Chapter 48: The Elder's Successor

At exactly eleven o’clock that night, in the Martial Sect’s council hall, Elder Peng Dingtian sat upright in his chair, eyes closed as if resting, but deep down, his heart thudded with inexplicable anxiety.

As a Heaven-tier expert, his senses surpassed those of ordinary people by far, and as the Grand Elder of the Martial Sect, his cultivation had reached the mid-stage of the Heaven tier. Never underestimate such a minor advancement—for those above the Heaven tier, even the smallest breakthrough marked a vast difference.

No matter what, their lives were not immediately threatened for the time being; there was still time to turn the tide. Now, everyone waited eagerly for Ye Meng’s return, hoping he would bring back the Dragon-Slaying Ruler as well.

Just as he touched the white-bearded old Taoist’s body, it shattered like a glass mirror, dissolving into a surge of pure primordial energy.

Xiao Meng hadn’t come to apprehend Chai Hua; venting her anger over such a trivial matter was hardly worth it, and besides, Chai Hua had simply let the air out of the motorcycles belonging to Leng Bing’s gang—one could even say she was ridding the people of a scourge.

Ye Meng’s face flushed with embarrassment—he realized how little he truly knew, having mistaken mere speculation for truth.

A year ago, his aim had been to train Sha Po Tian into a courageous, battle-hardened, and militarily skilled anti-Japanese force. He’d handed over the general store in Poplar Town to his father-in-law, Li Xing, while he brought Chun Ni here—to the Misty Cloud Mountain.

Li Liang was inwardly shaken. Nasri’s total rating was nearly double his own! He then turned his gaze to De Bruyne.

Next, top-level leaders from all the major sects descended—Lan Xin, Zhou Qi, and others. Many bore fresh bloodstains upon their robes.

“Director Wei, forgive the intrusion. Please don’t be alarmed—we haven’t come for your money!” the tall man hastily explained.

Three men wielding crossbows were swiftly dispatched by Gao Jun’s dazzling moves, the commotion alerting the rest inside the villa. Er Qing led the charge down the stairs, gripping a weapon—someone had dared to stir up trouble in his lair, and he would brook no such thing.

In a secluded courtyard, Xiao Long’s temporary palace, a place reserved solely for his rest and cultivation, an area forbidden to all others—no servants, no aides. But today, a solitary figure sat cross-legged upon Xiao Long’s meditation mat, eyes closed, immersed in training.

“This matter cannot be rushed,” the old emperor muttered cryptically, then fell silent, eyelids drooping as if lost in thought.

A sudden thunderous shout rang out. Wang Ying’s right palm shot forth; in an instant, a jet-black, chilling hook and chain materialized. A terrifying murderous intent swept across the heavens and earth, burning in Wang Ying’s eyes like a volcanic eruption—so fierce it chilled the soul.

When familiar lives depart in the blink of an eye, you are left with nothing but sorrow and pain. Sometimes, I wonder if I have lost myself, unable to find my own place anymore.

Yue Junzheng’s face showed little reaction to these words, but Cang Jiuyao’s gaze grew cold as she swept her eyes across the speaker.

It was a message for him: so long as his heart remained steadfast, it mattered not whether the sword he held was demonic, divine, or ordinary—in his hands, all swords were the same.

She couldn’t understand—why had she married this man, leaving behind Feng Qinglong, who had loved her with all his heart? If she had chosen him back then, this tragedy could have been avoided, and perhaps life with Yan Yu and the Fourth Miss would have been entirely different.

Taoran smiled, brushing it off—he didn’t know these people, and rivals on the same road are bound to clash. It was only natural to be looked down upon. What surprised him was the fame of Old Master Wangshengzi—the very mention of his name had cowed these three brothers into submission.

Everyone stared at Wang Ying as if beholding an ancient monster unseen in tens of thousands of years, their breathing growing tense and hurried.