Chapter 158

“Who goes there?”

The carriage was stopped barely three meters from the gate. A woman in green stepped forward, sword in hand, her voice low but sharp.

This time, Murong Qiufeng and the others didn’t react with force. The carriage came to a halt as she wished.

But before Murong Qiufeng could speak, the two riders flanking the carriage were already moving. Yan Qiren quickly urged his horse ahead and called out, “Senior Sister Li, these guests are under the Immortal Sword Sect’s protection.”

Calm and cautious by nature, Yan Qiren deliberately kept Murong Qiufeng from revealing his identity. Given the current circumstances — their master’s direct disciple and close ally of Third Elder Yun Feiyang returning when the mountain was surrounded by hostile onlookers — it was better not to draw too much attention. If the crowd realized who he was, chaos might break out instantly.

“Junior Brother Yan, Junior Brother Xiao — weren’t you two sent to find the Sect Leader’s uncle? Why are you back already? Don’t tell me…”

The woman paused mid-sentence, her eyes shifting toward the carriage behind them.

Yan Qiren’s face darkened. “Senior Sister Li!” he hissed in warning.

But it was too late. Several nearby martial artists had already overheard her words.

The green-clad woman’s expression drained of color. She realized, belatedly, the gravity of her slip.

Within the Immortal Sword Sect, the Grandmaster had been wandering the world for years; the Sect Leader was away visiting friends; and most of the senior elders were off in secluded training. Only three or four elders remained in the mountain — barely enough to maintain order.

Their enemies outside hadn’t dared to act precisely because they feared who might still be within. The disciples had been holding the gates with nothing more than a show of strength — an empty fortress strategy.

Now that slip of the tongue had exposed their weakness.

If these opportunists learned that even the Sect Leader’s uncle wasn’t present, they might run wild.

Even so, the Immortal Sword Sect would not fall easily — their might and prestige were not to be challenged. But allowing anyone to cross even the outer gate would bring shame they could not explain to their absent master.

Already, a few men in the crowd were narrowing their eyes, a hungry gleam flickering there.

The disciples of the Sect exchanged uneasy glances, faces pale with tension. Only Murong Qiufeng and his companions remained composed — and no one could read the expression beneath the black veil of the man beside him.

Sensing the sect disciples’ unease, the opportunists’ confidence swelled. A few bold ones stepped forward, weapons glinting.

One burly man with a broadsword sneered, lifting his chin toward Xiao Yan. “Hey! Who are you people? Who’s in that carriage? Don’t tell me it’s Yun Feiyang himself? Come on out and let me have a look!”

They were wary of the two riders in black and white who had earlier knocked men aside like rag dolls, but their courage was bolstered by numbers — and by the fact that the Immortal Sword Sect’s disciples seemed hesitant to strike. Surely these two alone couldn’t fight off so many.

They didn’t really expect to catch Yun Feiyang — but even a trace of his whereabouts would fetch them a fine reward, perhaps even fame. To trample on the fallen Master of Mufeng Tower’s name would be a prize worth chasing.

And if that failed, there was always the option of squeezing some “compensation” out of the Sect. Everyone knew the Immortal Sword Sect’s treasures were legendary.

They were emboldened precisely because the Sect had rules — rules that forbade rash violence. Were this any other place, not even ten lives would be enough for them to dare such insolence.

Xiao Yan, whose temper was never mild, snapped. His face darkened, and he barked back, “Who the hell do you think you are? Since when do outsiders have a say in the Immortal Sword Sect’s affairs? Get lost while you still can — or I’ll break sect rules just to put you in the dirt!”

“Junior Brother Xiao!”

“Shut it!”

Both Senior Sister Li and Yan Qiren tried to stop him, but too late — his words had already struck a nerve.

The crowd roared with laughter.

“Ha! Let’s see you try!” someone jeered. “If you’ve got the guts, come waste me now! What’s in that carriage, huh? Come out already, turtle! Or do we have to drag you out ourselves?”

“Yeah! Stop hiding, coward! Hahaha!”

The taunts multiplied. More and more men crowded closer, surrounding the carriage. The Sect’s disciples blanched; their hands tightened around their weapons. Some turned to run, no doubt to report the disturbance. Xiao Yan’s face flushed red with fury, his hand gripping his sword hilt, ready to strike — only held back by Yan Qiren’s iron grip.

Senior Sister Li’s face had gone crimson with rage.

Xiao Yan glared at Yan Qiren, frustration and disappointment burning in his eyes. “You can stand there and take this? Are you even a man?!” he shouted. “You might be able to stomach it, but I sure as hell can’t! Let go!”

He tore his arm free, leapt from his horse, and with a flash of steel, drew his sword — cold light slicing through the air straight toward the mob.

“Junior Brother!”

“Xiao Yan—!” Yan Qiren called out in alarm, instinctively spurring his horse forward to intervene.

But before he could move, an invisible force surged from the carriage — a powerful suction that caught Xiao Yan mid-air, halting his strike. In the next instant, it flung him back toward Yan Qiren, who barely managed to catch him.

Then came a voice from within the carriage — soft, feminine, yet carrying a weight that silenced the entire clearing:

“Young one, calling yourself ‘grandfather’ before your elders — what manners is that? Hmph, that Sword Saint old man is still as uptight as ever. People are trampling on your doorstep, and he still insists on restraint. If it were up to me, I’d just kill the lot.”

Her tone grew colder. “Listen well, insects outside — you have ten breaths to leave this place. Stay, and you’ll remain here forever.”

The woman’s voice was gentle, but it carried a terrifying edge, like silk wrapping a blade.

Yan Qiren steadied Xiao Yan on his horse, his heart pounding. He hadn’t interfered earlier precisely because Murong Qiufeng and Shangguan Ye hadn’t moved — meaning they already had a plan.

Outside, faces turned ashen. Yet no one moved.

The speaker sounded like a woman — her tone mature, perhaps even lazy — and that, oddly, lessened their fear. Many of these men had fought women before, and in their narrow minds, “woman” meant “weakness.”

One of them snorted. “Such big talk — from a woman, no less! Trying to scare us, huh? Guess Yun Feiyang really is inside, hiding behind a skirt! So the great master of Mufeng Tower is nothing but a coward after all!”

The words were vile, a direct insult — words they’d never have dared utter under normal circumstances. But the arrogance in that woman’s tone had provoked them, and seeing the Sect’s disciples still holding back only fanned their boldness.

A long, heavy silence fell.

Then that same voice spoke again, faintly amused and dangerously calm:

“Hmph. Courage, I’ll grant you that. Pity it ends here.”

She paused, then added lazily, “Qiufeng, this is your mountain. I hadn’t planned to spill blood the moment I arrived, but… it seems a little exercise might be good for the nerves. Go on ahead and make preparations for our stay. I’ll finish up here and join you shortly.”

Murong Qiufeng was silent for a moment before replying, “Much obliged, senior. This junior will take his leave.”

He gave his reins a light tug, guiding his horse forward.

Yan Qiren quickly caught Senior Sister Li’s eye, signaling her to clear the way.

Though puzzled, she frowned and gestured for the disciples guarding the gate to step aside.

The carriage rolled onward — and just as it did, a streak of red shot out from within, landing lightly on the ground.

A crimson figure, graceful and unhurried, stood there beneath the sun.