Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wild Chapter Fifty: A Lone Eye Gazes at the Heavens

Under the hazy moonlight.

Mo Can stood on a nearby hillside.

Long since forgotten in the darkness, he was the one dismissed as a cripple—yet, in this critical moment, he had stepped forward. Beside him lay a discarded horsewhip; in his right hand, he gripped a long saber.

Yuan Jiu slowly got to his feet and stepped out of the tent.

“Blind man, I’ve been watching you for some time.”

He drew a short blade from his waist and exchanged glances with his four companions.

Taking advantage of the moment, Ji Yan scrambled up and ran to the side of Shopkeeper Kuang, his wife, and their daughter. Though blood dripped down his injured arm, he gripped his chopper, ready to fight to the death.

Pan Yuan also stood, clutching his saber. He could no longer worry about the Kuang family, but followed out of the tent, licking his lips, his eyes wide and his face twisted in a bloodthirsty frenzy.

Mo Can still stood quietly two fathoms away, watching Yuan Jiu approach. With a voice rusty and hoarse, he said, “I’ve been watching you for a long time too.”

“Oh? So spending the night in Xiangshui Village—was that your design?”

“If it hadn’t been for the mishap that night, you would have made your move long ago.”

“You were wary and watched me all night. To be honest, it was inconvenient to act then.”

“So you secretly gathered your men and chose this as the place to strike. The Temple of Peace—far from peaceful!”

“Blind man, you know too much.”

“You have eyes but are blind, blinded by greed. I, with one eye to the sky, see with a clear mind…”

Two men of few words—when they spoke, their voices carried the force of thunder. Neither would yield an inch. Perhaps they had long regarded one another as formidable foes, awaiting only tonight’s final confrontation.

Yuan Jiu struck first, not waiting for Mo Can to finish. He leapt at him, slashing out with a flurry of blade shadows.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

In a burst of metallic clashing, the blade shadows vanished. Yuan Jiu staggered back, his arm trembling, blood oozing from his sword-hand. He stared at Mo Can in disbelief. “An acquired master…”

Mo Can stood unmoved, saber in one hand, his empty left sleeve fluttering in the wind. No one had seen how he struck, but he had already repelled his formidable foe—so swift and ruthless was his blade that even Yuan Jiu could not withstand it.

What was an acquired master?

A cultivator who had opened the mysterious gates, cleansed marrow and refined body, but had not yet transcended his mortal shell nor wielded the powers of the true arts—otherwise, there would be no difference between him and a true Qi-refining adept.

Mo Can fell silent once more, resuming his reserved nature. Like the long saber in his hand, he was silent yet cold and imposing, intimidating all who faced him.

Pan Yuan rolled his shoulders and stepped forward, spitting contemptuously, “Pah! To hell with your acquired master—between us brothers, we’ve got twelve hands! I don’t believe we can’t take your one! Side by side, lads—go!”

With a roar, the four men with blades charged at Mo Can.

Yuan Jiu, however, retreated two steps, drew a loaded crossbow, and aimed.

“Old Mo, careful—!”

Shopkeeper Kuang, his wife, their daughter, and Ji Yan huddled together. Seeing Mo Can outnumbered and having to guard against a hidden bolt, they couldn’t help but cry out a warning. Old Mo was their last hope; if anything happened to him, the family would not survive.

Yuan Jiu fired the crossbow.

Mo Can was beset by Pan Yuan and the others, fighting with one arm and one saber against five opponents, yet giving no ground. Suddenly, the hidden arrow came; he was forced to parry with his blade. With a metallic ring, he barely deflected the bolt, but at that instant, a blade flashed in, slicing through his sleeve. Immediately, more blades whirled about him, each one seeking his life. With a sudden leap, he sprang into the air, dodging away.

Pan Yuan and his companions chased after him, but with a backhanded swing, Mo Can felled one of them. No sooner had his feet touched the ground than he was surrounded again, blades clashing in chaotic melee.

Yuan Jiu raised his crossbow again, but instead of firing a sneak attack, he aimed at Shopkeeper Kuang and shouted in a cold, raised voice, “Mo Can, you have three breaths to surrender, or I kill Shopkeeper Kuang!” Without pause, he began to count, his voice ice-cold: “One…”

What kind of master is the most terrifying?

A master who stops at nothing is the most terrifying.

Yuan Jiu was such a man. Without at least a fifty percent chance, he would never fight head-on—but he was skilled at spotting weaknesses, seizing his foe’s vulnerabilities, and delivering a sudden, lethal strike—cold-blooded and effective.

And Shopkeeper Kuang was Mo Can’s weakness.

Shopkeeper Kuang turned ashen with fear but dared not run. Behind him stood his wife and daughter. Ji Yan stood before him, blade in hand, clearly ready to exchange his life for theirs.

“Two…”

Hearing Yuan Jiu’s count, Mo Can could not help but grow anxious. This was not mere counting—it was a march toward death. He could not evade, nor could he break free; only by breaking through the encirclement could he hope to save the Kuang family’s lives. He leapt again, his saber whistling through the air, each motion radiating a killing intent. But Pan Yuan and his companions hacked at him wildly, blocking his path with desperate fury. Even the man who had fallen wounded earlier dragged himself up, teeth gritted, and joined the fray.

“Three…”

As Yuan Jiu coldly uttered “three,” his finger tightened on the trigger. The crossbow was aimed at Ji Yan and Shopkeeper Kuang, just a few yards away. When the string snapped, blood would surely be spilled.

At that instant, a strange light streaked through the night sky like a meteor, flashing close, then suddenly circling back. In a blink, a hand holding the crossbow was severed and sent spinning away.

“Ah—!”

Yuan Jiu screamed in agony.

Everyone present was stunned—not only the Kuang family and Ji Yan, but Mo Can, Pan Yuan, and the rest, all fell into shock.

Yuan Jiu’s right arm landed heavily on the ground, blood spraying from the stump. He clutched his wound, staggering back, horror etched on his dark face.

The eerie light spun in the night sky.

At that moment, a crowd burst forth from the distant slope, torches and blades in hand, charging up toward the Temple of Peace.

In moments, more than twenty fierce-looking men were only a dozen yards away.

At their head, surrounded by the crowd, was a bearded man and a middle-aged gentleman. The bearded man whispered obsequiously, while the middle-aged man stroked his beard with an arrogant air.

“Mao Guan?”

Pan Yuan blurted out.

He recognized the man in the lead—his nemesis, Mao Guan. The man had once ambushed him on the road, only to be driven off by Pan Yuan and Yuan Jiu working together. Who would have thought he would gather a new force so soon for another attack?

“Heh!”

Mao Guan ignored him, gesturing deferentially to the middle-aged man beside him. “That one-armed villain colluded with Daoists to harm my brothers. Many thanks to the respected Daoist for upholding justice. As for the rest… all are criminals. Kill them all!”

The middle-aged man was a cultivator and asked in puzzlement, “Are those women accomplices as well?”

“Remnants of the gang—death is too good for them!” Mao Guan spat, then added ingratiatingly, “As for the spoils, they’re yours, Daoist…”

“Nonsense!”

Pan Yuan could not contain his fury. “Who’s colluding with Daoists? You’re framing us, you bastard! If you want revenge, say so! I’ll take you on right now!”

But before he could finish, a streak of light shot toward him. He raised his blade in defense, but with a loud crash, his saber shattered, and an overwhelming force sent him flying five or six yards before he crashed to the ground, coughing hot blood, barely conscious, gasping, “Damn, he’s strong…”

Everyone turned pale.

They saw the strange silvery-white light spiral back, then hover above the middle-aged man’s head, forming the shape of a short sword.

Mo Can’s scarred face twitched. Saber in hand, he slowly walked to Shopkeeper Kuang, shaking his head in despair. “That’s a flying sword of a Qi-refining cultivator. I won’t survive the night.”

“Ah…”

Shopkeeper Kuang cried out in alarm.

Madam Kuang clutched her daughter, biting her lip as tears of helplessness streamed down her face.

Both husband and wife understood Mo Can’s abilities and the meaning behind his words—if Mo Can could not survive, none of them would escape this calamity.

Ji Yan gripped his chopper, his expression bitter.

The strength of Yuan Jiu and Pan Yuan was plain for all to see, yet in an instant both had been gravely wounded. Now, they faced the legendary flying sword.

Yuan Jiu knelt, tore a strip from his clothing to bind his severed arm, then staggered upright, drawing his short blade with his left hand. His lips pressed tight, his face as grim as ever, though in his eyes now flickered unmistakable fear and despair.

A few companions helped Pan Yuan to the tent. Though battered, he had survived by chance. Struggling to his feet, he bowed to Mo Can and Shopkeeper Kuang, then waved his hand, declaring, “I admit my wrongs—if I survive the night, I’ll beg your forgiveness tomorrow! But tonight, we must join forces, or none of us will live!”

This man could yield or fight as needed—having just battled Mo Can to the death, he now proposed to unite against the greater enemy, seeing nothing amiss in the change.

Mo Can did not answer. Instead, he looked at Shopkeeper Kuang and said in a low, hoarse voice, “Cai’er is still young. She deserves a few more years in this world, to see what life is—her journey shouldn’t end here.”

Shopkeeper Kuang’s lips trembled as he met his wife’s gaze. The couple exchanged a silent look and nodded.

“Ji Yan!”

Mo Can looked to Ji Yan.

Ji Yan knelt on one knee, silent, then abruptly rose and seized Cai’er. The girl was weeping uncontrollably but dared not make a sound, clinging to her mother’s hand. Madam Kuang steeled herself to pry her daughter’s fingers free, tears in her eyes but a faint smile on her lips.

A death struggle was about to begin.

Mo Can could not save everyone; he knew he and the Kuang couple would die here. All he could do was help Ji Yan escape with Cai’er during the chaos. These were his final instructions—his last service to the Kuang family.

“Pan Yuan, when you killed my brothers and ruined my livelihood, did you ever think of this day?”

Mao Guan and the Daoist, leading their men, closed in within twenty yards. Mao Guan snarled, “Pan Yuan, I’ll cut you to pieces! And Yuan Jiu, I’ll sever your hands and feet, flay you alive, and tear your muscles out—ha ha…”

Twice had Mao Guan suffered bitter losses at Pan Yuan’s hands; now, backed by a powerful ally, he could finally taste vengeance and exulted in his turn of fortune.

Just as he was about to urge the Daoist beside him to slaughter them all, he suddenly turned his head.

At the same moment, Mo Can, Yuan Jiu, Pan Yuan, Shopkeeper Kuang, and the others all started in surprise. The tear-streaked Cai’er was utterly incredulous.

The freeloader had returned.

And in his hand was a sword—a drawn, naked longsword…