Fengyun Wuji had seen this person a few times. His residence was not far from You Wuxie's cave, yet what Fengyun Wuji truly recognized was not the man's face, but his familiar spiritual sense. Among the thousands of spiritual senses above Youming Peak, his presence was the most frequent visitor to Fengyun Wuji.
"How should I address you?" Fengyun Wuji tilted his head and smiled at the man.
"Didn't your master tell you? Little brat, the Zhanpo Hand is me." The man smiled, extending his hand, slightly curling his fingers. "Hand it over, and I'll spare your life."
"What?"
"Stop pretending to be confused. That old ghost, You Wuxie, went out this time for the legendary Xuanming Scroll, didn't he? Hand it over, and I'll give you a way out. Now that the old ghost is dead, no one can protect you anymore," Zhanpo Hand's expression turned cold, his voice laced with malice.
"Are you sure you're talking to me?" Fengyun Wuji's smile faded, his tone turning cold.
The man fell silent, only glaring at Fengyun Wuji, his hand palm-up.
With a flash, Fengyun Wuji wasted no time. He stamped his foot, shooting forward like lightning, his right hand making a fist in the air. An ice-crystal sword materialized in his grip, and with a single strike, he thrust it toward Zhanpo Hand's chest.
"You...!" Zhanpo Hand was both startled and enraged. He hadn't expected Fengyun Wuji to strike first. But little did he know, once Fengyun Wuji identified his enemy, he never wasted words. Though it was a hasty move, Zhanpo Hand's immense power, reaching several million, was evident. His right hand shot out in a blur, swiftly blocking the path of the ice-crystal sword.
Boom! The ice-crystal sword shattered into shards, but Zhanpo Hand was still blasted backward, flipping in the air before crashing down. Seizing the moment, Fengyun Wuji casually summoned another ice-crystal sword into his hand, his feet springing off the ground as he sped toward Zhanpo Hand once more.
"You dare!" Zhanpo Hand roared in fury, quickly regaining his stance. He raised a hand, slamming it forward, summoning a massive ice palm that shot toward Fengyun Wuji.
The ice-crystal sword clattered against the air, bouncing off with sharp sounds. Ding ding ding!!! In an instant, Fengyun Wuji unleashed over a thousand strikes, carving a path through the enormous palm, then darting upward like a snake, aiming for Zhanpo Hand's eyes.
Fengyun Wuji was no novice. In this ancient world, lacking in cultivation, many delicate techniques were out of reach. However, after absorbing You Wuxie's full power, Fengyun Wuji now stood on equal footing with most others in this world, even surpassing them in some aspects, particularly in his techniques.
Just as Fengyun Wuji's ice-crystal sword was about to pierce Zhanpo Hand's eyes, two fingers suddenly appeared before Fengyun Wuji, as though they had existed since time immemorial. They gently pinched the sword, freezing it in place, unable to advance even a fraction.
Zhanpo Hand's face grew cold, and with lightning speed, his other hand swept out. A chilling scream of a ghost echoed from his palm, and black mist seeped from his right hand, rushing along the sword's length toward the hilt.
Instinctively, Fengyun Wuji sensed the eerie nature of the mist. Before it could envelop him, he decisively broke the sword with a snap, the ice-crystal sword shattering at the hilt. But Zhanpo Hand was already furious. Seeing Fengyun Wuji attempting to retreat, he was not about to let him go so easily. His left hand twisted the sword, firing it back at Fengyun Wuji with lightning speed.
The corrupted black sword howled through the air, speeding towards Fengyun Wuji.
Fengyun Wuji inhaled deeply, his robes billowing violently. Then, to Zhanpo Hand's astonishment, his chest began to deflate slowly, as if he were made of paper, fluttering in the wind. The sword that should have struck his head brushed closely against his chest, missing by mere inches, and buried itself into an ice peak nearby with a thunderous explosion.
"Bastard, who threw a sword at me?!" A vicious-faced man emerged from the ice peak, standing in mid-air and shouting, "Return my cave!"
Just as Fengyun Wuji dodged Zhanpo Hand's strange sword with the agility of a drifting willow, an object was thrown from his chest, caught by the enraged man mid-air.
"The Xuanming Scroll?" The man muttered instinctively.
Zhanpo Hand's face changed, and he turned to the man in mid-air, speaking urgently, "Yuemou, that's not yours! Give it back!"
Fengyun Wuji's expression also shifted. He instinctively touched his chest, but the scroll left by You Wuxie was no longer there. His chest felt smooth to the touch, the robe that had once covered it was gone, leaving only a trace of corrosion. Even Fengyun Wuji hadn't noticed.
He glanced at Zhanpo Hand, his expression suddenly less cautious. The eerie mist had merely grazed him and hadn't fully touched his robe, which had corroded a large hole. What if it had actually hit him?
As for the scroll, Fengyun Wuji wasn't overly concerned. The Xuanming Scroll was only the second volume, which greatly diminished its power, and the content of the scroll was already memorized by him. Thus, he didn't care much about its loss.
However, Fengyun Wuji's indifference didn't mean others shared the same sentiment. Upon hearing the name "Xuanming Scroll," the man immediately regretted his words. Looking around, several figures slowly began to materialize, with dozens more coming toward Fengyun Wuji's group.
Suddenly, Fengyun Wuji felt an immense pressure. Under the scrutiny of so many people, with layers of oppressive auras, even with his newfound power, he felt overwhelmed.
"What are you trying to do?" Yuemou gripped the Xuanming Scroll tightly, shoving it into his robes. "I found this first, who dares to take it from me?"
Thud! Thud!
Two dull thuds sounded as an elderly man, with a pale, cold gaze and a green jade ring on his thumb, pushed his way through two others and stepped forward. "Yuemou, this is not something you can handle. Hand it over."
"Hmph, Yin-Yang Wanderer, are you planning to steal it from me?" Yuemou glared at the old man.
"What do you think?" Yin-Yang Wanderer raised a finger, a flicker of black light shimmering at the tip.
Yuemou's pupils contracted, staring intensely at the black light. "Yin-Yang Wanderer, if you dare to strike, we will be enemies for life."
"Threatening me?" Yin-Yang Wanderer's face darkened, his voice filled with hate. "With you? You dare challenge us?"
As soon as Yin-Yang Wanderer finished speaking, seven figures appeared behind him: tall, short, plump, and lean.
"Seven against one, what do you think? What makes you think you can bargain with me?"
"Is that so?" A calm voice drifted out, and everyone's expression changed. Who would have the audacity to speak so boldly at this moment? Even with the addition of seven邪道 (evil path) masters, no one would dare to provoke them easily.
Everyone turned to see where the voice came from. Fengyun Wuji recognized it immediately as coming from beneath. Looking down, he saw a handsome man around thirty years old, dressed in a flowing white robe with a snow-colored sword at his waist, walking calmly towards them.
Though he was alone, the presence of this man overwhelmed all others. It was as though he alone dominated the world, the sword in his hand the only thing that mattered. Even the dark clouds that perpetually hung in the sky seemed to turn pale.
As the man arrived, the once-impudent Yin-Yang Wanderer grew visibly uncomfortable. His internal energy surged, and his right hand gathered eight parts of his power, prepared to strike at any moment.
"Ximen, Ximen Yibei...!" someone exclaimed.
The man looked up, his white hair cascading down as his eyes, cold as ice, pierced through all. This was not an affectation—it was a chilling cold that ran to the marrow.
"Do you want to make a move against me?"