"Let me see who's got the guts to pull something like this..."
With the Manyullyn Cleaver slung over his shoulder, Fang Mo stepped directly onto Little Qing Yi's Giant Flying Sword. "Disciple, lead the way!"
"Mm."
The little girl pursed her lips, then leaned down and gave the stone sword a subtle command. "Chirp chirp chirp..."
"?"
Fang Mo was visibly taken aback when he heard that and looked down at Little Qing Yi.
"..."
She said nothing, focusing intently on controlling the flying sword.
But thinking about it carefully, it made sense. Fang Mo had only given this thing to Little Qing Yi recently, and she was still figuring it out. It was probably difficult for her to control.
Once he understood that—
Fang Mo simply shut up and said nothing more.
Of course, Little Qing Yi was very serious about it too. Although the flying sword beneath them wobbled all the way, at least there were no accidents, and they barely managed to reach the sect entrance.
When the flying sword reached the summit along a side branch of Moonlit Mountain—
Near the entrance of Fengyue Temple, at the center of the broad bluestone plaza—
A burly cultivator in a blue-black Taoist Robe stood with his hands clasped behind his back. At his feet lay Uncle Li and Wu Er, the two servants, fallen in pools of blood.
"Oh?"
Upon noticing the Giant Flying Sword, the cultivator across from them suddenly grinned. "I was wondering why you little brat dared to come back. So you went to get reinforcements."
"You bastard—"
"Heh, looks like you still haven't realized the gap between us..."
Before Little Qing Yi could speak, the cultivator sneered disdainfully. "A no-name sect like Fengyue Temple? Even its sect master was no match for us..."
"?"