Chapter Seventy-Seven: Battling for Life on the Precipice

“I had originally intended to seize that ancient sword in your hand as well, the one that cuts through all things without resistance. Unfortunately, the sword seems to possess a spirit of its own; the moment my fingers barely brushed its blade, a surge of sword energy erupted, striking at me. Left with no other choice, I had to abandon the idea of taking the sword for now.”

“Then why didn’t you kill us last night and be rid of future troubles?” Ling Yan pressed on rationally, her eyes darting about, clearly searching for a chance to escape.

“Kill you?”

“No, no, that would not do!”

The Old Ancestor Huihe fixed his sinister gaze on the two, enunciating every word, “With your bodies half-crippled as they are, it would take me no more than a flick of a finger to end your lives! But I am not one for losing bargains. If I were to kill you so early, how would I ever obtain the ancient sword in Bai Mu’s hand? And then…”

At this, his eyes swept Ling Yan’s delicate, crystalline form, and he let out a strange laugh. “And that flute you carry is also a rare treasure from the wild lands. Even I, the Old Ancestor Huihe, would like to have a taste of it.”

“Hmph.”

Ling Yan sneered coldly and said in a low voice, “You’ll never lay your hands on my Jade Cold Flute. Even if I die and descend to the underworld, I would never let a demon like you profit from it!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. What a fierce and unyielding young maiden you are! So young, yet so accomplished in your cultivation—and such a fiery temper as well! Were we not enemies, perhaps we could have become friends despite our age difference. What a pity…”

“Enough with the nonsense.”

Bai Mu interrupted impatiently, “Huihe, since we’ve fallen into your hands today, I have nothing more to say. If you have any sense, return the Spirit Beast Scroll to us so that we can go our separate ways and never meet again.”

“If you still covet my ancient sword and Ling Yan’s flute, you’d best forget it. Don’t waste your time dreaming!”

“Are you certain that flute is hers?”

Huihe scoffed in reply, “Don’t take me for a fool, Bai Mu. The flute in the young girl’s hand is the very weapon that belonged to Princess Xuan Qiu of the Demon Clan, who once defeated the strongest of all realms when she first entered the wild lands! Afterward, for some unknown reason, it vanished from the wilderness!”

“Well, young lady, am I wrong?”

With a deep, predatory gaze, Huihe scrutinized Ling Yan, while a suspicion bubbled up in his heart. Why had Princess Xuan Qiu’s personal weapon ended up with this young woman? And for one so young to possess such extraordinary cultivation and an innate nobility in her every movement—her origins must be far from ordinary.

Among the demons of the Cangwu Abyss, there had once been rumors that Princess Xuan Qiu had secretly borne a daughter with one of the gods. Could this young woman be the very same daughter?

With this thought, a chill ran through Huihe’s heart, and he immediately resolved to spare the girl’s life for now. If he were to kill her by mistake, he would never be able to answer to Xuan Qiu in the future.

But in this moment, both Ling Yan and Bai Mu were busy with their own calculations. Proud as they were, how could they resign themselves to death?

While talking with Huihe, Bai Mu had already gathered the last of his spiritual energy in his palms, waiting for Huihe to draw closer so that he could deliver a fatal blow. If fortune favored them, perhaps they could escape with their lives; if not, at least they would make Huihe the demon pay dearly before dying—a satisfaction in itself.

“Why so silent?” Huihe asked softly, his expression composed. “Have I left you speechless?”

“Indeed!” Ling Yan raised her brows, forcing herself to speak sternly, “The Jade Cold Flute was indeed once Xuan Qiu’s. If I ever have the chance to meet her in person, I shall return it myself. There’s no need for an outsider like you to meddle!”

Outsider?

Upon hearing these words from Ling Yan’s lips, Huihe’s conviction only deepened: this young woman must be Princess Xuan Qiu’s daughter. If so, he dared not treat her with the same disregard as before. Should she someday run to Cangwu Abyss and complain to Xuan Qiu, he would be in real trouble.

“Hey, Huihe, how about we strike a deal?” Bai Mu called out bravely.

“A deal? What sort of deal?”

“It’s simple,” Bai Mu said, gritting his teeth as he struggled to lift the Canglong Sword. With a faint smile, he continued, “Let us go, and the ancient sword will be yours. What do you say?”

“Is that so?” Huihe’s eyes glinted with suspicion, remembering the loss he had suffered atop Mang Mountain and how little he trusted Bai Mu’s cunning. Yet, seeing Bai Mu’s blood-soaked body, his guard unconsciously slipped a little.

“A gentleman’s word is his bond—once spoken, it cannot be taken back! As long as you promise to let us go safely, the sword is yours!”

With those words, Bai Mu painfully raised the sword before him, signaling Huihe to come and claim it.

Blinded by greed, Huihe never suspected that the half-crippled Bai Mu would dare play tricks. Seeing the sword offered, he hurried over, reaching eagerly for the Canglong Sword.

But as his fingers were about to touch the blade, Bai Mu’s smiling eyes turned suddenly cold. Like a phantom, his other hand shot forward with all the strength he could muster, striking at Huihe’s abdomen.

The attack was lightning-quick, driven by the fury and desperation of a dying man, its force far exceeding what he could usually muster.

Lost in his triumph, Huihe never saw it coming. By the time he realized Bai Mu’s intent, it was far too late to dodge. Desperately, he twisted his body sideways, avoiding a mortal wound by just half a step.

Bang!

Agh!

Pfft!

Three sounds rang out almost simultaneously.

The first was the deafening crash as Bai Mu’s palm struck Huihe’s body—its force earth-shattering, fueled by the ruthlessness of the attack. The second, Huihe’s muffled cry as he was sent flying by the blow. And the last, a soft “pfft,” was the sound of blood spraying from Bai Mu’s lips as his old wounds reopened.

Ling Yan had no time to worry about Bai Mu’s injuries. As Huihe was sent flying, she hurriedly summoned the last remnants of her true spirit, transforming herself into a blur that sped after Huihe’s retreating form.