A master of both medicine and martial arts, he picked up a beautiful CEO as his wife.

The medicinal herb field outside the mountain gate died first.

It wasn't burning, it wasn't trampling. It was death.

The 1,200 mu of medicinal herb fields on the north slope, starting from the outermost row, change color from green to yellow, from yellow to brown, and from brown to black. It's as if someone took a brush, dipped it in black ink, and painted it stroke by stroke from the foot of the mountain upwards.

The deathly aura advanced at a snail's pace. So slow it was almost despairing.

"My medicinal herb field—" Behind Ji Qingyao, an old pharmacist staggered two steps and knelt down.

Ye Feng's pupils contracted sharply. He recognized that smell. It was the same smell on the seventeen people in Tingxue Town. It was also the same smell on the line hanging down from the void in the quiet room.

This time, however, it was much thicker. So thick that it no longer needed any "lines"—it simply spread out boldly on the hillside, blatantly pushing towards the mountain gate inch by inch.

At the end of the medicinal herb field, a person slowly emerged from the withered darkness. He walked slowly, but no one dared to make a sound.

He wore a black robe without any decoration. He was very tall and as thin as a bamboo pole. His face was expressionless, and his skin was the kind of white that never sees the sun.

He walked slowly, each step landing on the dead clumps of medicinal herbs. Where he passed, the recently withered grass and trees turned to ash in a soft rustling sound.

"He is the third seat under the host." Zhao Hui turned to the side at the foot of the mountain gate, bowed slightly, and spoke with a completely different tone of respect. "You may call him Third Master. He himself doesn't remember any other title."

The man walked to the archway and stopped. He raised his eyes and glanced at Ye Feng. In that one glance, every hair on Ye Feng's body stood on end.

The oppression Shang Zhi exerted was like a deep pool of water, sinking and pressing down. This person is different. This person doesn't have any "oppression" about him.

He just stood there, but the death energy within Ye Feng's body, which had been tamed for many days, suddenly stirred excitedly.

It wanted to go there. Ye Feng gritted his teeth and suppressed the restlessness.

"Ye Feng," the Third Master spoke, his voice flat, as if reading a list, "Ninth disciple of Master Hanya from Nirvana Mountain. Your master's things are with you. Give them to me."

"What is it?"

"Half a jade slip," the Third Master said, "and the person behind you."

He paused, and for the first time, turned his gaze to Lin Yuqing.

"The employer waited for her for twenty years."

Ye Feng pulled Lin Yu behind him. He had done that move countless times; it was as familiar as breathing.

"Third Master," he said with a smirk, "being third means there are two ahead of you. Your employer's family is quite well-off."

The Third Master ignored those words. He raised his hand. His hand was withered and thin, with very short nails. He gently placed his palm on the stone pillar of the archway.

"boom."

A muffled thud. The stone pillar, which took three people to encircle, began to crack in all directions from the spot where his palm touched, spreading outwards in a spiderweb pattern.

Stone chips fell down in a flurry. In less than three breaths, the stone pillar that had stood for six hundred years broke in two, collapsed with a crash, and smashed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

The twenty-odd disciples of Medicine King Valley all took a step back.

"I don't like to talk." Mr. San withdrew his hand. "You have two choices: give it to me, or don't."

No one moved at the foot of the mountain gate.

The knuckles of those twenty-odd disciples from Medicine King Valley were completely white as they gripped their weapons. In their entire lives, they had spent their time in the mountains planting herbs, refining elixirs, and treating patients. The fiercest scene they had ever witnessed was two sects arguing heatedly over a single herb.

A stone pillar that had stood for six hundred years was crushed to dust with a single palm strike. This was no longer a world they could comprehend.

Ji Qingyao stood at the very front. Her gaze moved from the withering medicinal herb field to the broken pillar, and then to Ye Feng's back.

Her family's wealth was dying off right before her eyes, row upon row.

Those 1,200 mu of medicinal herb fields were started by her grandfather's generation and expanded inch by inch by her father over the past thirty years. The snow lotus at the very top of the north slope has been planted for nineteen years, and the first harvest will be available next spring.

As long as she says, "We won't stop you," everything will still be there. Ye Feng didn't turn around, but he spoke:

"Young Master Ji."

"If you want to stop me, I won't blame you."

"If you hadn't stopped me, I wouldn't have blamed you."

"There are over two hundred people in your valley standing behind you. No matter how you calculate it, you can't be wrong."

Ji Qingyao's breath hitched. She stared at the person's back for a full three breaths. Then she turned around, raised her hand, and snapped the wooden hairpin in her hair in two with a "snap."

Half a wooden hairpin lay on the ground.

"Medicine King Valley," she began, her voice clear and cold, each word sharp and distinct, "For six hundred years, we have never handed over a patient. Not this time either."

At the foot of the mountain gate, more than twenty disciples took a step forward in unison. Ye Feng smiled.

Thank you.

He didn't turn around to look at her, he just waved his hand behind his back.

"Then you'll do as I say."

"Retreat to the inner courtyard; don't leave a single one outside."

Zhao Hui stood in the shadows of the archway, watching this scene. The smile on his face had long since vanished. He tightened his grip on his briefcase, took two steps back, and retreated into the darkness.

Ye Feng did not answer the Third Master. He turned his head, lowered his voice, and quickly said three sentences to those behind him:

"Senior Brother Shen, lead Young Master Ji back to the alchemy room and protect the people in the inner courtyard."

"Yuqing, go to the medicine hut and invite Old Master Han to the back of the alchemy furnace on the north side. Don't let him come out."

"Young Master Ji," he said, his last question directed at Ji Qingyao, "is your valley's most potent 'Three-Day Awakening' brew still there?"

Ji Qingyao was taken aback: "Yes, but that's—"

"I know what that is," Ye Feng interrupted her. "I need it."

"That batch of pills was ruined!" Ji Qingyao exclaimed urgently. "It was ruined thirty-four years ago, and generations of people in the valley haven't dared to open the furnace—that stuff rots if it touches flesh. We keep it as a treasure because no one dares to destroy it!"

"I know what it is," Ye Feng said.

How did you know?

Ye Feng's eyes never left Mr. San.

"Because the recipe for that batch of elixirs," he said, "was left behind by my master thirty-four years ago in the south."

Ji Qingyao was stunned.

"Thirty-four years ago, during that plague, 21,000 people perished." Ye Feng's voice was calm. "My master spent forty days brewing medicine there. He saved three thousand, but also left behind a batch of ruined pills. Those weren't waste pills."

"That's something he figured out on the sixth batch—something that can also pull the death energy out of the bones."

"It's too potent; it can't save lives."

"So he didn't dare take it with him and left it here."

Ye Feng finally turned around and glanced at Ji Qingyao. Ji Qingyao stared at him for a moment, then reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small porcelain bottle, placing it in his hand.

"I'll order the whole batch in the oven."

"This is a small piece of the furnace base that was scraped off from the furnace wall when it was sealed 34 years ago. It was passed down to me by my father."

"That's all."

Ye Feng clenched the bottle in his palm.

That's enough.

"The thing you've been offering sacrifices to for thirty-four years without daring to touch," he said, "is a debt my master owed to Medicine King Valley."

"I'll pay it for him today."