwillingness.
“Chen Ping! You… you…”
Before he could finish, Han Feiyu’s short sword transformed into a cold gleam, driving accurately into the center of Liu Mubai’s brow.
Liu Mubai’s body convulsed violently, and the light in his eyes was forever extinguished.
Han Feiyu withdrew the blade, flicked a bead of blood from the tip, and did not spare the corpse a second glance.
He turned, his gaze sharp as a hawk’s, fixing on the “severely injured” Chen Ping in the distance. The corner of his mouth curled into a cold, deeply mocking smile.
“Brother Chen… haven’t you acted enough?”
Han Feiyu’s voice echoed through the valley, carrying the tone of one who had seen through everything.
“These little tricks might fool those idiots, but did you really think you could deceive my eyes? Get up. There is no point in pretending anymore.”
The heavy stench of blood permeated the valley. Han Feiyu’s icy words shattered the deathly silence.
Lying on the ground, Chen Ping’s body paused imperceptibly.
Then, slowly—as if moving against great resistance—he propped his upper body up with his arms. He “coughed” a few more times, spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, and finally raised his head to look at Han Feiyu and the vigilant Han Jingying.
His face still wore a mask of weakness and pain, his eyes clouded with “confusion.”
“Brother… Brother Han? What… what do you mean? I… I am truly injured…”
Han Feiyu scoffed and walked slowly toward Chen Ping, the short sword in his hand unsheathed.
“Injured? Brother Chen, you’re still acting?”
He stopped three zhang away, his eyes cutting like knives.
“From the moment you used the strength of a mere Foundation Establishment Layer 1 cultivator to attack the Restriction—with such ‘perfect’ precision—to being blown back dozens of feet by the backlash without breaking a single bone, and finally, remaining motionless during that fool Liu Mubai’s deathbed counterattack… Brother Chen, your performance is full of holes.”
Han Feiyu sneered. “Your little schemes can’t hide from me. You never trusted us siblings from the start, did you?”
Chen Ping met Han Feiyu’s certain gaze. He glanced at Han Jingying, who was silently gripping a sonic-attack jade talisman. He knew the charade was over.
The “weakness” and “confusion” on his face receded like the tide, replaced by a calm as deep and still as an ancient pool.
He casually wiped the “blood” from his lip with the back of his hand, stood up with composed grace, and dusted the dirt from his robes.
Aside from the torn and soiled fabric, where was the sign of any severe injury?
“Brother Han indeed has sharp eyes,” Chen Ping said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
“I am just curious. Since our goals are aligned—all for the Fated Chance within the cave dwelling—why the rush? We haven’t even seen the treasure yet, and you’re already eager to clean up your ‘companions’?”
He placed heavy emphasis on the word companions.
“Such reckless action violates our original intent, does it not? It’s a pity. These were excellent cannon fodder, and now they are dead.”
Chen Ping clicked his tongue in mock regret.
Han Feiyu watched Chen Ping’s instant transformation. His eyes narrowed slightly, and the last shred of contempt in his heart vanished.
This man’s ability to conceal himself exceeded all expectations.
Foundation Establishment Layer 1?
If anyone actually believed Chen Ping was merely at the first layer, they were truly…
Han Feiyu did not answer directly. Instead, he took a deep breath. A wave of spiritual power, far more potent than before, surged from his body!
Foundation Establishment Layer 3!
And it was an aura bordering on the peak of the third layer.
Simultaneously, Han Jingying unleashed her own aura—Foundation Establishment Layer 2, peak stage!
Like Chen Ping, they had hidden their cultivation.
In this cruel world of Cultivation, most survivors were smart. They knew how to hide their claws.
The fools were mostly those pampered prodigies—the sons and daughters of heaven held aloft by their sects, never having tasted the vicious beatings of the real world, living in a fantasy…
That was why, no matter how high their talent, such people often died young.
They were a genuinely stupid demographic.
Like Mo Xiuyuan.
Like Liu Mubai.
“Why?”
Han Feiyu laughed coldly. A complex light flashed in his eyes—pride, resentment, and a hint of relief.
“Because this place is not the tomb of some wandering Master alchemist!”
He raised a hand, pointing toward the dilapidated structures in the center of the basin, his voice trembling with a strange emotion.
“This is the final resting place of my Han Family’s last Violet Palace Ancestor—Daoist Han!”
Chen Ping’s pupils contracted.
The Han Family Ancestor’s tomb?
The answer was unexpected, yet it made perfect sense.
No wonder they knew the terrain so well. No wonder they could manipulate the Restriction’s backlash. No wonder they needed to purge all outsiders.
Han Feiyu continued, his sneer deepening. In his eyes, Chen Ping was already a dead man.
“Eight hundred years ago, my ancestor, Daoist Han, was a renowned Violet Palace Alchemy Grandmaster in the Anli Country! His alchemy skills were unparalleled in the North! The Cloud Water Sect itself was founded by my Han Family!”
Han Feiyu’s voice was thick with nostalgia and agitation.
“Tragically, in his pursuit of the Golden Core realm, Ancestor risked everything to refine a furnace of heaven-defying pills. The refinement failed, the furnace was destroyed, and he perished here. Before his death, he activated the cave dwelling’s Restrictions, sealing the core area. He established this ‘Nine Revolutions Return to Origin Backlash Grand Array,’ turning this sanctuary into a death trap. He did it to protect his legacy, and to ensure no outsider would disturb his eternal slumber.”
“After the Ancestor’s passing, the Han Family lost its pillar. Between the schemes of petty rivals and the covetous eyes of enemies, we declined rapidly. The Cloud Water Sect remains, but it is a shadow of its former glory. My Han Family barely survives.”
Han Feiyu’s voice dropped to a low growl, filled with bone-deep hatred.
“For eight hundred years, every generation of the Han Family has dreamed of opening the Ancestor’s cave, reclaiming the inheritance, and restoring our clan!”
“Yet, we never found it. We searched for eight centuries in vain! But fortune favored me…”
Han Feiyu’s eyes sliced over Chen Ping like a blade.
“The Ancestor protected me. He allowed me to find his final resting place!”
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