Chapter 35: He Who Insults My Junior Sister Shall Die

Elder Sun had truly gone to great lengths this time to finish off Wang Lin.

Surrounding Wang Lin were ten cultivators: three at the Nascent Soul stage and seven at the Golden Core stage. Even if Wang Lin were a Nascent Soul cultivator himself, he would likely have been unable to escape his fate today, let alone as a mere Golden Core practitioner.

Clutching his longsword, Wang Lin was not afraid of dying; his only concern was for Fang Zhiyi. Despite being completely encircled, his face remained devoid of panic. He spoke up, "Where is my Junior Sister?"

"You're quite the romantic, aren't you? Too bad your Junior Sister has likely already..." The Nascent Soul cultivator let out a lewd, grating laugh.

Zhang Hu sneered, "I'll tell you the truth: we were sent by Elder Sun. Your Junior Sister is unlikely to have fared any better than my sister."

Wang Lin stared fixedly at Zhang Hu, the fierce chill in his eyes making even Zhang Hu shudder. He knew Wang Lin was formidable, but with three Nascent Soul cultivators backing him today, what was there to fear? Though Wang Lin was only at the Golden Core stage, he was invincible below the Nascent Soul realm, and could trade life for life with those above it.

Anyone who disrespected his master deserved to die.

"Those who insult my Junior Sister—die!"

His gaze locked onto Zhang Hu and the Nascent Soul cultivator who had first spoken. Regardless of the others, these two had to die.

The crowd erupted in laughter. The Nascent Soul cultivator remarked, "Look at your own weight before you speak so boldly."

Wang Lin began to calculate a meticulous plan in his mind, searching for a way to slay the two men without leaving a trace. The three Nascent Soul cultivators exchanged glances and signaled the Golden Core cultivators behind them, who immediately tightened the encirclement. Wang Lin knew he had no opening yet. There were too many people; killing Zhang Hu would be one thing, but the Nascent Soul cultivator behind him made it too difficult to strike.

A flash of inspiration struck Wang Lin. He feigned defeat and retreated to one side. Seeing this, the Nascent Soul cultivator lowered his guard, grabbed his flute, and charged forward. Indeed, his magical treasure was a flute, yet he wielded it like a weapon. Just as the flute was about to strike down—

A strange, cyan longsword flew in and blocked the blow, instantly snapping the flute in two.

"My treasure!" the Nascent Soul cultivator shouted. "Who? Who goes there?"

The cyan sword flew toward a figure approaching in the distance. As they drew closer, one could see a woman in white robes as pristine as snow. The wind blew the white veil of her bamboo hat aside, revealing a breathtaking, peerless face. She arrived on the wind, her robes fluttering, surrounded by swirling mists that seemed reluctant to drift away from her. Sunlight filtered through the clouds onto her form, radiating an ethereal, fairy-like grace.

Everyone was stunned, though the impact was greatest on Wang Lin. But this was no time for daze; Wang Lin forced himself to look away from Fang Zhiyi and thrust his sword into the Nascent Soul cultivator's chest. Standing closest to Wang Lin, the man was an easy target. Wang Lin poured every ounce of his strength into the strike, and the Nascent Soul cultivator vanished into thin air, utterly destroyed.

Everything happened so suddenly that no one could react. Even the Nascent Soul cultivator himself disappeared from this world without a single cry. The crowd felt a chill run through them; what Wang Lin had said was true! All eyes turned to Zhang Hu. He had provoked that mad dog earlier; surely, he would meet the same end.

As Fang Zhiyi came to a stop before them, her white veil fell back into place, obscuring her face once more. The onlookers felt a pang of regret, but their priority was to eliminate Wang Lin. If they failed, Elder Sun would have them killed upon their return. They knew this well and dared not hesitate.

"I advise you not to interfere," another Nascent Soul cultivator said. "If we accidentally harm you, it will be difficult to answer to Elder Sun."

Fang Zhiyi did not deign to look at any of them. "Kill."

As the single word fell, the Qingming Sword sprang into action. Like a loyal servant, it lunged toward the crowd without the slightest hesitation. In an instant, blood splattered, and screams echoed incessantly.

Seeing both Nascent Soul cultivators fall before his eyes, Zhang Hu was shocked. "Who... who are you?"

Since he was going to die anyway, revealing her true identity mattered little. Fang Zhiyi spoke coldly, "Fang Zhiyi of the War God Temple."

Zhang Hu’s pupils dilated. Though the War God Temple was merely a sect within a third-tier cultivation nation, it was far from ordinary. It was most famous for the recent massacre at Tengjia City, where the entire population was slaughtered over three days and nights, turning the city into a river of blood. Rumor had it that the deed was done by the sole Spirit Severing stage cultivator of the War God Temple. After the tragedy, many Spirit Severing experts had visited the site, and even they were left aghast at the perpetrator's ruthless cruelty. It was this reputation that had made Fang Zhiyi famous within the Infinite Sect.

"You... you..." Zhang Hu looked from Fang Zhiyi back to Wang Lin, his shock absolute.

The Qingming Sword had already finished off everyone else, leaving only Zhang Hu alive. Seeing Fang Zhiyi speaking to him, the sword hovered nearby, waiting patiently. Its blade, still stained with fresh blood, looked terrifying.

Wang Lin gave him no more time. He flew over, sword in hand, and seeing that Fang Zhiyi did not stop him, he plunged his blade into Zhang Hu from behind.

"Those who malign my Master deserve to die."

Wang Lin’s expression was sharp, his eyes dark, flickering with a hidden, obsessive light. Zhang Hu vanished in an instant.

Fang Zhiyi said nothing of Wang Lin's actions, but the Qingming Sword nearby displayed intense dissatisfaction. Its razor-sharp edge pressed tightly against Wang Lin's neck, as if ready to strike without hesitation at the slightest provocation. Knowing the temperament and power of the Qingming Sword, Fang Zhiyi’s expression darkened, and she commanded coldly, "Qingming, stop!"

Hearing her command, the sword halted, but it emitted a low, mournful wail, clearly resentful of being restrained. Wang Lin, however, brushed off the proximity of the blade with an indifferent glance, turned to Fang Zhiyi, and said softly, "Master, I am fine. You need not worry."

*Qingming Sword: You vile green tea, all you green teas deserve to die.*

At those words, the sword seemed to reach the peak of its rage. If it could have taken human form, it would surely have been fuming with fire in its eyes and steam pouring from its seven orifices. Alas, it was only a sword; no matter how much fury it felt, it could not express it through a face.

Only then did Wang Lin ask with a tone of concern, "Master, are you alright?"