After sunset, the daylight gradually faded.
On a steep, slippery mountain trail several dozen miles west of Jinan Prefecture, a party of more than twenty moved swiftly, springing like hares and swooping like magpies at extraordinary speed.
At their head was a black-robed man in his fifties or sixties, with a thick, curling beard and a dark red scar on his left cheek. His upper body remained perfectly steady as he moved through weeds and wild woodland, stirring neither wind nor sound.
Suddenly, he stopped. Vigilance flashed in his eyes as he surveyed his surroundings and beckoned behind him. A subordinate with withered hair covering half his face and ten long, pointed, blackened fingers bowed and approached.
"What are your orders, my lord?"
Without turning, the black-robed man asked in a low, husky voice, "Have you found anything?"
The withered-haired subordinate drew a slender bone flute from his sleeve and slowly blew into it, sending out a sound like the call of an owl.
These deep mountain forests were already filled with the roars of beasts and the cries of birds, so the sound was hardly out of place. After only a moment, a shrill eagle cry rang out overhead. A black speck soared toward them, circled a few times, then swiftly flew away.
Watching this, the withered-haired subordinate shook his head.
The black-robed man let out a soft breath of relief. A sinister glint rose in his eyes, and anger seethed in his heart.
He was Qiu Wuya, master of Hate Cliff, one of the seven branches affiliated with the Longevity Palace.
His martial cultivation had reached Spirit Refining, placing him among the great masters.
As for his mastery of poisons, he would not dare claim supremacy over every expert beneath heaven, but there were at most two or