The unlucky bastard who picked Wu Xingxue was precisely the first "Immortal Envoy," Zhao Qinglai, that they had found.

Zhao Qinglai's fingernails, hidden in his sleeves, were long and sharp as blades, capable of easily carving grooves into stone walls.

He chose Wu Xingxue because the other man looked noble and slender, was unarmed, and seemed like the kind of pampered young master who only indulged in leisurely pursuits. The young master wasn't even wearing a thick scarf to block the wind, merely hugging a hand warmer, his neck completely exposed.

All he had to do was lightly slash that neck, and hot blood would gush out…

It would be done without any effort!

Zhao Qinglai licked his teeth and, aiming for the side of the neck, struck—

Clang!

When the sound rang out, Zhao Qinglai didn't react.

The reactions of the dead were always a bit slower. By the time he realized it was the sound of a longsword being unsheathed—

The hand he had slashed towards Wu Xingxue's neck was gone.

Under the wild Sword Intent, a thousand sharp glints erupted like the inescapable cold winds of deep winter, sweeping over Zhao Qinglai's body.

His tightly wrapped padded jacket was torn to shreds, and the strength supporting his body suddenly vanished.

Zhao Qinglai's eyes bulged, and he fiercely looked up.

Wu Xingxue had vanished. Now, another person stood before him. This man was extremely tall. He rested the tip of his longsword on the ground, neither lightly nor heavily, and leaned on the hilt, looking down at him. "Come," he said coldly.

...

He couldn't come.

Zhao Qinglai instantly collapsed to the ground, his roars turning from hoarse to sharp, like a whistle, echoing throughout the entire tomb, thick with unwillingness.

It wasn't just Zhao Qinglai.

The ones who had lunged at the three Immortal Sect disciples also had their padded jackets sliced to pieces by the darting Sword Intent.

The Immortal Sect disciples stabbed their swords straight out, only to meet empty air. They watched with wide eyes as the figures, whose vicious intent had surged just a moment ago, suddenly collapsed, falling into piles of tattered cloth.

When they were "Summoned" to Great Sorrow Valley, they had already been dismembered. Their yin resentment was extremely deep, their baleful aura soared to the heavens, and they should have been vicious creatures that everyone feared.

But as they rolled about on the ground in pieces, their bodies bluish-white and stiff, covered in spots and marks, their heads turning several times, their red-tinged eyes striving to glare wide open…

The group found they couldn't bear to watch.

After all, they had once been living people.

The few young Immortal Sect disciples were still young, and their reactions were the most obvious. They retreated a few steps, their faces pale, holding their swords, not knowing whether to move or stay still. At a loss, they finally looked toward Xiao Fuxuan, who had made the move.

Yi Wusheng was one of the Four Hall Elders of the Hua Family and had seen many similar scenes, so he didn't retreat. But due to his nature as a healer, he still couldn't bear to watch. He, too, subconsciously looked toward Xiao Fuxuan.

There weren't many rumors in the Mortal Realm about this High Immortal, because he only ever dealt with the most wicked and evil of beings. He didn't ask about fortune or disaster, nor did he care for good or ill luck. He would never hear anyone's prayers, and he never offered protection.

There were few portraits of him and not many god statues. Most were erected in places ordinary people dared not go, like the Jiaming Wilderness.

The other immortals, such as the host of Lingtai, all had smiling portraits and god statues, as if caressing the world like a spring breeze.

Only he, regardless of the statue or the quality of the carving, always had a cold expression, without a trace of a smile.

No wonder the common people didn't like to keep shrines to him in their homes. Because at first glance, the partings and reunions, the sorrows and joys of life and death of ordinary families, seemed unable to stir even the slightest ripple in his eyes.

Just like at this very moment, he lowered his gaze, his eyes casting down from beneath long lids, sweeping over the floor of severed limbs and heads, over those eyes that refused to close in death, and still, his face remained devoid of any emotion.

After his gaze swept over everything, he merely lifted his thin eyelids slightly.

The shrieks of Zhao Qinglai and the others became extremely mournful, echoing through the tomb and leaving behind a faintly sorrowful resonance.

Xiao Fuxuan turned a deaf ear to that resonance. He gathered his Sword Intent and returned it to its sheath.

In that instant, almost everyone in the tomb felt uncomfortable.

It wasn't a discomfort born of like or dislike, but the kind caused by a piercingly sharp edge, chilling and austere.

Like a blade that has slain countless things, even if washed clean of blood, wrapped in a jade sheath, and set against the cool, lonely moonlight, it remains a deadly weapon that no one dares touch.

Only Wu Xingxue felt differently.

Because his fingers were pressed against Xiao Fuxuan's back, when Zhao Qinglai and the others collapsed to the ground, their limbs and heads rolling everywhere, he clearly felt Xiao Fuxuan turn his body slightly.

It was an extremely small movement, so small that even Wu Xingxue didn't react immediately.

It wasn't until his view of the severed limbs was blocked, and he could no longer see those unclosed eyes, that he realized Xiao Fuxuan was shielding him, preventing him from seeing what was on the ground.

This was truly strange.

A Demon Lord who killed without batting an eye, and someone was actually shielding his eyes.

And after being shielded, Wu Xingxue slowly realized that he truly didn't want to see those things.

Perhaps that long dream in Magpie Capital had changed his disposition. He felt uncomfortable seeing those severed limbs and heads, just as he couldn't stand the blood on his hands after killing Yin Creatures.

Wu Xingxue was quiet for a moment, then the fingers pressed against Xiao Fuxuan's back moved slightly.

"Xiao Fuxuan."

"Mn," Xiao Fuxuan responded in a low voice.

Wu Xingxue leaned forward, about to speak, but saw that Xiao Fuxuan didn't wait for him to continue and turned his head.

In that instant, he was a little close, his breath falling almost before Wu Xingxue's nose.

Wu Xingxue pressed his lips together, then straightened up a moment later.

Xiao Fuxuan spoke in a low voice, "What did you call me for?"

Wu Xingxue: "Nothing. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I've forgotten."

Xiao Fuxuan lifted his eyes slightly, the thin corners creasing into a sharp line.

Wu Xingxue looked at him and said softly, "Then... thank you, High Immortal?"

"..."

Hearing such words of thanks, Ning Huaishan and Fang Chu felt like they were going to die.

The collapsed limbs on the ground did not fall silent. They continued to struggle persistently, their sharp fingers scratching and scraping, as if trying to piece themselves back together and stand up.

The Immortal Sect disciples' hairs stood on end. They rubbed their necks and rummaged through their belongings.

"Where's my Qiankun Pouch? Senior Brother, did you bring yours? Why don't we put these... these..."

The eyes of Gao Er, Zhao Qinglai, and the others were still moving, watching the group, their mouths opening and closing as if they had something to say. Under their gazes, the young disciples couldn't bring themselves to use a word like "vicious creatures."

"Should we put all these... people... in the pouch? We can't just leave them scattered around. Or should we stick talismans on them?"

"How are we supposed to do that? I didn't bring that many talismans!"

The woodcutter from before had at least been whole; sticking a talisman on him to prevent him from suddenly causing trouble was one thing. But now, with this mess of limbs everywhere, even if they wanted to use talismans, they wouldn't know which piece to stick them on.

A young disciple finally managed to pull out a Qiankun Pouch. He crouched down, about to act, when a severed hand suddenly seized him.

"Ah!!!"

He leaped up, drawing his sword to get the hand off him. But then a hoarse voice sounded out, "I beg you, I beg you, little master..."

The young disciple wanted to cry but had no tears. He almost begged back, "Beg for what? Y-you... let go of my hand first."

The sharp nails dug into his flesh, gripping him tightly. "I beg you, little master. I can't be here, I can't stay here. I really have two daughters, I really do..."

The hoarse voice began to sob.

Hearing this, the group finally recognized that it was Gao Er speaking.

"I can't be here, I have to find someone to take my place, I want to go home..."

"I want to go home, I want to go home."

Her head turned wretchedly as another of her hands on the ground crawled swiftly to grab the ankle of a person nearby.

The person she grabbed was not one of the Immortal Sect disciples, but Ning Huaishan.

"Hey, you—" Yi Wusheng subconsciously started to call out and stop her.

Ning Huaishan's face had already fallen, a fleetingly vicious look in his expression.

He was from Zhaoye City, after all, having clawed his way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood. He lacked the softheartedness of the young Immortal Sect disciples.