The 28th Chapter

The residual Qi of Gangsha vanished, and the maddening heat finally dissipated, returning to a state of calm.

Ning Chang'an felt only thirst, his mouth dry and parched, his skin like withered old bark, his face gaunt and his body weak. This ordeal had nearly "burned" him to death.

He desperately needed water, a large amount of it. He felt his blood had become too thick to flow.

The survival instinct within his consciousness drove him, his thoughts solely focused on water!

Without water in a short time, he would undoubtedly die.

Ning Chang'an suddenly jumped up, his body swaying unsteadily. Everyone felt as if he had suddenly become much thinner. He looked around, his gaze finally settling on an old well on the edge of the training ground.

He could no longer care about anything else, and with the greatest strength he could muster, he sprinted towards the well.

Divine Detective Eagle's eyes widened in surprise, while Lu Feixin's expression became even more bizarre. Lu Feixin subconsciously glanced at the note in his hand. It indeed had the name Chang'an written on it. He had seen Chang'an get hit and was certain the note came from the killer, but he truly hadn't expected Ning Chang'an to survive.

He could hardly believe his eyes. He didn't believe Ning Chang'an was stronger than Mao Dongyue.

Ning Chang'an stumbled three times on his way to the well, a pathetic sight. He finally managed to crawl onto the well platform and tumbled into it.

Only Ning Chang'an himself knew that he fell three times because the killer had attacked him three more times.

He fell into the well, his fate unknown!

Was he dead just like that?!

Ning Chang'an felt his consciousness drifting. He suddenly thought of the phrase "soul scattered and spirit dispersed." He didn't feel like he was in a well, but rather in a vast, ethereal darkness.

In the darkness, there was only cold and fear, decay and oblivion.

He yearned for light, just as on any dark night, seeing a single star would bring him peace. Light could offer him salvation.

He yearned for it with all his might.

And so, light appeared in the darkness. It was pure white, crystal clear, like a fleeting bloom in the deepest part of the darkness.

Ning Chang'an was illuminated by this momentary brightness, and a strange feeling welled up in his heart.

What he craved wasn't light, but hope. That light wasn't light, but hope.

He finally understood what that strange feeling was. It was the sensation of suffocation and the taste of drowning. His stomach was already filled with the icy well water. He struggled desperately to breathe, but only inhaled more water, which directly flooded his lungs.

His consciousness cleared, and he realized he was somehow still alive.

At this moment, the bizarre scenes from before kept replaying in his mind, giving him a dreamlike feeling. Having survived a brush with death, his first action was to tightly shut his mouth and forcefully push off the bottom of the well with his feet. Then, an incredible scene unfolded.

Ning Chang'an shot out of the well like a cannonball, accompanied by a towering column of water.

He truly hadn't expected his strength to be so immense.

As soon as he landed, he heard countless deafening sounds. Even the sound of the smallest water droplet hitting the ground was as clear and resonant as pearls falling onto a jade plate.

He felt completely renewed, though momentarily disoriented.

The familiar world presented itself to him in a more vivid and distinct form.

He was caught off guard, not shouting in excitement or staring in shock. He calmed down in an instant.

Because he sensed killing intent, a chilling killing intent.

He sensed a presence at this moment that Lu Feixin and Divine Detective Eagle could not perceive.

But that presence was ethereal; he could only feel its sharpness and coldness, but could not grasp it, let alone pinpoint it.

The killing intent, like the shadow of death, constantly loomed over him.

He had completely closed his eyes, trying his best to sense it.

At this moment, only he could truly feel the killer's presence in Green Willow Manor.

Suddenly, a terrifying aura struck him. Under Ning Chang'an's perception, it felt as if he had been dragged into a world of blood, the frenzied energy threatening to shatter him.

Ning Chang'an's heart trembled, his face instantly turned pale, and he snapped his eyes open.

In his eyes, there was only one person, a slender man. The man had jet-black curly hair that wasn't long and was loosely falling. Beneath his broad forehead were a pair of thick, vertical eyebrows, sharp as blades. Below these blade-like brows were unusually large eyes, filled only with a dead, cold light. Beneath those fierce, menacing eyes were two prominent cheekbones, and between them was a crooked nose bridge. The nose was broken, and not just once; at a glance, it looked like a mountain range that had been violently cleaved three or four times. Below the nose were thin, bloodless pale lips, with only a small mustache on either side.

His face was very pale, frighteningly so, with a translucent quality.

Ning Chang'an knew without a doubt that this person was King Mao, because only King Mao possessed such a terrifying aura of slaughter.

The cold, bloodthirsty aura had become a part of him.

But Ning Chang'an truly couldn't believe his eyes, as he couldn't fathom what kind of skeleton supported this body.

King Mao himself was very thin, but anyone who saw him for the first time wouldn't perceive him as thin, but as powerful. He was so powerful it was as if he were no longer human, but a ferocious beast.

His skeleton constantly gave off a powerful, shocking impression, as if forged from steel.

Everyone held their breath, as King Mao's eyes swept over them from time to time.

The first thing he did upon appearing at Green Willow Manor was not to look at his son's corpse, but to coldly survey everyone present.

Those who met his gaze felt a bone-chilling coldness, as if they had fallen into a ten-thousand-year-old ice cave, surge through their hearts and bodies.

King Mao, without uttering a word, stared for a full thirty breaths. During these long, seemingly endless thirty breaths, no one dared to exhale.

One glance that commanded respect, that instilled such fear that no one dared to breathe loudly – this was a person's majesty, the sheer majesty of King Mao alone.

King Mao withdrew his gaze and finally looked at his son.

He walked forward step by step. The ground where he walked showed no signs of sinking, but was covered in spiderweb-like cracks. A hint of gentleness appeared in his icy eyes as he reached out a large hand and pulled Mao Dongyue up from the ground. Blood continued to flow from Mao Dongyue's mouth, staining King Mao's shoulders and chest with fresh, still-warm blood. King Mao simply looked at Mao Dongyue's face, at his wide, staring eyes, and after a long silence, he let out a sigh, "Dust to dust, earth to earth. Close your eyes, child!" He reached out and helped Mao Dongyue close his eyes. Two expressionless men quietly emerged from behind him, carrying a high-backed chair. The chair was gently set down, and King Mao carefully placed Mao Dongyue onto it.

The chair was placed so lightly that Ning Chang'an didn't hear a sound, as if the chair, which should have weighed over twenty pounds, was weightless.

The bloodstains around Mao Dongyue's mouth were carefully wiped away. King Mao gently stroked his face, smoothing away the deathly grimace bit by bit until Mao Dongyue looked as if he were merely asleep.

"Sleep now! You won't be alone on the road to the Yellow Springs."

King Mao said softly, his voice the kind every loving father should possess, yet everyone shivered.

Ning Chang'an suddenly felt the elusive killing intent vanish, completely and utterly.

King Mao straightened his back and looked at Lu Feixin, saying with utter calmness, "Lu Feixin, get down!" There was no anger in his tone, because there was no emotion in the words at all.

Lu Feixin's face contorted. He leaped from the upper floor, gliding like a great eagle spreading its wings.

But before he landed, he discovered a person standing beneath him, fist clenched, waiting with a blank expression.

Lu Feixin was startled.

This person was one of the two who had carried the chair. He threw a punch at Lu Feixin.

Lu Feixin pushed his palms forward, a surge of powerful Qi like an overwhelming tide. This was the Lu Family Manor's unique martial art for the Manor Lord—Cloud-Dispelling Palm, a Qi Gong palm technique left by the Lu Family's ancestors. It was said that once a practitioner's internal energy reached a certain level, they could stand with feet on the ground and strike the heavens with a palm, scattering the clouds in the sky, a truly astonishing feat.

Lu Feixin immediately unleashed the Cloud-Dispelling Palm, a secret technique passed down only within the family, solely because the expressionless man before him, who was not yet thirty, gave him an immense sense of danger.

The man's punch was simple and direct, devoid of any flourish.

Yet, this ordinary-looking punch easily shattered Lu Feixin's Cloud-Dispelling Palm and struck him squarely in the chest.

Lu Feixin was sent flying back like a projectile, crashing through the railing and bouncing off the ground before tumbling down. Several skilled Lu Family disciples tried to catch him, but felt a chill wash over them. Then, a ghostly shadow flashed before them, and the heads of those disciples unnaturally tilted to one side, spitting out shattered teeth and blood in an explosive spray. Seven or eight corpses rained down from above like hailstones.

The one who had acted was still the expressionless man.

Lu Feixin landed with a thud, disoriented and dizzy. Blood rushed to his face, and he couldn't help but spit out a mouthful of blood. He staggered to his feet, a mixture of shock and rage, and roared hysterically, "Why?"

King Mao said, "You're being disobedient!"

Lu Feixin froze.

He was indeed being disobedient! When King Mao told him to get down, he should have obediently gotten down. There was a world of difference between rolling down and flying down.

Lu Feixin's entire body trembled.

King Mao asked, "Have you come to your senses?"

Lu Feixin's teeth chattered, but he refused to say a word. He was not an unknown figure in the martial arts world; he was old enough, famous enough, and his family's fortune was substantial. How could he endure the humiliation of being lectured?

It was worse than death.

Slap!

A loud smack echoed, and Lu Feixin's body twisted as he was sent flying. His old, loose teeth flew out as well.

But before he hit the ground, a powerful hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and lifted him up.

The one who had acted was still that man, his speed impossibly fast.

King Mao hadn't moved an inch from beginning to end.

Lu Feixin, the master of the Lu Family Manor whom countless martial artists had to show utmost respect, was like a lump of dough in this man's hands, utterly at his mercy.

The man held Lu Feixin and placed him on the ground. Lu Feixin's legs trembled, and he knelt. Normally, even if a thousand pounds of pressure were applied, Lu Feixin, with his martial prowess, wouldn't even tremble, let alone kneel.