Chapter Sixty: Lingyan’s Witty Retorts to the Venerable One

Hmph.

Ling Yan merely sneered with disdain at the scene before her. “Heaven’s Retribution, I respect you as a senior, and have no wish to engage in a war of words, nor am I interested in becoming your enemy,” she said coolly. “But your actions today are truly shameful. If word of this were to spread, it would make the Wildlands a laughingstock. By then, your reputation would be irreparably stained!”

“A laughingstock?” Heaven’s Retribution’s face darkened as he retorted righteously, “My life has been one of clear distinction between good and evil. With sword in hand, I have slain many ancient fiends across the Wildlands. My reputation is not something a mere slip of a girl can tarnish with baseless accusations.”

“Oh, is that so?” Ling Yan countered, undeterred. “Then let me ask you: are you familiar with this young man standing before you?”

“No,” Heaven’s Retribution replied indifferently, shooting Bai Mu a dismissive glance.

“Since you’re not, why do you belittle his character at every turn? You don’t even know his name—how can you claim to know his morals are inferior to those of your fellow disciples in the Temple of the Abyss?”

Heaven’s Retribution was momentarily at a loss, cornered by Ling Yan’s sharp and logical questioning.

Just as he faltered, a young man clad in red leapt from the crowd, pointing at Bai Mu and unleashing a torrent of abuse. “You murderous, arsonist thief! What right do you have to pontificate about virtue in front of Heaven’s Retribution?”

“Exactly!” echoed a tall, broad-shouldered man in azure robes, who sprang forth as well, his words ringing with justice. “First, you tried to assassinate my elder brother Wu Shang in secret, and then you sought to destroy the evidence. Beasts like you have no right to speak of virtue!”

Startled, Bai Mu raised his eyes for a closer look. The two who had appeared were none other than Xiu Ji and Shen Tu De.

He could understand Xiu Ji’s hostility—after all, they had just recently clashed, and he had inadvertently injured him. But Shen Tu De’s accusations made no sense. In the peach grove near Dayong Market, Ling Yan had explained the situation solemnly to both men, and the Sword Immortal Xuan Yuan had then promised to investigate thoroughly and not wrong a good person.

So why, after only two days, had master and disciple reversed their stance?

With this thought, Bai Mu took two steps forward and called out loudly to the crowd, “Shen Tu De, didn’t your master Xuan Yuan forgive us already? Why do you persist in this harassment? Bring your master here so we may confront the matter face to face—”

“Silence!” Shen Tu De roared, his eyes bulging with fury. “You shameless thief! You know full well that my master was ambushed outside the peach grove the day before yesterday, and now you want him to appear for a confrontation? You really think you’re clever, don’t you?”

Ling Yan, sensing something amiss, hurried forward and demanded, “Shen, don’t you dare slander us! That day outside the peach grove, after you and your master crossed swords with us, we left Dayong Market. Before we left, we saw your master safe and sound. You witnessed it yourself. So why come here now with these false accusations? What is your true intention?”

“False accusations?” Shen Tu De shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. “Half an hour after you left, your companion, Bai Mu, returned to the grove, wielding a spiritual fan and ambushed my master. If my master had not risked his life to send me away, there would be no one left to testify to the truth!”

A spiritual fan?

Ling Yan’s heart skipped a beat, the image of the old hunter from Deer Terrace Mountain flashing in her mind—a bad premonition rising within her.

At the same moment, Bai Mu was struck by the mention of the fan, realizing he had fallen into a carefully woven conspiracy.

They exchanged glances, each seeing a chill in the other’s eyes.

Seeing their silence, Shen Tu De pressed the attack, “Bai Mu, after I escaped that day, what did you do to my master?”

“I don’t know!” Bai Mu replied resolutely, his tone unwavering. “I did not ambush your master, nor did I kill Wu Shang, the disciple of the Temple of the Abyss!”

“And another thing, Shen Tu De—have you lost your sight?”

“From the moment we first met, you’ve insisted you saw me use a fan to slaughter the townsfolk of Dayong. And now you accuse me of ambushing your master with such a weapon. I’d like to know, as a swordsman—where would I even get a fan?”

As he spoke, Bai Mu purposefully displayed the ancient Azure Dragon Sword in his hand, fixing the crowd with a firm, unyielding gaze.

“That’s right!” Ling Yan chimed in. “Shen Tu De, your cultivation’s lacking, but is your vision so poor as well?”

“When Bai Mu faced your master, he clearly wielded a sword. Why do you insist, again and again, that he used a fan?”

“And another thing!” Ling Yan’s sharp gaze now turned to Xiu Ji, her expression full of disdain. “Xiu Ji, I witnessed you and Wu Shang’s abilities when you dueled Feng Zijin outside Dayong Market. I do not mean to belittle the strength of the Temple of the Abyss, but with your meager skills, even the two of you together couldn’t withstand a single move from Bai Mu. If he truly wished to kill you both, would he bother with a sneak attack?”

“And furthermore—”

“That’s enough!” Heaven’s Retribution, impatient by now, cut Ling Yan off and turned his gleaming eyes to the ancient sword in Bai Mu’s hand. With excitement edging his voice, he asked, “Is that sword in your hand the ancient sacred weapon, Azure Dragon?”

Disaster!

Bai Mu cursed inwardly. In his earlier carelessness, he had revealed the Azure Dragon Sword before the crowd, and now this sharp-eyed saint of the Temple of the Abyss had recognized its true nature.

The previous misunderstandings had yet to be resolved, and now it seemed a struggle over the Azure Dragon Sword would erupt—a true case of losing the bride and the army.

Seeing Bai Mu stunned into silence, Heaven’s Retribution pressed further, “Where did you steal the Azure Dragon Sacred Sword from?”

“You’re the thief!” Ling Yan’s fists clenched, her face dark with anger. “To think you, a saint of the Temple of the Abyss, could be so muddle-headed. First you insult his character, now you accuse him of theft—truly, a dog’s mouth can’t spit out ivory!”

This was the second time Ling Yan had exposed his faults in front of so many disciples from the Temple of the Abyss—a grave humiliation for a renowned figure in the Wildlands.

“You’ve gone too far!” Heaven’s Retribution roared, turning in outrage to the eighty-one disciples behind him. “Form the sword formation! Rid us of these two arrogant whelps!”