Chapter 128

“Come on, junior brother, I’m waiting for you,” said Chang Lin with a mocking smile.

Humiliating a Luoxian Sect disciple in front of everyone—he couldn’t have been more pleased.

Wang Xi took a deep breath and began crawling forward. The entire Luoxian Sect remained silent. There were no angry outbursts or shouts—only a heavy, suffocating silence.

In contrast, the Changshou Sect was raucous with jeers and howls, their disciples cheering loudly. Chang Lin stood like an actor on stage, cycling through dramatic expressions, savoring the opportunity to ridicule their enemies.

Suddenly, Wang Xi sprang to his feet. A cold gleam flashed in his hand as he thrust a dagger straight at Chang Lin’s head.

The move was so abrupt, so unexpected, that neither side had time to react. No one had imagined Wang Xi would attempt to assassinate Chang Lin.

But within a fraction of a second—smack!—Chang Lin caught Wang Xi’s wrist mid-strike.

“You really think I’m that stupid?” His smile vanished, replaced by a chilling glare.

Wang Xi's lips curled into a sly grin. The meek, foolish mask he had worn slipped away, revealing the cunning glint of a fox. “Aren’t you?”

Before Chang Lin could respond, pain twisted his face. He looked down—his abdomen had been pierced by a second dagger, buried deep into his dantian.

“My... my dantian!”

The agony overwhelmed him. His grip on Wang Xi loosened, and he collapsed to the ground, writhing in desperation.

“My dantian! Someone help me! Save me!” he cried like a drowning man, looking around for aid. But none of the Changshou Sect disciples moved. They only watched in cold silence.

“There’s no saving it,” said Wang Xi as he stood up, calmly dusting himself off. “I coated that dagger with poison. Your dantian’s been corrupted—completely destroyed. You’re no longer a cultivator.”

Rolling his wrist, he looked down at his former tormentor, brimming with confidence.

“You... you... catch him! Seize him!” Chang Lin ordered, but no one obeyed. With his cultivation crippled, he was nothing more than a mortal. Who would listen to him now?

A man stepped forward from the crowd. “Second senior brother.”

“Chang Qing! Grab him—quickly!” Chang Lin pleaded, recognizing his fourth junior brother.

But Chang Qing only smirked. “Even now, you think you're in charge? Wake up, second brother. I'm the one calling the shots now.”

His smile widened in satisfaction. Who would've thought fortune would come so suddenly?

Chang Lin stood frozen, devastated. Just moments ago, he had been flying high—now, he had crashed into the abyss. Only a few loyal subordinates carried him off to the side. After a perfunctory “Take care, Brother Lin,” they returned to the Changshou Sect formation.

Chang Qing stretched lazily. “Wang Xi, is it?”

He cracked his neck, producing a crisp pop. “I admire your guts, kid. But you injured my second senior brother—my dear, beloved second brother. You saw how close we were. So tell me—how should I take revenge?”

Compared to Chang Lin, Chang Qing seemed even more twisted, more dangerous.

“Xi, I’m coming!” Li Long shouted, about to charge in.

He had never doubted his brother. Wang Xi had proven him right.

But Wang Xi turned back and met his gaze. “Don’t come, Brother Long. Better one of us dies than both. If you can, visit the immortal realm for me. We’ll be brothers again in the next life.”

With a flick of his hand, Wang Xi summoned a Luoxian Sword. Facing the circle of Changshou Sect disciples surrounding him, he stood tall and unyielding.

“You little bastards, listen well! My name is Wang Xi, of Luoxian Sect. If the Yama King asks who sent you to the underworld, tell him—it was Grandpa Xi who did it!”

The outcome of the battle was a foregone conclusion.

But that didn’t matter.

To be able to shout those words—what more could a man ask for?

Atop Luoxian Peak, Han Luo sighed as he watched the scene unfold through his bronze treasure mirror.

He couldn’t help but admire the boy. Only flowers that bloom in the mud carry such beauty.

On the battlefield, Wang Xi charged like a madman, clashing with the Changshou Sect disciples.

Seeing this, the Luoxian Sect crowd could no longer hold back. They howled and rushed out of the forest barrier to aid Wang Xi.

So what if they died? Luoxian Sect disciples had never feared death.

“Xi, I’m here!” Li Long roared, charging in front.

“You bastard, didn’t I tell you not to come?” Wang Xi’s eyes glistened with tears. His body was covered in wounds, every step painful.

But in that moment, watching his fellow disciples rush to his side—it was all worth it.

Especially that petite figure throwing herself into the fray to rescue him—he felt fulfilled. He had no regrets.

Chang Qing, seeing this, darted forward and kicked Wang Xi down. Then he raised his blade high.

“To kill you in front of the people you love... now that’s satisfying.”

With a twisted grin, he swung the sword toward Wang Xi’s neck.

“No—!” Luoxian Sect disciples screamed in horror.

But it was too late.

BOOM!

A thunderous explosion erupted. Chang Qing’s location was blown to pieces. Those nearby were sent flying.

Cough... cough... “Who dares ruin my moment?” Chang Qing staggered to his feet, furious.

At the heart of the blast stood a familiar figure.

A giant pangolin, carrying Wang Xi—barely alive—on its back, darted through the chaos.

“That beast again! Catch it!” Chang Qing bellowed.

A silhouette shot out of the forest. This one had reached the mid-Foundation Establishment stage—far stronger than the rest. In seconds, he closed the gap and reached for the pangolin.

But just then, the creature came to a sudden halt.

It raised its hindquarters—and with a loud pffft!, unleashed a cloud of foul, nauseating gas.

The stench was overwhelming, covering the entire battlefield—including the Luoxian Sect.

“Fall back! Retreat!” Li Long shouted as he saw the pangolin carry Wang Xi past him.

Holding their noses and bearing the stench, Luoxian Sect disciples quickly retreated into the forest barrier.

As for the Changshou Sect? They weren’t so lucky. Their eyes teared up, mouths frothed, and many collapsed to the ground, twitching uncontrollably.

“Wind, now!” someone cried.

A violent gust swept across the battlefield, dispersing the gas. But the stench clung to their bodies like a curse.

Meanwhile, the Luoxian disciples, after channeling their sect’s cultivation method, were pleasantly surprised—the foul odor was easily cleansed from their bodies.

Atop Luoxian Peak, Han Luo doubled over in laughter.

It was the first time he’d used the poison gas bombs he’d invented—and the results were spectacular.

True, they weren’t lethal.

But cultivators had noses sharper than dogs. That stench would haunt the Changshou Sect for at least half a year.

Of course, those trained in the Luoxian Sect's arts could easily dispel it.

A little trick, nothing more.

In truth, he had only come to observe the scale of the battle and gather intelligence. Now that his goal was met, he activated a few puppets and, under the cover of the stench, quietly slipped away to begin Plan A.