Chapter 134

Nine Yin Manual!

Mysterious Black Dragon!

These keywords instantly became the focal point of discussion throughout the entire Jianghu.

The Great Song Jianghu, being located on the eastern coast of the East Sea and closest to Taohuadao, suffered the greatest shock.

Countless martial artists were discussing the matter, speculating on the origin and purpose of that black dragon.

Next was the Great Ming Jianghu; after all, the secret agents of Hulong Shanzhuang had also suffered losses there, so this news naturally caused a huge uproar.

In an instant, the entire Central Plains Wu Lin, due to this earth-shattering news from the East Sea, became turbulent with rising winds and surging undercurrents.

At the same time, after learning of this news, the various top powers reacted differently, with the situation becoming turbulent.

Xixia, deep within the imperial palace.

Inside a palace decorated luxuriously yet permeated with a somewhat chilling atmosphere.

A woman dressed in magnificent palace robes, with peerless beauty yet carrying an indescribable and eerie aura, was leaning lazily on a soft couch, listening to her subordinate's report.

She appeared to be only twenty years old, her skin whiter than snow, her features like a painting, and every frown or smile exuded a deadly allure.

Yet within those deep eyes of hers flickered a weariness and ruthlessness unbecoming of her age.

This person was none other than the Empress Dowager of Xixia, a former disciple of Xiaoyao Sect, and the junior sister of Tianshan Tonglao—Li Qiushui!

She was also the true mastermind behind Xixia Yipintang!

Her cultivation base had long since reached the Grandmaster Realm, unfathomably deep!

"Oh? That waste Duan Yanqing also died at Taohuadao?"

After hearing her subordinate's report, Li Qiushui asked in a flat tone, as if speaking of a trivial matter.

In her eyes, the Four Great Villains were merely a few dogs she could use at will; if they died, they died, with nothing to regret.

"Reporting to the Empress Dowager, according to the returned message, Duan Yanqing has indeed perished."

A subordinate in black robes answered respectfully, his body trembling slightly with fear.

"Not only that, the experts our Xixia Yipintang sent to Taohuadao this time have almost... been completely wiped out."

"Black dragon?" Li Qiushui's delicate eyebrows raised slightly, a glimmer of interest flashing in her eyes.

"A black dragon capable of speaking human language, cultivating Wu Gong, and even suppressing a Grandmaster?"

"This is indeed interesting."

She extended her slender jade fingers and lightly tapped the jade table beside her, pondering for a moment.

"The Nine Yin Manual, although hailed as the general outline of martial arts, is of little use to this palace."

"My Northern Dark Divine Art and the Formless Art are already the most top-tier martial arts in the world."

"However... if what that black dragon said is true..."

"The dragon pill within its body, and that set of pure black dragon essence blood, may be far more valuable to this palace than that so-called Nine Yin Manual..."

"If I can obtain that dragon pill, perhaps... it can help this palace break through the bottleneck that has troubled me for years and truly step into the Land Immortal Realm!"

She murmured to herself, strange light flickering in her eyes.

Immediately, as if remembering something terrifying, a deep fear and wariness flashed deep within her eyes.

"No... time waits for no one..."

"If I do not ascend to the Land Immortal Realm early, and that old, dying, vile woman gets there before me..."

"By then, this palace I'm afraid... my life will be in danger!"

The "old, dying, vile woman" she spoke of was naturally that Tianshan Tonglao who had cultivated the Eight Desolations and Six Directions Supreme Me Art and reversed aging to become young again!

"Perhaps... this palace should go to Taohuadao in person to see with my own eyes what kind of He Fangshensheng that black dragon truly is."

"If I can subdue it, or... take its dragon pill, then my cultivation base will surely advance by leaps and bounds!"

A ruthlessness and determination flashed in Li Qiushui's eyes.

To pursue a higher realm, she would spare no cost!

At the same time, in Great Song, a branch of Songshan Shaolin, inside a remote Zen courtyard.

In the Scripture Repository, a middle-aged monk in gray robes, with a lean face and bright, piercing eyes, sat cross-legged holding a Buddhist scripture, yet could not read a single word.

His face was covered in gloom and anxiety.

This person was none other than the head of the Gusu Murong family, who had faked his death and hidden for many years under the alias "Nameless Old Monk"—Southern Murong Bo!

He listened as the young novice monks in the temple, and some martial artists who had come to burn incense, discussed the legend of the Taohuadao black dragon.

His heart had already churned like a stormy sea, impossible to calm.

"Fu'er... Fu'er, he has also become trapped at Taohuadao?!"

"That fool! Incapable of success but capable of failure!"

"What is there to fight over in a mere Nine Yin Manual?! Have you forgotten our Murong family's ancestral vow to restore Great Yan?!"

Southern Murong Bo felt both angry and anxious in his heart and could not help but curse in a low voice.

He was utterly disappointed in his son.

He knew well that with Southern Murong Fu's meager Wu Gong and shallow schemes.

Getting involved in a conflict involving top Grandmasters and even the legendary black dragon was simply seeking death!

Although he was quite dissatisfied with this son, he was ultimately his own flesh and blood.

He could not stand by and watch Southern Murong Fu die outside like this.

"No! I must go to Taohuadao in person!"

Southern Murong Bo suddenly stood up, a determination flashing in his eyes.

"I shall see for myself what manner of demon that so-called Flood Dragon truly is!"

"If Fu'er is still alive, I will bring him back!"

"If… if he has already met with misfortune, then I, Southern Murong Bo, will make that Taohuadao pay with blood for blood!"

Though he had been in hiding for many years, the heroic boldness in his heart had not diminished in the slightest.

Having made up his mind, Southern Murong Bo no longer hesitated.

He quietly left the Scripture Storage Pavilion, vanishing like a phantom into the depths of Songshan Shaolin.

Not long after Southern Murong Bo departed.

In a corner of the Scripture Storage Pavilion, an ordinary old monk in a plain kasaya, holding a worn-out broom, was silently sweeping the ground.

Those seemingly turbid yet infinitely wise and compassionate eyes lifted slightly, casting a glance in the direction Southern Murong Bo had departed.

He gently shook his head and softly uttered a Buddhist name:

"Amitabha. When will this endless cycle of vengeance ever end?"

"Two benefactors departing one after another, their worldly ties unresolved — I fear the jianghu shall gain yet more feuds and bloodshed."

The broom in his hand swept lightly.

The scattered withered yellow leaves around him, as if drawn by some invisible force.

Gathered of their own accord beneath his broom, stirring up not a speck of dust.

All of this happened in utter silence, unnoticed by anyone.

……

In the distant Great Ming Dynasty.

Within the heavily guarded Shanzhuang.

Inside a grand, imposing hall brimming with authority and an aura of stern killing intent.

The Iron-Blooded Divine Marquis Zhu Wushi, clad in a black brocade robe, his features stern and commanding without anger, sat upright in the seat of honor.

The aura of world-scornful dominance emanating from him, along with his unfathomable cultivation base, made it impossible for anyone to meet his gaze.

He quietly listened to the detailed report from his spy subordinates regarding the battle at Taohuadao.

When he heard that the four great spies he had dispatched, along with numerous elite hands of the Shanzhuang, had been utterly wiped out, all perishing at Taohuadao.

On his face, as still as an ancient well, there was still not the slightest change of expression.

As if those who had died were nothing more than a few insignificant ants.

He merely tapped the armrest of his seat lightly with his slender fingers, producing a soft "tap-tap-tap."

"Flood Dragon?"

"A black Flood Dragon that can speak human tongue, Cultivate martial arts, and even suppress a Grandmaster of the Yada Sect?"

The corner of Zhu Wushi's mouth curved into an unfathomable arc, a glint of interest flashing through his eyes.