Chapter Seventy-Nine: A Gift of Scarlet Snow

“This…” The disciples of the Slanted Bamboo Peak looked at Feng Chuxun, who, even without his sword, remained so formidable that they were left speechless, watching in a daze as he beat a monster to death with his bare fists.

He was certainly not Ling Xiao!

Many disciples found themselves thinking this. Until now, they had only seen Ling Xiao slay monsters with his fists, but it turned out that even without a sword, Feng Chuxun was nearly his equal…

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Shen Qingyun said quietly beside Feng Chuxun.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Feng Chuxun replied, expressionless. Streaks of an inky, unknown substance still smeared his face, making his appearance especially fearsome.

“Of course you do,” Shen Qingyun continued coolly. “The only question is whether the Feng family will be destroyed first, or whether you in your current state will die here in Ghost Valley.”

“My affairs are none of your concern,” Feng Chuxun’s fists clenched tightly, his voice low and tense. “You have no idea what’s really happening!”

“If you don’t tell me, how could I possibly know?” Shen Qingyun replied airily.

Behind them, Ling Xiao and the others instinctively fell back three paces, keeping a respectful distance. The two made no effort to conceal their conversation, so everyone could hear, but none could understand its meaning. Since they couldn’t comprehend, they figured it best to keep away and pretend not to hear.

After a long silence, Feng Chuxun relaxed his hands and spoke with a calm detachment, tinged with a hint of distance. “Let’s go. Whatever happens, it’s my concern.”

Shen Qingyun only shrugged, unconcerned. If Feng Chuxun wasn’t willing to speak, there was no way to force him. Besides, someone who had kept his heart closed for so long wouldn’t easily open up again.

Shen Qingyun gazed into the distance, where billowing black smoke swept across the landscape, and countless figures lurked in the darkness.

…

“This place is a site of fortuitous opportunity,” Shen Qingyun murmured, a faint smile on his lips.

“With wind gathered and energy concentrated, were this outside, it would be a place of rich spiritual power,” Ling Xiao responded.

At these words, the other disciples perked up. If the two said so, then surely they were approaching another auspicious land—perhaps there would be rare spiritual herbs!

Feng Chuxun stood behind Shen Qingyun, his gaze steady and unremarkable as he looked ahead. “It’s dangerous.”

He gave no explanation, offered no further words, just stated simply that there was danger.

As everyone looked at him, he added, “It suits me well.”

Shen Qingyun shot him a sidelong glance, a flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise placid eyes. “Then why not take the lead?”

“I will,” Feng Chuxun replied without hesitation, and strode toward the region shrouded in black smoke.

As Feng Chuxun stepped forward, the disciples of Slanted Bamboo Peak felt an inexplicable sense that he was suddenly very far away—not in distance, but in spirit. He was right there, within reach, and yet it seemed he was separated by a vast gulf.

At the same time, a faint but distinct aura emanated from him—one that made them feel a sharp, dangerous edge…

Shen Qingyun nodded. The embryo of sword intent had already begun to take root within Feng Chuxun. It would not be long before his true brilliance as a genius of the sword would shine forth.

If Feng Chuxun sensed danger ahead, how could Shen Qingyun not? The mottled auras indicated a great number ahead, yet none felt truly threatening to him.

Feng Chuxun halted at the edge of the black smoke, took a deep breath, and his eyes turned cold and sharp. He felt something within himself straining to break free—something he had searched for in vain. At the sight of the smoke, this feeling intensified: if he could pass safely through, what he sought would reveal itself on its own.

He pressed forward. The moment his foot entered the smoke, a chorus of hissing, whispering calls arose—a cacophony so unnerving that only their sheer number could make such a low rumble so piercing.

In an instant, countless blood-red, gem-like eyes appeared within the smoke.

The tightly packed, innumerable red eyes made those outside draw sharp breaths, a chill running down their spines.

So many!

They had thought, after facing that horde of skeletons, that they would never again see so many monsters. But their confidence was shattered—at a glance, there were at least several hundred eyes, not to mention those still hidden!

How terrifying must this be!

“Senior Brother Feng… will he be all right?” someone asked, voice trembling.

Yet this time, no one suggested retreat.

Fear was a given, but none dared speak of fleeing.

“Yes… there are so many,” Ling Xiao frowned, hesitated, then looked at Shen Qingyun. “Senior Brother Shen, let me help Senior Brother Feng!”

Shen Qingyun glanced briefly at him, his gaze unreadable, then shook his head. “No need. This is his choice.”

Hearing this, Ling Xiao could only suppress his impulse. With so many monsters, Feng Chuxun surely could not handle them alone. But he also understood—if this was Feng Chuxun’s choice, he would not want interference.

To intervene rashly would only breed resentment.

But the next scene left them wide-eyed.

A deafening sword cry erupted from Feng Chuxun, shattering the black smoke that enshrouded him! The clear, resonant note rang across the land, lingering for a long time.

The true forms of the shrieking creatures were finally revealed—monsters, true monsters!

Each was over a yard long, with serpentine bodies and only two blood-red eyes for a head. When one opened its mouth to roar, everyone watching turned pale.

Its mouth was not on its face—but on its back! A line ran from head to tail along the spine, splitting open into a maw bristling with jagged teeth—enough to chill the blood of the faint-hearted.

Feng Chuxun seemed unfazed by their horrific appearance. With a turn of his hand, a seemingly ordinary longsword appeared. Yet in his grasp, even the plainest sword became extraordinary.

No spiritual energy emanated from it, but the way Feng Chuxun wielded the blade made him seem several times more dangerous than before!

The sword quivered, making the very air hum—as if, within a certain range, all the wind and air shuddered around him.

“With sword in hand, the world is vast—where can I not go?” Feng Chuxun declared, his voice echoing between heaven and earth.

Not far away, the disciples of Slanted Bamboo Peak held their breath, awed by his bold, soaring spirit.

“With sword in hand, the world is vast—where can one not go…” a disciple murmured.

Beside him, another disciple looked at Feng Chuxun with reverent eyes and said solemnly, “This is how we cultivators ought to be!”

…

A strange, unfamiliar aura was also rising from the bodies of those monsters, and the next moment left everyone questioning their senses.

The monsters floated half a foot off the ground, taking to the air, swimming through it as they approached Feng Chuxun.

Without changing expression, Feng Chuxun swung his sword, drawing a perfect arc in the air and slashing at the nearest monster.

Clang—

“So hard!” The sound of the sword blade breaking made everyone’s heart sink.

Feng Chuxun raised the half sword left in his hand, a hint of frustration in his brow. Another one ruined…

But the fastest monster was grievously wounded, its body nearly severed by the blow, dragging its broken form away with a wretched howl.

The other monsters seemed startled by this display, hovering in the air, watching Feng Chuxun warily.

He discarded the broken blade, drew a new sword from his storage pouch, and swept his gaze over them, eyes cold. Spiritual power surged into the sword, enveloping it.

Sword in hand, Feng Chuxun burst forth in an instant.

A chilling sword-light tore through the sky, the blade’s sharp gleam lashing out at the monsters with incredible speed. In a flash, it sliced through one of the creatures as if cutting tofu. The terrible force blasted through its body and exploded, the shockwave flinging several monsters aside.

The one at the center, already grievously wounded, was obliterated before it could even react.

Behind him, as Feng Chuxun unleashed this sword-light, the expressions of the Slanted Bamboo Peak disciples grew odd.

Was this the same monster that a moment ago could only be wounded by sacrificing a sword?

But now, Feng Chuxun’s situation grew perilous. His attack had enraged the swarm; mouths gaping wide, they hurled themselves at him with bloodcurdling roars.

One monster, as it neared, stretched a finger-thick “vein” from the mouth on its back.

The “vein” twisted toward Feng Chuxun and spat a jet of black fluid straight at his face.

Startled, Feng Chuxun raised his sword to block. The black fluid sizzled on contact, instantly corroding even the spiritual energy sheathing the sword—as if boiling water met snow and ice.

His face darkened and he slashed at the monster, but the moment the sword touched its body, it snapped with a brittle crack.

The corroded blade was no match.

The monster let out a mocking screech and lunged at Feng Chuxun’s face.

“Not good!” a disciple cried out, “Quick, help Senior Brother Feng!”

“No one moves,” Shen Qingyun commanded, his expression tense. These monsters were even more troublesome than expected, able to spit fluid that corroded spiritual power in an instant.

After cutting them off, Chixue appeared in Shen Qingyun’s hand.

“Use this,” Shen Qingyun called, tossing Chixue to Feng Chuxun, who caught it and instantly felt a surge of icy cold and searing heat race through his skin, making him gasp and nearly drop the sword by reflex.

But the monsters’ howls rang in his ears; there was no time to think. Feng Chuxun spun and slashed.