Chapter 483

Xue Xue Ranran inside the temple suddenly stood up and rushed to the door in a few strides.

Chen Mu's expression remained unchanged, but his gaze slightly sharpened.

"Speak."

Zhou Yi took a deep breath and spoke quickly: "Thirty li east of here is a mountain fortress called 'Feihu Zhai'—the hideout of a bandit gang."

"That gang has terrorized this region for years, committing murder, robbery, and every evil deed; their leader is said to be a demon lord of the Earth Altar realm."

"I heard that three days ago, they captured a man—around thirty years old, with noble bearing, using the Yaoyue Sword Art of the Yaoyue Sect, wounding several of their brothers. Now he's trapped inside the fortress, held for three days and nights."

Xue Xue Ranran turned pale: "It's my senior brother! It must be him!"

Chen Mu did not hesitate; he turned to Xue Xue Ranran and said: "Stay here. Don't wander off."

"Senior Brother Chen, I'm coming too!" Xue Xue Ranran blurted out.

Chen Mu glanced at her and shook his head: "If you come, I'll have to spare attention to protect you. Stay here. Wait for me to return."

As his words ended, his figure flashed away, vanishing into the night.

Xue Xue Ranran stood at the temple door, staring at the direction he disappeared, her hands tightly clutching the hem of her robe.

Zhou Yi whispered: "Senior Sister Xue, don't worry—Senior Brother Chen is a true expert, a powerhouse ranked on the Master List. He'll surely rescue Senior Brother Shen."

Xue Xue Ranran did not answer; she bit her lip fiercely.

…

Thirty li was but the time it took to drink a cup of tea to someone of the Heavenly Palace realm.

Chen Mu's figure sped through the night, the ground beneath his feet rushing backward swiftly.

Moments later, a steep mountain peak appeared ahead; flickering firelight glowed faintly on its mid-slope, revealing a fortress built of massive logs and stones.

Feihu Zhai.

Chen Mu did not conceal his presence; he stepped through the air and landed before the fortress's main gate.

The gate was a wooden palisade two zhang tall, with several torches planted on top; in the flickering light, a few bandits on the wall were dozing off.

Chen Mu raised his hand and pressed one palm against the gate.

Boom—

The massive wooden palisade shattered like paper, exploding into flying splinters.

The bandits on the wall screamed and tumbled down; the entire fortress erupted into chaos.

"Who are you?!"

"Intruder! Intruder!"

"Grab your weapons!"

Countless torches flared up as a dark tide of people surged from all directions, surrounding Chen Mu completely.

Chen Mu did not look at them; his gaze passed through the crowd, fixed on the depths of the fortress.

There, a familiar aura.

Though faint, though weary, it still stubbornly stood firm.

"Shen Ge."

Chen Mu softly spoke the name and stepped forward.

"Stop!"

A bandit lieutenant charged forward, slashing his blade straight at Chen Mu's face.

Chen Mu didn't even look; he casually waved his hand.

The lieutenant flew backward, blade and all, crashing into eight or seven men behind him, slamming into the wall, spewing blood from his mouth—dead on impact.

"All of you—attack! Kill this brat!" someone screamed hoarsely.

Dozens of bandits rushed forward, swords, spears, halberds, and daggers flashing together.

Chen Mu did not pause his steps; he raised his hand and waved again.

Boom—

An invisible force swept outward; dozens of bandits scattered like leaves caught in a gale, crashing into walls, ground, trees—limbs shattered, flesh and blood splattered everywhere.

The remaining bandits finally feared.

They halted, their weapons trembling in their hands, faces filled with terror.

This young man was far beyond their ability to oppose.

Chen Mu ignored them and continued walking deeper into the fortress.

Passing through several courtyards, the view suddenly opened up.

It was a square area dozens of zhang across, surrounded by torches, lighting the place as bright as day.

In the center stood a figure, back pressed against a massive boulder, sword in hand.

A man around thirty, tall and slender, his noble bearing still evident even in ruin.

Now drenched in blood, his clothes torn, his body covered in wounds.

His face was as pale as paper, his sword-hand trembling slightly, yet his eyes remained bright as stars, fixed fiercely on the enemies around him.

Around him lay over a dozen dead bandits.

Surrounding him, over a hundred men stood in a dark mass, swords and spears drawn, radiating murderous intent.

At the front of the crowd stood a burly middle-aged man, his face grotesque, his aura surging like a tidal wave.

He stood with his hands behind his back, looking down at the blood-soaked youth, a mocking, cat-toying-with-a-mouse smile on his lips.

"Boy, you've held out for three days and nights. Impressive."

The middle-aged man spoke, his voice coarse as a cracked gong: "I, the fortress lord, value talent. I'll give you one final chance: hand over the complete Yaoyue Sword Art scripture, and I'll adopt you as my son. You'll enjoy wealth and glory in Feihu Zhai. What do you say?"

Shen Ge sneered, his voice hoarse yet dripping with contempt: "A dog of the Earth Altar realm dares call himself my father?"

The middle-aged man's face darkened, his eyes flashing with murderous intent.

"You refuse the cup of wine and choose the cup of punishment!"

He sneered, "Since you seek death, I shall grant it. After I kill you, I'll ransack your corpse—I'll find the cultivation art anyway!"

With those words, he raised his hand; true energy surged around him, a vast aura blasting skyward.

Earth Altar Realm—Three Flowers Converging at the Crown!

Shen Ge gripped his longsword tightly, a flicker of resolve flashing in his eyes.

He was already at his limit, his injuries untreated, having held out for three days and nights, slaying dozens of bandits—his true energy was utterly depleted, sustained only by sheer will.

Facing the full force of an Earth Altar Realm cultivator, he had no chance of survival.

Yet even so, he felt not the slightest fear.

A Yaoyue Sect disciple may die, but he will not kneel.

"Come."

He whispered, slowly raising his longsword.

At that moment—

A figure descended from the sky, landing before Shen Ge.

Shen Ge's pupils shrank sharply.

It was a young man, clad in plain blue cotton robes, his back straight as a pine.

He simply stood there, motionless, yet like a towering mountain, blocking every ounce of murderous intent before him.

"Who are you?!" The middle-aged man's face changed, barking sharply.

The young man ignored him, turning his head to look at Shen Ge.

In the firelight, the newcomer's face became clear.

Shen Ge's pupils widened abruptly.

He recognized this face.

His initial admiration upon first meeting, his astonishment upon the second.

Then came word of the man's steady rise—his ranking on the Potential Dragon List changed every three months, climbing higher and higher.

Finally, he ascended to the Master List!

Became the youngest Wudao Sect Grandmaster in over a decade!

He never imagined they'd meet again, here of all places.

"…."

Chen Mu stared at Shen Ge, drenched in blood, his face as pale as paper, his body crisscrossed with wounds—he fell silent for a moment.

Then, he let out a faint laugh.

The smile was light, yet carried the warmth Shen Ge knew well.

"Brother Shen, long time no see."

Shen Ge stared at Chen Mu, then suddenly smiled.

His eyes reddened with tears.

"Brother Chen, you've seen me make a fool of myself."

Chen Mu did not answer, only turned to face the middle-aged man.

The middle-aged man's face had turned grim.

He did not know this young man, but the sight of him descending from the sky stirred a quiet unease within him.

"Boy, who are you?"