Chapter 492: Ambush, Counterkill

Puff! Puff!

The incense flickered, extinguished, then flared again.

The old Daoist Qin Wanpei was utterly stunned.

He knew incantations alone were useless now.

But he couldn't stop anyway.

Because at least it created distraction.

Sometimes, if you don't act, you can still appear profound and mysterious.

But once you move, you reveal your hand—and you must produce results.

The same applies to speech and conduct.

Speak little, stay humble; when you do speak, your words must carry weight—only then are you no ordinary man.

Qin Wanpei, a seasoned veteran, understood this well; even if he lost face, he couldn't do nothing at all.

What puzzled him was what treasure Li Yan had used.

Curiosity stirred in him, causing him to lose focus.

He didn't notice that behind him, beneath the old tree, a thin mist churned and crept silently toward the firelock squad.

Puff!

Blood exploded, heads flew into the air.

The soldier at the rear, checking his cartridge, became a headless corpse.

Ambushed!

Qin Wanpei sensed the anomaly—his back hairs stood on end.

With vast underworld experience, he didn't turn immediately; instead, he lunged forward, his wide sleeves flaring as he hurled a hail of fine needles backward.

The needles were sharp, whistling through the air.

Even if they didn't strike, they'd force any pursuer to retreat.

But all his actions were pure self-delusion.

Li Yan didn't even bother with him—he casually snatched up a dead soldier's Divine Fire Gun and pulled the trigger.

Boom!

Fire roared, smoke scattered.

Several soldiers ahead were torn apart.

Earlier, to deal with Li Yan, they hadn't aimed to kill—only to suppress with firepower—so they'd used scattered pellets and hadn't yet reloaded.

Now, that became their nightmare.

These dozen or so firelock men were still clustered together.

"Scatter!"

The firelock squad leader screamed and leapt away.

But their speed couldn't match Li Yan's.

As he fired his first shot, Li Yan had already leapt forward, as if shrinking distance, appearing right among them, snatching another gun from the raining blood and flesh.

Without looking, he pulled the trigger to his left.

Boom!

More soldiers died screaming.

The new gunpowder was too powerful.

At such close range, some were blown apart at the torso, others struck by pellets, bleeding out and collapsing.

Huh~

Hot flames rolled.

It was Qin Wanpei, having risen, realizing his miscalculation, furious—he seized the sacred candle on his altar, chanted a spell, and blew hard.

This sacred candle was his altar artifact, forged with special methods, infused with beast fat.

With that blow, it became a curling fire dragon, even bending midair, lunging straight at Li Yan.

At the same time, the fallen firelock squad leader raised his Divine Fire Gun and fired at Li Yan.

Boom!

Fire exploded, dirt and stones sprayed.

But unfortunately, in his panic, he'd forgotten the gun used scattered pellets—its coverage was vast.

Two of his own men were caught in the blast.

They groaned and fell, blood gushing from their chests.

Li Yan was wounded too.

No matter how high his skill or potent his arts, he was still flesh and blood; even with desperate dodging, he'd been hit.

Bullets pierced his chest and abdomen, blood streaming.

Worse still was the old Daoist Qin Wanpei.

The man blew the sacred candle, fingers forming seals, sword-finger gesturing—the fire dragon shifted direction, relentlessly chasing him.

And the firelock squad leader had just reloaded his cartridge.

Puff!

As he raised his gun, he suddenly froze.

Li Yan had entered their midst.

At this range, the Soul-Cutting Flying Knife could strike.

The flying knife whistled through air, guided by thought, piercing the leader's skull, then turning midair to slay the two remaining firelock men.

To deal with Qin Wanpei, Li Yan used no arts—his feet danced in linked steps, he dropped low, dodged the fire dragon, drew his flintlock pistol from his waist, and pulled the trigger.

Damn!

The old Daoist shuddered, trying to dodge.

But his strength lay in altar rituals—he was only at the peak of Dark Force, old and weak, unable to evade.

Fire roared, the altar exploded instantly.

The old man barely rolled right—but his calf was struck by pellets, shattering; he stumbled, toppled over.

Magical combat sometimes resembled martial arts.

Distance mattered, unquestionably.

In long-range magical duels, neither side sees the other—it's a test of cultivation depth, altar setup, and spellcraft, many factors involved.

In close combat, speed is paramount.

It's a game of striking first.

Li Yan's every move emphasized speed.

Honestly, as a lineage master, Qin Wanpei had several methods to attack Li Yan from afar.

But once Li Yan closed in, he lost all chance.

"Ahh—!"

The searing pain in his leg made the old Daoist scream; then gritting his teeth, he pulled a bronze tube from his robe.

It resembled a Spirit Fire Gun, but was something else—a device that fired a storm of poison needles, meant as a last-ditch survival tool.

Clang!

As he drew it, a flash of blade cut through—his bronze tube trembled and flew away.

Li Yan had approached; the Soul-Cutting Flying Knife, guided by thought, knocked the weapon from his hand and sliced off several of his fingers.

Li Yan himself was equally battered.

He wore a Soil Dragon hide armor beneath his clothes, but at such close range, even it couldn't withstand the new firearms—his robes shredded, the armor clearly wounded.

To Qin Wanpei's shock, the wounds rapidly closed—within breaths, they smoothed flat, leaving only dried blood on the surface.

At that moment, the old Daoist abandoned all resistance.

"Young Master, hold your hand."

The old Daoist lay on the ground, gasping, drenched in cold sweat, gritting his teeth: "I initiated the killing intent, and I've seen your secret—I'm certainly doomed. But let me tell you one thing, in exchange for a promise."

Li Yan gave him a cold glance. "Speak."

The old Daoist gritted his teeth: "Prince Shu is old, misled by someone, these years has sought immortality, his temper now erratic. You've destroyed his firelock squad—he won't let this go."

"He has three more such squads. We were merely pawns. His true confidants are only 'Ghost Flower Face' and the man you killed, Pei Yufang."

"They are the true sorcerers of the Prince's court. Several others, of even higher cultivation, roam secretly, hunting the elixir of immortality."

"Among them, even some Ganging experts—all share one trait: they were all former enemies of Prince Shu's sword immortal, Cheng Jianxin."

"Prince Shu gathered them—perhaps for this reason…"

Related to Cheng Jianxin?

Li Yan pondered, then spoke: "Tell me what you want me to do—but I make no promises."

"I ask for a chance!" Qin Wanpei trembled, pulling from his robe an ancient token and half a strip of yellow silk, then using his finger dipped in blood to write:

My death is my own fault, no grudge, no hatred. Whoever sees this token shall be treated as me. My disciples must not seek revenge.

He laughed bitterly: "My lineage has declined; none of my disciples are worthy. I beg Young Master Li to spare them—should anyone come, give them this."

Li Yan said gravely: "They may not listen."

"Hahahaha…"

The old Daoist let out a bitter laugh, his eyes filled with sorrow. "They'll listen. When a man dies, his lamp goes out. I only hope my death won't become an excuse for them to fight over the position of Dharma Master and drag other disciples into it."

"Agreed!"

Li Yan nodded, stepped forward, and smashed the old Daoist's skull.

His Soul-Severing Flying Knife could extinguish a man's spirit.

Though an enemy, the old Daoist wasn't unpleasant—without using a talisman, perhaps he might have a chance at reincarnation.

!.

After picking up the old Daoist's yellow silk token and the mechanical flying-needle tube lying nearby, Li Yan suddenly looked up.

Two figures were sprinting toward him from afar.

It was "Ghost Painted Face" and Jin Cuilian.

As they neared the riverbank, they finally realized they'd been tricked.

Seeing the corpses scattered everywhere, "Ghost Painted Face"'s face twisted into a snarl. Furious but laughing instead of roaring, "Good, good, good—I've spent my life hunting geese, only to be blinded by them."

Li Yan nodded. "You're not just blind—you're addled. Coming here saves me the trouble."

"Bold words!"

"Ghost Painted Face" roared, drawing two iron fans from behind his back.

Whoosh!

The fans unfurled, revealing rows of tough black blades.

He stomped the ground and lunged forward in an instant.

Ding!

Li Yan's Soul-Severing Flying Knife struck after but arrived first—yet "Ghost Painted Face" moved with exquisite skill, flipping his left wrist as if shooing away flies, deflecting the knife cleanly.

Worse, he swung the iron fan with the momentum, sending a blade whistling straight toward Li Yan's face.

Li Yan raised his blade horizontally, deflecting the blade, then stepped sideways, shifting his shoulder to drive his elbow forward—yet he kept the blade pressed beneath his elbow, as if thrusting.

"Ghost Painted Face"'s counter was bizarre.

He suddenly dropped low, his body shrinking as if he'd become a dwarf, twisted sideways, slipped past Li Yan, and slashed with his fan blades.

Clang!

Sparks flew across Li Yan's Earth Dragon Leather Armor.

It didn't pierce, but left a deep scratch.

Li Yan kicked out with the momentum, but the opponent suddenly stood upright, using his spin to deliver a side kick.

Boom!

A powerful force slammed into them; both stepped back several paces.

Li Yan felt numbness in his right leg but paid it no mind, frowning instead. "Dwarf Skill? What school is this?"

He'd seen this move on stage.

Actors playing clowns, like Wu Dalang, would don robes, crouch low, and move like dwarves—swift, seamless, undetectable to outsiders. A true art.

He never imagined it could be used in martial arts.

Strange technique, unpredictable.

"The world is vast—you've seen nothing!"

"Ghost Painted Face" sneered, ears twitching. His two iron fans swirled with dark yin energy, billowing black mist as he swung them left and right.

Whoosh!

The Soul-Grabbing Chains were swept aside.

Li Yan had used them to ambush while speaking—but clearly, the man had anticipated it. The Gangsha energy gathered in his fans could block the chains.

As enemies grew stronger, the Soul-Grabbing Chains could no longer decide battles instantly—after all, this divine art was itself yin energy.

All things under heaven have mutual generation and mutual overcoming.

Only when facing true Yin Bureau divine generals, wielding overwhelming yin energy from the Underworld, could any technique stand firm.

Failing his hidden strike, Li Yan went straight for the attack.

Their figures blurred, iron fan blades flashed, clashing with metallic clangs, sparks flying.

"Ghost Painted Face" and Li Yan fought the same way.

Deep martial skill, enhanced by speed.

Worse, his techniques were bizarre.

He pushed the Sichuan Opera Dwarf Skill to its limit.

Dwarf stance, dwarf movement, tiger leap, flying kick, spinning kick—his form shifted constantly, rising and falling unpredictably.

His martial arts were common enough.

First, the Zhao Men Fist, popular in Sichuan, a branch of Emei martial tradition, widely taught in schools.

Legend says it was created by Zhao Taizu, blended with Emei techniques—hence "Zhao Men Fist." It favors high stances and excels in legwork.

Second, Ground-Lying Fist, also called Earth Skill Fist or Eight-Fold Fist, named for rolls and falls, specializing in low attacks—nothing rare.

But combined with Dwarf Skill, they became terrifyingly unpredictable, his shadow flickering, making Li Yan's head ache.

Worse, "Ghost Painted Face" used other secret arts—his face mask constantly changed, clouding the mind.

He was a Hua Jing expert, with far more battle experience than Li Yan, and with these strange arts, he began to overpower Li Yan.

Far off, Jin Cuilian wasn't idle.

She dared not approach such a battle, but pulled a silk handkerchief embroidered with peach blossoms from her bosom, chanted a spell, and spat out a faint pink dust.

It hung in the air, coalescing toward Li Yan.

A brutally potent poison!

Just smelling it from afar, Li Yan felt his blood surge wildly, his lower body stirring—he immediately held his breath.

But that moment of distraction cost him—he took a kick to the abdomen and flew five or six meters.

Thud!

Li Yan channeled his strength, planting his feet firmly.

"Ghost Painted Face" didn't press on. He sneered. "Boy, you're too green. You don't know how to hide your strength. You've built a big name, but now everyone knows your limits."

"We once made the same mistake. Today, I give you a lesson. Next life, remember to stay humble."

As he spoke, he moved toward a nearby fire gun, glancing sideways, searching for one with a loaded magazine.

Though he held the upper hand, he couldn't finish Li Yan quickly—he wanted to use firearms.

Li Yan didn't react. He spoke calmly. "You're speaking too soon."

"Not soon enough!"

"Ghost Painted Face" growled. "What's a living Yin Officer? Just relying on your Gangling. Those you killed? Just unlucky."

"Without your Gangling, you're nothing!"

"You're right, Elder."

Li Yan said calmly. "So I don't rely only on my Gangling."

As he spoke, two Soul-Grabbing Chains surged forth, crackling with lightning, fluttering like ribbons around his body.

Li Yan was surrounded by lightning, his hair standing on end—resembling the divine statues in Daoist temples.

"Is this… Thunder Art?"

"Ghost Painted Face" couldn't believe it.

He sensed disaster, turned, and fled.

Boom!

Thunder roared behind him—he was struck like lightning, punched in the spine, and spun violently through the air.

This was the reason Li Yan dared face multiple experts alone.

His Soul-Grabbing Chains had transformed—now Soul-Grabbing Thunder Chains.

Along the journey, Li Yan had begun to understand.

His divine art had fused two forces—from heaven and earth…

(End of Chapter)