Chapter Seventy-Nine: White Gourd Mountain

Only the familiar voice could be heard, slithering out like a shadowy venomous snake, chilling and deadly.

“The one who wants your life.”

Su He instinctively dropped low, evading the lethal strike. He countered, forcing Lin Mao to retreat, and in a flash, his sword enveloped him, sending waves of sword energy reverberating throughout the Temple of the Divine Lady.

This temple, since its renovation, had been constructed from some unknown material. No matter how their energies clashed and swords collided, aside from the jarring din, the temple remained unscathed.

Only a haze of dust drifted down through the cracks.

Smoke and dust billowed, creating an alarming scene, yet the temple stood as unshakable as a mountain.

“Steward Zou, is that you?”

“Surprised, are you? Did you think that planting a restriction on me would make me too afraid to kill you?” Steward Zou sneered coldly, his figure ghostlike as he pressed in on Su He, striking out diagonally with a deadly intent.

Su He met Zou’s palm, and instantly, Zou staggered back, numbness shooting up his arm. Shocked, he exclaimed, “You?”

This astonishment sent Zou’s soul flying, almost forgetting how to regain composure.

How had Su He’s cultivation advanced so rapidly? In their last encounter, they were at least evenly matched, if not slightly in Zou’s favor.

Now, after this single exchange, Zou realized he was at a clear disadvantage.

“How I’ve fared need not trouble you. Since you’ve made your choice, I cannot let you leave.”

He raised his sword, each strike aimed to kill, pressing Zou so hard that he was left reeling and wounded repeatedly.

In this dire situation, Lin Mao slowed his own assault, clearly intending to let Su He rid him of his lingering worries.

Zou tried to clamp down on Su He’s sword with both hands, but the force radiating from it was overwhelming. He was flung back, sword and all, just managing to twist aside so that the blade grazed his neck and buried itself in the wall.

A metallic clang sent sparks flying as Zou vaulted, landing behind Lin Mao and rushing toward him. “Master, save me!”

Blood splattered with every staggering step.

His faltering gait and unsteady form softened something in Lin Mao at last.

A chink appeared in his defensive resolve.

As Zou collided with him, Lin Mao reached out to steady him. “How are you?”

Zou caught his breath before replying, gasping, “It’s... it’s nothing, thank you, Master.”

His words were light, but his heart was pounding with anxiety. He had seen the murderous intent in Lin Mao’s eyes.

But at this moment, he had no other choice...

Taking advantage of the contact, Lin Mao confirmed Zou’s injuries were indeed serious and relaxed. “Can you still hold on?”

“I await your command.”

“Good. Today, we take him down. Once we leave this place, come storm or shine, you, Zou Jiren, are my brother.”

“Yes, sir.”

At his words, Zou swiftly sealed his acupoints to staunch the bleeding, then, without another word, launched the next attack.

As the saying goes: never corner a desperate man, never chase a hungry tiger.

Push a man too far, and he becomes as ferocious as a starving beast. Even knowing death is inevitable, he’ll still fight tooth and nail for survival.

Even Su He became fully alert; as soon as Zou attacked, his palm strikes came thick and fast, a relentless downpour.

Meanwhile, Lin Mao finally joined the fray, channeling his energy into his sword, which flashed like a rainbow. He unleashed eighty percent of his power.

He was determined to keep Su He here.

Wherever his sword qi touched, phantoms materialized—each with blue faces, fangs, and gaping bloody jaws—filling the temple with a foul, chilling wind.

At the first whiff, Su He knew something was wrong. This sword qi was no ordinary force; he could not linger here.

His purpose for today already achieved, he quickly held his breath and sought an escape.

But Lin Mao and Zou anticipated his breakout attempt. They fought and retreated, blocking every exit.

Both knew that if they held out just a little longer, Su He—no matter how sturdy—would be whittled away by this sword qi.

Lin Mao’s sword technique was not without renown. It was the “Six Malignant Souls Devouring the Heart.” Once mastered, the sword conjured phantoms.

The higher the practitioner’s cultivation, the stronger the phantoms.

At a certain level, these spirits could bewilder the mind. Any wavering of heart, and the victim would be devoured, with no hope of escape.

Su He had not anticipated this and was already showing signs of exhaustion.

Lin Mao twirled his blade, flicking the flat of the sword so that it hummed like a dragon’s song. His brows relaxed as he smiled, “My little darling, soon you’ll have your fill.”

With that, seeing Su He ensnared by phantoms, he struck—a sword blow as swift as lightning.

A sickening sound as the sword pierced Su He’s heart.

Lin Mao’s eyes narrowed as he smiled, “Still not dead?”

He twisted the sword hilt in his palm. The blade spun, carving out a hole the size of a bowl.

The heart—the vital organ of man. Even an immortal could not regenerate a heart without a miraculous touch.

And Lin Mao was never one to leave his enemies alive.

Moments before, this man had been conversing with ease; now, only a pile of bones remained.

Suddenly, applause echoed through the desolate temple.

Lin Mao and Zou, certain Su He was dead, looked at each other in shock. As they glanced at the bones, the skeleton dissolved into curling blue smoke.

Before they could speak, Su He’s voice echoed through the hall: “Master Lin, your swordsmanship is unmatched. Until we meet again.”

Zou stamped his foot in fury. “Master, I’ll pursue him.”

“Wait.”

“Master?” Zou was puzzled. Why stop him now, of all times?

Lin Mao, now calm, withdrew his energy. The three-foot blade reverted to a trail of red silk.

He rapidly formed a series of seals with his fingers and uttered a soft command: “Open.”

In an instant, the red-silk chamber shimmered with a strange, seductive light.

He stepped forward just as the last drop of blood fell into a jade cup shaped like a lotus leaf.

Drip… drip… the sound struck the heart.

Lin Mao straightened his robe, bowed three times before the statue of the goddess, and said, “It’s too late. If you pursue him now, you’ll die for sure.

How could I bear to let you throw your life away?”

“If he escapes…” Would that not ruin everything?

“Don’t worry. With the goddess’s blessing, he’ll return.”

…

Su He dashed out through the moon gate. Finding no one around, he soared into the clouds, heading toward White Gourd Mountain.

The mountain rose high into the clouds, its cliffs sheer as a blade. From below, the base was as smooth as a mirror, and the waist of the mountain was shrouded in clouds.

At a glance, it resembled a white gourd, hence the name White Gourd Mountain.

At the base of the mountain was an invisible barrier; those of insufficient cultivation could not ascend.

Those who lived on the mountain were not the very elite, but none were weak. Yet, in the face of a true master, as with their leader, death came in an instant.

Upon reaching the mountainside, Su He sensed a hostile presence.

He clasped his hands behind his back and called into the woods, “Brother Heng, Bai Li Su He has come as agreed. I humbly request you show yourself.”

No sooner had he spoken than a rain of arrows flew toward him.

“Who wants to see you, murderer?” Several figures emerged from the woods as the words rang out.

All were expert archers; ten arrows at once were but a tickle to them.

Su He raised his hand and drew in the arrow rain, forming a great ball of swords. Before he could throw it away, the arrows exploded of their own accord.

Dust filled the air, coating Su He from head to toe.

“Achoo…”

“Ha ha ha!”

“Well? As sly as you are, you still fell into our hands!”

“Exactly. You want to see Brother Heng? You'll have to do so from the afterlife.”

“Achoo! Achoo!” Su He couldn’t help but sneeze several times in a row. He pinched some of the dust from his robe and sniffed it—pungent, with a hint of sweetness.

It seemed they meant only to teach him a lesson, to make a fool of him.

He brushed off the dust and cupped his hands. “If you gentlemen have no objections, I am happy to comply.

I trouble you, then, to lead the way.”

One of them, a fierce-looking man with a scar across his face, said, “At least you know when to give in. If you’d tried to block that just now, you’d already be on your way to the underworld.”

Su He had guessed the powder wasn’t simple, but hadn’t expected it to be so vicious. He was secretly relieved he’d held back.

“Thank you for your mercy.”

Scarface turned to lead the way, snapping, “Spare us your chatter. If you have anything to say, save it for when you meet Brother Heng.

Let me tell you, we may not be of great houses, but we’re not clay for others to mold.

Push us too far, and we’ll drag down three clans and seven sects with us if we must.”

Su He glanced at him warily, forcing a smile. “You’re right, brother. Might I ask your name?”

“Names are just labels. Call me Scar Three.”

He had the name because the scar running over his left eye was the result of three strokes, each hitting the same spot. Over time, everyone called him Scar Three.

His eye had been lost to the very first cut.

“So, Brother Scar, how much farther before I meet Brother Heng?”

“Soon. But let me warn you. When you see him, mind your words.

Brother Heng is honest and plainspoken. This time, he insisted on giving you a chance, shouldering a lot of pressure.

If you make things hard for him, we’ll kill you ourselves.”

“Thank you for the warning.” Su He expressed his gratitude, following closely in their footsteps.

From Scar Three’s words, Su He guessed that things within White Gourd Mountain were not harmonious.

“Hey, let me ask you, was this really not your doing?” Scar Three stopped abruptly and turned to ask.

He had spent years in the world of desire and had a decent eye for reading people. To him, Su He didn’t seem like the villain the rumors described.

After all, Xiao Fourth was known for loyalty and righteousness, always eager to help others. He’d made enemies, but his heart was just.

When Master Shu Xinglou was killed, it was Xiao Fourth who rallied the righteous to seek justice.

It was thanks to him that they’d found the real culprit so quickly; otherwise, who knows how many innocents might have died.

But judging from Su He’s words and actions, it seemed they might have misunderstood.

Su He looked him in the eye. “I am not one to fear death. Were I guilty, I would accept any punishment without protest.

But I cannot accept a crime I did not commit.

A true man would rather die standing than live in shame.

I may be unworthy, but I strive to follow the sages of old.”

Scar Three hesitated, then conferred with his companions. Su He, meanwhile, closed his ears to their discussion, maintaining the decorum of a gentleman.

But the argument grew heated, splitting into two camps—one suspicious, one still trusting Xiao Fourth.

No resolution was reached.

So they wasted no more time and led Su He into the mountain to meet Heng Ci.

“Brother Heng, here he is. What do you want to do with him?” With that, they pushed the dust-covered Su He before the others, provoking laughter and jeers.

Heng Ci rose and looked at Scar Three and the others. “What happened?”

They shrugged. “Nothing. We were shooting rabbits and accidentally hit him.”

“Is that so?” Heng Ci frowned. He had sent them to greet Su He, but clearly they had taken matters into their own hands.

Su He brushed off his sleeves. In an instant, his appearance was neat and spotless. He smiled, “Indeed, I arrived without announcing myself and ran into them by chance.

It was my own lack of skill; forgive me for the spectacle.”

He bowed in apology.

Heng Ci helped him to his seat at the end of the hall, whispering, “I had no choice today. Please don’t blame me.”

Then he returned to his place and called out, “Our guest is here as promised. Gentlemen, what do you propose we do?”

No sooner had he spoken than someone lunged forward, sword flashing toward Su He.

“Die!”