169: Chapter 169 The Killing Begins

Wu Kun's body fell straight backward, crashing heavily onto the ground and kicking up a cloud of dust.

Great Martial Artist Fourth Level.

One finger.

An instant kill.

The entire main hall felt as if someone had pressed the pause button.

Everyone was petrified.

The people who had just been discussing how powerful Elder Wu Kun was now had their mouths hanging open wide enough to fit an egg.

Their eyeballs looked ready to pop out of their sockets.

No one dared to speak.

Everyone even held their breath.

The nonchalant expression on Wu Hao's face finally shattered completely.

He took a step back, then another, until his knees hit the chair behind him with a loud clatter.

His hands began to tremble.

Elder Wu Kun, Great Martial Artist Fourth Level.

In the Wu Family, Wu Kun's strength ranked in the top five, second only to his father Wu Zhen and the secluded Old Master.

Yet such a figure had been poked to death by a single finger from the youth before him.

Poked to death as easily as one would crush an ant.

Cold sweat seeped from Wu Hao's forehead, trickling down his cheeks.

"Who... who exactly are you?"

His voice was shaking, devoid of the arrogance and confidence he had moments ago.

Ye Yun withdrew his finger and wiped it on his robes, as if disgusted by the filth.

He didn't look at Wu Hao; instead, he turned his gaze toward Fang Hansu.

Fang Hansu stood where she was, her entire body trembling slightly.

Tears blurred her vision, but her eyes were filled entirely with his silhouette.

Her lips moved, silently uttering two words.

"Ye Yun."

Ye Yun withdrew his gaze and finally looked at Wu Hao.

"I gave you a chance."

His voice was flat, so flat it sent a chill down one's spine.

"You chose not to take it."

As his voice fell, he wasted no more words, and the burning snow sword finally unsheathed.

A fiery red sword light lit up the hall like a meteor streaking through the night sky.

Before the remaining Wu Family disciples could even run, the sword light had already caught up to them.

One strike per person.

No wasted movements, no flashy Moves.

Every strike landed precisely on the throat, the heart, or the center of the forehead.

Blood sprayed, and bodies hit the floor.

It was like chopping melons and vegetables.

Those collateral Wu Family disciples who had just been flattering Wu Hao...

Were now falling like wheat before a scythe, row after row.

The few Wu Family Elders at the Early Stage of Great Martial Master tried to act.

But before they could even raise their weapons, the tip of the burning snow sword had already pierced their throats.

No one could block a single strike from Ye Yun.

Not a single soul.

Most of the guests had long since fled; those remaining were the bold ones, hiding behind tables and pillars.

They watched this one-sided massacre while shivering in fear.

Several Loose Cultivators crouched in corners, heads in their hands, wishing they could shrink into the cracks of the walls.

They had just been speaking foul words about Fang Hansu at the wine tables.

Now they were so terrified they had wet themselves, fearing that the god of slaughter would come for them next.

Wu Hao stood frozen, his legs feeling like they were filled with lead, unable to Move an inch.

He wanted to run, but his legs wouldn't obey.

He wanted to call for help, but everyone he had brought was now lying in a pool of blood.

He wanted to beg for mercy, but his throat felt as if it were being strangled, and he couldn't make a sound.

He could only watch helplessly as the grey-robed youth, carrying that dripping fiery red longsword, walked toward him step by step.

Every step seemed to stomp directly on his heart.

Ye Yun walked up to Wu Hao and came to a halt.

Wu Hao was half a head shorter than him; he looked up now, face full of terror and lips trembling.

Tears and snot flowed down together.

"Spare... spare my life..."

He finally squeezed out three words, his voice as shrill as a chicken being strangled.

Ye Yun looked down at him.

His gaze remained flat.

Like he was looking at a dead man.

Fang Hansu stood not far away, watching that grey back as tears flowed uncontrollably.

But this time, they were not tears of despair.

In her eyes, his silhouette was reflected.

Reflecting the fiery red longsword, the blood, and the corpses covering the floor.

Yet in the depths of her eyes, there was only him.

From the campfire in the Fengyun Mountains to the hall of the Wu Family in Qingzhou City.

This youth had appeared again and again at her moments of deepest despair, like a light cutting through the darkness.

Fang Hansu's lips moved slightly.

"Ye Yun..."

Her voice was very soft, so soft only she could hear it.

But her eyes were brighter than they had ever been.

Ye Yun's gaze shifted from Wu Hao to Fang Hansu nearby.

She stood a few paces away, her bright red wedding dress stained with blood, the dark red spots on her skirt slowly spreading.

The tear tracks on her face hadn't dried, her eyes were red and swollen, and broken tears clung to her eyelashes.

She looked as haggard as a flower battered by a rainstorm.

But she had no injuries.

Her limbs were intact, there were no marks on her neck, and though her exposed wrists were frighteningly thin...

There were no signs of having been bound.

Ye Yun's gaze lingered on her for a breath, scanning her from head to toe.

Then, he let out a nearly imperceptible sigh of relief.

Good.

He hadn't arrived too late.

He withdrew his gaze and looked back at Wu Hao.

This time, the last trace of flatness in his eyes vanished.

In its place was an icy killing intent of the highest degree.

Like the freezing winds of midwinter, like a poison-dipped blade, like the eyes of a wolf in the dead of night.

Under this gaze, every hair on Wu Hao's body stood on end.

His legs began to shake, and his knees felt as if the bones had been removed; he couldn't even stand steadily.

Ye Yun took a step forward.

Wu Hao took a step back.

Another step forward.

Another step back.

Wu Hao's back hit the offering table, causing the fruits and pastries on top to clatter to the floor.

An apple rolled to his feet, which he crushed into a pulp.

His lips quivered, trying to say something, but only the sound of his teeth chattering could be heard.

Ye Yun raised the burning snow sword, pointing the tip at Wu Hao's throat.

Blood still dripped from the fiery red blade, landing on the blue-brick floor with a faint 'tap, tap' sound.

Just as the sword tip was about to thrust forward...

"Stop!"

A thunderous shout erupted from the rear hall, rolling through the room like muffled thunder.

Ye Yun's hand paused.

He wasn't stopped by the shout, but because he sensed several auras.

Great Martial Master Peak.

And there was more than one.

The curtain to the rear hall was blown away by a palm strike, and over a dozen figures filed out.

Leading them was a middle-aged man in his fifties.

He was tall with broad shoulders, wearing dark purple brocade robes, a black jade belt around his waist, and black boots on his feet.

His features were sixty percent similar to Wu Hao's.

However, his lines were harder, with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes filled with gloom like a hawk's.

The Mystic Power fluctuations around him were thick and violent, like a volcano ready to erupt at any moment.

This was the Head of the Wu Family—Wu Zhen.

Great Martial Master Peak.

Behind him followed seven or eight people, each with a profound aura.

The weakest was at the Middle Stage of Great Martial Master, while the strongest two had already touched the threshold of the Late Stage.