Black Wind Stockade

"Wang Family, Black Wind Mountain..."

Xuanyuan's lips curled into a cold, expectant smile.

"The game of dogs eating dogs should be quite entertaining, shouldn't it?"

A grand drama, one he had directed with his own hands and that was destined to end in rivers of blood, was about to begin.

And he, the sole director and audience, only needed to find a seat, prepare some snacks, and quietly enjoy the show.

He closed the window, shutting out the clamor of the outside world.

He sat cross-legged and slowly closed his eyes, sinking his mind back into cultivation.

The whole world seemed to have nothing to do with him.

Murder, intrigue, hatred...

They were nothing but a harmless diversion he had casually arranged in his spare time between cultivation sessions.

The night was as dark as ink, the cold wind as sharp as a blade.

Just like Xuanyuan's mood at that moment!

At the foot of Black Wind Mountain, a figure stumbled along like a lonely ghost in the dead of night.

It was Brother Biao.

With every step he took, the wounds on his chest and back felt as if countless ants were gnawing at them. The excruciating pain shot straight to his skull.

The inferior healing medicine had barely any effect. It had only managed to staunch his bleeding, and did nothing to ease the pain that had sunk into his bones.

But he didn't dare stop.

That demonic figure, those cold, amused eyes, had become a nightmare he couldn't shake. He had no doubt that if he dared to slack off even a little, or made any mistake during the mission, that icy spirit sword would pierce his heart without hesitation.

Compared with the unknown of death, the pain he could endure now had become a luxury.

"Wang...