It was then that the air suddenly shifted, thick with tension. Under Ji Wuye's crimson gaze, more figures materialized from the shadows like ghosts, surrounding Fan Fu who faced the eerily calm, one-eyed man.
"Well, well, Brother Fan..." A mocking voice trailed off, belonging to a young man in his mid-twenties. Despite the fallen bodies of his fellow disciples littering the battlefield, he grinned wolfishly, indifferent to the carnage. He tutted and shook his head slowly, "You look utterly pitiful. I can scarcely believe a sniveling worm like you is an esteemed Inner Disciple."
Fan Fu coughed wetly, a trickle of blood escaping his pale lips as he glanced at the disdainful young man. His torn robes hung loosely, weighed down by the crimson life essence steadily pooling at his feet. A sword - its razor edge glinting menacingly under the silver moonlight - had been viciously driven through his right hand, the hilt protruding gruesomely.
Yet despite his grievous injuries, Fan Fu mustered what little strength remained to cup his hands in a trembling gesture of deep respect. His clouded eyes found not the belittling young man, but the elegant young lady standing amidst the chaos, "B-Be careful, Young Lady," he rasped, "He is the infamous Half-Moon Blade."
But as the dire warning left his bloodied lips, Fan Fu's brow furrowed in confusion. The Young Lady's porcelain features - normally cool and aloof like carved marble - were contorted with an expression entirely unfamiliar to him.
Her eyes, those twin pools of molten crimson that could pierce straight through a man's soul, now darted back and forth in naked panic. Ebony locks, previously maintained with regal perfection, wisped freely across her face as if tousled by an unseen wind.
"J-Junior Sister?" On the Other hand, the young man's mocking laughter faltered, finally noticing their leader's disconcerting behavior.
In that moment, the Young Lady vanished without a sound, only to rematerialize atop the tiled roof overhead, her white martial robe with dark red stripes billowing around her like ashen clouds. Her delicate fingers grasped at the air as if to catch the lingering wisps of a hauntingly familiar scent - his scent, one she knew better than her own heartbeat.
'No...this cannot be...it must be a mistake,' her thoughts raged, crimson eyes reflecting the flames devouring the compound like a hellish dawn. 'Big Brother...'
Fan Fu and the other disciples were momentarily thrown into confusion until the one-eyed man's gruff voice sliced through the tense silence. "Are you the daughter of Blood Sword?"
The scar slashing across his weathered face seemed to twitch, the puckered flesh forever sealing one eye in a perpetual wink. His thin lips curled upwards in an unsettling smirk, as if he found some private amusement in her distress.
"Hoh, I didn't expect the legendary Blood Sword to raise a daughter instead of an heir," he mused aloud, his one remaining eye scrutinizing the Kunlun operation leader known only as the Young Lady. He had been studying her closely the entire time, but now something about her demeanor caused his brow to furrow contemplatively.
The rest of the disciples immediately snapped to high alert, tension coiling like sprung steel traps. Even the arrogant young man who had mocked Fan Fu abandoned his jeering, jaw set in grim determination as he hastily unsheathed his jian.
"Junior Sister!" he barked urgently, but his cry fell on deaf ears.
Fan Fu, being swiftly treated and escorted to the rear, could do naught but watch with apprehensive eyes as their leader remained half-knelt atop the roof. Her graceful form was hunched, delicate fingers grasping at the night air as if searching desperately for some unseen essence to cling to.
On the other side of the battlefield, the one-eyed man's thoughts roared like a raging tsunami crashing against the cliffs of his disciplined mind.
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'A sea of blood filled with floating corpses, yet she devours it all and remains indifferent!'
His knuckles turned white around the hilt of his jian as he beheld this young woman - this girl who could not have seen her twentieth summer.
Yet for some inexplicable reason, her faint bluish Qi, enveloping both her blade and body like a ethereal shroud, radiated a lethality that caused his very bones to ache. When her crimson eyes, eyes that molent like pool of blood, locked onto him... he felt his blood run cold.
"It's an honor to face the direct descendant of Blood Sword himself!" the one-eyed man bellowed, his forced calm finally shattering.
In a blur of motion, he charged straight towards her, the bluish Qi around his own jian warping and contorting into a ghostly silvery glow. Rotating his entire body in mid-air, he aligned his deadly arc perfectly with the silver moon overhead. The lethal arc of his glowing blade descended towards the Young Lady in a blinding streak of lunar radiance.
...
Unexpectedly, when the dark skies finally greeted the new dawn, the events that had transpired in the Tianji did not go unnoticed.
Like the first wisps of woodsmoke before a raging wildfire, hushed murmurs and uneasy glances spread from household to household, a resounding unease gripping the hearts of the people.
“It’s blood—I smelled blood last night…” one voice whispered lowly.
“I saw fire! A huge fire! The heavens, the immortals have descended!” an old man, his eyes red from sleeplessness, shouted.
“What are you talking about? Keep moving, or we’ll be late for the gathering!”
Yet…
The rumors began to fade, and the crowd’s focus shifted elsewhere. Instead, throngs of common people were flocking toward Kunlun's Qiuxiu Village, ascending the winding stone steps that led to Kunlun's entrance.
The crisp mountain air buzzed with excitement, carrying whispers and shouts alike as the crowd surged towards Kunlun's Qiuxiu Village.
The winding stone steps, worn smooth by disciples, now groaned under the weight of thousands of eager visitors.
Qiuxiu Village, usually a serene hamlet, had transformed overnight into a bustling bazaar. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, and the aroma of sizzling street food mingled with the scent of incense burning at makeshift shrines. Vendors called out their wares, their voices competing with the excited chatter of the crowd.
"Hurry up! We can't miss this!" a young man shouted, his face flushed with exertion. He tugged at his friend's sleeve, nearly stumbling in his haste. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of awe and impatience as he craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the sect's legendary gates.
Nearby, an older gentleman chuckled, the sound warm and rich with nostalgia. His weathered hands gestured expansively as he spoke, "Back in my day, we could only dream of entering Kunlun without becoming a disciple!" His eyes crinkled at the corners, reflecting both joy at the present moment and a hint of wistfulness for the past.
A child, no more than seven or eight, tugged at his mother's sleeve. His eyes were as wide as saucers, reflecting the colorful scene around them. "Do you think we'll see the legendary Patriarch of Kunlun?" he asked, his voice trembling with equal parts excitement and trepidation.
His mother smiled down at him, her expression soft with affection. She ran a gentle hand through his tousled hair as she replied, "If we're lucky, little one." Her voice lowered conspiratorially as she added, "They say he's rumored to have slain the powerful masters of the Blood Dragon Sect." She tightened her grip on his hand, protective instincts kicking in amidst the jostling crowd. "Now, stay close!"
"I heard the famous Wudang disciples will be competing!" one voice called out, tinged with awe.
"No way!" came the incredulous reply. "They're monsters, and I heard they're undefeated!"
A burly man with a booming voice cut in, "Bah! My money's on the benefactors from the Shaolin Temple! Did you see how muscular those monks were when they arrived two days ago?!" He punctuated his statement by flexing his own not-inconsiderable biceps, drawing appreciative nods from those around him.
This was the second day of the grand gathering of all the Orthodox forces, an event that promised to showcase the pinnacle of martial prowess. For many, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness the legendary sect opened its doors to the public.
Of course the common people wouldn't know that on the first day, the Kunlun was laying bait to catch the impostors. Neither would they know that on the same night, they exterminated the threat. This information was being sealed by Kunlun themselves.
Peace and utter ignorance would be better to calm the common people and make them less worried. That was the duty of martial artists in Jianghu.
Suddenly, a gruff voice cut through the chatter, its tone tinged with a hint of resentment. "Hmph! What's so great about them? We know martial arts too!" The speaker, a middle-aged man with a weather-beaten face, puffed out his chest proudly. "Didn't we survive that evil Tower? We even gained some powerful skills!"
The gruff man's companion chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he playfully elbowed his friend. "Save your boasting until after we see what Kunlun has to offer, old friend," he said with lighthearted tone.
Then, he paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully before adding, "If we've grown stronger, what about those who've trained in schools and sects? Haven't they become even more powerful?"
...
Meanwhile, among the bustling streets and excited chatter, a two-story shop stood in stark contrast to its surroundings. Its doors remained firmly shut, windows tightly closed, an island of stillness in a sea of activity. The building seemed to hold its breath, untouched by the fervor gripping Qiuxiu Village.
Inside, the air was thick with silence, broken only by the soft, steady breathing of a lone figure. A man sat cross-legged on the floor, his posture perfect, radiating an aura of deep concentration.
Suddenly, as if responding to an unheard signal, the man's eyes snapped open. Two orbs of deep crimson gleamed in the dim light, their color as rich and intense as freshly spilled blood.
A thin ray of sunlight, persistent in its quest to illuminate the darkness, had managed to slip through a small gap in the heavy curtains.
"It's already morning, huh?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. With fluid grace that belied his long period of stillness, the man rose to his feet. Reaching out with a hand , he grasped the edge of the curtain.