Chapter 107: Master, Hurry and Save Old Four! (6k)

Qian Dafu thought he could pretend not to see, suppress his greed, and feel reverence for the sect’s core disciples.

But after several sleepless nights, he realized he truly couldn’t.

He wasn’t a sage—he was just an ordinary man.

So many supreme spirit stones, and a ready-made Nascent Soul elixir—a Foundation Establishment cultivator and a Golden Core peak cultivator—he could take the risk.

Even if he failed, he wouldn’t regret it; moreover, with such meticulous planning, his chances of success were extremely high.

“Qian Shopkeeper, don’t forget my seven, your three!” the Ghost Daoist lazily reminded.

No, more accurately, if what he said was true, then all these things might belong entirely to him.

One appeared to be late Foundation Establishment, the other Golden Core peak; as for Qian Dafu, merely a useless Golden Core early stage.

This place is deserted; with my Nascent Soul mid-stage cultivation base, I could crush him effortlessly.

And you’re all from Taiqingmen—sometimes, dead men keep secrets better.

Hearing this, Qian Dafu instantly snapped back to his senses and hurriedly smiled apologetically: “Ghost Elder speaks truly—I was out of line. We’ve now moved far beyond Lingyun Mansion; even if they send a distress signal, no one can reach here in time.”

“By the way, that man named Yan Xiaohu carries a mother-child scroll, left by his master—be sure to deny him any chance to open it.”

Upon hearing this, both turned their gazes back to Qian Dafu, their faces filled with unfamiliarity and unmistakable killing intent.

This had completely cut off their escape route.

The Ghost Daoist was also startled upon hearing this.

“Hmph, don’t worry—in less than an incense stick’s time, I’ll finish them off!” the Ghost Daoist declared arrogantly, his face twisting into a cruel grin.

Beside him, Qian Dafu glanced at the Ghost Daoist, and as he lowered his head, a cold, sinister smile curled at his lips.

“Men die for wealth, birds for food—two brats who don’t know heaven’s height or earth’s depth. Blame only your meager fortune. This place suits well as your burial ground.”

The Ghost Daoist’s face turned sinister; he wasted no time, swinging his black banner sharply—black mist surged forth, countless demons writhing within, howling with piercing shrieks that sent chills down the spine.

The demons surged like a tide toward Zhou Qing and Yan Xiaohu, while the Ghost Daoist himself vanished in an instant.

Qian Dafu didn’t hesitate either—he shot forward like lightning, three long swords thrusting out in a flash.

“I’ll hold them off—you find your chance and run, don’t worry about me!”

Yan Xiaohu no longer cared—he roared, his great blade blazing with light, a brilliant slash of blade-energy slicing through the sky with unstoppable force, crashing into the black mist.

A thunderous boom echoed—the black mist split cleanly in two, then quickly resealed itself.

At that moment, the Ghost Daoist suddenly appeared from above, rapidly forming hand seals—three towering demons, each dozens of feet tall, grotesque and radiating Golden Core peak energy, slowly emerged from the black banner, roaring as they charged toward Yan Xiaohu.

Zhou Qing’s broken sword crackled with lightning—he moved to assist—but Qian Dafu shot toward him from the side like lightning.

“Zhou Qing, today is your death day!” Qian Dafu sneered; three flying swords instantly unsheathed, becoming three brilliant streaks of light, lancing toward Zhou Qing.

Their speed was so great that the air behind them split with sharp, piercing shrieks.

This sudden, drastic betrayal gave Zhou Qing a new understanding of human malice—he had never felt such intense killing intent toward anyone.

“I never said I was late Foundation Establishment!” Zhou Qing no longer concealed himself—he unleashed his full Golden Core mid-stage cultivation aura, causing Qian Dafu’s face to turn ashen.

“You truly deserve to die!” Zhou Qing’s feet shimmered with silver light as he advanced toward the three flying swords, swinging his broken sword hard—a thick bolt of lightning shot out.

They collided with a deafening explosion—the three flying swords were instantly flung backward.

“Silver Dragon Hand!!!” Zhou Qing raised both hands—massive silver dragon roared forth.

Seeing this, Qian Dafu turned and fled without hesitation.

He never imagined Zhou Qing wasn’t Foundation Establishment—he was Golden Core mid-stage, one full realm above him.

He’d been utterly careless.

“Green Wood Spirit Shield!” Zhou Qing formed hand seals—trees below erupted with countless vines, instantly binding Qian Dafu.

Before he could break free, the silver dragon struck.

“No—!” A terrifying explosion ripped through the heavens, then a charred corpse plummeted downward.

Zhou Qing sneered, swiftly turning his gaze upward to assist.

“Worthless!”

Seeing Qian Dafu slain at first glance, the Ghost Daoist spat in disgust.

This fool hadn’t even verified his opponent’s true strength, yet dared swear he had everything under control.

But fine—it saves me the trouble of killing him later.

“Third Brother, move aside!” Zhou Qing shouted.

Yan Xiaohu didn’t hesitate—he retreated swiftly.

“Great Thunder Sword Art, First Form: Great Thunder Pierces the Void—Break!”

Zhou Qing’s feet shimmered with silver light—he appeared instantly at the center of the three demons, swinging his broken sword with full force.

Instantly, the sky churned—dark clouds rolled, lightning like silver serpents writhed through them.

Then, several terrifying sword-energies plummeted from the heavens.

The three demons shrieked in agony, instantly shattered into fragments, reduced to ash.

“Well done!” Yan Xiaohu cheered.

The Ghost Daoist’s face turned livid—his painstakingly cultivated three Golden Core peak demons were gone.

He hadn’t expected this brat, pretending to be weak, to wield a thunder art specifically designed to suppress yin-evil.

“I’ll make you a new demon in my soul banner!”

The Ghost Daoist glared hatefully at Zhou Qing, his eyes locked on the supreme spirit stones, as he launched another attack.

After all, in his eyes, those supreme spirit stones were already his—yet now a dying man was absorbing them, and no one felt more wronged than he did.

“Your opponent is me!” Yan Xiaohu’s eyes hardened—he released his Nascent Soul flame, raised his great blade, and charged forward—the two clashed instantly.

Zhou Qing frowned deeply, his mind racing.

He knew that even together, they could only match an early Nascent Soul cultivator—killing a mid-stage was nearly impossible.

Moreover, the commotion here was immense—if someone sensed it and crept closer, they might profit from the chaos.

They must end this quickly!

His strongest technique was the second form of the Great Thunder Sword Art—given his current cultivation and the Yin-Yang Scripture, he could likely cast it three times consecutively.

After all, when he’d fought Blood Tai Sui in the Ghost City, he’d been forced to use it twice—and afterward, he’d been utterly drained.

Now, with the Yin-Yang Scripture, he could try.

Thinking this, Zhou Qing immediately put away the supreme spirit stones, gripped his broken sword, and closed in on the Ghost Daoist.

“Third Brother, don’t linger when the time comes!” Zhou Qing swiftly whispered to Yan Xiaohu.

At that moment, Yan Xiaohu panted heavily, his face twisted with madness, his eyes set with grim resolve.

Just then, Zhou Qing’s voice suddenly reached his ear.

“What?” Yan Xiaohu didn’t understand.

But Zhou Qing had already locked cold, icy eyes onto the Ghost Daoist.

“Great Thunder Sword Art, Second Form: Thunder Shadow Ten Thousand Jun Strike—Kill!”

He raised his broken sword high—the lingering dark clouds above coalesced again, lightning flashed, thunder roared, as if the end of the world had come.

Seeing this, the Ghost Daoist instantly lunged toward Zhou Qing, eyes brimming with killing intent.

After all, this man’s thunder art naturally suppressed him—even disrupting the potency of his own techniques.

This brat must be eliminated first—he must not be allowed to cast again.

“Old ghost, where are you going!” Yan Xiaohu rushed forward to block his path.

Above, the clouds churned violently—Zhou Qing could clearly feel his two Golden Cores draining spiritual power frantically.

From the clouds, a colossal thunder-shadow formed like a roaring dragon, descending with piercing sword-energy.

Its target: the Ghost Daoist.

Where the thunder-shadow passed, space warped and twisted, its overwhelming pressure terrifying even the bravest.

Seeing this, Yan Xiaohu instantly dodged away.

He’d witnessed this technique’s power firsthand at the Cangyan Dao Palace mine—Keeper Peng Si had nearly been obliterated by it.

The Ghost Daoist, seeing this, was horrified—he didn’t dare delay, swinging his black banner violently—black mist surged, countless ghostly shadows flickering within, forming a protective barrier.

The next instant, the thunder dragon, wielding sword-energy, smashed through the black mist like a storm, slamming into the Ghost Daoist.

The Ghost Daoist screamed in agony, flying backward like a severed kite, blood spurting from his mouth.

He stared in disbelief—he’d been wounded by a Golden Core cultivator.

What technique was this? How could it be so powerful?

He was filled with bitter frustration—normally, ten Golden Core cultivators couldn’t pierce his ghost mist, yet this man’s thunder art perfectly countered him.

“I’ll make you beg for death…”

Zhou Qing’s face was as pale as paper, yet he didn’t stop—he summoned another thunder-shadow from the clouds.

The Ghost Daoist dodged frantically, but the thunder dragon seemed locked onto him, roaring forward regardless.

With no choice, he raised his black banner again to shield himself.

The thunder dragon struck again, hurling the Ghost Daoist backward—his black robe shredded by lightning, revealing a body riddled with wounds.

“I’ll make you…”

Zhou Qing’s eyes were cold, his body staggering, nearly falling from the sky—but he gritted his teeth and unleashed the second form for the third time.

“Thunder Shadow Ten Thousand Jun Strike—Kill again!”

This time, the thunder dragon, infused with sword intent, grew even larger, crushing forward with unstoppable force toward the Ghost Daoist.

“How is this possible!”

The Ghost Daoist refused to believe it—such a terrifying technique, cast repeatedly by a Golden Core cultivator?

No time to think—he slammed his chest, spewing a thick, foul-smelling black blood, then slammed it straight into the black banner before him.

The black banner instantly expanded, and the rolling black clouds tripled in volume within an instant.

BOOM!

The Thunder Dragon arrived at that very moment, colliding instantly—the deafening explosion shook heaven and earth.

CRACK—

A snapping sound suddenly rang out; when he saw the cracks forming on his decades-crafted soul banner, the Ghost Daoist turned pale with shock.

Before he could act, the banner snapped clean in two—the remaining Thunder Dragon instantly engulfed him, its overwhelming lightning energy ravaging his body, forcing screams from his lips.

Worse still, thousands of spirits burst forth from the broken banner, shrieking as they charged toward the Ghost Daoist.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you—!” the Ghost Daoist erupted in pure rage.

Yan Xiaohu had planned to strike while the enemy was down, but Zhou Qing’s body went limp and plummeted from the sky.

“Brother Four!” Yan Xiaohu cried out in alarm, dashing forward to catch him. Seeing Zhou Qing’s pale face and faint breath, he shoved a pill into his mouth and slung him onto his back.

Only then did he understand what Zhou Qing had meant—he glared furiously at the Ghost Daoist, now being torn apart by the horde of spirits, gritted his teeth, swallowed his fury, and turned to flee.

SHHH-SHHH-SHHH!

In the next instant, countless purple threads erupted from the Ghost Daoist’s body.

So fast they left Yan Xiaohu no time to react—they pierced straight through all four limbs.

The Ghost Daoist screamed even louder now, for the threads were rapidly draining his life force.

“What’s happening? What are these things? My blood—my vitality—!” As the Ghost Daoist panicked, the spirits redoubled their frenzied feeding.

Yan Xiaohu swung his great blade to sever the threads, but found them unnaturally resilient—his spiritual power and blood were being violently siphoned away.

In mere moments, he felt dizzy, his vision blurring.

“Pathetic. Good thing I prepared a backup plan. Too bad I wasted a substitute-life talisman.”

Then, the long-dead Qian Dafu appeared suddenly before Yan Xiaohu, his face pale as he sneered.

Yan Xiaohu stared in shock, struggling to break free—but the harder he fought, the weaker his body became.

The Ghost Daoist shrieked in terror: “That wine! You dared poison me!”

“I’ve spent years in Lingyun Mansion—did you really think I was just sitting idle? I merely took what was left behind. Sometimes, my luck isn’t bad at all!”

Qian Dafu burst into uncontrollable laughter.

To avoid further delay, he turned cold, raised his longsword, and struck straight at Yan Xiaohu.

Yan Xiaohu’s eyes burned with helpless fury—he struggled desperately, like a moth trapped in a spider’s web, powerless to escape.

“Qian Dafu, I swear, even as a ghost I’ll never let you go—!” Yan Xiaohu roared, voice thick with grief.

At that critical moment, Zhou Qing—still slung on Yan Xiaohu’s back—suddenly opened his eyes, rolled over, and with all his remaining strength shoved Yan Xiaohu backward, placing himself between the blade and his brother.

PTHOOK—the sword pierced straight through Zhou Qing’s body, blood gushing out, staining his clothes crimson.

Yan Xiaohu’s eyes widened in shock and anguish.

“Brother… Brother Four—” His voice trembled, tears welling in his eyes.

Zhou Qing’s face twisted into a weak smile—but before he could speak, a pair of hands burst through his abdomen.

A searing pain surged through him—he looked down instinctively—and saw eagle-like claws piercing his belly, clutching a still-warm Golden Core.

Qian Dafu’s voice echoed from behind: “You like playing the fool to ambush the tiger? Fine—I’ll let you play. That substitute-life talisman? I was saving it for something bigger…”

PTHOOK—

Before Qian Dafu finished, Zhou Qing roared, and a broken sword suddenly appeared in his hand—he drove it down with all his might, piercing Qian Dafu’s palm.

Qian Dafu yanked his hand back, howling in pain and fury.

“A rusted, broken iron sword? Your status as a core disciple must’ve been miserable. Too bad—you’ve got no Golden Core left now. This is your price!”

With madness and malice twisting his face, Qian Dafu crushed the Golden Core in his hand—golden shards scattered wildly across the sky.

“No—!” Yan Xiaohu screamed, eyes blazing red, burning to tear Qian Dafu apart limb by limb.

He strained with all his might—his Nascent Soul flame erupted violently—and one of the threads on his right arm snapped suddenly.

Seeing this, Qian Dafu’s face darkened—he kicked Zhou Qing aside and lunged to finish Yan Xiaohu at once.

But suddenly, the Ghost Daoist—now a mangled, fleshless husk—appeared behind him, wrapping his arms around Qian Dafu and tearing into him with savage bites.

Qian Dafu screamed in agony.

“I’ve cultivated for a thousand years—I’m a Nascent Soul cultivator! When did you get to play the hunter? DIE!”

“BLOW UP!” Qian Dafu roared, ignoring the chunks of flesh torn from his neck and shoulders, and screamed one final command.

BOOM—the Ghost Daoist exploded uncontrollably, a terrifying shockwave ripping outward, hurling Qian Dafu through the air.

“AHHHHH—”

Yan Xiaohu’s limbs were drenched in blood—he tore the remaining threads free with his bare hands, ignoring the exposed bone and torn flesh, and leapt down to catch Zhou Qing before he hit the ground.

Tears had long blurred his vision.

“Brother Four, Brother Four, wake up! Don’t scare me—!”

His face frantic, he stared at the gaping wound in Zhou Qing’s belly, trying desperately to stop the bleeding—but it wouldn’t cease.

“Ten-thousand-year Blood Ginseng—yes, ten-thousand-year Blood Ginseng—!”

Trembling, he fumbled through his storage pouch and pulled out half a ginseng root, shaking as he tried to feed it to Zhou Qing.

“Brother Four, open your mouth! I’m sorry—I lied to you! I’ve had half a whole root all along—please, eat it!”

Once, when Zhou Qing had been pierced by a broken sword and bled nonstop, Yan Xiaohu had given him a single ginseng tendril.

After eating it, his lost blood had regenerated in moments—but he never imagined Yan Xiaohu had kept half a whole root.

A full ten-thousand-year Blood Ginseng was rarer than the entire Taiqingmen Sect could ever afford.

But Zhou Qing was now barely breathing, unconscious—unable even to swallow.

“Master… Master—”

Yan Xiaohu wept uncontrollably, utterly lost, drowning in despair.

His little brother’s Golden Core had been crushed before his eyes—he frantically pulled out the Parent-Child Scroll, activating it.

“Master, hurry! Save Brother Four—he’s dying—!”

In that moment, Yan Xiaohu wept like a helpless child, clutching Zhou Qing as if his most precious person were slipping away forever.

…………

Taiqingmen, Shenyue Peak!

Today, Shenyue Peak was abuzz with celebration—Sect Master Cao Zhengyang had opened his private wine cellar to host his fellow disciples.

All of it was for his youngest disciple, Lu Yaoyao.

After focusing deeply in seclusion, she had leapt two realms at once, breaking through to Foundation Establishment’s late stage.

Truly a cause for joy.

The peak masters suspected—Cao Zhengyang’s second-ranked Heavenly Dao Qi, Star Spirit, had almost certainly been used on this child.

Cups clinked, laughter flowed, the atmosphere warm.

Lu Yaoyao beamed, moving from elder to elder, offering wine.

“Keep striving—your future is bright!” Mo Xingjian accepted the cup, smiling in encouragement.

Lu Yaoyao’s face glowed with delight, eyes sparkling: “Thank you, Master! By the way, has Brother Zhou come out of seclusion yet?”

Her tone carried quiet hope.

Mo Xingjian cleared his throat, then downed his wine in one gulp.

Last time, when Xuanyou Immortal had visited Xiaoling Peak, he’d lied and said both disciples were in seclusion.

Xuanyou Immortal had long since left, and the matter regarding the Task Hall’s head, Gu Tao, had quieted down.

Half a year had passed—and still no word from those two. It was beginning to worry him.

Just as Mo Xingjian opened his mouth, his expression changed—he immediately pulled out the parent scroll from the Parent-Child Scroll.

The parent scroll now pulsed violently with blinding red light—urgent, agitated.

Mo Xingjian’s heart pounded—he’d specifically warned them: if danger arose, activate the Parent-Child Scroll immediately.

“They’re in danger!” was his first thought.

At that moment, Sect Master Cao Zhengyang also noticed—and appeared instantly.

“What’s wrong?” Cao Zhengyang asked anxiously.

Mo Xingjian was frantic—he dared not waste a second, opened the scroll, and cried: “Zhou Qing and Xiaohu went to Lingyun Mansion. Brother, watch this— I’ll be back in a moment!”

Cao Zhengyang lunged forward, grabbing Mo Xingjian’s arm, face filled with dread: “Be careful!”

The other peak masters gathered around—none had expected Mo Xingjian to expend such a great cost crafting a Parent-Child Scroll for his disciple.

Such artifacts were perilous: if the internal space destabilized, or if either scroll was damaged, the user could be lost forever—or torn apart by spatial collapse.

Mo Xingjian had no time for further words—he plunged into the scroll without hesitation.

Cao Zhengyang immediately stood guard beside the parent scroll.

Lu Yaoyao now understood—her eyes filled with worry: “Master, is Brother Zhou in danger?”

Cao Zhengyang reassured her: “Don’t worry. Your Master Mo has already rushed to help.”

Lu Yaoyao fell silent, hurrying to a corner to pray.

The once-bustling hall now hung heavy with solemnity—all eyes fixed on the glowing red scroll, faces etched with dread.

…………

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(End of chapter)