Chapter 118: 118. Crisis at the Abandoned Temple (Ally Bonus Chapter, Patron 202009)

118. Chapter 118: Crisis at the Abandoned Temple (Ally Bonus Chapter, Patron 202009)

“Boom!”

A muffled thunder cracked through the dim sky, as if a storm of lightning and rain was about to break.

At this moment.

On a desolate hill at the border of Xingzhou, a crumbling little temple emerged from the darkness, illuminated by flashes of lightning.

“Cough! Cough!” A weak cough came from one corner of the temple.

Zhao Ge, severely wounded, slowly awakened from unconsciousness. His face was pale and gaunt; his once half-gray hair had turned completely white. Compared to last month, he looked as if he had aged twenty years in an instant—his face, lined with wrinkles, now bore age spots.

“Master, you’re awake.” A thin man, hearing the sound, rushed over immediately.

Zhao Ge struggled to sit up from the ground, his gaze dull, a sense of defeat and grief surging in his chest. He glanced outside at the sky, estimated the time, and rasped: “Shouhou, take Rongniang and run. Staying with me means certain death. If you can escape Xingzhou, maybe you’ll find a way to live.”

“Master, I won’t leave. I lost my parents as a child—I’m an orphan. You took me in, gave me food, saved my life, and taught me fist arts. Now that the Wuguan faces disaster, how could I abandon you to save myself?” The thin man’s eyes hardened with resolve: “They want to kill you? They’ll have to walk over my corpse.”

“Good boy.” Zhao Ge reached out his rough hand and patted him, a glimmer of tears in his eyes.

Hardship reveals true gold.

After this catastrophe, he finally saw clearly who among his disciples truly cared—and who only pretended. Too bad for those who died alongside him, their lives lost because of his misfortune.

“Master, I’m most worried about Little Miss. Is it safe for her to go alone to Ghost Street? And is it wise for you to send her to find Brother Li Yi? Little Miss is our Zhao Wuguan’s last hope—our entire legacy rests in her hands. I’m not afraid of dying, but I fear the Wuguan will vanish forever, and all your life’s work will be lost.”

Shouhou’s face showed deep concern.

“Cough! Cough!”

Zhao Ge couldn’t suppress another cough; blood surged from his chest. He forced it back down, swallowed it, then took several deep breaths: “Li Yi is loyal and righteous. I trust him with Zhao Qian. And your unseen senior brother is no ordinary man—he’s naturally extraordinary. As long as he lives, the Zhao Wuguan will never die.”

As he spoke, he recalled the day he taught Li Yi fist techniques in Ghost Street, and whispered softly: “Yi’s divine valor—unparalleled in a thousand ages. Too bad my fate is thin—I won’t live to see it. But one day, his name will echo across the Four Seas and Eight Zhou, making all martial men bow their heads.”

“Yi’s divine valor—unparalleled in a thousand ages.”

Shouhou’s spirit lifted at these words.

What kind of person was this senior brother he’d never met, to earn such praise from his master? Lately, whenever his master grew despondent, he murmured Li Yi’s name—this only deepened Shouhou’s curiosity.

Zhao Ge fell silent again, lost in thought.

Seeing his master so hollowed out, Shouhou stayed by his side, saying nothing.

The abandoned temple sank into stillness.

Until, moments later, a figure rushed in.

She was a woman around twenty-eight or twenty-nine, dressed in a fitted martial suit, dusty and disheveled, yet radiating a fierce spirit. But as she entered, her eyes betrayed worry and urgency.

“Rongniang, what’s the situation?” Shouhou asked urgently.

Rongniang’s voice was equally hoarse: “Those hunting us have reached the foot of the hill. Each has two horses—they came prepared. Our mounts died from exhaustion during our escape. If we run on foot, we won’t make it out of this hill before they catch us.”

“If we can’t escape, then we fight here.” Shouhou growled. “They killed so many of our brothers and sisters. Even if I die, I’ll take at least two with me.”

Rongniang said nothing, only stared silently at Master Zhao Ge, then said: “Let me and Shouhou stay behind to hold them off. Master, escape through the back mountain—if fortune favors us—”

“Enough.”

Zhao Ge snapped: “I’m an old man, my soul is wounded, and I took a blow from Han Tianbao. I’m likely near death. You two go. I’ll delay them. If you split up and flee east and west, maybe one of you will survive.”

“I won’t leave. My family is gone—Zhao Wuguan is my home. I won’t abandon it.”

Rongniang shook her head. She was stubborn—if she’d been willing to flee alone, she would have done so long ago. She hadn’t left his side this long for nothing.

“You’re still young—you have paths ahead. Don’t waste your lives dying here with this old corpse.” Zhao Ge urged again, hoping they’d flee on their own.

Rongniang remained unmoved. Shouhou said nothing.

Clearly, both had already made their peace—they would die with Zhao Ge.

Suddenly.

At this moment.

Amid rolling thunder, flames flared outside the temple, accompanied by the neigh of a steed and a wild, booming laugh echoing across the hilltop.

“Hahahaha! Zhao Ge, don’t be naive. Today, not one of you Zhao Wuguan remnants will escape—you’ll all die here.”

Then a figure strode forward through the night, agile and swift. In just a few steps, he reached the hilltop and stood before the temple’s broken gate.

He wore a gray long robe. Though not tall, his body was powerfully built, muscles bulging. Even before he approached, a wave of heat washed over them.

“Blood-Refining martial artist—Han Meng.”

Zhao Ge’s eyes flashed with sudden light. He rolled to his feet, stepped forward steadily, his aura rising, as if ready to tear apart the incoming heatwave—his entire frame showed no trace of weakness.

Shouhou and Rongniang’s expressions shifted slightly.

Master was severely wounded—why had he suddenly become so vigorous?

Then they realized: he was bluffing. Or perhaps he was clinging to his last breath, preparing for a final, desperate fight.

Han Meng’s face changed as he saw Zhao Ge approaching. Zhao Ge was a true expert—his blood had entered the acupoints. Even wounded, a dying camel was still bigger than a horse. If he still had strength left, he might still fight back.

“Han Meng, he’s just putting on a show to scare you. Watch—Zhao Ge’s lips still have blood. What does that mean? He’s lost control of his blood. He’s just a broken bowstring, clinging to his last breath.”

At that moment, another figure appeared at the doorway.

A man wearing a wide-brimmed hat, a fine saber at his waist. Slowly, he removed his hat, revealing a middle-aged face. He brushed dust from his sleeves, then stood with his hand on his saber’s hilt, ordering: “Surround the temple. This time, don’t let them slip away.”

Behind him, over twenty men in martial attire, each holding torches, moved into position—all were Bone-Refining martial artists. Two of their leaders were likely Marrow-Refining. Each carried fast horses, steel blades, and powerful crossbows.

Such preparation was made solely to kill one sick, dying Blood-Refining expert—clearly, they held Zhao Ge in high regard.

“Jin family’s blade master—Jin Bu Feng?” Zhao Ge halted his steps, laughed bitterly: “Good. Good. All familiar faces.”

“Zhao Ge, I’ve heard that Blood-Refining martial artists store a final essence—heart-blood—in their heart acupoint. When released, it grants a temporary return to peak power.” Jin Bu Feng smiled. “Too bad your soul is damaged. That final essence lacks spirit—you won’t be able to summon it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t dare chase you so boldly.”

“But this is good. After killing you, I’ll carve out your heart and use your last Blood-Refining blood to brew medicine. I might even break through to Blood-Refining myself.”

As he spoke, his eyes burned with greed.

The human body holds great medicine. A Blood-Refining expert is a living treasure.

Few in the Four Seas and Eight Zhou dare harvest such a treasure. Today, Jin Bu Feng had stumbled upon a once-in-a-millennium chance.

“Truly, a tiger fallen into the plains is mocked by dogs.” Zhao Ge glared. “In normal times, I’d crush you with one punch.”

“Zhao Ge, who’s to blame but yourself? Your blood has declined, your soul is wounded—you exposed your weakness. Don’t blame us.” Jin Bu Feng smiled as he slowly drew his saber.

The saber gleamed with cold, lethal light.

“Want to fight? Come if you dare.” Zhao Ge roared, crouched slightly, and assumed his fist stance.

“If you want to harm my master, cross me first.” Rongniang, eyes blazing, clenched her fists and stepped forward, fearless.

Shouhou, too, clenched his fists, ready to fight.

“Fine. At your death, you have two loyal disciples to die with you. Since you refuse to abandon Zhao Ge, then today, you all die together.”

At that moment, Han Sui barked an order and lunged like a beast at the two.

He wanted to test Zhao Ge’s remaining strength by killing his disciples first—could this Blood-Refining master still fight?

Before he reached them, heat and killing intent surged forward.

Rongniang and Shouhou’s faces paled, but they roared and charged forward, refusing to retreat.

Yet their strength was only Marrow-Refining—their blood had not yet been fully transformed. Against a fully developed Blood-Refining martial artist, they stood no chance. In a single exchange, each took a palm strike, spat blood, and flew backward.

“Crash!”

They slammed hard to the ground, their breaths instantly weakening.

“Again.” Rongniang struggled to rise, fists clenched, ready to charge once more.

“Good. Zhao Wuguan’s senior disciple—you’ve got some backbone. But I held back just now, didn’t kill you. If your master doesn’t act now, next strike, I’ll end you.”

Han Sui spoke coldly, then smiled: “Still, I value talent. A woman, without severing the Red Dragon, reaching Marrow-Refining is rare. I’ll offer you a way out: kill your brother beside you, kneel and beg me, become my concubine—I’ll spare your life.”

“Piss off.” Rongniang spat, and charged again.

Though outmatched, she’d rather die than endure such humiliation.

“You’ve refused kindness.”

Humiliated, Han Sui’s killing intent flared. He struck, his aura exploding, kicking up dust.

Rongniang’s punch lacked power. In one blow, her entire arm shattered. Agony tore a cry from her throat.

Han Sui closed in, his palm twisting into a claw, seizing her throat. He held her fast, then glanced at Zhao Ge, still in stance but motionless.

“Still not moving? Zhao Ge, you’re truly finished.”

Zhao Ge’s heart burned with grief and rage. His blood churned within him, his face shifting colors. He was an empty shell now—unable to control even his blood. Merely standing was a miracle. He had no strength left to fight. If Jin Bu Feng was right—if he could still summon his heart-blood—every man here would die.

“So it’s truly the end. We chased you so long, lost several squads. I figured you’d be worn out by now. You’re at your last breath.”

Jin Bu Feng was cautious. Though he held his saber, he never lowered his guard, never underestimated Zhao Ge.

He raised his hand: “Use crossbows. Don’t shoot his heart—I need it for medicine.”

Instantly, the sound of drawn bows and strung crossbows filled the air.

Seeing this, Zhao Ge let out a bitter laugh: “Good. Good, Jin Bu Feng. Even now, you fear me. Cough!”

His spirit collapsed. His aged body could no longer hold up. His fist stance wavered, and he stumbled, collapsing to the ground.

“You, Zhao Ge, were a tiger. One must be careful.” Jin Bu Feng smiled at his weakness.

But he still didn’t move forward. Who knew if this old man was faking? If he lunged with his last breath and took Jin Bu Feng down, that would be a terrible loss.

“M-Master.”

Shouhou dragged his wounded body over and supported Zhao Ge.

Zhao Ge coughed blood heavily. He sighed in regret: “I’m sorry. I can’t bluff them anymore.”

Shouhou wept silently, no words left—his heart was already prepared for death.

Rongniang, throat seized, could not move. Seeing this, tears streamed down her face.

“Don’t grieve. After your master dies, I’ll send you to join him soon.” Han Sui held Rongniang captive—not killing her, not releasing her—just to force Zhao Ge’s hand.

Only when he was certain Zhao Ge was dead would he kill this hostage.

Such caution, even if Zhao Ge truly had that blood essence, would likely lead to his demise.

Jin Bufeng now slowly raised his hand, preparing to give the order to attack.

But at that very moment.

“Boom!”

From the distant darkness, a thunderclap erupted as if from nowhere, jolting everyone’s hearts—then, one corner of the ruined temple was suddenly torn open for no apparent reason, dust and shattered stones flying everywhere; as this sudden event unfolded, an archer nearby was struck by a terrifying force and exploded along with it.

Shreds of flesh and spurting blood scattered evenly across the ground around.

Even Han Sui, standing inside the temple, was splattered with flying bone fragments that stung his face.

This sight sent shock through everyone instantly.

“Boom!”

Then another muffled thunder rolled—this time, the sound was much closer, as if right at the foot of the mountain.

Another crossbowman standing beside a torch had no time to react; his body exploded just like the first, blood and bone spraying everywhere, leaving chaos in his wake.

Only the second blast made Han Sui and Jin Bufeng finally react.

“Enemy present! Stay alert!” Han Sui swiftly seized Rongniang, dragging her in front of himself, then tensely scanned the dark wasteland before the temple.

The danger came from that direction.

“Extinguish the torches! Don’t stay in the light—the enemy can see you,” Jin Bufeng whispered, gripping his treasure blade, a bead of cold sweat breaking on his brow.

Luckily, he had no torch beside him; otherwise, the enemy might have targeted him.

He knew full well that this kind of attack, whatever it was, could not be blocked by a mere Qi-Blood cultivator like himself.

“Boom!”

Another thunderous blast echoed.

One of his men, holding a powerful bow, exploded again—his shattered organs scattered like dust, his corpse dissolving entirely, leaving only his feet still standing where he had been.

Such a bloody, brutal death instantly froze the remaining men with terror; they all extinguished their torches, hid their forms, and dared not expose themselves to any light.

As the torches went out,

Darkness swallowed the surroundings.

But it made no difference.

The fourth thunderous blast still came.

Another disciple hiding in the darkness was struck—his body shattered instantly, just like the others, with no chance to resist or struggle.

“Wrong—this enemy can see in the dark; putting out the torches won’t help. But why hasn’t he killed Han Sui and me yet? We’re the biggest threats—we should’ve been the first targets. Wait… I get it. This enemy is from the Zhao Family Martial Hall. He doesn’t attack Han Sui because Han holds a hostage. He doesn’t attack me because just now I was aligned with Zhao Ge—his attack might have accidentally hit Zhao Ge.”

As Jin Bufeng watched the disciple’s gruesome death, his mind raced—and he finally understood what was happening.

But just as he thought this,

A violent gust of cold wind swept up from the foot of the mountain, and within that wind, a towering steed appeared.

“Yin Horse?” Han Sui recognized it—this was a creature only seen on the Ghost Street.

Could it be that the Zhao Family Martial Hall had protection from ghostly deities of the Ghost Street? If so, this situation was dire.

The Yin Horse neighed, raising its iron hooves.

Upon it, a towering figure emerged, looking down from above.

Everyone stared.

All they saw were two eyes blazing with murderous intent, glowing faintly in the dark—like a ghostly deity descending, filling all who beheld them with dread.

“This man rides the Yin Horse, yet he carries the aura of a living being—he is no ghostly deity. But this man… is extremely powerful,” Han Sui swallowed hard, fear and unease flashing in his eyes.

“Does the Zhao Family Martial Hall still have hidden cards?” Jin Bufeng gripped his treasure blade tightly, his face darkening with grim unease.

But just what realm was this intruder?

He couldn’t tell.

He only knew: this man was unquestionably a master—and a very young one.