Nothing happened that night.
Before dawn the next morning, daylight had yet to appear.
A gust of night wind swept in as someone pushed open the wooden door.
Yang Lian walked in, with dozens of figures standing behind her, all cold-eyed and solemn.
Yang Qing was among them, standing beneath the lamplight, half her face strikingly beautiful, the other half a rakshasa's ghastly visage.
Inside, Lian Youming had already risen and was offering incense to the many spirit tablets on the shrine.
He had just finished.
Yang Lian earnestly cautioned him, "The Hidden Killing Society's people have all sorts of bizarre tricks, and there's no shortage of expert gunmen among them. Be careful in everything you do. Don't count on luck just because your body is tough."
Lian Youming grinned at her words. "That doesn't sound like you."
Yang Lian still had a black leather trench coat draped over her arm, along with a mask. "What can I do? We've already waited long enough... make us proud!"
Lian Youming put away his casual expression and nodded as he asked, "Any response from the old man?"
Before leaving for Wudang Mountain, he had asked Yang Lian to send out word that his martial uncle was being held prisoner.
Yang Lian shook her head. "Not yet."
Hearing that there had been no word from Junk King, Lian Youming's eyes narrowed slightly, but he soon spoke again. "That's just as well. It's time I showed some filial devotion. A Mountain Guardian seems to have emerged in Western Hunan. Don't make any rash moves before I return, lest you draw..."
He had meant that he feared alerting the enemy, but seeing Yang Lian looking utterly confident and without the slightest fear, he grew suspicious. "Tell me honestly. Do you still have some expert under