His heart was consumed by an unspeakable terror, an ineffable sorrow.
Zhan Zhao’s sword, Zhan Lu, hovered at Mo Dao’s throat.
—Why wasn’t he dead?
—Why hadn’t Zhan Zhao plunged the blade into him?
Mo Dao’s triangular eyes darted nervously. The normally reticent Daoist, who had spoken more words earlier than anyone could recall, now remained completely silent.
The icy sharpness of the Zhan Lu Sword seemed to seep into his entire being, even stiffening his neck.
His face looked like that of a corpse.
—Though his body remained alive, was his spirit already dead?
Zhong Xiong finally exhaled a long breath and said, “What an extraordinary move, ‘Blood-Twin Flight, Soaring Phoenix.’ But for the sake of saving a single child... I cannot help but feel it wasn’t worth it.”
His expression carried an unexpected trace of loneliness and sorrow.
── He was now free to move; he was no longer restrained by Zhan Lu, and the Crane Soaring to Heaven technique had finally run its course. Yet why did he feel such loneliness and pain?
Behind him, one of the Iron-Blood Guards could no longer hold back and asked, “Master, Daoist Mo has already fallen into his hands. Why don’t you give the order for us to advance and rescue him?”
Zhong Xiong shook his head lightly, his tone indifferent as he replied, “Because Daoist Mo doesn’t need me to save him.”
The guard protested, “But why not? That man, surnamed Zhan, has clearly exhausted the Crane Soaring to Heaven technique. If not for his sword keeping Daoist Mo’s vital points in check──”
Zhong Xiong interrupted, “Because I’m waiting. Daoist Mo is waiting, too.”
“Waiting for what?”
Zhong Xiong enunciated each word slowly: “High noon.”
“High noon?”
Zhong Xiong’s gaze fixed on Zhan Lu, and he repeated deliberately, “Yes. I know it, you know it, and isn’t that right?”
Beside Daoist Mo, Zhan Lu remained silent, not saying a word.
Finally, Zhong Xiong nodded slowly.
── “Impressive. Truly impressive! Even now, you can still smile.”
Only then did Daoist Mo realize that the man beside him was indeed smiling.
Zhong Xiong raised his head to glance at the sun, clasping his hands behind his back as he began to count down slowly:
“Ten, nine, eight, seven──”
When he reached “three,” Daoist Mo felt the long sword pressing against his throat tremble. It tilted slightly and slipped away from his vital point.
In a flash, he twisted and darted aside, breaking free from the control of the person beside him.
As the wind blew past, he realized his back was soaked in sweat. His breathing became labored, almost suffocating.
── Even he didn’t understand. He knew well that this had been Zhan Lu’s final move, so why had he been too afraid to act? Why had he felt compelled to wait for the "A Familiar Bond" poison in Zhan Lu's system to take effect?
── How could someone like him, a high-ranking elder of the Shura Sect, succumb to the overwhelming aura of the man before him, to the point where he dared not move a muscle?
Zhong Xiong’s gaze softened with a hint of pity as he addressed Zhan Lu:
“You sacrificed the final move of your Crane Soaring to Heaven to save that child, forfeiting your last chance to fight. Now, how do you plan to escape? Did you ever stop to think if it was worth it? And will you regret it in the future?”
── Similar words had once been spoken by Zhan Lu himself.
In the barn, when he had subdued him, he had asked this same question.
At that time, he dared not answer.
── Did he already know that if he answered, he would surely regret it?
── Did he carry too heavy a burden in his heart, too many doubts, too lofty ambitions?
── Did he know even then that all his actions lacked true righteousness, a reason compelling enough to win others’ hearts?
Exuding a faint smile, Zhan Lu replied, “Since I’ve executed this move, it has always been worth it. Since I’ve executed this move, I will never regret it.”
His words, however, were left unfinished.
A surge of internal energy, swift as lightning, abruptly rose within him.
The midday sun suddenly seemed like the blinding eye of a demonic overlord.
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