Chapter 109 Doing Villainous Things (Part Two)

Following her bold move, Xiao Ming's breathing became imperceptibly heavier, and his lower abdomen tightened.

He immediately lowered his head, his thin lips almost brushing against her burning earlobe, his scorching breath spraying across the side of her neck as he smiled wickedly:

"Making such a commotion... if we do this here, will it... disturb that Senior Brother Tu of yours who is 'recuperating'? Hmm?"

Upon hearing this, Chi Lianer coquettishly replied:

"Lord Saint~ You really are wicked! Why bring up that trash at a time like this..."

Her chest heaved, her breath sweet like orchids, every word dripping with honey yet laced with poison: "He is now nothing more than trash who needs help even to turn over. Even if he saw... or heard... what could he possibly do?"

Her face was tender and charming, carrying a sacrificial piety, as if she intended to use these words to completely sever all ties with the past and bind herself firmly to Xiao Ming's warship.

"Heh..." Xiao Ming chuckled, the sound echoing through the vast hall, cold and satisfied. He liked this attitude of Chi Lianer's, but he was not a brainless villain who would believe whatever others said; necessary precautions still had to be taken.

Feeling the increasingly bold teasing of that restless little hand, and the desperate submission in her words, the flame in Xiao Ming's heart was no longer suppressed and roared into a wildfire.

"Riiip—!" A crisp sound of fabric tearing rang out abruptly in the hall!

The expensive, bright red dress on Chi Lianer was torn open at the shoulder, exposing her snow-white skin and the straps of a crimson bodice to the cool air instantly.

"Mmm... Lord Saint, you are so rough!" Chi Lianer let out a short cry, speaking coquettishly.

But before she could react, Xiao Ming, like a leopard that had been coiled and ready for a long time, lunged forward with irresistible force, his scorching lips and teeth precisely covering that exposed, soft, and snowy patch of skin.

Heavenly Demon Sect, Yin Yang Peak.

The rocks and vegetation on this peak all exhibited an unnatural, black-and-white intertwined color of Chaos.

At this moment, inside a side hall on the peak, only a few wisps of bleak moonlight seeped in through the high window lattice, barely illuminating an area in the center of the hall and revealing several figures sitting in a circle.

There were five people in total.

Their auras were heavy and condensed, their demonic light restrained, yet they inadvertently exuded a heart-palpitating pressure. If any high-level Sect members were here, they would surely be shaken—those present were all pivotal figures in the Sect: three Peak Masters and two Elders with real power. Among them, three had auras as deep as the sea, obscure and unfathomable, clearly titans who had reached the Spirit Severing Realm! The other two, though they had not crossed that chasm, were both at the Peak Nascent Soul Stage, just one step away.

The hall was so quiet that a pin drop could be heard, with only the extremely faint sounds of breathing and cultivation, mixed with the decadent Qi unique to Yin Yang Peak, creating a heavy and strange sense of oppression.

The heavy hall door was pushed open a crack from the outside, and a slightly hunched elderly figure slipped in silently, closing the door tightly behind him. His steps were slightly hurried as he walked to an empty cushion and sat down, his gray eyebrows tightly locked.

"Elder He, ever since he went to 'deal with' that newly appointed Saint the other day..." After sitting down, the old man did not exchange pleasantries and spoke directly, his voice dry and low, sounding exceptionally clear in the silent hall, "has not returned to this day. I have searched the entire Sect, but there is no sign of him. I fear that..."

He did not finish his sentence, but the meaning was self-evident—the assassination had failed, and Elder He himself had likely met with disaster.

The hall remained silent, but the air seemed to become a few degrees heavier. The moonlight moved slowly, illuminating half the face of one of the Soul Transformation experts—an old woman with a sallow complexion and a withered appearance. She did not even lift her eyelids, merely emitting a faint cold snort from her nasal cavity, her voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing:

"Trash. A dignified Soul Transformation expert, sneaking in for an assassination, and failing to deal with a newly appointed junior? You really have lived in vain." The coldness and disdain in her words were undisguised.

Another Elder, who looked like a burly man at the Peak Nascent Soul Stage, frowned upon hearing this and couldn't help but lower his voice: "Elder He has failed; I fear the situation has changed. Should we notify Yu Mo?"

"No."

The one who spoke this time was another Soul Transformation Cultivator sitting at the head. He was dressed in a gray-black Daoist robe, his face blurred as if shrouded in a layer of flowing shadows, with only a pair of eyes that flashed with eerie light when opened and closed. His voice was steady, yet carried an unquestionable decisiveness.

"Since Yu Mo returned last time, he has been in seclusion and seems to have been slightly injured; it is better not to disturb him." His gaze slowly swept over everyone present, his expression unreadable beneath the shadows, yet everyone felt an invisible pressure, "Besides... he is the only one who can deal with that woman, Luo Hongyi!"

He paused, his tone turning cold: "Before Yu Mo comes out of seclusion, you all had better behave yourselves to avoid any further mishaps!"

The hall fell back into silence, with only the Soul Transformation Cultivator in the shadows tapping his fingers unconsciously on his knees, his gaze deep as he looked towards the heavy night sky outside the hall, wondering what he was thinking about.

Meanwhile, on the other side, inside the main hall of War Demon Peak, what Xiao Ming and the esteemed audience did not know was that behind the folding screen of the main hall, which was filled with amorousness and panting, on a wide bed covered with soft brocade quilts, a figure lay quietly with weak breathing. His limbs were all tightly wrapped in thick bandages soaked in medicinal liquid, fixed at strange angles. On his pale, gaunt face, his eye sockets were sunken and his lips were somewhat cracked; only the faint rise and fall of his chest proved he was still alive. It was none other than the Young Peak Master of War Demon Peak who had been alive and kicking just a few days ago—Tu Yu.

In his sleep, he seemed to be entangled by nightmares, his brows locked, his cracked lips moving from time to time, emitting extremely faint, indistinct groans of pain, or perhaps the name of someone he was gnashing his teeth at. The prolonged severe pain, the paralysis from the Medicinal Pill, and deep confusion (his limbs had already healed before, so why could he not move again after taking some nourishing medicine? He could not figure it out no matter how he thought about it) kept him in a daze for most of the time.

Accompanied by a gasp that tempted one's imagination, the great battle on the front line entered a new stage.