Chapter Thirty-Six: The Spiritless Evil Fruit Heals Grave Wounds

Later, for reasons unknown, within three months the God of War, Fanxian, and his younger brother managed to defeat the Nether Demon King atop Mount Xuandan, and the entire Demon Clan vanished overnight as if they had evaporated from the mortal world.

However, after this event, Fanxian and his brother Fansheng grew estranged, a knot forming between them that led to their parting ways and never contacting each other again.

As Xuanyuan pondered in silence, the handsome middle-aged man called out in a clear voice, “Since you have lost to me, will you now obediently come with me to Mount Xuandan?”

Mount Xuandan?

Xuanyuan’s expression darkened as he muttered to himself in curiosity, “Wasn’t that place sealed ten thousand years ago? Why would we go to such a barren wasteland?”

To heal your wounds.

The handsome man glanced at Xuanyuan’s disheveled appearance out of the corner of his eye and said with a wry smile, “The wounds you bear can only be completely healed by the Spiritless Evil Fruit from Mount Xuandan, and that fruit exists only there.”

“Who are you, truly?” Xuanyuan demanded. “Why injure me and then offer to save me? If you refuse to tell me the truth, I’d rather die here than go with you!”

“Do you truly wish to know?” The man sighed and, in a tone of resignation, replied, “Very well, since you are already my prisoner, even if you learn my name, you can do little with it.”

“My name is Zigui. Surely you have heard of me.”

“So you are truly the legendary God of Slaughter, the Nether Demon King Zigui?”

This time, Xuanyuan seemed mentally prepared and was not frightened by the name that once resounded throughout the world. Nevertheless, what puzzled him was why this so-called God of Slaughter, after ten thousand years, had reappeared in the Wildlands, stirring up hatred and violence everywhere. Could he be plotting to repeat the tragedy of the past?

At this realization, cold sweat broke out on Xuanyuan’s back, and his scalp tingled with dread.

“That’s right, I am Zigui, the God of Slaughter from ages past. Now that you know my identity, come with me.”

With these words, Zigui slowly extended his left hand and, with a gesture in the air, Xuanyuan the Sword Immortal’s body floated toward him like lifeless mud, utterly powerless to resist.

Of course, perhaps he had already given up resisting; after all, measured against the might of the Nether Demon King, even the founder of the Xuanyuan Sword Sect would be no match for a single move. Rather than seek death in vain, it would be better to cling to life—perhaps one day he could expose the true face of the Demon King before the gods and clear innocent Baimu’s name.

Yet it was pitiful that this once exalted Sword Immortal must now suffer such inhuman humiliation.

Once Zigui had drawn him over, he lightly tapped the ground with both feet, and his body shot skyward, swiftly flying toward the summit of Mang Mountain. In the blink of an eye, he vanished like a yellow crane into the distance.

Were it not for the broken branches, scattered leaves, and the bloodstains left in the peach grove, no one would believe that a fierce, inhuman battle had raged here moments before.

Meanwhile, after Baimu and Ling Yan left the peach grove at Dayong Market in indignation, they hurried toward Mount Fuyu, determined to master the Sword Art of the God of War, Fanxian, before the next full moon, so as to avoid suffering again from the wrath of the ancient dragon’s sword aura.

By dawn the next day, after traveling through the night, the pair arrived at Mengying Mountain, less than two hundred miles from Mount Fuyu.

According to the Baize Spirit Map, a delicious fruit called “Arlo Fruit” grew here—crisp and refreshing, it could invigorate the spirit and replenish energy, making it a superb choice both for quelling hunger and enhancing training.

After a brief discussion at the foot of the mountain, the two decided to climb up and gather some Arlo Fruit to stave off hunger and restore the energy expended in their recent battles.

However, as soon as they entered the mountain, the sounds of fighting reached their ears, punctuated by intermittent cries of pain and angry shouts—clearly a struggle was taking place.

“What’s going on?” Ling Yan asked warily, peering into the dense forest ahead.

“Could someone be in danger up there? Let’s hurry and see!” Baimu urged, taking off at a run. Ling Yan, seeing this, quickly followed suit.

The higher they climbed, the sparser the trees became, until at last they emerged into an open valley with a gurgling stream and several fruit trees. The earlier sounds of battle and pain had faded, but by the stream lay a tall man dressed in dark robes. From a distance, his face was obscured, but it was clear he was wounded—his clothes were stained with dried blood, soaking a large swath of his robe.

Worried for his safety, they did not hesitate, but in a flash crossed the stream to his side.

Looking closely, the tall man in black was none other than Wushang, the senior brother from the Sanctuary of the Ruins.

But now he lay with eyes closed, no breath detectable at his nostrils, his body utterly still—a visage of death if ever there was one.

“Why is it him?” Ling Yan crouched beside the body, frowning in puzzlement.

Baimu curiously reached out to feel for breath, then shook his head in resignation. “He’s dead. Judging by the bloodstains, he’s been dead for about a day.”

“It seems the Sword Immortal Xuanyuan was telling the truth—someone really did assassinate Wushang. And that person might well be you!” Ling Yan said, casting a meaningful look at Baimu.

“Hey, hey!” Baimu quickly protested, “You and I have been inseparable these past two days—when could I have come here to kill anyone?”

“Don’t speak such nonsense. If someone overheard, I’d have no way to clear my name!”

“Alright then!” Ling Yan gave Baimu a sidelong glance, covering her mouth to suppress a laugh. “You’re just too serious. If you could be a bit more easygoing, you might be more fun!”

“But judging by the scene, the one who killed Wushang was probably you—of course, I mean someone framing you for murder!”

“You mean someone disguised themselves as me and killed Wushang, and Xuanyuan and his disciple weren’t wrong to suspect me?”

“Exactly…”

“You villain, how dare you appear here! If I don’t tear you apart today, my name is not Xiu Ji!” Suddenly, a furious shout exploded behind them, and in a flash of white light, the burly figure of Xiu Ji appeared on the far side of the stream.