Chapter 101

Somewhere in a remote wilderness within Luoxian Sect...

“This can’t be right! According to the master's directions, the location should be around here. How did we get lost?!”

A burly man, face full of anxiety like he was constipated, stomped about the misty clearing. His name was Pang Hu.

“Not right? More like you remembered it wrong. Pang Hu, if your mistake ruins the master's plan, he’ll turn you into a puppet!” snapped the lanky man beside him, whose figure was so thin even a starving wolf would cry from pity. He was nicknamed Shou Hou.

“Quit nagging! Just break the formation already,” Pang Hu retorted. “You talk like the master wouldn’t punish you if things go south!”

They looked around. A heavy fog surrounded them—clearly, they were trapped in an illusion array.

These two were old disciples of Luoxian Sect.

Watching them, Han Luo frowned.

Due to the Luoxian Tournament, many senior disciples had returned to the mountain, and although most were thoroughly screened, a few still slipped through. What troubled him most was the way these two kept referring to someone as "Master"—not in a normal sense, but more like the creepy kind of devotion.

Even more suspicious, instead of watching the tournament, they were wandering around in this remote patch of land.

Han Luo quietly activated the bronze mirror artifact to control the array. He projected into the illusion what the two feared most.

Inside the formation, Pang Hu and Shou Hou were steadily working their way out, relying on their mid-stage Foundation Establishment strength. The illusion wasn’t very powerful—just a second-rank array. With time, they reached what appeared to be an exit.

“Finally! Who’s the madman that laid a formation in a place like this?” Pang Hu cursed.

“Forget it. Let’s just finish the master’s mission,” Shou Hou said and began to move forward.

Suddenly, a dark figure blocked their path.

Han Luo’s eyes went wide. His heart raced. A few drops of cold sweat slid down his back.

“That’s... Mo Jiu?!”

A black-robed figure—the very image of the demonic cultivator who had haunted his nightmares. Mo Jiu was supposed to be dead, slain by Master Yun Yangzi with a single strike. No way could a Nascent Soul cultivator fail to eliminate a Qi Condensation level demon.

What was going on?

To the two men, the figure before them looked as real as could be. They dropped to their knees immediately.

“Master! You’ve come in person!”

Of course, this was just an illusion crafted from their fears. But the trauma they’d experienced was so deep, they didn’t even question it.

“Hmph! Useless trash. What did I send you here to do?” Han Luo, disguised as Mo Jiu, berated them through the illusion, trying to extract information.

“Master, you told us to infiltrate Luoxian Sect during the tournament. Why ask us again?” Pang Hu asked, confused.

“Shut up!” Shou Hou kicked Pang Hu and quickly groveled. “Master, we were instructed to sneak into Luoxian Sect during the distraction of the tournament. Once all attention was diverted, we were to use ancient demonic blood to corrupt one of the Luoxian Twin Swords, then activate the ancient teleportation array to summon you. You would then wield the sword and massacre everyone at Luoxian Square.”

Han Luo’s heart pounded. He hadn't expected Mo Jiu to still be alive, let alone to be plotting something so sinister.

More shocking—there had been no sign of this scheme until now. If not for the defensive arrays he had laid down earlier, this disaster might have gone undetected.

“So why are you here now?” Shou Hou asked the illusion. “Didn’t you say you couldn’t come in person or risk detection by Yun Yangzi?”

Han Luo narrowed his eyes. If they began to doubt the illusion...

“Silence!” he snapped, causing a sudden gust of wind to howl around them. Shou Hou trembled and looked down.

“Disrespectful fool. You dare question me? Slap yourself.”

Without hesitation, Shou Hou started slapping himself.

“Pfft—” Pang Hu snorted.

“You too. Both of you—200 slaps. Each!”

Stunned, Pang Hu obeyed. A slap from Shou Hou came flying, followed by a return blow from Pang Hu. Back and forth, they pummeled each other until their faces were a swollen mess.

When it finally ended, Han Luo laid out his plan.

“Listen up. This is merely my projection. I’ve already scouted a safe path to Luoxian Peak and found someone to help you complete the mission.”

“Understood, Master,” they chorused.

Han Luo added a ridiculous contact code for good measure: “Your passphrase is: ‘Sweet Potato, Sweet Potato, I am Potato. Potato, Potato, I am Sweet Potato.’ Got it?”

The two hesitated, but agreed. It sounded absurd—not at all demonic—but then again, they were thieves trying to steal a divine treasure. A bit of absurdity was par for the course.

“Now go to the base of Luoxian Peak. I’ll have the contact meet you there.”

The illusion vanished.

As soon as Mo Jiu disappeared, Pang Hu frowned. “Hey... don’t you think the master seemed—”

“Shut it!” Shou Hou snapped. “You want to die? You know how temperamental the master is. Say the wrong thing, and next time it’ll be your skin getting peeled off.”

“Y-yeah. Right. I’ll shut up.”

The two disappeared into the shadows, heading for Luoxian Peak.

Back at Luoxian Square, Han Luo glanced at the time. Although Shen Xian’er’s match wasn’t first, he couldn’t guarantee how long he’d be away.

He pulled out a delivery talisman, stuffed her battle plan booklet inside, and sent it off to her before turning toward Luoxian Peak.

This time, he wasn’t alerting Master Yun Yangzi or the other elders.

The last time they hunted Mo Jiu, those old men screwed it up. This time, he’d handle it himself—and end Mo Jiu once and for all.