Chapter 436 - 433: Ambush
Chapter 436: Chapter 433: Ambush
"Thank you, Miss Yuexin."
Fang Han took the letter, tucked it into his robes, and clasped his hands in a solemn gesture.
"There’s no need for that. The Hundred Treasures Pavilion naturally benefits from its dealings with the Qingxuan Sect."
Lan Yuexin said, shaking her head slightly.
"Miss Yuexin, it’s getting late. I must hurry back to regroup, so I’ll take my leave."
Fang Han stood up and gave Lan Yuexin a slight nod.
Lan Yuexin walked Fang Han to the courtyard gate and spoke softly.
"Take care, Young Master."
"You as well, Miss Yuexin."
Fang Han nodded, then turned and walked out of the alley.
Lan Yuexin listened to the sound of his footsteps fading down the alley until they disappeared completely.
She lowered her gaze, her eyelashes casting faint shadows in the moonlight. It was impossible to know what she was thinking.
"Miss."
A voice, tinged with resignation, called out from a corner of the courtyard.
A woman who appeared to be in her forties stepped out of the shadows. It was Wu Xia.
She was dressed in dark, close-fitting attire, her expression serene. The aura around her was restrained, a clear sign that her Cultivation was not weak.
"Young Master Fang is long gone."
Lan Yuexin snapped back to her senses and hummed softly in acknowledgment.
She turned, crossed the courtyard, and walked back into the main hall.
Wu Xia followed behind her, her gaze fixed on Lan Yuexin’s face, looking as if she wanted to say something but was holding back.
"What is it you want to say, Aunt Wu?"
Lan Yuexin sat back down in her chair and picked up her teacup, but didn’t drink from it.
Wu Xia was silent for a moment before finally speaking.
"Miss, this old servant has heard that Young Master Fang is on excellent terms with a female disciple named Yun Qianyue. They’re very close. You..."
Lan Yuexin’s hand, holding the teacup, paused ever so slightly.
A brief silence fell over the hall. The only movement was the wisp of green smoke curling up from the incense burner, slowly dissipating in the lamplight.
A moment later, Lan Yuexin set down her cup and looked up, her stunningly beautiful face as calm as still water.
"So what?"
Her voice was soft, yet it carried an unquestionable certainty.
"A man as exceptional as Young Master Fang is not someone Yun Qianyue can keep all to herself."
She stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open.
The night breeze wafted in, carrying the fresh scent of grass and trees, along with the faint chirping of insects from afar.
"It’s common for outstanding men to have three or four wives. Just look at my father."
She didn’t turn around, her voice drifting away on the night wind.
"Some other day, I’d quite like to meet this Sister Yun Qianyue."
Wu Xia gazed at the slender figure by the window. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but in the end, she only let out a soft sigh.
The night deepened. Moonlight, like liquid silver, spilled into the unassuming courtyard.
---
Fang Han’s figure shot out from the woods, landing in front of Jin Han.
He took the wax-sealed letter from his robes and presented it with both hands.
"Elder Jin, I’ve retrieved the intelligence."
Jin Han took it, broke the wax seal, and pulled out the paper inside.
As her eyes swept over it, her gaze, usually as still as an old well, flickered slightly.
"The Netherworld Pavilion is certainly cautious."
she murmured, handing the letter to Fang Han.
Fang Han took it and scanned the contents.
The letter detailed the caravan’s travel route, personnel composition, and the Cultivation levels and Martial Arts specializations of the escorting Elders.
There were two Netherworld Pavilion Elders escorting this shipment.
One was a Second-Grade Elder named Ma Yuan. He excelled in Palm Technique and possessed formidable Inner Qi, making his combat prowess considerable among the Netherworld Pavilion’s Second-Grade Elders.
The other was a Third-Grade Elder named Zhao Ping, who wielded a Thick-Backed Machete and had a fierce and powerful Saber Technique.
In addition, there were more than ten Stewards and over twenty disciples, all of them elite.
"I will keep Ma Yuan occupied."
Jin Han folded the letter, her gaze falling on Fang Han.
"As for Zhao Ping, I’ll leave him to True Inheritor Fang. After you eliminate Zhao Ping, join me, and together we will surround and kill Ma Yuan."
She paused, a scrutinizing glint flashing in her stern eyes.
"True Inheritor Fang, any problem with that?"
"No problem."
Fang Han’s reply was concise and certain.
Jin Han glanced at Fang Han and said no more, simply giving a slight nod.
"Then it’s settled."
---
「One day later, in the afternoon.」
Sunlight filtered through the clouds, brightly illuminating the road.
A caravan was traveling on a relatively remote road, avoiding the main thoroughfare.
A dozen or so horse-drawn carriages were laden with goods, their wheel ruts cutting deep into the ground, a clear sign of their heavy loads.
The guards wore various styles of close-fitting martial attire. Some were on horseback, others on foot. They looked no different from an ordinary merchant caravan.
But a closer look would reveal their steady gaits, sharp gazes, and auras far beyond those of common martial artists.
’This must be the caravan!’
Fang Han was hidden in a dense forest beside the road, his "Thousand-Mile Soul Lock" technique operating at full power.
Every aura within the caravan appeared clearly in his perception.
Inside one carriage, an aura was as steady as a mountain, exuding a faint sense of pressure—that must be the Second-Grade Elder, Ma Yuan.
In another carriage, a sharp and domineering aura could be felt. Although not as profound as Ma Yuan’s, it was not to be underestimated.
That should be the Third-Grade Elder, Zhao Ping.
The remaining thirty-plus auras were all considerably strong.
"It matches the intelligence. There should be two Elders in the caravan. One is located..."
Fang Han said, maintaining his perception as he turned his head to look at Jin Han beside him.
Jin Han stood with her hands behind her back, her gaze locked on the approaching caravan. A cold, sharp light now flashed in her eyes, which were usually as still as an old well.
"Move out."
she ordered in a low voice, her figure the first to shoot forward.
Following her, dozens of figures erupted from the dense forest, pouncing on the caravan like tigers descending a mountain.
At the front of the caravan, a Netherworld Pavilion Steward disguised as a guard was vigilantly scanning the surroundings.
His Cultivation was not weak, having reached the Late Stage of Fourth Grade. He was responsible for scouting ahead for the group.
Years of living on the edge of a blade had given him an almost instinctual sense for danger.
At that moment, a faint chill suddenly crept into his heart.
He snapped his gaze up, looking toward the dense forest beside the road.
"There’s—"
He only had time to shout a single word.
A gray shadow had already shot out from the woods like a phantom, its speed astonishing.
It was Jin Han. Her Short Sword left its sheath, and its light flashed.
The Late Stage of Fourth Grade Netherworld Pavilion Steward didn’t even see the blade’s path before a cold sensation touched his throat.
Blood spurted out.
He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but could only manage a gurgling sound as air escaped his throat.
The next moment, his body went limp and collapsed, his corpse hitting the road and kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Ambush!"
A shrill roar erupted from within the caravan.
Jin Han didn’t slow down, her figure lunging straight for a carriage in the center of the convoy.
Cyan Sword Qi flared from her Short Sword as she slashed out.
The Sword Qi was like a bolt of silk, carrying a sharpness that could tear through anything as it flew straight at the carriage.
"BOOM—!"
The carriage exploded on impact, sending splinters flying everywhere.
But in the instant before the carriage burst apart, a figure had already smashed out of it with incredible speed.
It was an elderly man, thin and gaunt, with a pale complexion and long, sinister eyes. It was the Netherworld Pavilion’s Second-Grade Elder, Ma Yuan.
He landed several dozen feet away. His eyes fell upon the gray-robed Jin Han, and his pupils contracted sharply.
"Jin Han!"
Ma Yuan’s voice was hoarse, filled with irrepressible shock and rage.
Jin Han wasn’t wearing a mask to hide her identity, nor could she.
Top Martial Arts had distinctive Sect characteristics. Once someone used their Top Martial Arts in an all-out fight, their origin was impossible to hide.
"How did your Qingxuan Sect find out... that my Netherworld Pavilion was secretly traveling to Donglu County to procure supplies?"
Ma Yuan demanded, his voice laced with shock and suspicion.
Jin Han didn’t answer. She didn’t even pause for a moment.
Her figure moved again, her Short Sword transforming into a sharp Cyan Sword Light aimed straight for Ma Yuan’s throat.
Her Sword Momentum was fierce, carrying a bone-chilling cold.
Ma Yuan’s expression darkened. He brought his palms together, and ink-black Inner Qi gathered frantically before he struck out with one palm.
"BOOM—!"
The palm and sword collided, creating a muffled explosion. A shockwave radiated outward, scraping a layer off the ground.
The two figures clashed violently on the road. The light of the sword and the shadow of the palm intertwined, each collision producing a staggering roar.
---
Meanwhile, Fang Han also made his move.
His speed was no slower than Jin Han’s. His figure was like a wisp of invisible wind, sweeping toward the rear of the convoy.
A Netherworld Pavilion Steward disguised as a guard was just snapping out of his shock when he saw a green shadow flash toward him. He hurriedly drew his saber.
However, his saber had barely cleared the scabbard by three inches when Fang Han’s sword arrived.
A flash of sword light, and a thin red line appeared on the Steward’s neck.
His eyes widened. The long saber in his hand fell to the ground with a CLANG, and he collapsed face-first.
Fang Han didn’t stop. He swept his Cloud Splitting Sword horizontally.
A condensed beam of Cyan Sword Qi shot from the blade, sweeping toward three Netherworld Pavilion disciples who were about to counterattack.
"PFFT! PFFT! PFFT!—"
Three dull thuds sounded almost simultaneously.
The three Netherworld Pavilion disciples didn’t even have time to react before the Sword Qi hit them, slicing their bodies in two and splattering blood everywhere.
Seeing this, the other Netherworld Pavilion disciples were horrified. For a moment, none of them dared to step forward.
At that moment, a figure shot out from a carriage, landing several dozen feet in front of Fang Han.
This man was about forty years old and had a burly build. He held a Thick-Backed Machete with a blade as black as ink.
It was the Netherworld Pavilion Elder, Zhao Ping.
His gaze fell on Fang Han. He was momentarily stunned, then his pupils contracted sharply.
"Fang Han?!"
Given Fang Han’s current fame, he had naturally seen a portrait of him and recognized him.
His gaze swept over the Steward and disciples Fang Han had killed. Seeing that Fang Han was about to attack the other disciples, his voice filled with unconcealable shock and fury.
"You’re courting death—"
he roared, his Thick-Backed Machete transforming into a black bolt of silk that slashed straight at Fang Han’s head.
The strike was both fast and vicious. His Sword Momentum was fierce and domineering; he was clearly using his full strength.
Moreover, to be secretly dispatched by the Netherworld Pavilion to procure supplies in Donglu County, his strength was naturally not weak.
He was even stronger than Yuan Zhan, who was at the Late Stage of Third Grade.
Fang Han’s expression remained unchanged. His Sword Intent amplified his power as he held the Cloud Splitting Sword horizontally before him and met the attack with a strike of his own.
"CLANG—!"
The sound of metal on metal exploded, sending sparks flying.
Zhao Ping felt an irresistible, immense force travel up the body of his blade. His entire arm went numb in an instant, and he was forced to take three steps back involuntarily.
He steadied himself and looked up at Fang Han, his eyes filled with disbelief.
That strike had been his all-out effort.
Yet this young man before him had parried it with ease, not even moving an inch.
’How is that possible?’
Zhao Ping gritted his teeth and lunged forward again.
He swung his Thick-Backed Machete like a spinning wheel, the light from its blade like a surging tide. Each strike was faster and more ruthless than the last.