In an instant, figures suddenly appeared both inside and outside Jiang Youyu's courtyard walls. Numerous red-clad individuals emerged within the walls, most wielding fire crossbows aimed at Mo Ziru. However, one among them held not a fire crossbow but a longbow.
An oil-soaked arrow was nocked on the longbow, yet it wasn't pointed at Mo Ziru but rather at a distant target.
Shui Duopo cast a glance at Mo Ziru before urging Liu Yan to jump down swiftly.
With a faint whistling sound, the flaming oil arrow streaked past, its blaze nearly blinding, heading straight for Liu Yan.
Yu Tuan'er let out a sharp cry. The oil arrow was three feet long, coated with an unknown flammable substance. As it cut through the air, the flames suddenly intensified, engulfing the entire arrow in a dark green inferno, its momentum overwhelming.
Yet, despite its fearsome appearance, midway through its flight, the dark green flames abruptly brightened, shooting high into the sky before vanishing just as suddenly.
Yu Tuan'er stood dumbfounded—Mo Ziru—Mo Ziru had sheathed his sword, the motion of his sleeve flicking backward—just that slight movement of his robe as he withdrew his blade had sent a gust of wind that caused the flames on the poisoned arrow to flare up prematurely, burning away all the oil.
Moreover, that same gust had also altered the arrow's trajectory, throwing it off course.
With a thud, the arrow embedded itself three inches deep into the entrance of the secret passage, now harmless. Shui Duopo paid it no mind, tossing Liu Yan into the passage before doing the same to Yu Tuan'er.
Before leaping down himself, he paused briefly and said, "Mo Chunfeng, cherish your life."
Mo Ziru's face was adorned with three streaks of a clerk's beard, making him look utterly ridiculous, yet he smiled faintly, his expression calm and his posture upright.
The archer slowly adjusted his aim, the arrow now pointing at the space between Mo Ziru's eyebrows. "Mo Chunfeng, long time no see."
Mo Ziru's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Tang Wujun."
The venomous flames danced on the archer's arrow, casting shifting hues of green and purple on the red-clad man's face. This man was a renowned poison master from Jiangnan over twenty years ago. Mo Ziru—Mo Chunfeng—had roamed Jiangnan in his youth and crossed paths with him. Back then, he had mocked the man's sleeve-concealed poisoned arrows as petty. If he prided himself on his poison arrows, why not train with a longbow and large arrows? "I'll shoot openly, letting you see the poison on my arrow, yet no one in the world could dodge it—wouldn't that be true grandeur?"
Who would have thought that an offhand remark from back then... Now, Tang Wujun stood before him, nocking a poisoned arrow aimed at Mo Chunfeng—over twenty years of trials and tribulations in the martial world, times had changed, and this was how old acquaintances reunited.
The masked man removed his disguise and tossed it aside. Mo Ziru lowered his lashes and sighed softly. "It's you."
The man's face was as fair as jade, save for a sword scar running across the bridge of his nose, turning what might have been a handsome middle-aged visage into something monstrous. He chuckled. "Yes, it's me. Couldn't recognize me with the mask on?" He pointed at his nose. "You gave me four nostrils, Mo Chunfeng—true to your word. For twenty years, I've lived with your 'kindness,' using it to develop a new internal martial art."
Mo Ziru replied, "Song Xiaoyu, you were troubled in your youth, and now you've grown even madder with age. Instead of finding a good doctor to fix your four nostrils, you've turned it into some internal martial art—what, the Divine Pig Snout Technique?"
Both Tang Wujun and Song Xiaoyu were acquaintances from Mo Chunfeng's youth—one a friend, the other a foe. Seeing that even after twenty years, he remained as insufferably arrogant as ever, their eyes burned with fury.The sound of horse hooves outside the courtyard grew incessant, as more and more people surrounded Jiang Youyu's small yard.
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