Unseen Immortal of Three Hundred Years

Normally, before entering seclusion, Yi Wusheng would cast some restriction barriers within Qiwu Pavilion to prevent people from accidentally entering and disturbing him.

All the disciples naturally knew the rules, but it was possible that some newly joined disciples wouldn’t follow the rules strictly. In addition, Peach Blossom Island had A-Yao, a lunatic who would often barge around.

At the moment, those restrictions are still in effect. The underground devils were still blocked in front of the small building, unable to move an inch forward.

And when everything else stopped moving, the only thing that could move became particularly eye-catching.

Yi Wusheng was that "only thing".

The nearly one thousand Hua Sect disciples soon arrived as well. They all abruptly stopped in their tracks, looking at Yi Wusheng with horror and shock.

"What’s going on?"

"Isn’t Mr. Yi Wusheng supposed to be in seclusion?"

"Yeah!"

"Then why is he here? Among the devils?"

After this was spoken, everyone turned deadly silent.

This was because everyone knew the answer already – the way Yi Wusheng was stumbling and the way he impatiently charged towards the building was way too obvious.

He wasn’t mixed in with the devils, he was one of them. 

Just like those buried in the ground, he was attracted by a certain strong being and has been running around Peach Blossom Island for the entire night.

None of the Hua Sect disciples expected such a thing to happen. They all froze in place, not knowing what to do.

One of the disciples didn’t stop himself in time and tumbled out of the crowd.

"Watch out–"

Amidst the alarming gasps, that person rolled into the mud with the devils under it. He was screaming, "AH! " as he tried to pull himself up and escape.

He was none other than A-Yao.

"A-Yao!"

"A-Yao, come back–"

The disciples in front tried to reach out and help him, but suddenly, Yi Wusheng turned his head.

His body didn’t move; it was just his neck that twisted around in an un-humanly manner.

"A-Yao……"

"So it’s A-Yao……"

Yi Wusheng called him twice, almost sighing, then suddenly curled his finger–

A-Yao, who was trying to get up from the ground, seemed to be dragged by someone in the air. In a second, he was already pulled in front of Yi Wusheng.

Yi Wusheng clamped his neck and dragged him into the building.

A-Yao!!!

"Mister–"

The disciples already had their swords raised. The sword energy of almost a thousand people surged like a fierce wind, but they all hesitated to attack.

Among them were those who had Yi Wusheng as their master and also those who were saved by Yi Wusheng. Even those who experienced neither of the former two, they had still drunk the physically strengthening and qi-nurturing disciples’ soup that Yi Wusheng had concocted.

Even though Yi Wusheng seemed like a ghastly man, they still couldn’t bring themselves to attack.

But if they kept waiting, A-Yao would be done for!

Devils were always hungry. And when hungry, they would eat. They fed off raw flesh and souls.

Yi Wusheng has been in seclusion for days. He was starving.

***

A-Yao punched and kicked, struggling endlessly.

With his neck gripped, he couldn’t scream. He could only make weak, garbled noises from his throat.

His sword aura was flying chaotically from his body, hitting everything in the room. The house was in a mess in an instant.

Yi Wusheng had been cut by the sword energy in several places, blood surged outwards from the wounds. But it seemed as if he couldn’t feel them. He lifted A-Yao up, shifting closer to smell the scent of the living.

A blue-purple vein appeared on the back of his hand, making his skin as thin as paper.

"Ugh… ugh…" A-Yao’s neck turned a deep red, almost purple color. His pupils struggled to focus, trying hard to stare at Yi Wusheng.

Expressionlessly, Yi Wusheng ignored him and placed his other hand on top of his head.

In the next second, A-Yao suddenly froze, and then started to tremble furiously.

This was the reaction caused by one’s spirit slowly being sucked from his or her body. Although he was now a crazy man, he could still clearly feel the fear.

He finally let out an ear-splitting scream, grasping Yi Wusheng’s hand. 

In the overwhelming fear, he finally squeezed out a word: "Master–"

Yi Wusheng froze.

His fingers twitched.

It was as if the remaining spiritual consciousness was trying to suppress the natural instinct of a devil.

Unfortunately, the amount remaining was too little.

He twisted a bit and opened his mouth, but before he could say “Yao”, his fingers had already tightened again.

"AHHH—"

A-Yao screamed gruesomely.

Suddenly, the entire house was flashed with snow. The light was so dazzling that it made Yi Wusheng take a step back.

The next instant, a giant sword phantom came down directly from the second floor, smashing onto the ground in front of Yi Wusheng.

Yi Wusheng abruptly let go of what was in his hand.

He was knocked away by the strong sword energy, smashing onto a wooden column and spitting out a big mouthful of blood. 

When he looked up again, Xiao Fuxuan and Wu Xingxue were already in front of him.

A-Yao was laying on the ground, coughing ceaselessly.

He wanted to run, but his hands and feet were still weak. After struggling for a moment, he simply rolled over and collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath.

"Can this little lunatic live?" Wu Xingxue bent down and checked A Yao’s breath.

Xiao Fuxuan glanced at his movements, then pressed the back of his pointer finger towards A-Yao’s forehead.

"He’ll live."

He hasn’t been sucked dry yet; most of his spirit was still there.

"Then he’s quite lucky," Wu Xingxue withdrew his hand from A-Yao and imitated Xiao Fuxuan, touching A-Yao’s forehead with the back of his index finger.

But his touch didn’t have any effect. 

Xiao Fuxuan: “…”

Xiao Fuxuan: "What did you find out?"

Wu Xingxue: "His head is hotter than my hand."

With that, Wu Xingxue stood up and turned his head to look at Yi Wusheng. A second later, he cautiously stuck out his hand.

Xiao Fuxuan: "……"

He quickly stopped him and pulled him back. Then he reached out his hand to check his spirit.

Yi Wusheng was different from A-Yao.

He was full of devilish energy, completely repelling the celestial energy coming from Xiao Fuxuan, and also creating a fierce reaction.

Suddenly, he jumped up and tried to scurry out from under Xiao Fuxuan’s palm. He did not succeed, as he ended up being pressed to the ground face-first. 

Xiao Fuxuan was only pressing on his back with a few fingers, yet the force was omnipotent. 

Yi Wusheng struggled extremely pitifully. His hair was untied, his clothes were wrinkled, and the sword he carried also fell onto the ground.

To make sure that he wouldn’t reach for his sword, Xiao Fuxuan decided to kick it away. But just as he was about to do so, he heard Wu Xingxue ask, "Xiao Fuxuan, what is this thing on the back of his neck?"

Though claiming to be just a simple "mortal", Wu Xingxue seemed to be extraordinarily daring. At this time, he was squatting in front of Yi Wusheng and pointing to the back of his collar with one of his hands. 

Xiao Fuxuan frowned. Just as he wanted to tell him to move away, he saw what was on Yi Wusheng’s neck.

Upon first glance, it looked like a scar, as if it had been torn by something and then healed back together.

Cultivation disciples often fought with devils, so it was commonplace for one to have some scars. What was abnormal about this scar was that along the edges, one could see a hint of ink.

It was as if there used to be a mark there, but now it was covered by the scar.

"Could this be a puppet mark?" Wu Xingxue asked.

The puppet mark was the only one that he knew about, so he could only guess this.

"No," Xiao Fuxuan took a closer look, "But you’re not too far off." 

The nape of the neck was one of the most vital parts of the whole body. Marks on this place were usually very special. Puppet marks were the most common ones, but other marks located here were also more or less related to directing the spirit and controlling the soul.

Could it be that Yi Wusheng was being manipulated by someone, which caused him to turn into the way he is now?

As Xiao Fuxuan carefully examined the mark, the restlessly struggling Yi Wusheng suddenly stopped. His neck twitched a few times as he struggled to raise his head.

His eyes rolled up, moving around chaotically, and then slowly focused, looking in front of him at Wu Xingxue.

For just a split second, he came back to his senses. He grabbed the bottom of Wu Xingxue’s robes and moved his blood-stained lips.

"Save me……" He said this soundlessly towards Wu Xingxue.

"Kill me……"

Wu Xingxue looked down at him.

Another similar scene suddenly flashed through his mind: 

It was a dimly lit room, with a different squirming, struggling person, who was also trying to speak with a mouth dripping with blood.

I have devoured many people until they were empty.

Save me…..

Kill me……

Please……

"Xiao Fuxuan," Wu Xingxue’s voice suddenly sounded.

Xiao Fuxuan looked up, only to find that his eyes were as black as ink.

“Is the  Yi Wuqi that little Hua Sect disciple mentioned also buried in the peach blossom grove? Then is he also outside the door?” asked Wu Xingxue.

Before waiting for his next words, Xiao Fuxuan suddenly remembered something.

In an instant, he appeared in the pavilion.

The Hua Sect disciples were all in an uproar, and the Sect Leader, Hua Zhaoting, had also arrived. They brandished their longswords, ready for a frontal charge. But then, they suddenly saw a wild wind materialize inside the pavilion, carrying snowflakes from somewhere unknown, blocking them outside like an impenetrable barrier.

Xiao Fuxuan ignored the nearly thousand people.

His sword hadn’t left its sheath; he’d only used the tip of the sheath to tap the ground.

The ground started to shake violently, and those things buried in the ground suddenly flipped out. Scattered limbs and bags of skin covered the entire pavilion. They were all devils that once invaded Peach Blossom Island, in addition to those people whom the devils had once killed.

Yi Wusheng’s elder brother, Yi Wuxi, who, according to the rumors, was killed by Wu Xingxue, was also among them.

If there was a mark on the back of Yi Wusheng’s neck, proving that he had been manipulated into a demon, then… could the back of Yi Wuqi’s neck also have one?

If Yi Wuxi’s situation was similar to that of Yi Wusheng, then wouldn’t that call into question the accuracy of the rumors?

With almost no effort, Xiao Fuxuan found Yi Wuqi’s remaining bag of skin.

These people had originally cultivated celestial powers and then were tainted with demonic energy after being devoured by devils. Under these two energizing conditions, they could be buried for hundreds of years and not rot.

That face still appeared the same as when it was in the pool of blood before. It had a disquieting smile, looking extremely dangerous and frightening.

Xiao Fuxuan had seen countless of these, so he was undisturbed by the slightest.

He turned Yi Wuxi’s head over, only to find the identical mark.

"Sure enough…"

He mumbled quietly to himself.

He was just about to remove the blizzard and let the people of the Hua Sect see for themselves when he heard a clear sound. It was a crisp ring from the room behind him, like a sword being drawn.

Xiao Fuxuan was stunned.

He quickly turned his head to look back into the room. But from his angle, he could only see the flickering light of the lantern flames.

Wrapped in a frigid wind, he flew back into the room.

In just the short moment, Yi Wusheng, who had been trapped under his pressure, was now lying in a pool of blood.

His face carried a smile just like his brother’s as the dark red blood formed a puddle on the ground.

Yi Wusheng was killed by his own sword, and that sword was currently held in the hands of the lunatic, A-Yao.

At first glance, the entire scene seemed to indicate that the muddled A-Yao had suddenly climbed up from the ground, pulled out the sword, and ended Yi Wusheng once and for all.

But A-Yao’s face looked just as surprised.

His eyes were wide open and he was breathing heavily. He stared with disbelief at Yi Wusheng’s bloodied face on the ground. The sword in his hands was shrouded in a layer of icy mist, dripping blood with a pitter-patter sound. 

Xiao Fuxuan shot his gaze over A-Yao’s confounded face, suddenly turning to look towards the other person in the room.

He saw Wu Xingxue’s long figure standing beside the red column. The lantern was by his side, casting a veneer of warm light. His two hands were empty, hanging at his side. Because his robes were large and wide, it made him look even taller and more slender.

His gaze fell into the shadows between his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose. When downcast, his eyes looked like black ink. When lifted, they were as bright as morning stars.