Suddenly, from not far away came the hoarse, mournful sound of an erhu.
Zhao An's heart jolted. The moment he heard it, he knew Master Mo Da had arrived. Mo Da's martial skill was only a fraction weaker than Yue Buqun's—certainly not someone to take lightly. In his current state of exhaustion, Zhao An could not afford carelessness. He forced himself into full alert, every nerve taut.
Yet after waiting for some time, there was no movement.
Zhao An finally called out, "Since Master Mo Da is here, why not show yourself?"
Silence lingered for several breaths. Then came a weary, gravelly sigh:
"Young hero, your swordsmanship is extraordinary. Fei Bin killed my junior brother's entire family—he deserved death. But why did you not end him with a single strike? Why shatter him into pieces?"
Zhao An glanced around. The courtyard was a scene of horror—Fei Bin's dismembered corpse scattered across the ground, blood and viscera piled in a ghastly mess.
Even Zhao An himself felt a chill of revulsion.
His original intention had been simple: to complete the full sequence of the Bixie Sword Technique, finishing Fei Bin with the final strike. But in that instant his inner energy had surged violently, and in his shock he had unconsciously driven it to the extreme.
The result—one sword had reduced Fei Bin to minced flesh.
Mo Da was a peculiar man, his temperament strange, and his skill far surpassed Fei Bin's.
Now, with ninety percent of his inner strength spent on that last blow, Zhao An knew that if a fight broke out between them, the outcome would be unpredictable.
He bowed slightly and said, "What you say is true, Senior. It was never my intention to torment him. My swordsmanship broke through in that moment, my spirit was unsettled, and my strike went beyond measure. Please do not take offense."
Mo Da was silent for a long time before speaking again. "Our Five Mountain Sword Alliance is bound together as one. But today, the Songshan Sect has gone too far. Fei Bin was treacherous and domineering—his death was deserved. Still, though he perished near Hengshan's territory, I, as head of Hengshan, know nothing of it, nor do I know by whose hand he died."
At those words, Zhao An's mind turned. He immediately understood: Mo Da means he will not speak of Fei Bin's death, will pretend ignorance—yet he refuses to appear weak, so he phrases it as if he truly does not know.
Zhao An smiled faintly. "A petty villain like Fei Bin is no loss. A man of your caliber, Master Mo, could learn the truth easily if you wished, but choosing not to know is all the better. His life or death is nothing but a distraction."
Mo Da said no more. The sorrowful strains of the erhu rose once again, slowly fading into the distance.
Only then did Zhao An breathe a sigh of relief. After a short rest, he gathered dry wood and burned Fei Bin's remains to ash. Such a gruesome killing was best erased from sight and memory.
When the flames died down, Zhao An returned to the courtyard and instructed Liu Qin and Qu Feiyan to collect the bodies. Naturally, the task ended in weeping and grief, their emotions spilling out of control.
Zhao An coaxed, reasoned, and even scolded before finally calming their urge to rush to Songshan for revenge.