Wandering Swordsman |

After saying that, he turned around, as if to take Li Fanglin away.

Seeing this, the disciples guarding the mountain breathed a slight sigh of relief and steadied the torches again.

Once completely out of sight of the Qingcheng Sect's mountain-guarding disciples, Shen Mo suddenly stopped, turned to Li Fanglin, and whispered, "How's your movement technique?"

Li Fanglin didn't answer immediately, but looked at Shen Mo with a puzzled expression, as if to say, "Why are you asking this?"

Shen Mo smiled wickedly: "If you want to infiltrate the Qingcheng Sect, are you confident you won't be discovered?"

Li Fanglin was shocked, never expecting that a righteous disciple like Shen Mo would resort to such unorthodox methods. He coldly said, "If it were an ordinary small sect, it would naturally be no problem. But the Qingcheng Sect is one of the 'Nine Sects and One Gang,' and its disciples are already quite skilled in martial arts. Moreover, there are renowned elders in the sect... Trying to infiltrate? That's simply a pipe dream."

He paused, then looked at Shen Mo with a complicated expression: "Although you are strong, even if your skill is comparable to our leader's before he lost his arm, it will be difficult for you to infiltrate the Qingcheng Sect's inescapable net."

Shen Mo did not refute, but said calmly, "Find the escape route at the foot of the mountain first, in case we encounter an ambush by the Righteous Alliance when we take Situ Meng away."

"Me first?" Li Fanglin was taken aback, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.

Shen Mo's gaze was as cold as a star, piercing straight at Li Fanglin: "Since you can't do it, then I'll infiltrate myself."

He looked up at the mountain peak, where the eaves of the Taoist temple were faintly visible in the night. "If I find Situ Meng, I will reveal my identity and bring her out."

"You infiltrated the Qingcheng Sect alone?!" Li Fanglin almost cried out, his withered face contorted with shock. "The Qingcheng Sect isn't as laxly guarded as the Black Wind Gang, where you could easily infiltrate!"

Shen Mo remained unmoved, his black robe fluttering lightly in the wind, seemingly untouched by worldly affairs. His voice was calm, yet as resonant as metal striking the ground: "Don't think that just because something is difficult, no one can do it." He paused, his gaze sweeping over Li Fanglin, "You should find a way out, and then wait for me here."

Li Fanglin's anger flared up suddenly.

He was one of the Four Holy Lords of the Black Wind Gang. When had he ever been so looked down upon? Even when he submitted to the Martial Alliance, it was only out of necessity, not out of genuine submission. And now, he was being directly refuted by Shen Mo, who said he was "incompetent"?

"Fine!" He sneered, a sinister glint in his eyes. "I'd like to see what you're capable of, daring to claim you can infiltrate the Qingcheng Sect! How about we make a bet?"

Shen Mo raised an eyebrow slightly: "What are we betting on?"

"What do you want to bet on?" Shen Mo asked calmly, as if he no longer cared about winning or losing.

Li Fanglin's gaze was sharp as he swept over Shen Mo's back—two swords. One sword was wrapped in layers of coarse cloth, its shape unrecognizable, yet it exuded a sword intent that made one's heart tremble. The other sword had an ancient scabbard with flowing inscriptions, and it was none other than the famous sword that the gang leader had once treasured—the Tai'a Sword!

His pupils contracted, and he raised his hand, pointing directly at the sword: "If I win, you will give me the Tai'a sword."

The night wind suddenly stopped, the pine needles froze, and Shen Mo frowned slightly.

The Tai'a Sword, which he obtained from the Black Wind Gang, held extraordinary significance. It was not only a divine weapon but also a testament to his continuous growth in the martial world. He paused for a moment, then nodded: "Alright."

Seeing that Shen Mo agreed, Li Fanglin's lips curled into a smug, cold smile.

But Shen Mo countered, "What if you lose...?"

Li Fanglin was taken aback, his smile freezing on his face. He was the dignified Xuanwu Saint Lord; if he lost, what could he offer to counter the Tai'a Sword? If he couldn't produce something of equal value, wouldn't he be disgracing the Black Wind Gang?

Seeing his hesitant expression, Shen Mo's eyes flickered slightly, and he suddenly said, "If I win, you will respect me from now on and obey my orders in everything, how about it?"

"No!" Li Fanglin refused resolutely, his voice suddenly rising, startling the birds roosting in the forest. "I am the Holy Lord of the Black Wind Gang, serving the Gang Leader. How can I obey you?!"

Shen Mo was not annoyed, and simply said, "How about a one-month deadline?"

"A month?" Li Fanglin's eyes narrowed.

"For the next month, you will be at my command and must not disobey." Shen Mo's voice was calm, yet it felt like a mountain pressing down. "After one month, the contract will end, and you will be free."

Li Fanglin's breathing became slightly labored.

A month... not a long time, but if word got out, it would be enough to make him lose face. But if he didn't gamble, he was already at a disadvantage today. If he won, he would not only get the Tai'a Sword, but also regain his pride and restore the prestige of the Black Wind Gang.

He stared intently at Shen Mo, as if trying to see right through him.

Shen Mo remained calm, standing with his hands behind his back, the moonlight shining on him, making him look like an unshakeable war god.

After a long silence, Li Fanglin finally gritted his teeth and said, word by word, "Fine! I bet! If you can truly infiltrate the Qingcheng Sect, find Situ Meng, and bring her out safely, I will obey your orders for a month! If you fail... the Tai'a Sword will be mine!"

"It's a deal," Shen Mo said softly.

Before he finished speaking, his figure suddenly blurred, like smoke and mist, leaving behind an afterimage. By the time Li Fanglin could see clearly, Shen Mo had vanished without a trace.

Li Fanglin immediately looked around, only to see the wind rustling through the pine forest without a sound, as if Shen Mo had never appeared.

Li Fanglin stood frozen in place, staring at the empty surroundings, his Adam's apple bobbing as he muttered to himself, "...With this kind of strength, even the gang leader... probably can't stop them."

He slowly raised his head and looked at Mount Qingcheng under the night sky. For the first time, a sense of awe arose in his heart—what kind of person was Shen Mo? A young man who had just reached adulthood could not possibly possess such profound martial arts skills.

......

Let's go back to Dali two days ago.

The verdant mountains and swirling clouds and mist of the former Diancang School are now unrecognizable.

Not long ago, the majestic mountain gate—the plaque bearing the two characters "Diancang"—was smashed to pieces. The fragments were scattered on both sides of the mountain path, washed by rain and covered with moss, as if even the name had been deliberately erased.

In its place stood a massive, jet-black stone tablet, upon which three large characters were inscribed in blood-red cinnabar: "The Alliance of Righteousness."

The handwriting is wild and unrestrained, like a knife carving, with sharp strokes, exuding a violent aura. From a distance, it looks like a hideous scar branded on the spine of Cangshan Mountain.

Inside the mountain gate, the once tranquil Taoist temple, martial arts training ground, and scripture repository are now severely damaged and have an eerie style. The eaves no longer curve upwards like birds, but instead bend downwards like ghostly claws. Strings of wind chimes made by overseas heretical cultivators hang from the corners of the eaves, and when the night wind blows, they emit a sinister "ding-a-ling" sound, like the whispers of the dead.

In the courtyard, all the trees that had been planted had been cut down and replaced by a strange black flower—its petals were like blood, its stamens a ghostly green, emitting a faint, sweet, and pungent odor that made one dizzy. This flower was called "Crimson Nightmare," a secret species from Japan, said to help evil cultivators overseas enhance their power.

The air was filled with a nauseating stench of incense, blood, and decaying earth.

The council chamber was dimly lit.

The hall was unlit, illuminated only by dozens of bronze ghost lamps, their eerie green flames flickering and casting a grotesque and terrifying shadow on the skull masks hanging on the walls.

In the center of the hall, there was a long table made of a single piece of black iron. On the table was a huge map of the Central Plains martial arts world, with mountains and rivers outlined in blood lines. Several key locations had been circled in vermilion—Nanjing, Qingcheng Mountain, Shaolin, and Wudang.