Wandering Swordsman |

Peng Chengxiao was taken aback, his lips parted slightly, but he couldn't utter a word.

Shen Mo's gaze swept over the corpses scattered on the ground, his voice low and rumbling like thunder across the valley: "These corpses, their faces bluish-purple, their skin covered in black markings like spiderwebs—this is not the result of ordinary martial arts; they were most likely killed by the martial arts of evil cultivators from overseas. Do you know that those evil cultivators never leave a complete corpse after killing someone, nor do they spare a single trace of internal energy? But here…" He paused, his fingertip lightly touching the chest of a corpse, "the internal energy has not dissipated, the heart meridian is not damaged, and even the blood has not been drained—this doesn't seem like slaughter, but rather… it seems like… deliberately killing for the sake of killing."

Peng Chengxiao's heart skipped a beat, as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head, and the excitement he had just felt instantly cooled down.

"If he's not acting as a chivalrous hero," Shen Mo continued, his tone growing increasingly grave, "he's actually setting up a scheme. If the common people mistake him for a 'righteous man,' and the righteous path misjudges him as a 'fellow traveler,' then the real chaos will begin."

He gazed into the distance, where an invisible shadow seemed to be writhing in the depths of the night, carrying a suffocating sense of oppression.

"The overseas evil cultivators have never followed the rules or upheld morality. If they truly wanted to intervene in the Central Plains, they would never have started with such a mild method as 'slaughtering bandits.' This move must have some ulterior motive. If we allow them to continue to pretend to do good and confuse the public, the martial arts alliance will fall into a state of collapse of trust, the righteous path will be thrown into disarray, and then the overseas evil cultivators will be able to take advantage of the situation."

Peng Chengxiao finally understood. The confusion and passion in his eyes now transformed into awe and reverence.

He suddenly knelt on one knee, clasped his hands in a fist salute, and said in a deep voice, "Your subordinate understands! Captain, rest assured, I will return to the inn immediately and lead the Qingfeng Team to set off without delay!"

Shen Mo nodded slightly and said nothing more.

He turned around, his figure disappearing into the night like a wisp of smoke.

The night was as dark as ink, and the mountain wind was as sharp as a blade. Shen Mo lay among the branches of an ancient pine tree, his breath almost nonexistent, as if he had become one with the entire forest.

His gaze was like that of a hawk, fixed on the fleeting blue figure in front of him—the youth, slender yet moving with the speed of the wind, each step he took seemed to be on the void, silent yet astonishingly fast.

Since their parting at Broken Soul Slope, Shen Mo had been following the faint, sinister aura all the way.

The aura was extremely faint; if he hadn't possessed exceptionally keen senses, he probably wouldn't have been able to detect it at all.

The more he followed, the more surprised he became—the young man seemed to be strolling leisurely, but in reality, his aura was as dense as a spider web, and the slightest breeze would stir up ripples of alertness.

Even more strangely, he would occasionally stop without warning, without turning his head, yet he seemed to be able to sense the flow of energy within a hundred paces behind him. On three occasions, Shen Mo almost exposed himself.

The first time was when I was crossing a rocky hill.

The young man suddenly stopped, raising his right hand slightly as if trying to catch a strange ripple in the wind.

Shen Mo was using a broken stele for cover when his heart tightened. He immediately activated the "Turtle Breathing Technique," and even the flow of his blood seemed to freeze.

At that moment, he seemed to turn into a stubborn rock, his very soul sinking into the ground.

The young man stood still for three breaths before finally turning and leaving, but Shen Mo's forehead was already beaded with cold sweat—it wasn't an illusion, but rather that the other party seemed to have really sensed something.

The second time was deep in the dense forest.

To shorten the distance, Shen Mo risked traveling quickly through the canopy.

Unexpectedly, the young man suddenly leaped onto a century-old tree, stood on the highest branch, and looked up at the starry sky, as if he were observing the stars to determine his position.

Moonlight spilled down, illuminating half of his profile—his brows were cool and aloof, his lips slightly upturned, exuding an almost eerie composure.

Just as Shen Mo was about to retreat, the dry branch under his feet made a soft "crack" sound.

In an instant, the young man's eyes flashed like lightning as he suddenly swept towards where Shen Mo was hiding!

Shen Mo's heart pounded wildly. He once again used the Heavenly Demon Qi to circulate the "Turtle Breathing Technique," instantly converging his true energy and forcibly suppressing his heartbeat to near standstill. He seemed to transform into a wisp of night mist, merging into the shadows of the trees.

The young man stared for a long time, a hint of doubt flashing in his eyes, but in the end he just said indifferently, "An illusion..." He turned around and jumped down, his figure disappearing into the forest like a ghost.

Shen Mo lay prone on a tree branch, his heart filled with shock. Although this young man's strength was still somewhat inferior to his own, it far exceeded his expectations.

The third and most dangerous moment—the young man spent the night in a dilapidated temple, with Shen Mo lying in ambush on the beam. Unexpectedly, a wild cat darted in, stirring up dust and ashes.

The young man suddenly opened his eyes, his pupils like the moon reflected in an ancient well, radiating a cold light.

He didn't get up, but a wisp of wind from his sleeve quietly swept out, striking the blind spot on the beam.

Shen Mo had a premonition. He retreated like smoke, landing against the wall. His finger brushed past his ear and silently pierced the wooden pillar behind him, leaving a deep hole with a faint black aura around the edge.

Startled, the wild cat arched its back, puffed out its fur, and let out a piercing shriek: "Meow—ow!"

The piercing cry, like tearing silk, instantly shattered the deathly silence of the temple. The young man's gaze sharpened, and he finally turned to look at the cat.

The stray cat whimpered and darted out of the temple gate, disappearing into the depths of the night. Only then did the young man slowly breathe a sigh of relief.

......

Over the next three days, Shen Mo witnessed firsthand:

The young man spent the night in a deserted village when he was robbed by bandits. He did not show himself, but instead threw three stones from the shadows, which accurately shattered the throat of the bandit leader. The rest of the bandits were terrified and the villagers were saved, but they did not know where their benefactor was.

—While passing by the official road, the young man witnessed a corrupt official forcibly abducting a young woman. He stood by and watched until the very last moment, and when the official was about to commit his crime, he appeared and shattered the official's heart meridian with a single palm strike. He then spoke gently to the woman, left her some silver, and quietly departed.

......

Each and every one of these acts resembles the chivalrous deeds of ancient times, who performed righteous acts without leaving their names.

Shen Mo's doubts deepened, almost shaking his initial resolve. "These overseas heretical cultivators are actually doing such righteous things? Could it be... I've mistaken them for someone else?"

He even began to wonder if the young man was not a heretical cultivator.

Conflicts are like vines that entwine the heart, tightening ever more with each twist and turn.

On the seventh day at dusk, Shen Mo followed the young man over the foothills of Mount Song, and suddenly a magnificent view opened up before him—a towering mountain gate stood amidst the clouds and mist, the three golden characters "Shaolin Temple" on the plaque gleaming, the distant sound of Buddhist chants, and the sound of pine trees reciting poetry.

The young man stopped in front of the mountain gate, gazing up at the temple gate for a long time, his expression complex and hard to decipher.

Ancient cypress trees stand tall in front of the gate, their needles rustling, as if the whispers of countless eminent monks over the centuries still echo in the wind.

The sound of the Buddhist bell, long and resonant, calmed the mind and spirit, instantly dispelling worldly thoughts.

Shen Mo crouched behind an ancient pine tree halfway up the mountain, his gaze fixed on the figure in blue. The young man did not hesitate and stepped straight into the mountain gate. His figure was quickly swallowed up by the heavy vermilion temple gate, like a drop of water merging into the sea, leaving no trace.

A mountain breeze rustled the pine needles, but Shen Mo stood motionless like a stone statue. He gazed at the three characters "Shaolin Temple" hanging high above the gate, their gold lacquer gleaming in the setting sun, like the eyes of Buddha gazing down upon the world. In that instant, his conversation with Shen Tao at Shen Family Village that day flooded back into his mind like a tidal wave—

"Your maternal grandfather is still alive... After leaving Shenjiazhuang, he went to Shaolin Temple to become a monk."