Chapter Forty-Four: Within the Same Walls

The young man was none other than Che Wuyou, who had just finished circulating his energy. Seeing the black-clad man attempt to flee, he struggled to move closer, seized his chance, and drove his sword into the black-clad man with all his might. Che Wuyou's face turned pale; he was panting heavily, clearly having expended the last of his strength on this strike.

Looking into the astonished eyes of the black-clad man, Che Wuyou paused to catch his breath before remarking with biting sarcasm, "In truth, had you not chanced everything on that last gamble, you might well have won. After all, they were all gravely wounded and could not have held out much longer. If only you had endured a little more, the outcome might have been entirely different. But you chose recklessness and luck..."

The black-clad man froze for a moment at these words, then, almost unconsciously, nodded his head. Indeed, he should not have pressed the attack; it went against the essence of swordsmanship. For an old hand like himself to make such a blunder at the crucial moment was almost unthinkable. Though vexed, the black-clad man slowly removed his mask, revealing a face lined with age. He did not want to die here—his only hope now was to reveal his identity.

When Che Wuyou recognized the familiar, slightly aged features of the black-clad man, he was thunderstruck—it was him. The black-clad man ignored Che Wuyou's astonishment and opened his mouth to speak, but Che Wuyou gave him no chance. Without hesitation, he drove his sword ruthlessly through the man's body. The black-clad man had not expected that even after revealing himself, Che Wuyou would dare act so mercilessly.

A gurgling sound escaped the dying man's throat. With blood-soaked fingers, he pointed at Che Wuyou, "You..."

Che Wuyou pushed his sword farther in until the black-clad man collapsed to the ground, utterly silent. Only then did Che Wuyou sink to the ground himself, gasping for breath. This was the first time in his life he had killed a man, and that man had held a position of great esteem. Yet, contrary to his expectations, he did not feel unsettled; instead, he experienced a strange tranquility.

Why was this so? When had he become such a person? Staring at his blood-stained hands, Che Wuyou felt a surge of inexpressible excitement, a wild urge to kill. But as quickly as it arose, it vanished without a trace.

Hong Tao and Liu Lanzhi, staggering and battered, made their way toward Che Wuyou, unable to restrain themselves from asking, "Who was he?" From where they had been standing behind the black-clad man, neither had seen his face. Both were intensely curious about his identity—his swordsmanship was superb and his endurance remarkable. Never in Southern Jizhou had they heard of such a formidable figure.

Seeing the bitterness on Che Wuyou's face, Liu Lanzhi assumed it was his first time taking a life and that he was struggling to cope. She spoke gently, "Wuyou, don't let it trouble you. The man meant to kill us all, so it was right to kill him. Though we are cultivators, when someone must be eliminated, we must act without hesitation."

Hong Tao nodded in agreement, even giving Che Wuyou a thumbs up. If not for Che Wuyou, the man surely would have escaped.

No one knew when Hong Shun had finished tending his wounds. As he approached, still short of breath, he laughed, cursing, "Damn, the bastard is finally dead. Young man, you did well. If we had let him get away tonight, we would have been a laughingstock in the cultivation world of Southern Jizhou for years to come. Ha ha, ha ha... cough, cough..."

Hong Shun laughed heartily, the movement pulling at his wounds and provoking a fit of coughing, but he paid it no mind. Though the victory had been a collective effort, killing such a man filled him with a deep sense of accomplishment.

The black-clad man had been an exceptionally difficult opponent, and the balance of the fight had shifted repeatedly amid countless unknowns. A single misstep could have led to disaster. Hong Shun was burning with curiosity to know which faction had managed to produce such a remarkable talent, someone who could leave so many experts in shambles.

Before Che Wuyou could answer, Hong Tao caught sight of the dead man's face, and Hong Shun did as well. Both wore strange expressions, and Hong Shun’s smile froze. Sensing something was wrong, Liu Lanzhi asked, "What is it? Who is he? Do you know him?"

Che Wuyou hesitated, then stammered, "He is Senior Brother Yang Cheng."

"Senior Brother Yang Cheng? Where is he? I mean, who is the black-clad man?" Liu Lanzhi's face had turned pale, though she managed a forced smile. She had begun to suspect, but it was hard to accept—how could their senior brother have tried to kill them? Though the Miao family disciples sometimes quarreled, even fought, they were all sworn to the same master, as close as true siblings. How could it come to this?

Step by step, Liu Lanzhi walked toward the black-clad man, determined to see for herself. At last, she recognized his face. She still vividly remembered the ceremony when she had first joined the sect, and the master had pointed to Yang Cheng, saying, "This is your senior brother. You must respect him as you would your own father."

And now, in the blink of an eye, she had joined outsiders in killing her own senior brother. Looking at the sword lodged in Yang Cheng’s body—Che Wuyou’s sword, driven home by his own hand—she found it all painfully ironic.

Liu Lanzhi said nothing. What could she say? Che Wuyou had done nothing wrong. In his place, she might well have done the same. Who could have imagined the black-clad man was their senior brother? Yet, even knowing this, she struggled to accept that she and Che Wuyou would now bear the stigma of fratricide.

When Hong Shun realized it was Yang Cheng, he was at first furious, determined to confront Miao Shilin about his wayward disciples. But seeing Liu Lanzhi’s distressed expression, he wisely held his tongue. Surely, she had the greatest right to be angry.

With their wounds still fresh, the group made only minimal preparations before setting off toward Miao Manor. Though the Miao family kept a low profile, their close ally, the Xuanqing Sect, knew well that their expertise in alchemy was unrivaled in Jizhou. Whenever important members of the Xuanqing Sect suffered serious injuries, they would always seek out the Miao family for treatment. This was why Hong Shun and Hong Tao headed there rather than back to their own sect.

Miao Shilin gazed at Yang Cheng’s corpse with a complicated expression. Yang Cheng had been one of his most valued disciples, and to think he would do such a thing—had he failed as a teacher?

Yang Jian stared at his eldest brother's body, seething with rage. First, his second brother Yang Zhi had fallen in the battle of Bali Town alongside the Zongbao brothers at the hands of Che Yeming, and now his eldest brother had died at Che Wuyou’s hand. Did the Yang brothers owe the Che family a blood debt? One after another, they had been killed—would he be next?

Barely able to contain himself after hearing what had happened, Yang Jian roared, "Che Wuyou, how dare you kill Senior Brother! You knew who he was, yet you struck him down. How bold you are! Have you forgotten the laws of our sect?"

Han Feng added, "Che Wuyou, no matter what Senior Brother may have done, it was a matter for the sect to judge. Who gave you the right to kill him? Do you even acknowledge him as your senior?"

"Senior Brother was no longer able to fight. No matter his crimes, you should have brought him back to the sect for judgment and the master’s decision. How could you take it upon yourself to execute him? What won’t you dare to do next?"

"Do you know what this is called? This is called rebellion, insubordination, fratricide!"

As Yang Jian and Han Feng spoke out, many of the Miao family disciples joined in, echoing their condemnation. This was no trivial matter—fratricide was an unpardonable offense. Reverence for one’s elders and seniors was the most basic virtue among cultivators.

"Senior Brother was masked—how could Wuyou have known who he was? We only learned his identity after he was dead. Had we known earlier, would Wuyou have struck the fatal blow? If I had been in his place, I would have done the same. If you insist on calling it fratricide, then count me guilty as well. What do you plan to do with me?"

Already feeling miserable, Liu Lanzhi grew angry at the chorus of accusations against Che Wuyou. How could this be laid at his feet alone? Senior Brother had been skulking about in disguise—who could have known his true identity? When faced with someone bent on your destruction, who would show mercy?

With Liu Lanzhi’s words, the others’ voices faltered. They dared not openly rebuke her, and what she said made sense—if they had been in Che Wuyou’s position, perhaps they, too, would have killed Senior Brother.

Most could not accept the outcome and had lashed out at Che Wuyou in their confusion. But it was not as if they truly intended to punish him—he was no longer the same Che Wuyou as before, and any action against him would have to take Liu Lanzhi’s feelings into account.

Though most fell silent, there were always exceptions. Yang Jian, infuriated to see Liu Lanzhi so easily undo the accusations, snarled, "Che Wuyou must have known it was Senior Brother when he killed him. That’s the only explanation."