Chapter 102: Beheading
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Silence surrounded him, with each pavilion standing isolated. Yi Fan stood still, calmly observing. Suddenly, the sharp whistle of a breaking wind echoed as a lethal arrow sliced through the air, aimed straight at him.
He had indeed been discovered. Without a word, the attacker struck first—surely the same person who tried to kill him yesterday.
Yi Fan shifted his footing, dodging the arrow, then swiftly moved across the ground. Another arrow shot out moments later but struck only the earth, kicking up a cloud of dust.
From a second-floor window—
Yi Fan neared the pavilion, leapt up, and with a foothold on the wall, ascended to the second floor. Just as he kicked the door open, two pale women flew at him. With a forceful sweep of both hands, he tossed them aside. Immediately, he spotted a young Taoist fleeing with a bundle, not even glancing back as he leapt out the opposite window.
So it was you—the disciple from Gezao Mountain, Fang Chen.
Yesterday’s attack was unmistakably clear in his mind; he recognized the attacker perfectly.
And now you think you can escape?
Yi Fan sneered, kicking a chair aside and quickly approaching the window. The man’s feet were adorned with “Divine Movement Talismans,” allowing him to bound dozens of meters away with incredible speed.
“Palm Thunder.”
Several bolts of lightning descended from the sky, carrying a destructive intent, striking downward. Fang Chen sensed the danger and ceased running, rolling on the ground before leaping backward to evade the falling thunder.
But in that instant, Yi Fan arrived behind him, drawing a long blade and closing in relentlessly.
Fang Chen hastily unstrung his bow from his back, pulling the string taut and aiming it at Yi Fan. “I am a disciple of Gezao Mountain. Who are you, and why did you attack me?”
“Your memory’s quite poor—what happened yesterday, forgotten already?”
Yi Fan spoke without bothering to waste words, lest complications arise. He stepped forward rapidly, subtly forming hand seals with his left hand, ready to unleash thunder magic at any moment.
Seeing Yi Fan’s murderous resolve, Fang Chen’s face turned pale. As a ‘Ming Qiao’ rank three cultivator, how could he stand against a ‘Tong Shen’ rank one cultivator?
“Yi Fan, you dare kill me? I am the disciple of Yin Yang Hand Yan Ming, fourth generation disciple of Gezao Mountain. Even if you belong to the Supreme Clarity Sect, killing me will not absolve you from the crime of death and destruction of the Dao,” Fang Chen shouted.
Yi Fan laughed heartily. “And do you even know who I am?”
Before Fang Chen could respond, Yi Fan closed the distance. Within a few moves, his blade fell, severing the large head, leaving only resentful eyes behind.
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If I say I’ll sever your head, then I will.
A cold gleam flashed in Yi Fan’s eyes. “You only have yourself to blame for misjudging me as a Supreme Clarity Sect disciple.”
He withdrew his hand seals, sheathed the long blade beside the corpse, and collected Fang Chen’s belongings, especially the bow—a heavy, powerful magical weapon. Drawing the string, it hummed with tremendous force.
After tidying up, Yi Fan glanced around. Seeing no one, he preferred not to linger. With a step, he vaulted over the high wall, landing in an alleyway. He quickly approached the courtyard, where Yan Gui was hiding in a corner.
...
Thousands of miles away, nestled among towering mountains, a sprawling complex of palaces and pavilions lay shrouded in mist, encircled by peaks. Occasionally, auspicious birds sang, imbuing the place with a sense of tranquility.
A true sanctuary of immortals.
Midway up the mountain, a child dressed in Taoist robes hurriedly entered a hall, holding a jade tablet.
“Senior Uncle, Senior Brother Fang Chen’s soul lamp has extinguished.”
From deep within the main hall came a deep voice: “Although Fang Chen was not highly regarded by me, he remains a disciple of Yan Ming. Investigate who killed him and bring back the culprit’s head.”
...
Half a month later, near the border of Jiangxi, Yi Fan sat cross-legged in a mountain cave, watching the torrential rain outside. Since slaying Fang Chen, he had journeyed straight down without pause, distancing himself from that troublesome place.
Though unaware of the true stature of Yan Ming, the fourth-generation disciple of Gezao Mountain, he knew this wouldn’t end quietly.
Gezao Mountain was a great faction specializing in talismans, wielding immense power. Sooner or later, they would seek out Chi Mu; when that happened, the truth would be uncovered.
Fortunately, Chi Mu had also mistaken him for a Supreme Clarity Sect disciple, so let Gezao Mountain trouble the Supreme Clarity Sect instead.
The heavy rain subsided in the early hours, finally stopping by the next morning. Yi Fan patted the small white fox curled in his arms.
“From here, just a few dozen miles to Immortal Fox Mountain. This humble Daoist won’t see you off any further. Don’t be mischievous; behave yourself and return peacefully.”
Immortal Fox Mountain was small; he had already learned its location. Though he had planned to escort her personally, now embroiled in trouble, he set the idea aside.
The little white fox shrank her head, rubbing against him, reluctant to leave.
After this time together, the little white fox had benefited greatly from Yi Fan’s guidance, with slight improvement in cultivation and, more importantly, a deeper understanding of Daoist magic.
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Yi Fan gently held her by the neck, lifted her off the ground, and smiled. “This humble Daoist cannot guarantee his own safety now. It is too dangerous for you to follow me. Return to Immortal Fox Mountain and cultivate well. Perhaps our paths will cross again.”
Just as he stood, the little white fox climbed up his leg, resting on his shoulder, her tail curling around his neck as she nuzzled his cheek.
Yi Fan shook his head and stepped out of the cave, setting her down again. “Go on, go on, don’t be unruly. If there’s ever trouble, you can seek me out in Guobei County.”
Though her injuries had healed, she had shielded him from an arrow—she owed him a debt.
The little white fox rolled on the ground, transforming into a young maiden, tears welling in her eyes as she kowtowed several times. “Daoist, please take care of yourself.”
With that, she turned back into a white fox, took a few steps forward, glanced once more at Yi Fan, then disappeared into the forest.
Yi Fan watched the direction where she vanished, drew a deep breath, and stopped dwelling on it. Leading the old donkey, he began descending the mountain.
...
Jiangxi was dominated by hills and mountains, with basins and valleys scattered throughout. The terrain sloped from south to north, favoring the gathering of water sources, resulting in numerous rivers and a dense water network. Among them, five major river systems—the Gan River, Fu River, Xin River, Rao River, and Xiu River—flowed into Panyang Lake, which ultimately fed into the Yangtze River.
Yi Fan stood at the bow of a boat, gazing at the scenery along the banks. An old man sat beside him, sighing, “Daoist, I mean no offense, but this old donkey is old and weak. Why spend money to bring it on the boat? Wouldn’t it be better to sell the donkey and get a new horse?”
The boat was small, occupied only by Yi Fan and Yan Gui. Most of the space was taken up by the old donkey, who had clearly never been on a boat before—terrified, it knelt on the deck with all four legs, occasionally giving Yi Fan an innocent, pleading look.
Yi Fan chuckled softly but said nothing.
The old man shook his head, patting the boat’s side and urging the two boatmen to row harder before turning back. “These days, life’s hard for us common folk. Even the boatmen ferrying people across the river struggle to make a living. We who live off the mountains and water barely scrape by fishing. It’s rare to see someone like you who rents the whole boat just for a donkey.”
Though the old man’s words were unclear, the malice behind them was palpable. The donkey could feel it, too. If it dared move, it would have kicked the old man flying by now.