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East of the capital lay the ring of waterways.
The vast Longhu River linked three major docks. Towering riverboats, grand and ornate, came and went in a constant stream. Fishing folk and small skiffs wove among them like leaves drifting beneath a giant tree. As far as the eye could see, sails layered upon sails, prows stretching for miles—so dense they seemed to blot out the sky.
Before the Longhu River merged into the Cang Waters, at its far end, stood the renowned Cangxi Mountain.
It was said that in ages past, the Dao Ancestor had chosen this place to shed his mortal body. No temple, no monastery stood upon the mountain—only nature met the eye. Its peaks rose tens of thousands of feet, both strange and majestic: above, they brushed the vault of heaven; below, they split into deep ravines and shadowed gullies. The Longhu River surged past its side, carrying away ten thousand years of rise and fall, seas turning into fields and back again.
It was high summer. The mountains were washed in blue-green hues, dense shade everywhere. Layer upon layer of scenery melted into living ink paintings, breathtaking beyond words.
"The scenery of the north really is nothing like Jiangnan," someone remarked.
A small boat drifted downstream, floating midriver, leaving the boundless plains behind as it drew closer to the magnificent mountains.
At the bow lounged a young man in a green daoist robe, long hair loose and unbound. He reclined at ease, wild and unrestrained, one hand trailing through the water while the other tipped a wine gourd, letting it bob in the current. Gazing at the scenery on both banks, he praised it loudly, his voice carrying over the river.
Across a small tea table sat a grey-robed novice monk, still young, with red lips and white teeth.
The little monk rolled a string of prayer beads between his fingers. He showed none of the detachment one might expect of the ordained; instead, he stared curiously at the wine gourd rising and sinking in the water.
"Daoist Xi," he asked, "you say the wine is too warm, so you cool it this way—but doesn't that mean all the wine flows into the river, and the river water flows into your gourd? When you drink later, are you drinking wine, or water?"
"The gourd," the young daoist replied, "naturally holds wine."
"Don't let its size fool you, little monk. From west to east, all along this journey, my gourd has taken in a thousand miles of clear river water. Wine brewed from a thousand miles of river—how could that not be wine?"
The novice nodded, not bothering to debate wine versus water. His round eyes widened instead, and he asked again, "Then, Daoist Xi, the river below holds countless fish. If they drink your wine, will they get drunk too? And if they do—floating belly-up to the surface—would you prefer to grill them, or stew them into fish soup?"
The young daoist slapped the railing and burst into laughter. "Little monk, listen to yourself—are those words fitting for a man of the cloth? Once we're done in the capital, I'm definitely going to the Great Compassion Temple to lodge a serious complaint against you!"
"Wine and meat pass through the gut," the novice said serenely. "The Buddha remains in the heart."
He pressed his palms together and smiled—slow, gentle, and utterly pure.
By now, the little boat was nearing the shore. Along the riverbank, several fine horses cantered past at an easy pace.
One of the riders happened to catch the exchange on the boat and let out a low snort, muttering to the companion riding beside him, "Just a little monk who hasn't even finished growing his hair yet. If he wants to break precepts, then he's breaking precepts—why dress it up with excuses? Does he really think he's some living Buddha or enlightened high monk, with that kind of spiritual fortitude?"
His companion swept a glance toward the boat. His gaze sharpened, and he lowered his voice, letting out a wry smile. "You're… not actually wrong."
"Huh?" The man blinked.
"That's Juechen, the current roaming disciple of Great Compassion Temple—Buddha-Heart Child. He's only fifteen, yet already ranked third on the White Dragon Ranking, a half-step into Dingdan. Born with a Buddha's heart, pure and untainted. And the dashing daoist across from him is ranked tenth on the White Dragon Ranking, Drunken Mist Guest Xi Feiming, the senior direct disciple of Qingshan Daoist Temple."
There was admiration—and longing—in his voice as he went on with a sigh. "I never thought that with Xie Chengyun opening the Sword Platform, even they would come."
The first man fell silent for a moment, then shook his head with a bitter smile. "So it's them."
A woman riding with the group, new to the jianghu, listened with curiosity and asked, "Hasn't the conflict between Buddhism and Daoism gone on for years? How is it that Buddha-Heart Child and Drunken Mist Guest—one monk, one daoist—are together like close friends, sharing a boat without the slightest hint of conflict?"
"Junior sister, you usually don't pay much attention to jianghu affairs, so you wouldn't know," the companion said. He was well-versed in the ways of the martial world, and once he started explaining, the words flowed freely.
"Great Xia has unified the realm for barely a hundred years, yet the struggle between Buddhism and Daoism has only grown fiercer. If not for the great sects and the court acting as mediators, it would've erupted into open conflict long ago."
"Later, when Qingshan Daoist Temple rose to become the Four Great Daoist Observatories under heaven, it began acting unlike ordinary Daoist sects. The observatory master personally went to Jin Prefecture to visit Great Compassion Temple, which holds the reins of the Buddhist path. After three days and three nights of closed-door talks with Master Huineng, they set down a rule for every generation of disciples sent down the mountain."
"The rule was this: on their first journey into the world, one monk and one daoist must travel together—walking ten thousand miles, setting foot across the four seas. In this generation, that pair is Buddha-Heart Child and Drunken Mist Guest."
The woman smiled softly. "That's quite an interesting rule."
As they spoke, the group looked once more toward the boat on the river—only to find it already far away, now moored at a fisherman's pier at the foot of Cangxi Mountain.
Farther away—
On the river, a towering decked ship cut through the drifting mist, advancing slowly upstream. At its prow stood a man with one hand resting on his blade, his presence vast and overwhelming, as though he meant to split the great river itself.
Along the mountain road, fine horses thundered past. At their head rode a young wandering hero, his hair white as snow despite his youth, high-spirited and brimming with confidence.
At the riverbank, a carriage rolled in. A gust of wind lifted its curtain, briefly revealing a lone figure within—seated with a sword held across his arms, edge hidden, its killing edge restrained.
In a pavilion halfway up the mountain, a slender woman stood holding a silver spear. She stared toward the lofty platform atop the mountain, over a hundred paces away. Her expression was cold as frost, battle intent surging.
"To open the Sword Platform, challenge the blade under heaven—stirring the winds and clouds of the jianghu, drawing heroes from every quarter."
The companion let out a sigh. "With such presence and renown, it truly lives up to the name of the Xie clan's Snow-Taming Sword."
At the same time, on the mountain path of Cangxi Mountain, someone voiced the very same thought.
"Xie Chengyun really does know how to put on a show."
A red-clad youth with a black long ruler hanging at his waist folded his arms and rubbed his chin as he stepped into the Half-Mountain Pavilion. He greeted the spear-wielding woman with an easy grin. "Miss Yan, you made it too?"
"'Hidden Heaven' Ning Guan."
Yan Xuanji's expression turned even colder. "Once you reach Dingdan, there will be a fight."
Ning Guan raised a brow. "Wow—losing twice at the Hanshen stage wasn't enough for you? You want to keep losing even after I reach Dingdan? That really is just like you, Yan Xuanji."
Yan Xuanji had long since grown used to this man's sharp tongue and shameless manner. she didn't bother responding.
Ning Guan grinned and went on, "Miss Yan, you've already formed your Core. You're surely not here to challenge Xie Chengyun—just to observe the ceremony and serve as protection. Sigh, I've lost to you twice myself, yet somehow Xie Chengyun gets to be your friend, while I, Ning Guan, can't earn even a shred of goodwill from you. Life really is unfair, isn't it?"
Yan Xuanji said coolly, "On the eve of the Sword Platform's opening, Xie Chengyun will, by rule, only face Hanshen cultivators ranked below the top thirty of the White Dragon Ranking. What business do you have coming here?"
"If you can come, why can't I?"
At some point, a blade of grass had found its way between Ning Guan's teeth. He spoke with a lazy, roguish air. "There's no such domineering rule under heaven, Miss Yan. Whatever you're here for—that's what I'm here for too."
"Don't be fooled by the fact that tonight's challengers are just ordinary Hanshen types who couldn't even make the White Dragon Ranking. The jianghu is vast, full of people far beyond what you and I can imagine. Fish and dragons mingle in these waters—who knows if someone who can't accept defeat might resort to dirty tricks. In that case, Xie Chengyun really does need a great protector like me."
Yan Xuanji frowned. "Guarding the event is something we should all take seriously, but for a grand occasion like this, the Xie clan will handle it. There's nothing else to worry about."
"That's not necessarily true," Ning Guan said around the grass stem, his words muffled.
The sun slowly climbed to its zenith, then sank again, pressed down by towering mountains until it disappeared into the heart of the river.
Night fell. A faint breeze swept across the water.
From Pudu Mountain on the far bank came the long, lingering toll of a bell.
Suddenly, strings of brilliant lamps flared to life atop Cangxi Mountain. They lit up the long, straight stone stairway below—bare of trees and utterly exposed—so clearly it was as if every step had been carved into sight.
Light spread in all directions, bright as day.
A figure in white stood before the high platform, sword in hand, positioned partway up the stone steps. Behind him stood a red-skirted maid, exceptionally tall, twin blades at her waist, her expression cold and reserved.
Inside and outside the Half-Mountain Pavilion, aside from Ning Guan and Yan Xuanji, a great many figures from the martial world had already gathered over the course of the day.
Farther out still, countless silhouettes stretched their necks, peering in from the sides.
As the light expanded, they rose to their feet one after another, battle intent flickering across their faces.
The night before the Sword Platform opened could be called the preliminary bout of challenging the blade under heaven. Given Xie Chengyun's cultivation, his opponents were Hanshen cultivators ranked below the top thirty and still outside the White Dragon Ranking. It was a way to build momentum, to temper his martial will—and also to offer guidance to outstanding peers.
Anyone who had arrived, and met the conditions, could climb the mountain and unleash their strongest move against Xie Chengyun.
There was no rule about how many wins or losses this preliminary battle required. But if, in a gauntlet of fights, he couldn't even handle experts outside the White Dragon Ranking, then what right did he have to open a Sword Platform? What talk was there of being number one under heaven? He might as well go home and till the fields.
Without any needless words, someone burst out from the Half-Mountain Pavilion. He dashed upward in a blur, a long blade flashing free of its sheath. The saber light struck like lightning—fast, fierce—carrying a hint of thunderous fury that whipped the mountain path into a sudden gale, shaking the surrounding trees.
"Li Xingyuan of White-Head Mountain! I have trained the blade art Heavenly Thunder Draw for eighteen years—Young Hero Xie, please enlighten me!"
Before the words had even finished falling, the blade was already upon him.
A cold mountain wind swept through. White robes fluttered. With the blazing lamps at his back, Xie Chengyun lifted his gaze and drew his sword.
A flash of sword-light passed by—cold and clear, like drifting snowflakes, like plum blossoms falling upon an icy heart. It was light, unhurried, utterly devoid of showy flourish. No clever techniques revealed themselves, no trace of worldly fire. Plain, simple—meeting the thunderous saber head-on, without dodge or retreat.
In an instant, the lightning vanished. The saber's force rippled outward, yet it was like a whisk brushing past, gently sweeping away the years of settled dust from the stone steps before Xie Chengyun.
Li Xingyuan's grip trembled. His tiger's mouth split open, and the long blade slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground.
(TN: Tiger's Mouth is the webbing between the thumb and index finger, this is where weapons like swords and sabers put the most strain when gripping and striking, when force rebounds through a weapon, the tiger's mouth can split, tear, or go numb.)
"Fine blade," Xie Chengyun said with a soft sigh and a faint smile. "But the power of thunder is hard to command—too easy to scatter, too hard to gather. You must temper it with thunder-qi, so that you wield thunder as you wield the blade, and the blade as you wield thunder. Train this saber another ten years, and I would not be your match."
The dazed look on Li Xingyuan's face shifted. He bent down to pick up his saber and broke into a simple, honest grin. "Then I'll train another ten years. And after that, I'll come challenge Young Hero Xie again!"
"Good. A promise, then,"
Xie Chengyun said, nodding.
Li Xingyuan clasped his fists in salute, stepped aside with his blade in hand, and cleared the mountain path.
From the Half-Mountain Pavilion, Ning Guan let out a snort of laughter. "That fellow from White-Head Mountain is a real fool. Xie Chengyun feeds him a few pretty words and he actually believes them. Ten years from now he'll still be stuck at Hanshen, while Xie Chengyun will already be in Dingdan. What's there left to fight?"
"Can't even wine shut your mouth?" Yan Xuanji scoffed coldly.
Ning Guan was holding Xi Feiming's wine gourd. At her words, he gave it a shake and called out to Xi Feiming, "Hey, you lousy daoist—did you water this wine down? It's so weak it's lost all its kick."
Xi Feiming didn't bother with him at all. Instead, he leaned toward the novice monk Juechen beside him and whispered, "See that, little monk? People like Ning Guan and Yan Xuanji—those are what you call a pair of happy enemies, a lovesick man and a resentful woman…"
The next instant, a chill brushed Xi Feiming's throat. He turned his head—and saw Yan Xuanji's spear already thrust out, its tip pointing at him from a full zhang away.
"Someone else is climbing the mountain!"
Juechen's excited shout saved Xi Feiming's life.
In everyone's sight, a second figure surged forward without hesitation, charging straight toward Xie Chengyun's sword. A rough, arrogant howl shook the mountain wilds.
"Xun Zhen of the Northern Desert's Mad Sand Fort—please instruct me!"
Two massive axes spun as they flew out, whipping up a skyful of sand and dust that blinded the eye.
Carrying the might of a mountain storm, the giant axes came crashing down, momentum fierce enough to split peaks.
Xie Chengyun swept his sword horizontally.
In the night sky, studded with countless stars, a few scattered flakes of snow suddenly drifted down.
The mountain wind lifted gently. The temperature around them seemed to drop inch by inch. Grass, trees, and stone lost their vitality, dulled beneath a veil of dust—yet that one simple sword strike stood alone, naturally refined, invincible.
Sand met snow. The storm froze.
And the mountain was cleaved apart in a single, decisive cut.
The massive axes were flung backward, slamming into the edge of the mountain path with a heavy bang, bursting in all directions.
Xun Zhen stood frozen on the trail, like a stone statue, the icy gleam of that sword qi still locked in his tiger-bright eyes.
"You've made your move—now get down and stop blocking your grandpa's path!"
Another, much smaller figure charged in. True qi surged outward as he shoved Xun Zhen off the path.
"Su Dahong of the Baili River Gang—Young Hero Xie, take a look at this move of mine!"
Both fists struck out, like flood dragons bursting from a river—thousand-foot waves, ten-thousand-zhang winds.
"Good," Xie Chengyun laughed softly, bringing his sword down in a single stroke, its force like an avalanche crashing from the heavens.
The metal gauntlets shattered. A thin line of blood appeared between Su Dahong's knuckles—yet he threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Hahaha! Exhilarating—truly exhilarating!"
From the Half-Mountain Pavilion, the onlookers buzzed with shouts and gasps.
"Even a punch like that was defeated! That's the Baili River Gang's prodigy!"
"Even the Young Fort Lord of Mad Sand Fort fell—what does the Baili River Gang amount to?"
"Fine fists, fine sword! Coming here tonight was worth it!"
As Su Dahong retreated, another figure immediately leapt forward—then another, one after the next, without end.
The night stretched on.
Countless names rang out along the mountain path, and countless ultimate techniques met their end beneath a single sword.
Some were shaken to the core, their spirits crushed. Some found sudden enlightenment in a single instant, faces alight with wonder. Others came riding high on excitement, only to leave once that excitement was spent.
High-spirited young heroes took turns stepping forward to fight. Thousands upon thousands from the martial world watched and commented, lanterns swaying in the night—it was a grand gathering of the jianghu's younger generation.
On this night at Cangxi Mountain, sword light never ceased. Snow drifted over the peak, and the chill cut a hundred paces deep.
At daybreak, the lamps burned out and fell abruptly into darkness. A single line of pale dawn rose behind Xie Chengyun, casting light upon white robes, a ground of snow, and the figure who sheathed his sword and began to walk forward.
Heaven was wrapped in mourning white; all things were inlaid with silver.
When he came, the mountain bore snow.
The young lord came, brushing snow aside.
The onlookers stood frozen, minds shaken, scarcely able to believe their eyes.
"He's finished… he actually finished it…"
"He fought the entire night! Faced a full hundred challengers, yet didn't lose a single exchange, didn't take a single step back—terrifying!"
"One sword—always one sword! A hundred outstanding youths of the jianghu, and not one forced him to draw a second strike. Is this the true strength of the White Dragon Ranking's thirteenth rank? He's a monster…"
The thin cold settled in. Battle intent finally ebbed away.
Xie Chengyun stepped down the snow-covered stairs, unhurried, showing not the slightest sign of fatigue or depleted qi—like someone who had merely risen early to practice his sword.
When he reached the Half-Mountain Pavilion, he stopped, cupped his fists in salute, and bowed. His bearing was elegant, his presence extraordinary.
"Thank you all, for traveling a thousand miles to witness this."
The crowd looked up at that figure pressing his sword as he stepped across the snow. Some felt awe, some shame at their own limits, some pure reverence.
One man, one sword.
A hundred battles in a single night—
and always, just one sword.
From this day on, it would become a new legend of the jianghu.
"The White Dragon Ranking ranked him too low."
Someone let out a quiet sigh. "The reputation is well deserved. Lin Ce is in danger."
For a moment, the mountaintop fell silent—then erupted into noise once more. Carrier pigeons burst from the forest, wings beating as stunned spectators hurried to spread the latest news down the mountain.
After returning the salutes of the jianghu folk, Xie Chengyun exchanged greetings with Ning Guan and the others. Only then did he turn back up the mountain, entering the small hut behind the Sword Platform to briefly regulate his breath and recover, preparing for the first true battle once the Sword Platform opened at noon.
Yet the moment he stepped inside, the refined, smiling expression on Xie Chengyun's face drained of all color. His upright posture trembled—and he suddenly collapsed onto the low couch.
Chu Yunsheng reacted at once, reaching out to catch him. Lowering his head, he saw Xie Chengyun abruptly open his mouth and wah—spit out a mouthful of black blood.
Inside the hut were Fang Wenmin, Li Ming, and Yu Dan, the three who had volunteered to serve as protectors. At the sight, their faces changed in unison.
"Poisoned blood!"
Everyone's heart sank, as though plunging into a deep abyss.
Fang Wenmin stepped forward in a flash, gripping Xie Chengyun's wrist to take his pulse.
After a moment, his expression darkened. Lowering his voice, he said, "Brother Xie, you've been poisoned. This poison is no ordinary thing. With my half-baked medical skills, I can't identify it. We'll need to summon a physician who specializes in detoxification."
Anger simmered beneath Li Ming's voice as he said grimly, "During an entire night of duels, not a single one of those people got within ten steps of Brother Xie. Nor did we see anyone trigger poison—how could he have been poisoned?"
"Hard to say," Fang Wenmin replied. "Some poisons are extremely subtle, able to pierce even protective qi."
"Someone actually dared to play dirty!" Li Ming snapped. "I'll go drag out everyone from last night and demand an explanation!" As he spoke, he turned to push the door open.
"Brother Li—absolutely not." Xie Chengyun stopped him. Using the cloth in Chu Yunsheng's hand, he wiped the corner of his mouth.
Li Ming halted, frowning.
Xie Chengyun took out an ordinary antidote pill and swallowed it to suppress the poison for the time being. Then he said, "I won't let this interfere with the opening of the Sword Platform. As for last night's matter, Brother Li, go find the Xie clan's retainers guarding the forest. Have them go down the mountain to summon a physician—and investigate the one who used poison, quietly. Don't make a scene."
Li Ming objected, "Brother Xie, you've already been poisoned. How can you still open the Sword Platform? After the noon ceremony, you'll fight your first match. I don't know who you issued that first challenge to, but in your current state, you absolutely shouldn't fight. Are you planning to lose the very first battle of the Sword Platform?"
"Losing," Xie Chengyun said softly, "is still better than retreating without a fight."
Xie Chengyun let out a soft sigh. "My challenge letter… was sent to the Sword Grotto."
Li Ming's expression changed at once.
Fang Wenmin froze for a moment, then gave a bitter smile. "In that case, even losing, you still have to fight. The people of the Sword Grotto are all like stones at the bottom of a latrine—stinking and stubborn to the core. And sitting at the very top of the White Dragon Ranking, the number one, Life-Severing Sword Lin Ce… he's the worst of them all. More foul, more hardheaded than anyone. His mind doesn't bend—if there's a fight, then there's a fight. As long as he's not dead, he'll fight. With others, and with himself, it's all the same."
"Brother Li, you'd better do as Brother Xie says," Fang Wenmin added. "If you move fast enough, perhaps a physician can make it up the mountain before noon and get this poison under control."
Even as the words left his mouth, Fang Wenmin felt his heart sink. He knew it was nothing more than comforting himself.
From Cangxi Mountain to the capital and back—even unless a Youxian intervened—it would take at least two hours. And a physician skilled in detoxification would be hard to find. Even if one were found, even if they arrived in time, a just-detoxified, still-weak Xie Chengyun—how could he possibly face Lin Ce, ranked first on the White Dragon Ranking?
Li Ming understood this all too well. Still, he turned and left, leaping away like a dragon in flight, true qi surging as he pushed his movement technique to its limit, disappearing into the forest.
The small hut fell into a heavy, gloomy silence. There was none of the soaring spirit, pride, or confidence of someone who had just defeated a hundred Hanshen fighters. Compared to the Half-Mountain Pavilion outside—boiling with loud praise of Xie Chengyun's feats from the night before—it felt like two entirely different worlds.
Xie Chengyun sat cross-legged, regulating his breath.
Chu Yunsheng stood to the side. Amid his worry and concern, his brows slowly knit together—he couldn't shake the feeling that something about all this was not quite right.
Time ticked by, little by little. The sun crept toward noon. Fang Wenmin paced anxiously, waving his fan, sweat pouring down his face—there was no trace left of his usual refined, scholarly air.
Li Ming was nowhere to be seen. The Xie clan's retainers were nowhere to be seen. The physician skilled in detoxification was nowhere to be seen. Yet the appointed hour was almost upon them.
Xie Chengyun opened his eyes. His face had gone the color of pale gold paper. Bracing himself against Chu Yunsheng's arm, he moved to stand.
Fang Wenmin opened his mouth, but found he had no way to stop him.
At that moment, Yu Dan suddenly spoke. "You walk the sword path, and you have a sword attendant. By ancient custom, you may first order your sword attendant to fight Lin Ce of the Sword Grotto's sword attendant. Let that serve as the grand opening rite of the Sword Platform—and buy some time."
Fang Wenmin froze, then slapped his fan against his palm. "Yes—yes, that's right! There is such a rule for opening the Sword Platform. As long as both sides have sword attendants, the attendants may fight first, and only afterward do the principals take the field. Brother Xie, Miss Chu is late-stage Hanshen—her cultivation matches Lin Ce's sword attendant. She can absolutely fight!"
Xie Chengyun frowned slightly, about to shake his head—when a voice sounded at his ear. "Alright. I'm willing to fight."
Xie Chengyun's eyes snapped up.
Chu Yunsheng had been standing quietly at the side, playing the role of a pretty, harmless ornament, still puzzling over the sudden poisoning that hadn't existed in the original course of events. He hadn't expected that a single sentence from Yu Dan would point straight at him—and put him on the field.
True, his blade technique had only just begun to take shape, still incomplete, and he couldn't say with confidence that he would defeat anyone. But if Xie Chengyun truly needed him to fight, then he had no reason to refuse.
Their gazes met. Chu Yunsheng said calmly, "Young master, need not worry. It's only one battle. This fight will buy you enough time to sort out what's happening here."
Xie Chengyun's eyes flickered faintly.
After a moment, he lowered his gaze and sighed softly. "If you are outmatched… then concede."
Chu Yunsheng smiled. Using the wide sleeve of his robe to hide the motion, he lightly squeezed Xie Chengyun's ice-cold fingers. Then he turned, pushed open the door, pressed a hand to his blade—and left.
Just as Chu Yunsheng departed, his figure not yet fully vanished from sight, Fang Wenmin suddenly received a secret voice transmission from Yu Dan inside the small hut: "This Miss Chu… is very likely Ji Ling of the Nine Immortal Palace. Last night she never left Brother Xie's side for even a step. I suspect the poison on Brother Xie was her doing—that's why I suggested sending her away. Brother Xie dotes on her greatly; I fear he has already been deceived."
Fang Wenmin frowned. Just as he was about to send a voice transmission back, Yu Dan spoke out loud instead: "The demonic woman has already left. I have a Hundred Remedies Pill—it can detoxify Brother Xie. Brother Xie, are you willing?"
Xie Chengyun smiled faintly. He didn't accept the offer at once, but instead asked calmly, "If I were unwilling—would Brother Yu force me to take it?"
Fang Wenmin was taken aback by Xie Chengyun's response. Instinctively, he swept his gaze around the room—and his heart jolted.
Li Ming was gone.
Miss Chu was gone.
Within the hut, he was now the only remaining fighting strength—and he was weaker than Yu Dan. If Yu Dan harbored ill intent…