Meanwhile, in the Shang camp, Lü Yue sat upright inside his tent, eyes closed as he calculated divinations on his fingers. Sensing the plague spreading through Western Qi and its death qi surging, he knew his plague arts had taken full effect. Brimming with smug satisfaction, he laughed aloud:
"This secret plague art of mine strikes down immortals and mortals alike. Once it takes root and spreads, no medicine can cure it. Within three days, every soldier in Western Qi's camp will perish, and victory will be ours without an attack! How could those Chan Sect brats stand against me?"
The four emissaries and Zheng Lun stepped forward together to offer their congratulations, praising their master's unrivaled divine abilities and peerless Daoist arts.
Only Su Hu sat silently to one side, his expression gloomy, conflicting emotions churning within him.
Standing outside the tent, he gazed toward Western Qi's distant camp. Death qi shrouded the once-noisy encampment, and faint cries of anguish reached his ears, filling his heart with pity.
Su Hu was benevolent by nature and had only raised an army against Zhou in a moment of anger. Moreover, he had already sensed something suspicious about the poisoning of his wife and Daji and still wished to communicate with Western Qi. Naturally, he could not bear to see thousands of innocent lives meet such cruel deaths.
His doubts unresolved, he could not help stepping forward to ask Lü Yue gravely, "Immortal master, you say Western Qi's entire camp has been infected and no one can survive. Yet when I look toward their camp, I still see people moving about, and the city's defenses remain orderly. Clearly, there are still survivors within. Isn't your claim rather too absolute? If Western Qi finds a way to break your spell, won't all your