Chapter Ninety-Four: Ximen Yiyi

"I’m not a dog cub. My name is Canglang!"

The wiry man holding Ximen Yiyi spoke with a stern face. He was the very man Qingluo had entrusted Yiyi to.

As Canglang’s words fell, dozens of figures leaped out from the direction he had been fleeing, surrounding the remaining two men under Qingluo alongside Baisha’s people.

"So, leaking our escape with Yiyi was you too?!"

Qingluo’s face was a mask of disbelief. He simply couldn’t believe that this brother, who had faced life and death with him, would betray him at a critical moment.

But even as he asked, he was already certain in his heart—because from the moment he had fled with Ximen Yiyi, no one had discovered them.

Yet how had Baisha, who was hunting them, found out?

And he had fled a great distance, covering his tracks meticulously along the way. How did Baisha know he was heading this direction?

There was only one possibility: one of the brothers who had come to rendezvous with him had betrayed him...

But at the time, all the brothers were fighting alongside him. He hadn't thought in that direction. Now, looking at this scene, he understood completely.

And Canglang had done all this not merely to bring Baisha to capture Yiyi—he wanted to wipe out this entire group of old brothers in one fell swoop!

"You have a vicious heart!"

Without waiting for Canglang to answer, Qingluo made his judgment and glared fiercely at him. But Canglang merely shrugged, utterly indifferent.

At that moment, Ximen Yiyi’s furrowed brow relaxed. She awoke from her coma, her eyes slowly opening—until, in an instant, they flew wide.

"Uncle Qingluo, watch out—!"

As if she had seen something utterly horrifying, she snapped fully awake and screamed at the top of her lungs.

*Schlk!*

Hearing Yiyi’s cry, Qingluo felt an intense sense of danger—but he had no time to dodge.

With a wet, piercing sound, a sharp blade stabbed clean through his chest, emerging from his back. Qingluo’s movements froze instantly.

"Letting your guard down in the middle of a fight—that’s not a good habit!"

Baisha stared at Qingluo from inches away, his face twisted in a ghastly grin, as terrifying as a demon from hell.

Then, Baisha withdrew the blade inch by inch, paying no heed to Qingluo’s face contorted in agony. He thrust again—another *schlk*—piercing Qingluo through a second time.

At the same time, his left hand, which had grabbed Qingluo by the throat, slowly lifted him into the air.

"Uncle Qingluo... waaah...!"

Ximen Yiyi cried and sobbed at once, her small face pale, tears streaming down in torrents. But she couldn’t break free from the hand that held her.

*Thud! Thud!*

Qingluo’s two subordinates, surrounded and outnumbered, had their heads chopped off. Their bodies crumpled to the ground.

"Yi... Yi... from now on, you have to... take care of yourself!"

Qingluo gripped Baisha’s wrist with both hands, gasping for breath, blood bubbling from his mouth in thick red froth.

Yet even so, he turned his head to look at Ximen Yiyi, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he comforted her.

He did not tell her to return to the Ximen family and avenge him and her father. He was afraid that if Baisha truly feared Ximen Yiyi’s vengeance, he would abandon his glorious reward and kill her on the spot.

Because once Ximen Yiyi returned to the Ximen family—even if she held no power, even if she were merely a future pawn of political marriage—

a single word from her could easily have Baisha and his ilk killed!

"Waaah..."

Ximen Yiyi kept crying, kept shaking her head.

This day, she had experienced too much. The entire world seemed to be collapsing before her eyes. Every pillar of support she had was dying one by one in front of her.

"Don’t worry. She’ll take care of herself. Once we return, that esteemed one will erase the memories of this period. Until she grows up and is married off, she will simply believe she is a young miss of the Ximen family, raised within its walls!"

Baisha looked at Qingluo’s state and spoke slowly. At the same time, his eagle-talon-like hand clenched with savage force, about to crush Qingluo’s throat and send him to his grave.

"*Sigh*—!"

Just then, a sigh rang out, resounding in the ears of everyone present, making their faces dramatically change. In the same instant, a sharp streak of black light, like a bolt of lightning, pierced straight through Baisha’s head.

*Bang!*

Baisha’s head exploded. Blood and brains splattered everywhere. Qingluo dropped to the ground.

*Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish!*

Countless black lightning bolts shot from afar, like soul-reaping arrows. Canglang and Baisha’s men burst like balloons one after another.

*Bang, bang, bang* — the sounds of heads bursting rang without cease as headless corpses toppled to the ground.

Before anyone could even cry out in shock, all twenty-plus people on the scene had been shot dead.

In an instant, headless bodies fell one by one. Shattered heads, ears, noses, eyes, and half-torn face skins littered the ground.

Blood rained down. Corpses lay strewn across the field. Rivers of blood flowed with floating shields—a veritable hell on earth.

*Tap. Tap. Tap.*

Footsteps sounded from the distance. A young man in a white robe walked slowly closer, a crossbow in each hand. As he approached, he calmly tucked the crossbows away.

The little girl ran to Qingluo’s side and knelt, tears streaming endlessly down her face. Qingluo raised his hand to stroke her head, but seeing it covered in blood, he lowered it again.

"Qing... Qingluo... Uncle can’t... stay with you anymore..."

Qingluo spoke to the little girl weakly. His eyes had begun to dim, the flame of his soul seemingly on the verge of extinguishing at any moment.

Suddenly, his complexion flushed red. His dim eyes blazed bright in an instant—bright enough to be frightening—as he stared at Lin Fan approaching. Even his speech became fluid.

"Young... young hero, I have an impertinent request. Could you take Yiyi to Nanhuo City and deliver her to the Qinghou Mercenary Group? When you do, he will surely reward you handsomely!"

At this moment, Qingluo’s eyes were full of intense vigor. He knew his time was short. All he could do was entrust this orphan to the young man before him, hoping the youth would take Yiyi to his younger brother—he had already arranged things with his brother long ago.

As for the young man’s safety, he wasn’t worried in the least. The youth was clearly powerful—he had just killed Baisha and his gang, saving both him and Yiyi. There was no way he was on the enemy’s side.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble!

What he was worried about now was whether the youth would agree. Judging by his age and strength, he was certainly not from a minor clan. He must be a scion of a great family out on his trials.

People like that were quick to draw their blades against injustice, but asking them to carry a child for thousands of miles while dodging assassins—that was another matter entirely.

No one would casually place themselves in danger for no reason, and these young men on their trials feared nothing more than trouble!

"I accept."

It was none of his business, and Lin Fan had only struck out because he couldn’t stand Baisha’s smug, petty triumph. But at this moment, looking into Qingluo’s bright eyes, something stirred in his heart, and he agreed.

He knew that Qingluo’s current state was nothing more than the final radiance before death.

At this moment, the only thing Qingluo couldn’t let go of was this little girl. That was why he was clinging to his last breath.

"Yiyi, kneel down and kowtow to this young hero!"

"Remember: if you survive one day, you must repay this young hero’s great kindness for all eternity. If the young hero ever asks something of you, even at the cost of your own life, you must complete it with every ounce of your being!"

Hearing Qingluo’s words, Qingluo revealed a faint smile, then spoke to Yiyi in a deep voice.

Hearing Uncle Qingluo’s words, the little girl Yiyi understood well. She knelt directly before Lin Fan and performed the great ritual of three kowtows and nine prostrations.

Lin Fan did not dodge, because he was worthy of it. His soul power had already sensed at least a dozen Tongmai Realm powerhouses surrounding the area.

If he fled now by himself, he could absolutely escape. But he had just promised Qingluo, and he could not go back on his word. He had always kept his promises—a word spoken was a nail driven in!

Who was he, Lin Fan?

He was a true god-level powerhouse, a nation-guarding powerhouse of Earth—the Blade God, Lin Fan!

"Let’s go."

Without any unnecessary words, once Yiyi had finished her kowtows, Lin Fan pulled her up and carried her onto his back.

With a *clang*, Thousand Piles of Snow left its sheath, held in his hand. He held it horizontally and walked slowly into the distance.

Yiyi rested on his shoulder, silent. She only turned her head once to look back at Uncle Qingluo lying on the ground. By then, Uncle Qingluo had already closed his eyes, a smile hanging at the corners of his mouth.

Ximen Yiyi pressed her lips tightly together. One arm looped around Lin Fan’s neck, the other fiercely wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. She didn’t cry again, but something resolute had appeared in her gaze.

She had grown up in the mercenary group, naturally more mature than ordinary children. Now, having suffered such a sudden catastrophe—her father killed, her uncles slain one by one before her, and worse, the killers were uncles and elders who had once treated her kindly—her heart was shaken. She understood what had happened.

Because the origin of it all was her.

In this day and night, she had witnessed life and death—all of people dear to her—and she had witnessed betrayal and abandonment. So, unlike other children, she did not cry and scream wildly, refusing to leave Uncle Qingluo’s side.

Nor did she ask this big brother in front of her to bury Uncle Qingluo and the other uncles, or erect gravestones for them.

Because she understood: if this big brother was in such a hurry to take her away, he had his reasons. And with his long blade drawn, wasn’t this scene exactly the same as when Uncle Qingluo had taken her away?

When Uncle Qingluo had taken her, he faced countless enemies amid flashing blades and flying heads. He had been gravely wounded, slashed several times.

Even when his own men fell, Uncle Qingluo hadn’t looked back—all to protect her.

And this big brother... he was the same!

"Afraid?"

A warm, calm voice sounded beside Ximen Yiyi’s ear.

It startled her for a moment, then she shook her head. Looking at the dozens of figures appearing around her big brother, she shouted loudly: "Big brother, I’m not afraid!"

"Big brother—?!"

The warm voice seemed momentarily taken aback, then burst into hearty laughter: "Haha, good! Not afraid is good! Open your eyes and watch—watch your big brother cut down these enemies of yours!"

The voice was warm yet bold, free and unrestrained, filled with wild, unruly arrogance. It was the voice of one who had cast life and death aside—no, it was extreme confidence, confidence in himself.

"Mm."

Ximen Yiyi felt that the big brother in front of her was like her mountain, like her father and Uncle Qingluo—someone who made her feel safe.

Hearing that arrogant voice, she inexplicably trusted him. So she widened her already bright eyes and stared unblinkingly ahead.

"Kill—!"

The dozens of black-clad men across from them, seeing Lin Fan carrying Ximen Yiyi on his back and holding his blade, wasted no words. No talk of "put down the girl and we’ll spare your life." Instead, with a single roar, they charged at Lin Fan.

"Well met!"

Lin Fan shouted in return. His left hand rested behind him to steady Yiyi; his right hand raised the long blade and charged toward the dozens of Tongmai Realm black-clad assassins.

*Clang, clang, clang...*

Lin Fan clashed with the dozen black-clad men. In an instant, weapons met, blade energy surged in all directions, primal essence ran rampant, and waves of violent force pushed outward.

"Die!"

Lin Fan roared. Thousand Piles of Snow drove forward without hesitation. With a *clang*, a black-clad man’s sword snapped in two, and Lin Fan’s blade took his head clean off. Blood sprayed.

*Schlk!*

At that very moment, the left arm Lin Fan used to steady Yiyi was gashed by a sharp blade, leaving a foot-long bloody wound. Blood poured down.

The black-clad man holding the blade smirked. But before the smile could fully spread, Lin Fan’s wounded left hand flicked—tossing Yiyi into the air.

His palm shot out like lightning and clamped around the black-clad man’s throat.