Chapter Forty-Four: What a Desolate, Fierce Smile

The plaza was enveloped in a dead silence as Mohe slowly rose to his feet. Ran Hua’s gaze sharpened, perhaps startled by the overwhelming murderous aura emanating from the man before him. His fingers instinctively pressed together, ready to form a spell at any moment. The playful expression he wore shifted into one of gravity.

Mohe’s eyes narrowed, and a sudden surge of spell energy danced in his hand. In an instant, four black whirlwinds erupted and surged straight toward Ran Hua.

A barely perceptible smile flickered across Ran Hua’s eyes—so faint that if Su Fan hadn’t been watching him closely, it would have gone unnoticed.

A sense of foreboding welled up in Su Fan’s chest, though he could not discern its source. As he pondered, Ran Hua vanished from where he stood. The four black whirlwinds collided only with the high platform where Ran Hua had been sitting cross-legged.

The platform crumbled to dust, the whirlwinds crashed into the colossal cauldron with a dull boom, and then dissipated. The giant cauldron remained standing, unscathed.

By now, Ran Hua had already appeared behind Mohe, swiftly shifting his hand to cast another spell. The massive cauldron on the ground began to rise slowly.

Anger blazed in Mohe’s eyes. He flung out a jade fan, summoning a sphere of orange-yellow light.

The jade fan struck the cauldron, producing a series of crisp notes. Under the tremendous pressure of the attack, Ran Hua did not retreat but instead pressed forward toward Mohe with unyielding force.

Su Fan’s heart tightened, marveling at the strange fluctuation of Ran Hua’s cultivation. At this moment, he was already able to match Mohe evenly.

The ominous feeling in Su Fan’s heart only intensified. He was about to step forward to assist Mohe when a sudden cacophony of battle caught his attention. Frowning, he glanced at the two combatants and darted toward the source of the noise.

Within moments, he reached a flight of steps halfway up the mountain, where a dense black mist billowed, obscuring everything within.

Su Fan gave a low shout, quickly forming a spell in his hand. A pale blue sphere of water soared into the black fog.

The water sphere burst, transforming into countless droplets, and the black mist gradually thinned away.

Inside lay numerous corpses, strewn about haphazardly. Each was clad in black, their garments bearing the insignia of the Azure Origin Pavilion.

With a wave of his sleeve, Su Fan collected the corpses into his storage pouch. These men were all members of the Azure Origin Pavilion; Su Fan could not bear to let them lie exposed and forgotten.

All of them had been skilled fighters of the Pavilion, having followed Mo Hanfeng to carve out a domain in Luo City. Not even in the battle of Cold Mountain Valley had Mo Hanfeng been willing to risk them, yet now they had all perished here, with no clue as to who the killer was.

Su Fan walked up the steps toward the plaza, his mind swirling with the changes that had taken place.

At some point, a light rain began to fall from the sky. In the plaza, Mohe and Ran Hua were still locked in combat, though Ran Hua seemed to be toying with Mohe—dodging, but never attacking.

Suddenly, Su Fan recalled the state of the Azure Origin Pavilion in Luo City, which was now defenseless. Although Mo Hanfeng’s cultivation was formidable, if the Ran Sect took this opportunity to strike back, the Pavilion would surely fall.

Though the Ran Sect had already scattered, Su Fan could not shake the sense that a mysterious force was orchestrating the events behind the scenes.

Mohe, too, seemed to have realized this. Distracted, he shouted, “Su Fan, hurry back to the Azure Origin Pavilion! Look after my father for me—he’s getting old...”

His words were cut short as Ran Hua hurled the cauldron at him. Caught off guard, Mohe was struck and sent flying several meters before crashing to the ground, spitting a mouthful of blood that mingled with the rain, fading away.

Mohe sighed, trying to rise but unable to do so. Instead, he began to crawl toward the corpse of the woman, now cold as ice.

Ran Hua’s eyes were chilling as he mocked, “Isn’t it a bit late for you to realize that now?”

As he spoke, he raised the cauldron to smash Mohe. The cauldron was a fine magical treasure—if it struck Mohe, he would surely die.

Su Fan called out urgently, “Wait!”

Before Ran Hua could respond, Su Fan drew the Violet Moon Blade and charged forward. He knew his current cultivation was no match for Ran Hua, so he could only attempt to seize the initiative.

Ran Hua had not expected Su Fan’s intervention. Before he could react, the Violet Moon Blade struck him.

A blinding flash of violet light split Ran Hua in two, yet he instantly reformed, unscathed.

Ran Hua sneered, “You’re courting death.”

He then controlled the cauldron to hurtle toward Su Fan, its oppressive force leaving Su Fan no time to dodge.

Su Fan slapped his storage pouch and drew out a golden crossbow, quickly channeling spiritual energy into it. A red arrow appeared.

He loosed the arrow, which transformed into a fiery red phoenix and soared at the cauldron.

Ran Hua showed no sign of recognizing the Phoenix Feather Crossbow—a fact that struck Su Fan as odd, though this was not the time to dwell on it.

With a thunderous crash, the fire phoenix dissipated, and cracks began to appear on the cauldron, which hovered in midair.

Gritting his teeth, Su Fan threw a fierce punch. The blow shattered the cauldron, which collapsed into dust and melted into the rain.

Ran Hua was stunned by Su Fan’s strength. After a long moment, he roared, forming a series of spell sigils and sending arrays flying at Su Fan.

Su Fan had already expended much of his spiritual power in the previous confrontation. As the arrays closed in, he could only watch himself become trapped.

Ran Hua raised his palm to strike Su Fan’s crown. Bound and unable to move, Su Fan could only await his fate.

This was no secret technique—just a simple, raw blow. If it landed, Su Fan’s life would be snuffed out. Still, he remained calm as Ran Hua’s palm descended.

But Ran Hua’s hand halted in midair, unable to advance further. He was blocked by a swirl of gray mist.

The mist coiled in the shape of a dragon. Ran Hua tried to retreat, but could not move. Su Fan’s divine sense stirred.

The gray dragon opened its massive maw and swallowed Ran Hua whole, without a trace of resistance. Ran Hua vanished.

With a single sweep of his sleeve, Su Fan dispelled all the arrays. He had already suspected that Ran Hua was merely a remnant soul. So he had feigned entrapment to lure Ran Hua into range, then summoned the gray dragon to devour the soul.

Now his suspicions were confirmed. Even so, the strength of a single remnant soul left Su Fan unwilling to imagine what might lie ahead.

Sweeping his sleeve once more, Su Fan gathered up the two figures on the ground and sped toward the Azure Origin Pavilion. He now had an inkling—whatever great hand was behind these events, its next target would surely be the Pavilion itself.

The wide, boundless plaza remained shrouded in rain. Within its confines, a faintly glowing object could be seen. Closer inspection would reveal it was the Star of the Sea, a gift from Su Fan to Mohe.

After a while, the Star of the Sea slowly split open, like an egg, its shell cracking to reveal what lay within. But it was not a chick, and this was no ordinary egg.

It was the Star of the Sea, and within was an even more exquisite piece of jade, shaped like a teardrop. It resembled the gemstone Suo Rongcheng had kept in his storage pouch, yet this stone was etched with strangely arcane runes.

Night deepened. The teardrop continued to glisten. Suddenly, a soft sigh sounded—gentle, yet so conspicuous in the empty plaza.

A gray-clad figure appeared from nowhere. With a flick of his finger, the teardrop rose into his hand. He sighed again and vanished.

Su Fan had already arrived in Luo City. Without daring to pause, he rushed straight to the Azure Origin Pavilion. For a hundred miles around, there was only silence and death. He did not need to check—something terrible had happened.

The stench of blood was unmistakable, no matter how faint. Scattered bodies still lay in the streets, all clad in the Pavilion’s attire.

Su Fan all but flew into the Pavilion. Its elegant courtyard was tranquil, the red decorations still in place, even joyous lanterns hanging high as if untouched.

He let out a long breath, relieved to have arrived in time, but still wary of possible ambushes. He set the two figures down in the courtyard and spread out his divine sense to investigate, but found nothing amiss.

At some point, Mohe had awakened. Though gravely injured, Su Fan had already given him some restorative pills. With his level of cultivation, Su Fan was not concerned for his safety—his real worry was whether Mohe could withstand the loss of his bride-to-be.

Su Fan sighed, saying, “Only this place remains peaceful, but I cannot find Elder Mo.”

Mohe suddenly laughed—a laugh as desolate as any Su Fan had ever heard. In truth, months earlier, Su Fan’s own face had reflected an even deeper sorrow.

Perhaps people are always quick to notice others’ pain, yet never dare to speak of their own heartache, not even in a word or a painting.

Mo Hanfeng was now staring at a painting. In it was a woman—not beautiful, but with a gentle, virtuous air. Mo Hanfeng stroked the painting, as though he could truly touch the person within.

Su Fan and Mohe stood at the door; it was Mohe who had brought Su Fan here. The place was extremely well-hidden. Along the way, Su Fan had sensed countless arrays—some offensive, some defensive. Anyone lacking sufficient cultivation would never be able to enter, perhaps never even find it.

Mo Hanfeng suddenly smiled, his expression eerily similar to Mohe’s. Su Fan could not comprehend what kind of experiences this father and son had endured to wear such a smile.

Mo Hanfeng said quietly, “Mohe, do you know who the woman in this painting is?”

Mohe opened his mouth, but said nothing.

Mo Hanfeng continued, “She is your mother.”

Mohe seemed to have known already. His expression did not change, but tears slipped from the corners of his eyes—tears he had not shed in many long years, the result of years of endurance.

Mo Hanfeng said, “Your mother was a mortal. She could never cultivate. She left us so quickly.”

Mohe smiled again. Sometimes, when sorrow runs too deep, tears cannot express it—only laughter, the laughter of despair, can lessen the burden.

He suddenly knelt down, bowing three times to Mo Hanfeng. Then he stood up and declared, “Tomorrow, I will marry Xinmeng.”

With that, Mohe left.

Su Fan wanted to speak, but seeing Mo Hanfeng looking at him, he bowed and asked, “Senior, is there any way to save Lady Xinmeng?”

Mo Hanfeng gave a bitter smile. “I fear I can no longer even save myself.”

Su Fan asked, puzzled, “Why? If she cannot be saved, how will the wedding proceed? What has happened?”

Mo Hanfeng only smiled faintly. “You will know tomorrow. Let me arrange a guest room for you.”

Su Fan could only agree and follow Mo Hanfeng away.