Chapter Seventy-Four: The Two Faces of the Green Mountain

Liu Xin’s hands shifted through another series of seals, a cold gleam flashing in his eyes. Suddenly, he jerked his head up and a flicker of flame darted from his throat.

On the quiet, deserted roadside, a streak of dazzling crimson flared amidst the blinding golden light.

Wang Yao glanced down, releasing his palm from the other’s forehead. His face, flushed from drink, grew brighter still, and he too opened his mouth—

The cry of an ape rang out, long and unrestrained, brimming with a sense of reckless abandon.

All the strength Wang Yao had accumulated in the Ebony Grove now erupted in an instant.

A pale surge of energy whirled forth, like rolling clouds coiling around his arms. His five fingers burst from the mist, slamming down on Liu Xin’s chest with the force of a raging dragon.

Liu Xin, meanwhile, was thrown off by the ape’s cry, faltering in his seals.

The fire in his mouth sputtered and died.

Wang Yao shook his head slowly. He had expected a fierce battle, but was disappointed to find his opponent as fragile and pampered as a spoiled child.

Despite possessing such a precious mid-grade technique, Liu Xin showed no sign of true cultivation. In contrast, Wang Yao’s Mountain-Crushing Palm was etched into his very bones—every move flawless, even in his drunken haze.

One honed his skills for survival, the other wielded them for show. The outcome was obvious.

If not for Liu Xin’s higher cultivation, that single palm strike would have left him flat on the ground. But Wang Yao’s strength was still insufficient; even as his palm force burst forth in full, it only sent Liu Xin tumbling several yards, unable to fully dispel the golden light around him.

Wang Yao stood still, lowering his hand without pursuing.

Victory alone was not his goal; he wanted Liu Xin to remember the name of Little Green Mountain, to accept defeat utterly and completely.

Not far away, Du Juan watched, stunned.

She’d never held much regard for the idle and frivolous Senior Brother Liu, but one couldn’t deny he came from good stock. Ordinary disciples could only dream of such rare pills and techniques.

By virtue of his cultivation and martial arts, he easily ranked among the top ten young disciples of East Departure Peak.

And yet he’d just been struck down twice by that fool!

“Bah!”

It took Liu Xin ages to stand upright again. He spat out a mouthful of blood, the golden glow fading from his body, and glared at Wang Yao with a dark expression.

After taking two blows, his mind was now clear, but he had no intention of letting the matter rest. With his status, how could he accept being beaten for nothing?

Wang Yao’s calm, waiting demeanor only fanned the flames of his anger.

He slapped his storage pouch.

Several small knives, each an inch long, sprang out and hovered in the air, glinting coldly, murderous intent sharp and clear.

“Didn’t you enjoy yourself just now?” Liu Xin sneered, clutching his chest as he wobbled upright. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Shameless!” Du Juan stomped her foot in fury. Disciples of the same sect were not supposed to use magical weapons in duels.

“Feel aggrieved? You’re welcome to use yours as well.” Liu Xin bared his teeth in a grin. He had long ago noticed the young man lacked a storage pouch, nor did he show any sign of spiritual energy—so poor, he probably stole even that Foundation-Building Pill.

Wang Yao said nothing, simply settling into his stance.

It was a faith born of his own hard work. He had chosen to vindicate Little Green Mountain with his own bare hands—no turning back now.

Even if he lost, he would wait until he could no longer stand before he considered surrender.

At that moment, a voice suddenly rang out from above.

“In a fight, it’s only right for the many to gang up on the few. Don’t get hung up on rules, got it?” Yang Mu drew his bamboo sword with a flourish.

“Oh,” Xiao Bao nodded, half-understanding.

“Get him!”

“Alright!”

Wang Yao stared as two figures darted past him, stunned. “You guys…”

Yang Mu’s sword gleamed with moonlight as he lunged straight for Liu Xin’s throat.

Xiao Bao opened his mouth, spitting out a white dragon of flame. It was his first time facing an opponent; his little face flushed red with nerves.

“Another pair of fools courting death!”

Liu Xin was briefly surprised, but seeing their meager cultivation, he quickly dismissed them.

Was this the caliber of Little Green Mountain’s disciples?

He’d been wary of that late-stage Qi Practitioner, but these two…

Swish!

His expression changed. He dodged sharply, but his sleeve caught a spark of milky-white fire, clinging like a leech and refusing to be shaken off.

He’d barely summoned his golden light when the bamboo sword was already upon him.

“What are you standing around for? Come help!” Yang Mu wielded his Moonlight Sword Art with ease, glancing back at Wang Yao.

“This…”

Wang Yao felt this was not what he’d intended. But worried for Xiao Bao’s safety, he could only sigh and join in.

“Do you people have no shame?!”

In the blink of an eye, Liu Xin’s robes were scorched to tatters, his golden light sizzling under the white flames. Most of his energy was spent fending off the sword that kept jabbing at him.

He was in utter disarray.

He could never have imagined that two mere mid-stage Qi Practitioners could cause him such trouble.

Now, seeing Wang Yao rushing over, he was more flustered than ever.

He hurriedly forced Wang Yao back with his flying knives and turned to flee. “Out of my way, I’m done fighting!”

“You think you can just quit whenever you want?”

If it were Wang Yao leading, perhaps he would’ve stopped. But at the fore was Yang Mu.

He sneered.

Would a disciple of Little Green Mountain let you walk away unscathed?

Did you take him for a pushover?

They’d been watching quietly from a distance until Liu Xin grabbed Wang Yao by the collar. In that instant, Yang Mu had already drawn his sword.

He didn’t seek trouble, but he would never shy from it.

A flurry of sword strikes rained down, forcing Liu Xin to flee in panic, leaving fresh cuts all over him.

Du Juan swallowed hard, her view of Little Green Mountain deepening further.

Vengeful to the core.

The sect wasn’t a gang in the mundane world—rarely did disciples gang up in such a way. Yet that youth acted with the air of moral righteousness, making him all the more fearsome.

Liu Xin dared not look back.

The sword was one thing, but the real trouble was the child spewing white flame and Wang Yao stubbornly pursuing from behind.

Desperate, he shouted for help, hoping disciples of East Departure Peak would hear.

Just as he was ready to collapse, he saw the wooden sword stabbing toward him pause as though it had struck an invisible wall. With a crack, it snapped in two; the innate true fire in the air also faded away.

Yang Mu’s face changed. Without bothering with his broken sword, he snatched up the child and flung him back.

Wang Yao caught him and, without a word, turned and ran.

At that moment, a heavy aura swept toward them from afar. A tall, graceful figure approached, raising a hand—and the three were instantly immobilized.

Liu Xin, his face streaked with tears and snot, hair half-burned, and clothes in tatters like a beggar, cried out in excitement, “Senior Brother Li, you’re finally here!”