The white-haired youth wore black robes, his handsome face expressionless as he gazed coldly at Jiang Baishan:
"Fifth Senior Brother, it's been a long time."
The newcomer was none other than Qin Yun.
He had been hunting exotic beasts in the Hundred Thousand Mountains to obtain their inner cores when he received a message from Ghostmask, ordering him to capture Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua.
He knew.
This was the Demonic Sect's final test for him.
If he carried out the mission and killed Jiang Baishan with his own hands, it would signify his complete severance from the Zhenwu Sect. Perhaps there was still a chance to return to the Demonic Sect's inner circle—after all, neither Ghostmask nor the Grand Elder had completely given up on him yet.
But if he refused, it would prove he still held attachments to the Zhenwu Sect. In that case, Qin Yun would be doomed to a lifetime as a mere enforcer. As for leaving the Demonic Sect? That was impossible. The mark of their secret arts was branded upon him; even if he fled to the ends of the earth, they would find him.
So Qin Yun came.
Remembering the hardships he endured in the Hundred Thousand Mountains, recalling Lan Yiyi's confessions to him, he ultimately arrived.
Jiang Baishan stared at the white-haired youth before him, his gaze lingering on those weathered strands before settling on the familiar-yet-alien face. He smiled bitterly:
"Yes, it's been a long time. Counting the years, it's been five since you left the mountain, hasn't it, Little Eight?"
He tightened his grip on Lin Ruhua's hand, abandoning all thoughts of escape.
The faint ripples of Heavenly Energy around Qin Yun made his strength abundantly clear.
Heaven-Man Realm!
The two protective jade pendants Ning Qi had left them were already exhausted. Against a Heaven-Man Realm expert, they were nothing more than lambs awaiting slaughter.
Jiang Baishan was shocked. For Qin Yun to reach the Heaven-Man Realm at such a young age was inconceivable.
Yet inexplicably, his heart ached. Though he didn't know what price Qin Yun had paid, achieving this realm so young couldn't have come without sacrifice—the white hair alone spoke volumes.
When Qin Yun first left the mountain, Jiang Baishan had been the most furious among the disciples. He'd cursed Qin Yun as a traitor, even vowing to break his legs and drag him back to Zhenwu Mountain to kneel before their master in repentance.
But now...
Facing his long-lost junior brother, Jiang Baishan found his emotions far more complicated than he'd imagined.
A flicker of complexity flashed through Qin Yun's eyes before vanishing:
"Five years... I hadn't realized so much time had passed. How is Master's health?"
Jiang Baishan replied with biting sarcasm:
"As the exalted Demonic Sect's Holy Son with eyes and ears everywhere, surely you already know?"
Mention of Daoist Longshan stoked his anger anew. When Qin Yun left, the most devastated hadn't been his martial brothers—it was their master. It was akin to watching one's own child walk away forever, even making Daoist Longshan question his teaching methods.
Only the Sword Sage's deathbed entrustment later helped him gradually resolve those regrets.
Qin Yun fell silent, his heart aching.
At that moment—
Elder Ye, seated cross-legged in the distance while desperately expelling lingering sword intent from his wounds, grew incensed hearing them converse like old friends. He roared:
"Qin Yun! Have you forgotten your mission? Capture those adulterous dogs at once!"
Qin Yun merely glanced at him coolly:
"Elder Ye should focus on his injuries lest he become a cripple."
He'd arrived earlier, concealing his presence until witnessing the jade pendant's sword energy devastate Elder Ye. Even knowing of Heavenly Sword Elder's legendary exploits—having seen the peerless expert in action himself—experiencing it up close left him awestruck.
Elder Ye trembled with rage but devoted himself to recovery. As long as Qin Yun didn't let the pair escape, he could deal with them personally once slightly healed.
Qin Yun turned back to Jiang Baishan:
"How fares... the Zhenwu Sect?"
Jiang Baishan nearly spat 'none of your concern,' but seeing that familiar face, he only snorted:
"Quite well. Under Eldest Senior Brother's leadership, everything thrives. In ten, twenty years, the world will tremble at our name. Recently, the first, second, and third senior brothers each took disciples. Even Little Nine is doing fine."
Perhaps sensing death approaching, Jiang Baishan spoke more freely, sharing recent sect happenings—nothing confidential, just mundane matters about their brothers and Daoist Longshan.
Qin Yun grew quieter still. He turned away so they wouldn't see his reddening eyes, though a genuine smile surfaced hearing about Ye Qinghe's repeated attempts at brewing peach blossom wine.
Regret fermented in his chest.
Had he not made that fateful choice years ago, he would have been part of these stories—not just a listener now. He'd gladly trade all his cultivation to undo the past.
"Thank you, Fifth Senior Brother." Qin Yun's voice sounded calm, almost relieved.
Hearing these accounts from his brother carried warmth no intelligence report could match.
Jiang Baishan's nose tingled too. He inhaled deeply:
"Since you still call me senior brother, I won't beg for my life. Just promise me one thing."
"Speak."
"Ruhua is with child. She's from your Demonic Sect—her mother's your vice-leader. With your combined influence, you can protect them. As for me... take my head back for your merits."
Bitterly, he squeezed Lin Ruhua's hand to silence her protests.
After a long pause, Qin Yun said:
"Done."
Jiang Baishan exhaled in relief.
Gazing at Qin Yun's back, he murmured:
"Do it."
Countless memories flashed through his mind—their playful days on Zhenwu Mountain, their master teaching them martial arts together, the brothers teasing Qin Yun. Before Ning Qi arrived, Qin Yun had been the youngest, doted upon by all. These images crystallized into the white-haired figure before him now.
A soft sigh. Better to die by his junior brother's hand than a stranger's.
Jiang Baishan closed his eyes.
"Ruhua, we'll be husband and wife in our next life."
Tears stained Lin Ruhua's robes as she shook her head violently, her lovely face contorted.
"Think of our child. Raise him well."
With that—
Jiang Baishan strode forward to meet his end.
Then—
Elder Ye's sinister, mocking laughter erupted:
"He agreed, but I didn't!"
Dragging his mangled body through the air, the elder radiated malice. His hatred for the couple burned too intensely to let them die easily—he'd make Jiang Baishan suffer unimaginably, force him to watch his unborn child perish, see his beloved wife become another's plaything!
Jiang Baishan's heart clenched as he looked to Qin Yun.
The latter said softly:
"Elder Ye, as a personal favor—he was my senior brother, and Lady Lin is Vice-Leader Lin's daughter. Excessive cruelty benefits no one."
His cold stare bored into Elder Ye.
But the elder ignored him. Gravely injured—half his body and an arm severed—even if healed, he'd be a cripple. All thanks to Lin Ruhua and Jiang Baishan. He couldn't accept it.
"Move!" Elder Ye bellowed. "Who are you to ask favors of me?"
Consumed by rage, he wouldn't have hesitated to defer to Qin Yun as a prospective Holy Son. But now? A disgraced exile merited no courtesy.
Qin Yun's expression hardened:
"No quarter given?"
Elder Ye snarled:
"Out of my way!"
Qin Yun's face smoothed into calm:
"Very well."
He turned slowly—then moved with impossible speed. Dark energy flashed through his pupils as he appeared before Elder Ye in an instant.
"What are you—" The elder's words died as his eyes bulged in disbelief, looking down at—
Qin Yun's merciless gaze as his hand pierced the elder's chest, clutching a still-beating heart. A squeeze reduced it to bloody mist.
As Elder Ye's consciousness faded, Qin Yun's whisper reached him:
"No mercy? Then die."
A casual flick sent the corpse flying into the forest, where Heavenly Energy compressed it into crimson rain.
Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua stood frozen by the sudden turn.
"Little Eight, you—"
Jiang Baishan's stunned words were cut off by Qin Yun's wave.
"Go. Today, I never saw you."
Back turned, Qin Yun stared into the distance.
He'd never intended to trade his senior brother for merit. Having erred once, he wouldn't repeat that mistake. Strangely, killing Elder Ye lifted a weight off his chest, easing five years of pent-up anguish.
Jiang Baishan watched that retreating figure, moved beyond words.
"Little Eight... thank you."
Qin Yun simply waved again.
As Jiang Baishan hesitated, he added:
"Return to Zhenwu Mountain with me. Master... has missed you all these years. Did you know? Though he accepted two new disciples—tenth and eleventh in rank."
He left it unsaid.
But Qin Yun was already weeping.
He would always be his master's Little Eight.
"I can't go back. There's no path left." Qin Yun shook his head miserably.
Jiang Baishan pressed:
"It's not too late! Return sincerely, beg Master's forgiveness—he'll grant it! Having killed a Demonic Sect elder and failed your mission, they'll never take you back now."
Qin Yun only sighed.
His gaze fixed afar as Heavenly Energy gathered.
Puzzled by his sudden combat readiness, Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua gasped when a cold sigh echoed through the mountains:
"How touching. Qin Yun, you disappoint me."
A figure approached, hands clasped behind his back, robes billowing with oppressive might. Lin Ruhua paled at the signature ghost mask.
"Vice-Leader Ghostmask!"
This peer of her mother was no Elder Ye. Where they'd dared resist the elder, the vice-leader's presence crushed all hope.
Qin Yun sighed softly:
"I knew you wouldn't trust me alone. But I never imagined you'd come personally. Such honor."
He realized Ghostmask had likely witnessed everything, allowing him to eliminate a rival faction's elder.
A self-deprecating smile surfaced.
From the start, this had been a choice: pave his path with Jiang Baishan's bones, or trade his life for his brother's. Clearly, he'd chosen the latter.
"Fifth Senior Brother, RUN!"
Jiang Baishan's expression shifted wildly as Lin Ruhua tugged his sleeve. Words failed him—what use staying to fight? They'd only die pointlessly, becoming burdens against such an opponent.
His glare bored into Ghostmask, searing the image into memory.
If he survived this day, he vowed vengeance.
Without hesitation, he grabbed Lin Ruhua and fled into the woods, bellowing:
"LITTLE EIGHT! SURVIVE! RETURN TO ZHENWU MOUNTAIN!"
Qin Yun shuddered, then smiled—a grin widening into unrestrained laughter echoing through the peaks. His heart had never felt lighter.
Ghostmask watched the fleeing pair indifferently. They couldn't escape him anyway—let them savor false hope before he dealt with Qin Yun.
His focus remained on the young man as he demanded sternly:
"Was it worth it? Kill him, silence the dissenters, and you'd remain a prime Holy Son candidate—possibly ruling supreme one day."
Qin Yun mused:
"Perhaps as a friend once said: erring once is enough. Twice would be stupidity."
Ghostmask shook his head in disappointment:
"A fool indeed. My misjudgment. Do you truly think you can stop me? Once you're dead, they'll follow. Worst possible choice."
Qin Yun inhaled deeply:
"I can only try my utmost! I seek your guidance!"
They stood opposed, auras clashing so fiercely even the wind stilled.
Behind the bronze ghost mask, cold killing intent solidified—he now regarded Qin Yun as a dead man walking.
Suddenly—
Ghostmask struck.
A single finger pressed downward, condensing Heavenly Energy into a massive black sigil that descended like a crushing pillar.
Qin Yun didn't dodge.
He accepted it head-on.
Heavenly Energy coalesced into a shield around him as dark power surged across his body, enduring the blow directly.
"BOOM!"
The impact hurled Qin Yun through the forest, carving a horrific trench. Blood sprayed from his mouth, bones shattered—this single strike had nearly crippled him, and it wasn't even Ghostmask's full strength.
The vice-leader approached, voice icy:
"Why not evade?"
Qin Yun rose painfully, coughing up bone fragments and viscera:
"Since joining the Demonic Sect, I've owed you much. Without the Secret Art of Grieving White Hair you taught me, I'd have died in the Blood Demon Pool. Taking your finger repays that debt."
Ghostmask paused, eyes flickering.
"One last chance. Bring Jiang Baishan back, and I'll pretend none of this happened."
His appreciation for talent resurfaced. That finger strike—while not his strongest—hadn't been held back. Few Heaven-Man Realm experts could withstand it, yet Qin Yun remained standing.
Black robes fluttering, Qin Yun shook his head firmly:
"Vice-Leader, I seek your guidance!"
Dark energy erupted from his body—an unnamed secret technique he'd chanced upon years ago, one that birthed his inner demon. Embracing demonic cultivation deepened his mastery until, through tribulations in the Blood Demon Pool, he surpassed all predecessors in wielding it.
Now unleashed fully, even Ghostmask showed surprise.
But soon he dismissed it:
"Impressive, but insufficient."
Absolute power disparity rendered even exquisite techniques useless. His strength rivaled the Heaven-Man List's elite like Wenxin Sword—Qin Yun stood no chance.
Qin Yun knew this.
He laughed madly at the sky.
The dark energy intensified as terrifying power surged from his body. His white hair lost its luster, turning stark white as his skin wrinkled rapidly, limbs withering, eyes clouding over.
His laughter became a rasping screech:
"Vice-Leader! Years ago, I burned four hundred years of lifespan with the Secret Art of Grieving White Hair to reach Heaven-Man Realm. Today, I sacrifice another four hundred years—I beg your mercy!"
His power swelled explosively with the life force combustion, multiplying tenfold in moments.
Qin Yun moved.
Wreathed in demonic energy like an apocalyptic fiend, he attacked without restraint. As promised—having taken one strike to repay debts, this was now a fight to the death.
Ghostmask's shock turned to fury:
"Well! I underestimated you—hoist with my own petard."
For the first time, he regarded Qin Yun seriously.
"BOOM!!!"
Heavenly Energy collisions reverberated through Yanshan Mountains, reducing ancient trees to splinters as the earth trembled and beasts howled in terror.
Fleeing desperately, Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua stumbled as shockwaves nearly knocked them over. Glancing back, they glimpsed two figures clashing across the sky before plunging back into the mountains—each impact threatening to tear them apart from sheer aftershocks.
Jiang Baishan's nails dug into his palms:
"LITTLE EIGHT!"
He loathed his own weakness more than ever, craving power so he wouldn't need his junior brother's sacrifice.
Lin Ruhua's expression mixed gratitude and guilt:
"The Secret Art of Grieving White Hair... Eighth Junior Brother is burning his lifespan to fight evenly with Ghostmask."
Her first impression of Qin Yun had been unfavorable—her mother's attempted matchmaking when she already loved Jiang Baishan, compounded by his "traitor" status. Only later did she learn of his secret aid to the Zhenwu Sect. Now he was giving his life for them—a debt impossible to repay.
Jiang Baishan fought back tears. How he longed to turn back and fight together, but that would waste Qin Yun's sacrifice.
Lin Ruhua said coldly:
"If we survive, we'll destroy the Demonic Sect to avenge him."
Today's events were etched into her soul. Elder Ye's attitude suggested her mother's position had weakened—leaving her nothing left to lose.
Revenge.
This became their obsession.
But first—survive.
They ran without looking back, racing toward Leizhou City—the regional capital garrisoned by imperial troops and experts even Ghostmask wouldn't provoke. Their only hope.
Though the distance was great, they pressed on.
Flee!
Flee for their lives!
Time blurred as they exited Yanshan, passing several towns.
Jiang Baishan's mouth parched, his body bleeding freely. He dared not stop to treat wounds, swallowing pills hastily—injures healing only to reopen as his vitality slowly drained.
Lin Ruhua fared no better. Pregnancy compounded the toll of battle and flight, leaving her ghastly pale after the marathon escape.
Both neared their limits.
Lin Ruhua stumbled, nearly collapsing before Jiang Baishan caught her.
"Baishan... we won't make it." Her smile was bleak. Their condition was dire—while they'd covered distance, any Heaven-Man expert could easily catch up.
With death pursuing them, they knew Qin Yun couldn't hold Ghostmask forever.
Jiang Baishan shook his head fiercely, hoisting her onto his back:
"No! Leizhou City is close! We can't give up—can't waste Little Eight's sacrifice!"
He swallowed another Blood Ignition Pill, gambling with his life.
But as he stepped forward—
He froze.
A familiar figure appeared on the distant horizon—so unbelievable he blinked. Yet in that instant, the young Daoist descended from the sky before them.
Ning Qi surveyed the battered pair, fury warring with relief.
Good.
He'd arrived in time.