Chapter 59: The Beautiful, Strong, and Tragic Cannon Fodder Villain: My Father Is a King (12)

Could it really be that the charm of Sang Lanxin, the Abbess of Shuiyue Nunnery, was so great?

But that wasn't quite right. It was Sang Lanxin's martial aunt who was truly the unrivaled beauty of the mortal world, the fairy who once captivated the entire martial realm and so outshone the Demon Sect Saintess that she was left in the dust.

All the older generation’s masters of the martial world, almost without exception, had once been hopelessly infatuated with her. Even now, they could not let go of their memories.

Sadly, after accompanying the Saint Lord into seclusion, the Saint Lord finally saw through the illusions of love. The martial aunt attempted to eliminate the demon but was struck back instead, resulting in her tragic and untimely death.

While she was alive, she was the untouchable moonlight in everyone’s heart—her mere presence guaranteed victory in all things. Now that she was gone, her legend only gained an invincible aura.

The few white-bearded elder monks whom Qin Ye had sparred with at White Horse Temple, who usually remained in closed-door cultivation and were unknown even to the younger disciples of their schools, were precisely those who had suffered for love in the generation before last.

Unable to let go, and with their beloved gone, they entered closed meditation, hoping perhaps to break through to the legendary transcendent realm of martial arts and slay the Saint Lord to avenge her.

As for Qiu Lingsu’s relentless pursuit of Shuiyue Nunnery, the nunnery had nothing to say. The demon sect and the orthodox sects were mortal enemies—what else was there to explain?

In truth, Sang Lanxin’s years as abbess had been far from easy. There was a faction that seemed almost deranged in its obsession with fighting Shuiyue Nunnery to the bitter end.

Whatever Shuiyue Nunnery set out to accomplish, this faction would spare no effort to sabotage. Whatever Shuiyue Nunnery desired, they would snatch away—even if they didn't know what it was. They would seize it regardless.

Shuiyue Nunnery’s network was broad, but favors once used could not be reclaimed, and the nunnery never spent them lightly. Moreover, it is the sword of Damocles that has not yet fallen that truly deters rash action. Once the sword has fallen, it loses all its power to intimidate.

Ever since Sang Lanxin had become abbess, she ruled the nunnery in this perilous climate.

As Qiao Mingyue grew into adulthood, showing outstanding poise and beauty, Sang Lanxin, who since bringing her daughter back had always worn a veil and never revealed her true face, sent Qiao Mingyue out into the world as the nunnery’s representative, the contemporary envoy of Shuiyue Nunnery.

To keep that dangerous faction from turning its sights on Qiao Mingyue, Sang Lanxin spared no effort in her plans. Otherwise, with Qiu Lingsu’s reckless approach—harming herself a thousand times to injure her enemy eight hundred, so long as her foe suffered, it was a victory—she would certainly have targeted Qiao Mingyue next.

Qiao Mingyue’s martial skills were impressive, and out in the world, she was among the top experts of her generation. As long as she was not deliberately targeted by the old enemies of Shuiyue Nunnery, she would be quite safe.

After leaving the mountain, Qiao Mingyue quickly made a name for herself as the "Fairy of the Bright Moon," with countless young heroes trailing after her.

Even though Qiao Mingyue made it clear she was the envoy and successor of Shuiyue Nunnery and could not possibly return their affections, these young heroes still followed her without regret or complaint.

When news began to spread in the martial world of the emergence of the divine weapon known as the Death Reaper's Slash, and after she encountered Qin Bing and Xiao Jiang in Jade Tower City, forming a team with them to seek the murderer who wiped out the village, Qiao Mingyue also received intelligence from her sect about the divine weapon’s reappearance.

“Gentlemen, the Seven Divine Weapons have always chosen their own destined masters. Even when they surface, the seven great sects at most send some of their younger generation out to try their luck, to see if the weapons might recognize them as master. But among these weapons, three are particularly sinister. If a righteous person gains them, all is well. If a demon cultivator claims them, rivers of blood will flow across the martial world.

“These three are: first, the Devil Flute, which excels at ensnaring hearts and delights in turning close friends into bitter enemies. Historically, all infamous owners of the Devil Flute have been fiends who, in the name of testing human nature, toyed with hearts and created tragedies—husbands and wives at odds, brothers at each other’s throats.

“Second is the Death Reaper’s Slash, named for its insatiable bloodlust. Unless its master is of unyielding will and righteous heart, they will be incited by the blade to become a bloodthirsty demon who delights in slaughter.

“Third is the Blood Pagoda, which can take any form of common martial weapon. It is immensely powerful, suitable for facing any weapon or environment. Fortunately, its recognition conditions are extremely demanding—it only acknowledges a true master of arms, one who is proficient with a hundred different weapons.

“The master of the Blood Pagoda was the Saint Lord of the Demon Sect, who has been in seclusion for many years, perhaps even dead. The one now resurfacing is the Death Reaper’s Slash.”

Qiao Mingyue traveled widely. Wherever she went, more and more young heroes would join her entourage. Some left quietly along the way, but many more joined.

Qiao Mingyue tried to dissuade them multiple times, but the young heroes had grown clever; whenever asked, they would say righteously, “Eradicating evil and defending the righteous is our duty. We are here to uphold justice.” Qiao Mingyue could stop others from following her to win her favor, but she could not stop them from roaming the martial world in pursuit of justice.

Still, she now had a convenient retinue of young heroes, each backed by powerful factions. Anyone who dared follow Qiao Mingyue openly, making their intentions clear, either came from significant backgrounds or were prodigies in their own right. Those of ordinary means had already quit in dejection.

Qiao Mingyue always wore a veil when she went out—a distinguishing mark of the Shuiyue Nunnery envoy. But inevitably, some would catch a glimpse of her face through some twist of fate, and from that moment, they would devote themselves to her, trailing after her loyally.

This time was no different. Qiao Mingyue took the initiative to gather the young heroes, shared the intelligence she had received, and called on them to join forces to keep the Death Reaper’s Slash from falling into the hands of evil.

Her words stirred the crowd below.

“Indeed, such a sinister weapon must not fall into the hands of demons. We are all martial prodigies—surely one of us will be chosen as its master.”

“If one among us is recognized by the divine weapon, there is nothing to fear.”

“Exactly! We are all heirs to the great sects, not so easily swayed or corrupted.”

“There’s no time to lose, Fairy Mingyue. Let’s set out at once, before the Demon Sect’s lackeys get there first.”

The young heroes were filled with righteous indignation.

Qiao Mingyue raised her hand, and at once the impassioned crowd fell silent.

“Gentlemen, your noble spirit is a blessing to me. To know you is my good fortune.”

“To accompany the Fairy of the Bright Moon is surely our good fortune instead.”

Qiao Mingyue smiled faintly. A breeze lifted the corner of her veil, revealing for a fleeting moment the exquisite beauty beneath. Though it was only a glimpse, it was enough to leave the young heroes entranced, their gazes dazed.

“Well then, there’s no time to lose. Let us depart at once.”

“We’ll follow you, Fairy! If you say go east, I would never dare go west. If you say slay a dog, I’d never tease a chicken!”

Meanwhile, Qin Bing and his companions had already captured the murderer who slaughtered the village.

The killer stood before them. Bai Yu Jing lost control; the seemingly ordinary hatchet in his hand glowed with a sinister black light, suddenly compelling him to charge forward.

Qin Bing was shocked and rushed to intervene, only to be stopped by Xiao Jiang. “Idiot, can’t you see he’s not himself? If you rush in now, you’ll be seen as an enemy.”

Startled, Qin Bing looked closely and realized that Bai Yu Jing’s eyes were now pure black—unnervingly so.

Was this really his frail, helpless little brother?

All along their journey, whenever they encountered knockout drugs, smoke bombs, or fights, Bai Yu Jing was always the first to be affected. More than once, he’d been captured by the enemy and used as leverage against Qin Bing and Xiao Jiang, serving as the weak link that kept his companions in check.

But now, he seemed like a demonic overlord, storming into the fray, his attacks leaving blood and limbs flying, the scene growing ever more gruesome.

Qin Bing took several steps back, his expression one of utter distaste.

Since entering the martial world, Qin Xiaobing had discovered a minor flaw in himself—a certain aversion to filth.

Once every last member of the Star-Picking Tower’s stronghold, young and old, had been exterminated, the black light of the Death Reaper’s Slash reluctantly faded away.

The Devil Flute, hanging at Xiao Jiang’s waist disguised as a simple jade flute, sneered inwardly: Hmph, this little brat’s never been properly disciplined. The master should come and give him a good beating, so he knows who’s boss.

Both it and Tai’e had been thoroughly disciplined—why should the Death Reaper’s Slash get off scot-free?

The Devil Flute began to stir.

A faint smile hung on Xiao Jiang’s lips, but his eyes were icy cold. As the Devil Flute began to act up, his slender, elegant hand suddenly pressed down on it.

The Devil Flute immediately became docile.

That little demon—pah, the master’s precious child, his little master—how could it dare give orders? No, it could only behave.

Regaining his senses, Bai Yu Jing bent over and vomited violently, clutching a severed hand.

When he was finally done, Xiao Jiang commented coolly, “Do you like hands that much?”

Bai Yu Jing, still reeling from his first kill—especially one so brutal—didn’t understand, retching at the sight of so many severed limbs.

“What?”

“If you don’t, then why are you hugging a severed hand?”

A hand?

Bai Yu Jing looked down, recoiled as if shocked by electricity, flung it away, and bent over to vomit again.

In the story, before Bai Yu Jing could take his revenge, he faced wave after wave of assassins. The killers from Star-Picking Tower were everywhere, impossible to guard against.

The kindly old woman by the roadside, the innocent child with a rattle, the hurried mother and daughter holding hands—

There was nothing they couldn’t do, only things you couldn’t imagine.

Bai Yu Jing survived countless crises: a child kicked aside, who, when Bai Yu Jing tried to help, greeted him with a sinister grin and a knife thrust into his chest; a mother and daughter who, upon passing, suddenly pushed the child into his arms, only for the woman to launch her own assassination the moment he caught the child.