Wandering Swordsman |

At that moment, Murong Qing drew her sword without hesitation and stood beside Shen Mo. Her firm steps and fearless gaze, like the brightest star in the night sky, illuminated the entire training ground. Her movements were light and decisive, as if declaring to everyone: no matter what happens, she will stand with Shen Mo through thick and thin.

"Nephew Huangfu," Murong Liang stepped forward, his voice steady and powerful, "a rule was established before the duel—life or death is irrelevant. If you insist on fighting, not only will you violate our principles, but you will also plunge our two families into an irreparable abyss. If word gets out, it will benefit no one."

Huangfu Haotian's gaze darted back and forth between Murong Liang and Murong Qing, his anger and reason fiercely battling within him. Judging from Murong Qing's attitude, if he continued to act, the Murong family would inevitably intervene. He knew that this would not only damage the Huangfu family's reputation but could also trigger a full-scale war between the two families. After weighing the pros and cons, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil in his heart.

"Fine," Huangfu Haotian finally spoke, his voice tinged with barely concealed anger, "I'll give Uncle Murong face for today's matter and let it end here."

Huangfu Haotian's tone shifted abruptly, his voice carrying an undeniable chill: "But Shen Mo, you must remember everything that happened today. Be careful when you travel the world in the future. Our Huangfu family will naturally abide by the agreement, but whether Bai Yijue's disciple and master will seek revenge on you is beyond our control."

His words, though seemingly calm, were chillingly cold, concealing boundless killing intent. Upon hearing them, everyone gasped in shock, clearly realizing that this was not merely a warning, but a public declaration of war by the Huangfu family against Shen Mo.

As Huangfu Haotian finished speaking, the members of the Huangfu family turned and left. Their steps were perfectly synchronized, like a well-trained army, every movement exuding an undeniable sense of power. Huangfu Hui walked at the back, turning back to give Shen Mo a deep look, a flash of hatred and resentment in his eyes, before quickly catching up with the group.

Several warriors carried Bai Yijue's cold body slowly away from the training ground. At this moment, Huangfu Haotian felt an unprecedented sense of humiliation, a deep mix of defeat and anger. He knew that this defeat not only meant losing a reliable henchman, but also dealt an unprecedented blow to the Huangfu family's reputation in the martial arts world.

Once the Huangfu family had completely disappeared from sight, the tense atmosphere in the Murong family's training ground finally eased slightly. Sunlight streamed through the clouds, but it seemed unable to dispel the lingering chill in the air.

Murong Liang slowly descended the steps, his robes fluttering, his eyes filled with a hint of satisfaction and approval. He looked at Shen Mo, a gentle smile appearing on his face, a smile as warm as a spring breeze, possessing both the kindness of an elder and the dignity of a family head: "Young friend Shen Mo, I have arranged a room for you. Please settle in first. We can discuss other matters in detail tonight."

Murong Qing stepped forward, gently raising her slender hand to grasp Shen Mo's. Her fingers were slightly cool, yet tightly intertwined, as if conveying a silent promise. She looked up at Shen Mo, her eyes filled with concern and tenderness, as if afraid he might be injured or exhausted, yet also concealing a hint of pride and determination—the trust and protection a woman has for her beloved.

"Shen Mo," her voice was soft as water, yet clear and distinct, "see you tonight."

......

Led by a steward of about forty years old, dressed in a blue robe, Shen Mo was led to a guest room in the East Garden of the Murong family. Along the way, the courtyards were deep and secluded, with lush flowers and trees, winding stone paths, and babbling streams, all exuding the profound culture and elegance of a noble family.

The steward, surnamed Zhou, had a shrewd look in his eyes and a respectful yet composed demeanor. As he led the way, he introduced the rooms in a low voice: "Young master, please look, this is the quietest courtyard in our East Garden, specially prepared for distinguished guests. All the furnishings inside are newly replaced, even the tea set is made of white porcelain from Jingdezhen, the incense burner uses the finest sandalwood, and even the charcoal is carefully selected and smokeless."

Shen Mo nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings. Sure enough, the room was exquisitely furnished: a landscape painting hung on the wall, its ink bold and vigorous, conveying a profound and distant atmosphere; a set of gilded and painted teaware was placed on the table, with the Murong clan's emblem engraved on the bottom of the cups; and on a rosewood table by the window, there was an unclosed ancient book, clearly prepared especially for him.

"Young Master Shen, please rest here in peace." Butler Zhou's tone was respectful, even somewhat cautious. "If you need anything, please feel free to ask. The head of the family has prepared a banquet for you tonight, and I will personally come to invite you then."

After saying this, he bowed and withdrew, making sure to gently close the door before leaving, his movements so meticulous that they were almost watertight.

Shen Mo stood in the room, looking around, a smile involuntarily creeping onto his face. Although he wasn't from a prestigious family, he could sense the subtle probing and respect in the steward's attitude towards him—perhaps many in the Murong household had already guessed the relationship between him and Murong Qing. That respectful yet cautious demeanor was as if he were treating a future "son-in-law."

He walked to the window and sat down. Outside, there was a pool of clear water, dotted with fish, reflecting the sky and clouds. He closed his eyes to rest, but the scenes of the day kept replaying in his mind.

......

As night fell, the vast back garden of the Murong family was brightly lit. Red gauze lanterns hung among the pavilions and towers, their shadows swaying in the breeze, as if even the air itself was imbued with a heavy warmth. However, beneath this surface of prosperity and tranquility, a storm concerning the fate of the family was brewing.

The banquet was held in the "Listening to the Wind Pavilion" in the back garden. Amidst the carved beams and painted rafters, the air was filled with the fragrance of sandalwood. Although the long table was laden with food and wine, no one touched it. Twenty-eight direct descendants of the Murong family and five elders stood on either side, the atmosphere heavy as iron, as if a thousand pounds of weight were pressing down on their hearts.

Patriarch Murong Liang sat solemnly in the main seat, his gaze sweeping across the entire room with piercing intensity. He slowly spoke, "Although the Huangfu family has temporarily withdrawn from today's events, they will certainly not let it go. Especially since Bai Yijue died in the martial arts competition, and although Huangfu Haotian publicly promised not to pursue the matter, given his character, he will definitely use the name of Bai Yijue's disciple and sect to retaliate against Shen Mo. I'm afraid they will take action soon. We must be fully prepared."

Before the words were finished, the people at the table looked at each other, some frowning in thought, some lowering their heads in silence, but only one person stood up first—it was Murong Qing.