Chapter 137

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Chapter 137: Senior Sister Ming He

Chang Gui City lies at the border between the Eastern Region and the Northern Region of the Tianwu Continent. Though it may not rival the prosperity of the central cities of the five regions, it is far livelier than most ordinary towns.

Furthermore, foreign races and the Black Wind Alliance have a particular fondness for invading these border cities.

From a military perspective, Chang Gui City is undeniably a strategic stronghold, connecting two regions and holding immense significance.

The city is home to a million commoners and countless cultivators, their presence like drifting clouds under the radiant sun, showcasing the city’s grandeur.

As the sun climbs above the treetops, the sky deepens to a vivid blue.

Not far from the city stands a small teahouse, now in a state of disrepair. The wooden windows and doors bear faint scars from blades, a clear testament to the teahouse’s survival through the ravages of war.

By day, the teahouse is bustling with patrons, where cultivators and commoners sit side by side, gesturing animatedly as they passionately debate matters of power and politics, exuding an air of youthful exuberance.

While seated, they are merely tea drinkers taking a respite, but when they speak of swords and blades, they transform into fierce warriors ready for the battlefield.

At this moment, they cradle their teacups, engrossed in a discussion about an event that has nearly swept across the entire Tianwu Continent.

"What do you think Ming He is really about? How has she managed to survive this long after the lethal decree from Imperial Mountain was issued?" someone whispered in a hushed tone.

"Didn’t the jade slip from Imperial Mountain, which spread across the five regions, state that she originally hailed from the ninth prefecture of the Eastern Region, Qing Shi Town, as the illegitimate fifth daughter of the Su Clan, Su Ming He? But during her retreat for cultivation, she was possessed by the long-voice guardian of the demon race," another replied.

"The long-voice guardian once followed Mu Xuan Ye, the Left Envoy of the demon race, into battles across the land and nearly… nearly used those past events to unify the Tianwu Continent," the speaker continued, his expression growing grave, his voice trailing off as he spoke.

"Even later, after that individual realized her mistakes, she ascended to the position of Left Envoy of the demon race, only to be suppressed by our powerful human cultivators."

"Moreover, a few years ago, she reappeared. The Domain Lord’s mansion claims she has broken free from her restraints and regained her freedom. Her absence from stirring unrest among the human race might be due to the Demon Lord’s youth and her own ambitions to seize power, rather than involving herself in the human race’s turmoil."

The speaking cultivator shook his head and sighed softly, his expression tinged with melancholy.

"Where does the term ‘turbulence’ come from?" asked the young cultivator who had initially spoken, his face etched with confusion. "Surely the Imperial Palace wouldn’t make a mistake?"

"Not necessarily," the other cultivator replied, his expression cryptic. After a pause, despite the eager ears of the young cultivator and those around him, he smiled faintly and began, "In fact, the Imperial Palace has erred once before."

That single misstep nearly doomed the entire human race.

Now, they are especially sensitive to the term "human traitor," to the point where they would rather believe in its possibility than dismiss it outright.

But what if, this time, the Imperial Palace is wrong again? What would become of the human race?

He sighed deeply, meeting the bewildered gazes around him, yet chose to say no more.

In the Earth Emperor Realm, the royal side enforces their laws, seemingly able to sense discussions about them in the unseen realm; he dared not speak further.

Moreover, many royal figures had paid a heavy price for past events.

Such a promising situation, wasted.

Yet, they do not fight solely for the Imperial Palace!

"By that logic, it’s a fact that Ming He is the long-voice guardian of the demon race. But I’ve heard that Ming He’s brother insists she is not part of the demon race?" another cultivator interjected, his brow furrowed slightly.

"Su Ming He’s brother is named Su, Su…" The cultivator sat in silence, struggling to recall.

Another cultivator chimed in, "It’s Su Cheng Feng."

"He is Su Ming He’s biological brother and an inner sect disciple of Liu Yun Sect."

Though Liu Yun Sect is modest and remote, with Qu Lingyun as its Sect Master, her name resonates like thunder among cultivators.

Qu Lingyun is a formidable figure; her blades once stirred the five regions.

Just like the old Ming He.

"When the jade slips spread throughout the five regions, Su Cheng Feng went to the Domain Lord’s mansion in the Eastern Region, insisting that Ming He could not possibly be a member of the demon race. She refrained from using her surname Su because her family had never offered her any support and had even treated her with disdain. Filled with resentment, she chose to go by the name Ming He."

"After being driven away from the Domain Lord’s mansion, Su Cheng Feng embarked on a journey of thousands of miles with his sword, determined to reach the Imperial Palace and inform the royals that his sister was not of the demon race."

"Unfortunately, he was intercepted halfway by the elders of the Su Clan and brought back," a cultivator seated at the table recounted in a gossipy tone.

"And it’s not just him who believes in Ming He. Qu Lingyun aside, isn’t Ming He also a true disciple of the Floating Cloud Sect?"

Other cultivators chimed in, each adding their own thoughts to the lively discussion.

"Rumor has it that Xie Dan Chen from Luoheng Peak, Wang Xue from Snowfall Peak, and Yu Wen Xi from the Eastern Region’s Yu Wen family have all publicly declared their belief that Ming He is not from the demon race."

"And then what?" a puzzled cultivator pressed.

"And then nothing more. They were all ordered by their respective sects and families to enter seclusion, with the explanation that once Ming He was slain by the human race, the truth would naturally come to light."

When a demon spirit dies, its essence returns to the heavens and earth, and black energy invariably surrounds the corpse.

But what if there is no black energy surrounding the corpse?

This question lingered in the minds of the cultivators present, yet none dared to voice it aloud.

They chose silence, united in their quiet contemplation.

The small teahouse fell into an eerie stillness.

Ming He sat behind a tattered screen on the second floor, absorbing every word of the discussion below. Her expression was calm, her black clothes stark against her serene demeanor. A conical hat rested on her head, and her right hand hung loosely at her waist. Despite her attire, her presence exuded a tranquil composure that seemed at odds with her surroundings.

Su Cheng Feng.

Xie Dan Chen, Wang Xue.

Yu Wen Xi.

She pursed her lips, her eyes reflecting a complex mix of emotions. It seemed there were still those who believed in her.

But what were the true events of the past?

She recalled Zhan Qing Yi’s words about Mu Chen, her emotions rising and falling like waves. Was it connected to him?

But whether it was or not held no relevance to her current predicament.

With the entire world turned against her, this was her reality now.

Ming He opened her eyes, feeling a weight pressing down on her chest.

She had once dreamed of roaming the world with her sword, living freely and unrestrained beneath the heavens.

But since leaving Liu Yun Sect, she had seen so little of the world, experienced so little of its vastness.

The Floating Cloud Sect, Qin Huang Mountain in the central region, and the fleeting glimpses of scenery along her journey were all she had known.

She had longed to wield her sword across the five regions, to witness with her own eyes the world that endured despite the ravages of foreign races.

Now, she had seen it, but in a manner she could never have anticipated.

She had encountered it while fleeing for her life.

Ming He let out a bitter laugh, rose to her feet, and turned to descend the stairs. But just as she did, armored guards burst into the teahouse. "Seize her! She is Ming He!"

Ming He: "What?! How do they know?"

She watched the spear thrust toward her from close range, her pupils contracting as she instinctively stepped aside and raised her palm to deflect it.

"Boom!"

The Small Teahouse erupted into chaos, like water boiling over in a pot. The cultivators straightened, their eyes fixed on Ming He with wary vigilance, their hands gripping their blades tightly, poised to strike her down without hesitation.

Despite their murmurs, they ultimately chose to place their trust in the Imperial Palace and the royal side.

Ming He’s gaze turned icy as she vaulted onto the table, then leaped through the nearby window. In a flash, she descended into the deep alley below, her figure flickering as she slipped from view.

Escape was something she had grown quite adept at.

Just as Ming He thought this, she noticed a squad of armored guards had materialized ahead, their cold stares piercing her. They stood rigidly in formation, their silent alignment unmistakably the Battle Formation unique to the armored guards.

The guards behind her had already closed in.

The surrounding cultivators’ eyes darkened, their blades ready to strike.

Hiss!

She was trapped between two fronts!

Ming He hesitated for a moment, sensing danger. She had no sword in hand.

The pressing question was: how had they discovered her?

It was utterly baffling.

The shadows of the spears shifted around her, advancing like a mountain bearing down on Ming He. The spear tips gleamed coldly, their sharp edges thirsting for blood.

Ming He’s eyes swept her surroundings, but there was nothing she could use as a weapon.

She leaped upward, plucking a slender twig from a nearby branch and gripping it firmly. With a swift motion, she executed the Luoheng Sword technique in a diagonal slash.

This was the sword technique she had first mastered using branches. In this life-and-death situation, it was the first move that came to her mind.

As for the Nine Styles of Swordsmanship…

Ming He’s thoughts drifted to the elder who had taught her swordsmanship, a wave of complex emotions washing over her. For a brief moment, she lost focus in the heat of battle.

"Clang!"

The twig was soft and fragile, while the spears were sharp and heavy. Their clash was like an egg striking a rock—but the egg belonged to one, while the rock belonged to many. Yet, the egg did not shatter.

The twig, lightly held in Ming He’s hand, shimmered with a sword shadow that rivaled the brilliance of the sun and moon. It floated in the wind, effortlessly deflecting the onslaught of spears.

In using softness to overcome hardness, there was also the force of overwhelming power.

Such grace felt hauntingly familiar.

Was this truly Ming He’s strength?

Even when the entire world turned against her, even when she was forced to abandon her sword, she remained a true sword cultivator.

Could such a person truly belong to the demon race?

The armored guards and cultivators exchanged uncertain glances, their expressions clouded with doubt.

"Boom! Boom!"

The heavens and earth roared as thunder rumbled across the sky.

The armored guard’s mind hesitated for a moment, but in the next instant, he cast aside his earlier doubts and directed his spear tip toward Ming He.

"Form up!" the leading armored guard commanded in a deep, resonant voice.

"Yes!" the other armored guards responded in unison, their voices booming like thunder. They swiftly encircled Ming He, their movements precise and deliberate, drawing upon the power of heaven and earth to bolster their formation.

This was the culmination of decades of rigorous training, a battle formation forged through blood and tears, and refined through countless life-and-death moments against invading forces.

Ming He was no match for the formation.

Though she was strong and exceptional, she had not yet reached the realm of invincibility.

She might very well die here.

Ming He’s dark eyes reflected the cold, unyielding faces of the armored guards. She couldn’t help but marvel at the skill of the formation master, for despite the guards’ lower cultivation levels, their coordination was impeccable.

If only she could see the face of the formation master.

With this thought, she flicked the twig in her hand and began to execute the Nine Styles of Swordsmanship, starting with the Unsheathing Style and concluding with the Intercept Sword Style.

Her movements flowed seamlessly, her sword cutting through the air like a force of nature.

Though she could not overcome the slaughter formation, Ming He felt a rare sense of exhilaration.

If only she had more time, the realm of sword spirit would be within her grasp.

Perhaps she could even surpass it.

But time was not on her side.

Ming He’s eyes remained fixed on the spear as it hurtled toward her, faster and faster.

"Clang!"

At that very moment, she heard something within her burst forth.

It was a golden light.

Brilliant and blinding, so intense that those around her could not open their eyes.

But Ming He could see it clearly, for this golden light was born for her and bloomed for her alone.

A faint smile curved her lips as she turned and sprinted deeper into the alley.

"Don’t let her escape!"

The armored guard captain behind her let out a cold snarl. Despite the discomfort, he forced his eyes open, raised his spear, and hurled it with all his might toward Ming He’s back, aiming for a fatal strike.

The golden light shimmered, deflecting the spear, but the impact still left her wounded.

Ming He coughed up blood, her body trembling as she staggered forward. The disguise on her face dissolved in an instant.

But it no longer mattered.

They would recognize her regardless.

Bleeding and struggling to move, Ming He heard the footsteps behind her growing louder and heavier.

"She’s just ahead! After her!" the armored guard captain’s cold, commanding voice echoed around the corner.

Ming He’s pupils narrowed, her mind sharpening as she listened to the relentless approach of death, step by step.

"Follow me!" a deep voice suddenly whispered beside her.

Before she could react, a hand grasped hers and pulled her into the shadows. In the blink of an eye, they scaled a wall and navigated through a series of twists and turns, finally slipping into a dark, narrow space.

Ming He’s vision blurred, her consciousness wavering, but her body instinctively lashed out as she landed, striking nothing but empty air in the darkness.

"Senior Sister Ming He, it’s me."

A woman’s voice, low yet tinged with a playful lilt, reached her ears, soft but unmistakably cheerful.