Evil Cannot Triumph Over Righteousness-The Black Wind Stronghold Master Was Afraid!

The noisy curses mingled with the mournful sound of rain beating against the forest leaves, like strange sounds from another world.

The wind rustled softly. Another ethereal figure appeared atop the treetops, standing tall on a branch no thicker than a baby's arm. The branch swayed up and down in the wind beneath his feet, yet he seemed weightless, showing no sign of falling. His superb lightness skill was plain to see.

"If that egg of yours had been a poisoned needle, wouldn't Shaolin's newly appointed abbot have been sent straight to the gates of hell?"

The man who had landed on the treetop stroked the mustache at the corner of his mouth and smiled.

A voice came from his other side. "Though Shaolin monks may seem unbearably pedantic, there is at least one thing about them worthy of admiration: they are not afraid of death. Killing someone who does not fear death is not meaningful. Fortunately, they are not without fears. They fear being scorned by a group of people too weak to truss a chicken."

The mustached man smiled, dimples appearing on his cheeks. Looking at the figure in red beside him, he asked, "So should monks like that die or not?"

"They should!"

The voice from the other side answered decisively, without hesitation.

The man shook his head helplessly. "Because they are enemies?"

"Correct. So long as they are enemies, they should die."

The man continued, "What if they are awakened by the scolding of these people too weak to truss a chicken and choose to stop being enemies?"

"They had better wake up. That is their best path."

The man smiled. "I rarely kill people. But if I kill someone, I must drink."

Another flutter of robes descended into the forest. It was a broad, powerfully