Chapter 487
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Chapter 487: The Pillar of the Middle Stream, Pulling the Cart Together
At the beginning, including the Eight-Faced Monster and Mu Xiaoren, not many believed there could exist such a strange creature in the world—one that could run freely, seemingly without control.
The conclusion they reached was simple: either this person possessed absolute strength, confidence, and courage to face any enemy, navigate any trap, and go anywhere, or this person was simply arrogant and ignorant, proud of a small amount of power.
If it were a true top-tier expert, they probably wouldn’t bother coming to a place like this. Hujia Grave might have some reputation, but it rarely attracts those at the pinnacle of skill. True experts possess status and fame; their names alone deter others from blocking their path.
Demonic cultivators, however, have a peculiar survival skill. Over time, they instinctively learn to adjust their demeanor based on their opponent’s strength. In mere seconds, they could switch from being the commanding “grandparent” to the deferential “grandchild.”
For now, it all depended on Tao Zhongmo’s test. Although an arrogant fool, his strength was at least within the realm of comprehension. Letting him try first could expose any hidden dangers.
The Eight-Faced Monster raised his fist in salute, saying, “This young man is full of youthful arrogance; it can’t be helped. Brother Mu, we’ll still rely on your support.”
Mu Xiaoren’s expression relaxed slightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll intervene if necessary.”
Praises flowed back and forth, breaking the tension and creating a harmonious atmosphere. Now, all eyes were on Tao Zhongmo to see if he would win—or lose.
Suddenly—
“Puff—!”
Mo Dao, who had just taken a sip of tea, spat it out in shock, his true energy spraying over ten meters.
“Oh my gosh!”
The Eight-Faced Monster, once brimming with confidence, froze. Mo Dao stood dumbfounded, his jaw dropping and eyes bulging in disbelief. It was as if Ai Ni Lu had encountered Rubber Man.
Dozens of scenarios where he triumphed over his opponent had played out in his mind, yet none matched what unfolded before him. Tao Zhongmo was defeated—in one move.
One move! Not even a chance to counter!
What happened to his reputation? His cultivation? Had it all been devoured by dogs? He might as well have arrived on a stretcher for all his so-called strength was worth!
Tao Zhongmo’s loss was incomprehensible. His peach wood sword was snatched away by the opponent. As he crawled out of the mud, his once-proud demeanor had vanished. His face was covered in dirt, his eyes bloodshot with humiliation and rage.
“He’s angry,” the strange creature observed. “Something big might happen next. Should we step in?”
Mr. Mu hesitated, then nodded. It seemed reasonable to act now. Though Tao Zhongmo had lost in one move, he was still alive. Despite his disheveled state, his defiance in facing his enemy was admirable.
The magical cultivator sprang into action, his toe brushing the ground as he dashed forward, with the strange creature following closely.
Mr. Mu shouted, “Little Brother Tao, we’ll lend you a hand and slay this foe!”
But as he charged forward, Mr. Mu stopped in his tracks, stunned.
All his thoughts froze as he saw Tao Zhongmo, face red with shame, tie the ropes of the enemy’s cart around his own waist.
His expression was filled with anger and humiliation, yet he lowered his head and did the unthinkable—he pulled the cart.
Mr. Mu’s jaw dropped. “Hey, hey, hey, are you joking?”
Just moments ago, Tao Zhongmo had boldly declared his strength, yet here he was, reduced to a cart-puller.
Mr. Mu’s brain stalled. He realized Tao Zhongmo wasn’t stupid—he was simply afraid. His opponent’s strength was insurmountable. Resistance was futile.
The cart driver’s gaze shifted to Mr. Mu, and he could swear he saw a sinister grin, as if the underworld itself beckoned him.
“Come quickly! Join us! Pull the cart together!”
Terrified, Mu Dao tried to flee. “Octopus Monster, help me!”
But the Octopus Monster had already vanished into the crowd, leaving Mu Dao to fend for himself.
Desperate, Mu Dao split into more than ten shadows, scattering in different directions.
From the carriage, Bai Wei remarked, “He’s a leader of great skill, though a bit old—truly a pillar of the community.”
The words reached Mu Dao’s ears, filling him with dread. “Please don’t praise me!”
But the praise was unnecessary. A thunderous crack split the air as a peach wood sword pierced through Mu Dao’s shadows, striking his true form. Sparks erupted, and he tumbled down the mountain, battered and broken.
Tao Zhongmo gulped as he watched. The peach wood sword’s power was immense. Without hesitation, he returned to pulling the cart.
Inside the carriage, Nalan Qingshu observed, “This approach blends the paths of a king and a tyrant. It’s not just about humiliation—it’s about instilling fear.”
Bai Wei agreed, noting that habits like these weren’t developed overnight. For someone like him, having others pull his cart was second nature.
As they ventured deeper into Hujia Grave, the forest thickened, and the road became treacherous.
Just as Bai Wei thought of the challenges ahead, a monstrous spider leapt down, its enormous body blocking the path.
From within the carriage, a voice mused, “You can tell they’re a united family.”
Bai Wei smiled. “A family indeed. Neat and tidy—ready to pull the cart together.”
