Chapter 124

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Chapter 124: Merchants’ Guild Young Master

“Ming He, you dare!”

“If you harm even a single hair on my son, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

From the distance, several formidable auras surged forward, their faces twisted in fury, their voices booming like thunder. Each word pierced through the air, striking Ming He’s eardrums—these were the powerful allies of the Jiang Clan.

At the forefront stood a woman clad in palace garments, her beauty striking and her demeanor commanding. Ming He recognized her instantly; she was the wife of the Jiang Clan leader and Jiang An’s mother.

Her cultivation had reached the seventh stage of the Heaven Origin realm, matching that of Senior Sister and surpassing Ming He’s own.

But what did it matter? No one could save Jiang An now. Even if they were close, they couldn’t reach him.

Ming He stood at the center of the palace, her gaze fixed on the blue barrier shimmering in the air outside, formed by the clash of spiritual energy. A faint smile played on her lips, though her eyes flickered with a trace of despair. She, too, was well-versed in formation seals.

“Was it your doing, sending those from other races to hunt me in Tianwu City?” Ming He pressed the Jing Ying Sword against the neck of the young man in red attire, her eyes calm and devoid of any ray of light as she observed the thin line of blood forming.

“It was you who had Shen Yue lead me to the ancient residence.” Her tone was firm, not a question but a statement of fact.

The bamboo paper Shen Yue had given her bore two names: Song Tian Rou and Jiang An, both scions of the Ancient Clan.

Song Tian Rou had hired assassins from Misty Rain Tower to kill her, while Jiang An had conspired with other races to do the same.

Truly, she had amassed no shortage of enemies.

At this thought, Ming He let out a soft chuckle, her grip on the Jing Ying Sword steady, her gaze shifting to the palace-clad woman beyond the blue barrier. Her smile was one of quiet satisfaction, tinged with the same hopelessness and despair she had once felt.

“Yes.” Jiang An, dressed in red and looking every bit the youthful noble, smiled faintly. His features were exquisite, like a painting, and his eyes held a depth of understanding as he gazed at Ming He. He knew she wasn’t truly looking at him but at something far beyond.

“It was me.” His voice was clear as he repeated the words, though he had never walked the path of cultivation, remaining a mere prodigal of the Ancient Clan. Yet, there was no fear or tremor in him.

There was a certain fearlessness about him, a resolve that bordered on recklessness. “What I, Jiang An, desire has never been out of reach.”

“Since you’ve obtained it, you deserve to die.” His voice darkened, his right fist clenching as he threw a punch, wielding only the strength of a mortal, as if courting his own demise.

Ming He’s brow furrowed. “Then die.”

With a flick of her wrist, she moved the sword tip lightly, and under the incredulous gaze of the palace-clad woman, she sheathed her blade without a backward glance. Her figure leaped gracefully over the palace walls, vanishing into the shadows in an instant.

No one could fathom how a cultivator with a damaged spiritual ocean had bypassed the heavily layered restrictions to infiltrate the Jiang Clan and find Jiang An. Nor could they comprehend how a sword cultivator, devoted solely to Swordsmanship, had activated the formation seal to trap the powerful allies before calmly taking Jiang An’s life.

“An’er!” The formation seal finally shattered, and the palace-clad woman’s anguished cry tore through the heavens, her grief palpable.

But Jiang An did not turn to respond—perhaps he no longer had the strength. The world spun around him as he fell backward, his eyes fixed on the vast, cloud-strewn sky above, the drifting clouds painting a scene of serene beauty.

Ming He’s swordsmanship was impeccable; a single strike had sealed his throat, and he felt no pain.

This was enough.

“An’er!” The palace-clad woman rushed to cradle her son’s face, her eyes brimming with agony and hatred as she watched the blood trickle from his lips, his vitality fading rapidly.

In the next moment, her aura turned icy and menacing. “Ming He!”

She spat the name through clenched teeth, her figure darting forward with a vow to tear Ming He to pieces. She would avenge her son.

Ming He moved like a shadow, swiftly disappearing into the darkness. She could feel the relentless pursuit behind her and frowned slightly. Unable to use her cultivation, she relied on the fleeting assistance of her Sword Domain that encompasses Heaven and Earth to maintain her speed.

But the uses of her Sword Domain were dwindling.

She had thought she could escape, but she hadn’t anticipated the lengths to which the palace-clad woman would go, driven by the agony of losing her son.

Jiang An was her son, and so her hatred ran bone-deep.

But if she truly loved her son, how could she have allowed things to deteriorate to this extent?

As Ming He ran, a wave of confusion washed over her. The Jiang Clan’s defenses were as stringent as those of Qin Huang Mountain, yet Jiang An’s sleeping quarters were sparsely guarded.

“Ming He, you shall not die an easy death!” The palace-clad woman’s aura was razor-sharp, her spiritual energy at its zenith, relentlessly tracking Ming He’s presence. A cold, bloodthirsty smile curled on her lips, driven by a manic thirst for vengeance.

Ming He concentrated, her breathing labored as she maneuvered through the void of the Sword Domain that encompasses Heaven and Earth. Her right hand, clutching the Jing Ying Sword, quivered slightly; her concealment was faltering.

If the palace-clad woman discovered her now, it would spell certain doom.

What to do?

Ming He’s mind spun, searching for a strategy. Suddenly, the void beside her rippled, and in an instant, a presence materialized—cool and distinctly non-human.

She gasped, recognizing the figure; he was familiar. Clad in aquamarine silk, a Young Man with features as if painted by a master’s hand, it was…

“Zui Sheng Meng, is that you?” Ming He whispered, taken aback.

“Ming He, it’s me.” Zui Sheng Meng smiled gently, his hand waving lightly before her, the spiritual light dispersing the oppressive force emanating from the palace-clad woman.

“I am here on a mission.” The Young Man met Ming He’s puzzled gaze. “The Young Master wishes to see you.”

Young Master?

Zui Sheng Meng was the steward for the Merchants’ Guild auction, so the Young Master he referred to could only be the Young Master of the Merchants’ Guild.

The Young Master of the Merchants’ Guild? That could only be Lou Qing Shang, her second Senior Sister.

Instantly, Ming He envisioned a figure in vibrant purple, her second Senior Sister!

She murmured, her expression a tapestry of complexity.

As they conversed, the palace-clad woman had already pinpointed Ming He’s hiding place.

The woman’s gaze was icy and merciless as she pointed a finger towards Ming He, unleashing a devastating strike aimed to kill. It was a desperate and lethal attack.

If it were just her alone at this moment, escape would be nearly impossible.

But Zui Sheng Meng was here, altering the course of fate.

The Young Man in aquamarine silk bore a serene countenance, a smile reminiscent of their first encounter on his lips, his tone warm and amused, “Lady Jiang, your temper is quite formidable today!”

He spoke softly, casually flicking his sleeve to neutralize the formidable force directed at Ming He, leaving her hiding place undisturbed, before once again flicking his sleeve to safely bring Ming He to solid ground.

“Zui Sheng Meng?” The palace-clad woman murmured, her expression frosty. “Do you intend to obstruct my path?”

“Of course.” Zui Sheng Meng nodded amiably. “Jiang An conspired with other races to assassinate the talents of the human race; he’s reaped what he sowed. How could Lady Jiang still have the gall to strike?”

He brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve with ease, “Aren’t you concerned about the Qin Clan’s retribution?”

They were the head of the Ancient Clan, and yet some dared to challenge them.

“This is our clan’s affair; you need not meddle,” the woman’s face shifted slightly, but she showed no intention of retreating. “If you don’t step aside, then we’ll perish together.”

“Very well.” Zui Sheng Meng sighed regretfully, his tone even suggesting he might yield.

He turned to gaze at the somber Ming He, her dark eyes devoid of emotion. Even as he prepared to step back, her expression remained stoic, showing no fear or terror, calm as the Deep Sea.

But she was frightened; she had merely learned to mask her emotions, steadying her spirit and tempering her wildness.

Storms raged within her heart, yet her face betrayed none; a sword cultivator’s spirit had been forged.

“Ming He,” Zui Sheng Meng turned his body, now facing away from her, and spoke again, “Go through the long alley and head north. In about a quarter of an hour, you will see a broken pavilion.”

“Young Master is waiting for you over there.”

He said this, looking at the palace-clad woman’s eyes filled with murderous intent, a bright smile on his face as he slowly raised his hand, manipulating his spiritual energy. “It’s been so long since I last fought, I wonder how rusty my skills have become?”

“Alright.” Ming He nodded, giving him a deep glance before turning and running towards the other end of the long alley, no longer paying attention to the battle behind her.

To the north.

Ming He’s eyes flickered as she sprinted, making her way through the bustling crowd until she arrived at a place with wild grass and withered trees, where a dilapidated pavilion appeared before her.

A woman in purple was sitting quietly in the center of the pavilion, her back facing Ming He.

“Second Senior Sister.” Ming He stepped over the weeds and entered the pavilion, her gaze complex as she observed the woman’s back, a mix of confusion, gratitude, respect, suspicion, and vigilance swirling together, making her chest feel heavy.

“Little Junior Sister.” The woman turned around to face Ming He, her handsome features and gentle, curved eyes revealing that it was Lou Qing Shang, whom Ming He had seen at the Liu Yun Sect.

“Second Senior Sister, you…” Ming He felt a tremor in her heart upon seeing the familiar face and aura, experiencing a sense of the absurdity of time passing.

She wanted to ask Lou Qing Shang why she was waiting for her, how she knew she would be in danger, whether Zui Sheng Meng would be alright, and about the matter of bidding for her safety at the Pursuit of Life Tower.

She had many questions to ask, but when she opened her mouth, only a hoarse sound came out. Her chest weighed too heavily for her to breathe, and the scene before her blurred.

“Ming He.” Lou Qing Shang frowned, using her spiritual energy to examine her. After seeing her injuries, she gasped in concern, her eyes filled with unhidden worry and compassion.

Ming He focused on her eyes, clearly seeing the genuine emotions rising from her heart, showing no signs of pretense.

Both her reason and instincts told her that Lou Qing Shang truly cared for her.

But she had misjudged more than once before.

She lowered her gaze as Lou Qing Shang supported her arm and guided her to sit cross-legged. “You dare to draw on spiritual energy to control the Four-direction Compass with injuries to your spiritual ocean! Ming He, are you not afraid of death?”

Lou Qing Shang spoke with a tone that choked with emotion, a hint of frustration entwined with impatience. “If you want to kill Jiang An, you could take your time. Qin Huang Mountain is right behind you; why can’t you wait a little longer?”

“I don’t want to wait.” Ming He lowered her eyelids, feeling the thick spiritual energy like an ocean behind her. She blinked and subtly placed the spiritual artifact she had clenched in her palm away, showing no signs of moving. “Qin Huang Mountain is Qin Huang Mountain, and I am me.”

“If my Senior Sister was harmed because of me, then I will use my own strength to kill Jiang An.” Her gaze was clear and resolute. “Second Senior Sister, I succeeded.”

Ming He smiled, her expression genuine and relaxed. “But how is it that you know everything, Second Senior Sister?” she murmured, her brows raised with surprise.

“Because I am the Young Master of the Merchants’ Guild,” Lou Qing Shang replied with a playful smile while using her spiritual energy to ease the backlash Ming He had suffered from activating the Four-direction Compass. “Hasn’t little Junior Sister heard the saying?”

“Money can make the devil push the mill!” Lou Qing Shang chuckled as she helped Ming He sit up. “If even a ghost can be controlled, what about people?”

“True.” Ming He laughed. “What you said is right, Second Senior Sister.”

While she was still laughing, the smile faded from Lou Qing Shang’s face, her expression turning bitter as she looked at her little Junior Sister. “Little Junior Sister…” She wanted to say something, but her voice trembled severely.

“I’m fine.” Ming He maintained her smile. “Having a deficiency in my spiritual ocean and a ruined path to cultivation are not the same; my path remains intact.” Her own path was defined by her own words.

“Second Senior Sister, I want to ask about Shen Yue.” Ming He hesitated for a moment before speaking up. “She said it was you who bid at the Pursuit of Life Tower to protect me?”

“Yes.” Lou Qing Shang nodded, her gaze calm and clear, still embodying the carefree and unrestrained woman Ming He remembered. “But it’s not all because of me; Shishu was involved too.”

She lowered her head, explaining in detail, “That day, Shishu sent me a message, saying he encountered the Demon Race while taking you to the Floating Cloud Sect. Although he killed that group of demonic beings, he was also injured and had to enter seclusion.

But you were still out there, and at that time, there were traitors lurking in the Floating Cloud Sect. Shishu was worried you might be in danger, and with no one else to turn to, he contacted me.”

So that’s how it was?

Ming He’s eyes flickered, but even so, why was it Shen Yue? She was an assassin from the Pursuit of Life Tower.

Even if they needed to ensure her safety, Second Senior Sister could have simply sent someone else.

At that time, Shen Yue was merely at the Wind Master realm, and she couldn’t believe that the Merchants’ Guild lacked cultivators of the Wind Master realm.

So why was that?

“Because although I am the Young Master of the Merchants’ Guild, I cannot mobilize the guild’s forces, nor can I leave this place,” Lou Qing Shang easily discerned Ming He’s thoughts, her expression growing increasingly bitter.

“I am not of the human race; I am from an alien race,” she clarified, though not from the Tian Yan Tribe.

Lou Qing Shang spoke each word deliberately, meeting Ming He’s astonished gaze with a faint smile, offering no further explanation.

“Little Junior Sister, you can trust me,” she said, changing the subject. “Where do you intend to go?”

“I wish to journey to the Northern Wilderness,” Ming He paused, her emotions stirring as she gazed into the woman’s clear, spring-like black eyes, feeling a pang of guilt.

“I must find medicine for Senior Sister and seek my own path to cultivation,” she declared, envisioning a new path, one that truly befits a sword cultivator.

“Are the spiritual medicines you seek located in the Northern Wilderness?” Lou Qing Shang inquired, surprised.

“Perhaps,” Ming He replied lightly, uncertain. Song Guanting had provided her with a jade slip detailing the appearance and origins of the spiritual medicines, but it was vague about their exact locations.

This was to be expected, as these were spiritual medicines accessible only to the most fortunate among the human race.

If they were easily found, they wouldn’t hold such a prestigious reputation.

“But that place may currently be the most suitable for me,” Ming He reflected. The Northern Wilderness, once a land ravaged by the demon race.

“Do you still possess the purple Merchants’ Guild token I gave you?” Lou Qing Shang suddenly asked.

“Yes,” Ming He nodded, utilizing the slight spiritual energy Lou Qing Shang had just transmitted to retrieve it from her storage ring. She held it in her palm, looking at Lou Qing Shang.

Lou Qing Shang smiled softly, taking the purple token and carefully securing it for Ming He. The jade tassel on the token swayed gently in the breeze, the purple and blue hues creating a unique and striking contrast.

“Little Junior Sister, remember to keep the token close,” Lou Qing Shang advised, her head bowed, her expression enigmatic as she spoke in a low, serious tone, the gravity of her words unmistakable.

This purple Merchants’ Guild token was of great importance.

At the blood-red cliff, within the dark, ruined hall.

A figure clad in black descended into the ruined hall, glaring at the shadow behind the black curtain with fury. “Qi Ying, you are courting death!”

The voice was cold yet melodious, unmistakably female, though her face was obscured by a mask, concealing her age.

The mask was entirely black, shaped like a sword, beneath which lay unmasked anger.

She wielded a silver whip, striking out with a force enveloped in thunder, “You dare to attack Ming He?”

The figure behind the curtain let out a muffled grunt, standing firm and taking the whip’s blow head-on. Her breath faltered, and her voice trembled, “Are you concerned for the master?”

“Are you distressed because I harmed Ming He? Afraid someone will hold you accountable?” Qi Ying taunted.

“Hmph!” The masked woman snorted, her disdain evident, “I do feel for you.”

She raised her brows, retorting sharply, “I pity you for the punishment you’ll face from the prince; the wrath of divine punishment is not to be taken lightly.”

She observed the figure behind the curtain, noting her halted breath, her expression turning icy. “You nearly annihilated the entire Tian Yan Tribe!”

Kuang San, the Blood Fury Pill, the Blood Condensation Technique.

“Even if the prince spares your life, the royal side will not,” the masked woman’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “I wonder if the master you so loyally serve can truly protect you.”

“You…” Qi Ying shuddered at the thought of the prince’s methods, finally grasping the folly of his actions.

He had erred in delivering the Blood Fury Pill and Blood Condensation Technique to Kuang San, but the gravest mistake was that Ming He had survived.

She was still alive, so his mistake was undeniable.

Despite pouring all his strength into killing her, he had failed, even losing three portions of the Tian Yan Tribe’s blood energy—a grave error indeed.

“But Qin Chu Yi is now unconscious, and Ming He’s path to cultivation has been destroyed,” he attempted to justify himself.

“As long as the human race’s genius lives, anything is possible. Do I really need to explain this to you?” The masked woman’s anger remained unabated, her gaze momentarily distant as she recalled a certain figure. “Years ago, Mu Chen…”

She trailed off, her eyes coldly fixed on Qi Ying, the deputy leader of the Black Wind Alliance, as if she were staring at a corpse.

“What should I do now?” Qi Ying’s face was ashen, her body slumped in despair.

She didn’t want to die; she wanted to live.

“You should go and beg for mercy from the prince, then willingly imprison yourself in the Thunder Prison,” a detached voice echoed from outside the hall. A figure clad in black clothes, wearing a black wolf mask, stepped into the dim light.

He stood in the shadows, blocking the faint light that seeped into the ruined hall. “I had my own plans, but you acted on your own. Now that you’ve failed, it’s time to step aside.”

“Yóu Lìng…” Qi Ying lowered her head, her eyes shadowed and uncertain. “Are you so confident your plan will succeed?” Against the human race, no less.

“Of course,” Yóu Lìng replied with unwavering certainty. “The human race is weak and foolish. Success is inevitable.”

“I won’t fail again,” she declared, gripping Qi Ying’s chin with a cold, solemn gaze. “A stray dog like you should crawl away.”

She straightened, pulling a snow-white handkerchief from her sleeve and leisurely wiping her fingers. “Mu Qian has potential. He’ll serve under me now.”

“Yes,” Qi Ying replied, her voice subdued, “Envoy Lord.”

She knelt, bowing low, before vanishing in a flash of black light.

Moments later, a young man in black entered the hall. Like the others, he wore black, but his presence marked a shift in the hierarchy.

“I greet the hall master and envoy,” Mu Qian said, kneeling with his back straight, his head slightly bowed. His eyes flickered to the bloodstains on the curtain, his expression unreadable.

“Did you give Kuang San that item? Was it also you who ordered him to act under Qi Ying’s command?” the masked woman demanded coldly.

“Yes,” Mu Qian answered, his tone calm and respectful.

“Hmph!” The masked woman’s expression darkened as she lashed out with her whip, striking Mu Qian’s face with a force that left a deep wound. “Lackey!”

She sheathed her whip and turned to leave, never glancing at Yóu Lìng, though her right hand trembled faintly as she walked away.

It was the hand that had wielded the whip.

“Mu Qian.”

Yóu Lìng watched him, a faint smirk playing on her lips as she observed the aftermath of the masked woman’s strike. “Qi Ying told you, didn’t she? From now on, I am your master.”

“Yes,” Mu Qian replied, kneeling once more. Blood dripped down his face, the whip wound deep, yet he made no move to heal himself. Even if his refined features were marred, he showed no concern.

“Mu Qian pays his respects to the master.”

“Ming He was once your Junior Sister, wasn’t she?” Yóu Lìng leaned casually against a stone pillar, her expression teasing.

Mu Qian kept his head lowered. “She was.”

“Good,” Yóu Lìng said with a nod. “Follow me, and you’ll find life far more interesting. Killing is mundane—destroying someone is where the real fun lies.”

Mu Qian didn’t flinch. “I agree. It will be… fascinating.”

“At the peak of the Wind Master realm, aren’t you?” Yóu Lìng raised an eyebrow, handing him a blood-red pill. “But you can go further.”

The Heaven-tier Blood Fury Pill—a fleeting surge of power at the cost of one’s path to cultivation.

Mu Qian accepted it with a faint smile. Under Yóu Lìng’s piercing gaze, he tilted his head back and swallowed it. His aura shifted instantly.

The Heaven Origin realm—a pinnacle of cultivation on the Tianwu Continent.

At least, among the alien infiltrators and human race traitors, it was.

“Thank you, Envoy,” Mu Qian said, lifting his gaze, a light smile on his lips.