Chapter 28: The Young Lord of the Nether Spirits

Consort Yun stared at Yun Feiyue in the distance in utter disbelief. More than three years had passed since their last meeting, yet despite her lingering injuries, Yun Feiyue’s strength remained formidable. But… with wounds so severe, how could she still fight with such might?

“What are you useless fools waiting for? Go and help!” Only then did Consort Yun remember to berate the guards at her side.

The guards rushed forward, forming a ring around the outer edge of the imperial garden to prevent the black-clad assailants from escaping. Yet none dared approach the searing, enchanting blaze within the garden; they could only watch from afar.

Though the shadows possessed formidable martial prowess, they could not escape the burning truthfire wielded by Yun Feiyue.

One by one, the lesser foes fell before her. Now, it was time to confront the true enemy.

“Come out! Did you think hiding in the shadows would keep you from my sight? You little wretch!” She spoke to the darkness masked by the flames, feeling the gaze of those cold, hellish eyes—so familiar to her.

As her words fell, a man clad in a long black robe appeared. Barefoot, with fair skin and an expressionless face, his pupils glimmered a faint green, like ghostly lights. Wisps of black mist twined around his hands. He licked his lips, his sharp tongue tracing his crimson mouth, and his sleek black hair swept to the ground, half concealing his face. By his side stood an old man leaning on a cane.

At last, he had revealed himself—and unexpectedly, he was rather striking in appearance.

Yun Feiyue, ever one for appearances, could not help but note it. Of course, good looks were no shield from a beating.

With a flick of her finger, the ember at her fingertip flared red, and the surrounding inferno was snuffed out, leaving only a glimmer of spectral fire.

She had waited for this day of vengeance.

Across from her, the barefoot man’s eyes were as dark as the abyss. The old man at his side, gripping a bone cane, snorted coldly. “Our Young Lord wants your life. Stop wasting words and give it up!”

Deep creases marred the old man’s face; silent and still, he could have been mistaken for a desiccated corpse. Yet the aura of death around him was palpable.

Damned old man, acting so arrogant—does your mother know what you’re up to? The faint flame on Yun Feiyue’s finger suddenly stretched into a long whip, which cracked toward the old man. He raised his hand to defend himself, but the fire consumed his resistance.

She sneered, “Go cool off somewhere else. Is this the level you bring to your own demise?”

The old man made to retaliate, but the barefoot man stopped him with a raised hand. “You’ve grown stronger since last time, but your life is still mine.”

Damn it! Yun Feiyue cursed inwardly. She had never even met this man before—how had such deep enmity arisen between them?

“My life is my own, not yours to take! Enough talk. Since you’ve come, I return those words to you—unchanged!”

She lashed her fiery whip at the man across from her, but the shadow vanished in an instant.

In the stillness of the night, everything moments before seemed like an illusion. A cold wind swept through, and the fire in Yun Feiyue’s hand flickered uncertainly.

Little Mumu’s wide eyes watched the silent night, seeming to see straight through the darkness. After a heartbeat, his childish voice piped up, “Mother, twelve degrees to the left.”

Yun Feiyue pointed her finger, and the tiny flame suddenly transformed into a dragon’s might, lashing fiercely in the direction Little Mumu indicated.

“Mother, thirty-two degrees to the right! He’s teleporting upward!”

Indeed, nothing physical could affect Little Mumu’s eyes or body; that was his greatest strength. He could pierce all illusions—such a physique was known as the Celestial Spirit Body.

Relying on Little Mumu’s sight, Yun Feiyue swung her whip again and again, but each time, exhaustion from the effort and her opponent’s speed left her waning.

“With your current power, you can’t kill me. Give up. Be good.” The man appeared once more, a trace of flame clinging to his robe and spreading.

He flicked his sleeve, and the fire died away.

He stepped toward Yun Feiyue, stretching out his demonic hand…

“No! Yue’er!” Consort Yun could no longer maintain her regal composure. She darted forward, martial light gathering in her palm.

A blade of blue-purple energy shot toward the man, but he swept it aside with a casual wave. Such strength was nothing to him.

He laughed softly, lips crimson as if stained with blood. By the corner of his eye bloomed a red lotus, eerily resembling the Red Lotus token in Yun Feiyue’s grasp.

Yun Feiyue held the token, debating whether to use it. She had always scorned relying on others to kill her enemies, and besides, she did not know the true power of the Shadow Guards.

She retreated several steps, eyes sharp as she assessed the man’s every move.

He looked back at her, surprised—no one had ever gazed at him with such probing, even disdainful, eyes. There was not a hint of fear.

This was not the reaction he expected.

Back then, her expression was different. Of course, she had never seen his true face.

“What a pity,” he mused. Rarely did he meet someone so different, yet he could not defy his master’s command—her life must be erased.

He raised a pale hand, unleashing a jet of inky light that swiftly transformed into a black dragon, darting straight for Yun Feiyue’s throat.