The opening scene reveals the story of Yao Lao, alarming the Soul Emperor.

Hunyu's voice wasn't loud, but it traveled through the car wall and echoed through the canyon several times, making every word clear.

The cracked mask's hand stopped.

It wasn't fear, it was curiosity.

He tilted his head to look at the carriage and let out a short laugh.

"Oh, the important person in the car has spoken?"

Hunwu didn't hear what the assassin said; he only heard the words "My turn" from inside the carriage.

For a moment, what flashed through his mind was not gratitude, but fear.

If this person dies here, the decree of the Soul Emperor will be his own epitaph.

"Sir!" Soul Crow roared, his voice piercing, "You can't come out!"

The carriage curtain was lifted.

Hunyu held the small black pottery pot and slowly poured the last bit of cold tea into the cup.

He glanced at Hunwu.

"Get out of here, don't embarrass yourself."

The sound wasn't particularly loud, but to Hunwu's ears, it was more powerful than the killing moves of those three Dou Zong.

A person with no fighting spirit said to a six-star Dou Zong who was fighting desperately, "Don't embarrass yourself."

Hunwu's lips trembled slightly.

He wanted to argue, but when he met Hunyu's eyes, he swallowed all his words.

Those eyes were colder than the icy iron at the bottom of the valley; there was no tension, no anxiety, and not even a trace of fighting spirit within them.

It's like watching three ants that are already dead but don't even know they're dead.

Soul Crow clenched his teeth, making a grinding sound.

The cracked mask gave him no time to think; it struck out with a palm, and a blood-red palm wind howled towards him.

Instead of retreating, Hunwu advanced, charging headlong into the palm strike.

The palm strike landed on his chest, the sound of breaking ribs emanating from beneath his protective aura. He was sent flying sideways, but not backwards, but diagonally to the side.

Using the force of the blow, he was thrown backward and crashed back into the carriage.

His back slammed against the side of the carriage, and he vomited another mouthful of blood.

He slid down onto the carriage shaft, panting heavily, his black robe stained red from the collar to his waist.

The man with the cracked mask withdrew his hand and flicked the blood off his fingers.

"Smart, it knows to hide back in its nest."

The short man in black next to him laughed.

"Fifth Brother, the person he was protecting has come out."

All three of them turned their gazes to Hun Yu at the same time.

The curtain has been completely lifted.

Hunyu, with one hand supporting himself on the carriage frame and the other holding a white feather fan, slowly bent down and walked out of the carriage.

The movements are very slow.

It wasn't that I was deliberately putting on airs; I was genuinely slow, and every step felt like I was measuring whether I had enough stamina to finish the journey.

He stood on the carriage shaft.

The night wind rushed into the canyon, causing his white robes to flutter back and forth, the fabric clinging to his body and revealing his incredibly thin frame.

His face was as white as paper.

A trace of blood, which he had just coughed up, still clung to the corner of his mouth, standing out starkly in the moonlight.

The cracked mask stared at him for three seconds.

Then he laughed.

"You?"

The man in black on the left also smiled.

"A sickly man on the verge of death? I say, driver, is this all you've risked your life to protect?"

The one on the right wasn't smiling, but his tone was even more sarcastic than if he were.

"He doesn't have a trace of battle aura on him; he's not even a Dou Zhe. What are you letting him out for? To collect your corpse?"

Hunwu opened his mouth, as if to say something, but was stopped by the sharp pain in his chest.

He could only turn his head to the side and look at Hunyu standing on the carriage shaft with an extremely complex expression.

There was worry, fear, and a deep uncertainty in his eyes.

When he was in the Northwest Branch Hall, he personally witnessed this person use an array to break his own right arm.

But that was in the main hall of the branch hall, where there was no suppression from the Cold Iron Cliff, and no encirclement and killing by three Dou Zong.

This is the Valley of Despair.

What can Soul Feather do?

What can he do with it?

"You three," Hunyu said, standing on the carriage shaft, a white feather fan under his chin, "have been squatting in this valley for three years?"

The cracked mask narrowed its eyes.

"You're quite well-informed."

"No need for information," Hunyu glanced at the cliff walls on both sides. "The Crimson Trapping Array requires the sacrifice of living people. There are at least thirty-seven bloodstains left on the valley wall, the oldest of which has been weathered for nearly three years."

He held up three fingers.

"In three years, thirty-seven passing caravans or small groups were all wiped out by you, with not a single survivor. That's why no news has ever been sent out."

The smile on the cracked mask faded slightly.

"You have good eyesight."

"You can see more," Hun Yu's gaze fell on the crack across the forehead of the cracked mask. "This crack on your mask isn't just decoration; it was caused by a palm strike. The person who could leave this mark on your face must be at least a Seven-Star Dou Zong."

He paused.

"Three years ago, the Blood Fiend Sect was wiped out by the Soul Hall, and three elders fled with the remaining members. The Soul Hall's wanted posters have portraits on them; I found one in the waste paper pile of the branch hall."

The smile on the cracked mask was completely gone.

"So you are the Great Elder of the Blood Fiend Sect," Hun Yu pointed to the one on the left, "and you are the Third Elder."

Move your finger to the right.

"You are the Seventh Elder."

The three of them fell silent.

Only the sound of the wind and the heavy breathing of the Inkhorn remained in the canyon.

The cracked mask remained silent for five seconds, then slowly clapped three times.

"As expected of the Soul Clan, they have investigated our background thoroughly."

"Unfortunately," he clenched his fist, his crimson battle aura surging forth again, "the more you know, the faster you die."

He gave a wink to the two people on his left and right.

The three of them simultaneously activated their battle qi, and three blood-red pillars of light shot into the sky.

The crimson trapping array that had been above the canyon suddenly contracted, and the blood mist became as thick as ink, completely blocking out the moonlight.

The world was bathed in a dark red hue.

"Sacrifice the array!" The cracked mask slammed his palms together, and the crimson array frantically devoured the remaining soul power from the thirty-seven bloodstains on the cliff face, condensing into a nearly hundred-foot-long crimson giant sword that hung directly above the canyon.

The blade was covered with twisted blood patterns, and one could vaguely hear the howls of countless wronged souls.

A single stroke of the sword, forged from the lives of thirty-seven people.

The blade was aimed at the carriage, at the white-clad figure on the carriage shaft.

The voice of the short Third Elder came from the blood mist, tinged with smugness.

"Did you see that clearly? This strike would have even taken a chunk of skin from someone standing there."

"Your beat-up car won't even leave a trace."

Hunwu's pupils contracted sharply. Despite his injuries, he struggled to get up and tried to pull Hunyu back into the carriage.

Soul Feather didn't move.

He looked up at the hundred-foot-long blood-red blade, then looked down at the white feather fan in his hand.

Then he coughed twice.

"That's enough," he said. "The juggling is over."

The white feather fan spun half a circle in my palm, and the fan surface fully unfolded.

Eight golden feathers simultaneously detached from the fan ribs, transforming into eight beams of golden light that shot towards eight directions of the Valley of Souls.

East, West, South, North.

Southeast, Northeast, Southwest, Northwest.

Eight beams of golden light disappeared into the cliff face, into the ground, and into the piles of rocks at both ends of the valley entrance.

There was no sound, no ripples.

It was so quiet it didn't seem like they were setting up an array; it was more like they had thrown eight pebbles into the water.

The cracked mask frowned.

He could not sense any energy fluctuations.

After the eight golden rays fell, nothing happened.

"Playing coy." He sneered, then swung his right hand sharply. "Kill!"

The hundred-foot-long blood-red blade crashed down.

Hunyu stood on the carriage shaft, his white robes billowing backward in the wind, a few strands of hair brushing past his eyes.

He didn't hide.

He parted his thin lips slightly and uttered seven words.

"The Eight Trigrams Formation of Heaven, Gate of Shock, open."