Chapter Thirty-Two: The Tempest Blade’s Merciless Onslaught Upon Master and Disciple

How could the young disciple not understand his master's painstaking intentions?

“Master, though my cultivation is humble, I, Shen Tu De, am not one to cling to life or fear death. If one of us must die today, let it be me who holds back the enemy! Master, flee and save yourself!”

Having spoken, the young disciple glared fiercely at the tranquil peach grove before them, shouting angrily, “Who are you, lurking in the shadows? If you have the skill, come out now and face me in a life-and-death duel! What sort of coward strikes from hiding?”

“Just you?”

A cold, contemptuous chuckle came from the depths of the woods. The mysterious figure sneered, “Even your master Xuanyuan is no match for me, and with your pitiful cultivation, you dare challenge me?”

“If you know what’s good for you, get out of my way. For the sake of your youth, I’ll spare your miserable life for now. But if you refuse to make way, don’t blame me, Bai Mu, for unleashing a slaughter here today!”

“You’re Bai Mu?!”

The young disciple and Xuanyuan cried out in unison, utterly shocked. They could never have imagined that the mysterious attacker in the forest was none other than the youth Bai Mu, who had stood before them earlier with an ancient sword in hand.

“What? Surprised that I’ve returned so soon?” The figure in the woods, calling himself Bai Mu, remained hidden but replied without hesitation, his tone tinged with indifference and disdain.

“You scoundrel,” the young disciple spat, “earlier you wouldn’t fight openly, and now you resort to ambushes! I’ll drag you down with me if it’s the last thing I do!”

He drew the great sword from his back and, fuming with rage, prepared to charge into the peach grove and confront the mysterious Bai Mu.

“Don’t be reckless!” Xuanyuan cried, waving his hand to stop him. At the same time, he forced himself to gather the last dregs of true spirit energy within him and struggled to rise from the ground.

“Master…” The young disciple hurried forward, supporting his blood-soaked master. Tears welled in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, mingling with the grime on his face, making his once-handsome features look like a weeping, muddied cat—somewhat comical, yet strangely primitive, reminiscent of ancient tribesmen of legend.

“I’m fine—what are you crying for?” Xuanyuan snapped in annoyance, his tone full of reproach. “A man sheds no tears lightly!”

He then turned his voice toward the woods and demanded, “Are you truly that youth, Bai Mu?”

As he spoke, a flicker of doubt crossed his honest features, as if he truly questioned the identity of the mysterious figure.

“Do you think I’m an impostor?” came the sinister reply from the woods.

Of course! Xuanyuan analyzed swiftly, “If you were truly Bai Mu, when we were at a disadvantage earlier, you could have ordered that demoness to kill us outright—there would have been no need for you to hide here and ambush us!”

“Moreover, there is something even more crucial: Bai Mu is a swordsman, but judging from our earlier exchange, your weapon was a fan. That fan is clearly an innate spiritual treasure, able to summon fierce winds and biting cold at will!”

“Well, well!” The mysterious figure in the peach grove responded with a note of admiration. “The Sword Immortal Xuanyuan lives up to his reputation—your swordplay is superb, and even your mind is sharp as a razor!”

“But you seem to have overlooked one thing.”

“What is it?” the young disciple retorted, a little aggrieved.

After a brief silence, a figure flickered within the peach grove, and a fragrant breeze swept past their noses. A white-robed youth of sixteen or seventeen, handsome and elegant, now stood crisply before them.

His appearance matched Bai Mu’s exactly: the same striking features, the same flowing white robe, the same height. The only difference was his weapon—not the ancient sword from before, but a fan.

Yes, a fan—a small, radiant fan swirling with white spiritual energy, its shaft carved with auspicious clouds, exuding an air of ancient mystery. Clearly, it too was an innate spiritual treasure.

“Bai Mu!” The young disciple bellowed, his voice cracking like thunder. “So you are a treacherous villain after all! Earlier, I thought you were a righteous and cultured man, but it was all a façade!”

“That’s your own foolishness, not my concern,” Bai Mu replied, a corner of his mouth curling in a faint smile. He gazed at the weak and battered Xuanyuan and said, “Today, you and your disciple slandered me before Lingyan, that unrivaled beauty. Did you really think I would let you go unpunished?”

“What do you intend to do?” Xuanyuan demanded, his voice a mixture of shock and anger, his eyes darting about as he scanned the surroundings, clearly preparing to flee at any moment.

Seeing his panic, Bai Mu burst out laughing. “Xuanyuan, you may as well give up hope! Even if you weren’t gravely wounded, you’d never escape my grasp, let alone now.”

“If you know what’s best for you, end your own life here and now. If I have to do it myself, you’ll die most miserably.”

“Bring it on!” the young disciple shouted, still defiant, his anger outweighing all fear or reason. In his fury, he seemed to have cast his own life aside.

“To live may be difficult, but dying is easy. I can grant your wish right now.”

With a wicked smile, Bai Mu flicked his treasured fan in the air. A sudden gale sprang up, as sharp as a blade, and slashed toward the young disciple’s stomach.

The exact power of the move was unknown, but as the wind blade swept the ground, it kicked up rocks and sand, its force clearly no less than any sword or knife.

“Get out of the way!” Xuanyuan shouted anxiously. He mustered the last remnants of his spiritual power and struck the young disciple with his palm.

This time, using every ounce of his remaining strength, he sent the young disciple flying like a severed kite, screaming as he soared past the blooming pink peach trees and vanished into the depths of the grove.

The wind blade missed its mark but gouged a deep pit where the young disciple had stood, at least a meter wide.

Bai Mu’s face remained calm and composed, as if he’d used less than a third of his true strength—yet the power was astonishing. Even at his peak, Xuanyuan would likely have been no match for such might.