Chapter Thirty-Six: Deception

"Whoosh!"

The deafening roar of magical combat, the bellowing of monks, and the towering flames plunged the once-silent camp of the Hanging Temple into absolute chaos. Many practitioners of Qi were startled from their sleep and rushed out to investigate.

"Another practitioner trying to escape?" someone muttered, having heard the slanderous cries of the middle-aged monk.

The practitioners gathered here were not all mediocre; many had keenly observed the middle-aged Taoist and his companion fleeing the previous night.

"Has that young man who arrived yesterday been so quickly ensnared by Yan Yushu that he’s become this obsessed with beauty?" some speculated, staring at the room where Chen Xuan resided.

They found it inconceivable. Although they themselves could not help but occasionally recall the moment they brushed past the breathtakingly beautiful Yan Yushu—a sight of peerless allure rarely seen in the mortal world—it had been nothing more than a fleeting encounter. They hadn't even exchanged a single word before she was whisked away. Even if they felt a lingering, uncontrollable fondness for her and deep regret for the tragic fate she was about to face, would that be enough to risk their lives and openly oppose the Hanging Temple?

Practitioners of Qi were, for the most part, elite individuals with resilient minds; the influence of the Six Desire Heavens was not that terrifying. The likes of the middle-aged Taoist and the hulking brute were rare exceptions.

"The young man is courting his own death. He chooses to commit such folly instead of taking advantage of the Hanging Temple’s hospitality," one practitioner sighed, convinced that Chen Xuan was doomed.

"No! He has achieved the Second Feathering! He has counter-killed the experts of the Hanging Temple!"

Suddenly, a high-level practitioner exclaimed in shock. The wooden door of the room where Chen Xuan was staying had been pulled open from the inside.

"Swish..."

Chen Xuan stepped out, his expression composed. He stood tall, his eyes as calm and dark as a silent, abyssal pool. His gaze swept across the faces of everyone in the camp. Then, he left the cabin and walked toward the gathering place of the monks.

"Hiss! Look at what he’s holding!"

A practitioner gasped. They saw Chen Xuan dragging the corpse of a young monk. He held the monk by the calf, trailing the body along the ground. The monk's head was charred black and glowing with embers, looking just like a piece of burnt charcoal.

The scene was deeply unsettling. Wasn't he supposed to be fleeing to help Yan Yushu? Why would he drag a monk's corpse toward the Hanging Temple? What exactly was he trying to do? Could their assumptions have been wrong?

"Amitabha..."

The old monk stirring the rice porridge and the ascetic monks reciting their morning sutras fixed their gazes on Chen Xuan—a dozen pairs of eyes filled with suspicion and varying degrees of fury. Outside the camp, many ascetics working in the nearby woods noticed the commotion and were rushing back.

"Friend, what are you doing?" an ascetic monk asked, frowning, unaware of the specifics. "Why have you killed a disciple of our temple? Are you truly trying to escape?"

Although the slanderous words shouted by the middle-aged monk had been loud and clear enough for almost everyone in the camp to hear, in truth, many were rational and skeptical—especially those within the Hanging Temple. After all, Chen Xuan had shown no signs of abnormality from the start. Moreover, what were their two fellow disciples doing in his room in the first place? Did they have foresight and know Chen Xuan would cause trouble?

Chen Xuan did not answer. He tossed the young monk’s corpse in front of the ascetics and walked straight to the campfire where the iron pot rested. He held a slender, crystalline jade hairpin reversed in his hand.

"Clang!"
"Clang!"
"Clang!"

The crisp, rhythmic sound of metal striking jade echoed from the rim of the iron pot and into the hearts of everyone present.

"I saw it," Chen Xuan said, his voice level. His scrutinizing gaze fell into the withered, clouded eyes of the old monk opposite him. As the cold wind whipped up the steam, Chen Xuan continued slowly, "Old man, just now... you were watching."

The old monk stood there holding the wooden stirring rod, his expression blank. The softened rice grains churned in the boiling water. On the horizon, a faint glimmer of dawn began to emerge. The sky was about to brighten.

"Little friend, I don't understand what you are talking about," the old monk, who had previously discussed ancient seal scripts with Chen Xuan, slowly shook his head, his face a map of deep, puzzled wrinkles.

The other ascetics were equally bewildered. It was unthinkable that this man was questioning them—and with such a bizarre accusation! After such a massive commotion from a magical duel, shouldn't everyone be curious enough to watch?

Chen Xuan stood tall, looking down at the hunched, withered old monk with an oppressive presence. He knew the man understood his meaning. Before the chaos had erupted, Chen Xuan had peered through the door crack into the night. At that moment, he had seen eyes staring intently at his cabin. He had seen him.

"Hmph!" The old monk, acting as if he had been wronged, flared with rage. He slammed his wooden rod against the iron pot and repeated coldly, "I don't understand you! I wasn't the only one watching. Don't try to stir up trouble!"

"Clang!"

The iron pot was suddenly overturned by a hand, spilling the hot, thick porridge onto the ground in a cloud of steam.

"I said I saw it." Chen Xuan pointed at the furious old monk, his tone absolute. "Old man, you didn't just watch... you smiled. Why... why did you smile?"

The old monk stiffened in horror, a flash of shock crossing his eyes. Had he smiled? He wasn't even sure himself. Suddenly, his heart constricted as if he were being stared down by a beast with bared fangs.

Chen Xuan had captured that flicker of shock. His hand shot out like lightning, clawing toward the old monk’s head.

"Old thing... you really do have something to hide!"

The old monk was terrified, realizing he had been tricked. The opponent's perception was so sharp that his momentary shock had been instantly detected. He scrambled backward, screaming, "Brothers, save me! This man has lost his mind; he is completely beyond salvation!"

The old monk was also a Second Feathering expert, but having watched the situation from the shadows, he knew he could not match the power Chen Xuan had displayed in killing the others. He had to rely on his fellow disciples to handle the crisis.

"Clang! Clang!"

Almost simultaneously, several palms glowing with golden-white light intercepted him. The ascetics had already surrounded Chen Xuan, prepared to stop him from succeeding.

"How dare you still attack! Explain yourself!" an ascetic shouted, striking out to restrain him.

"It seems you really have been bewitched by the Six Desire Heavens. You are determined to oppose the Hanging Temple. You are truly lost!" another roared, finding the man’s arrogance intolerable. He wouldn't even offer an explanation, and he wouldn't listen to the old monk's defense. He had simply decided the old monk was suspicious, tested him, and immediately went for the kill. Did he think they were made of air? Among these dozen, nearly half were at the Second Feathering stage!

"Corrupted by the Six Desire Heavens, a worthless life, not worth pitying!" Another ascetic joined the fray with lethal intent; they had suffered too much pressure lately and were eager to vent.

In an instant, a barrage of roars erupted as countless golden-white fist imprints and palm strikes descended upon Chen Xuan from all directions.

"Get out of my way!"

Fierce hostility flared in Chen Xuan's eyes. He pushed his "Little Fire Bird" trick to its absolute limit, channeling his crimson Qi. The tip of the hairpin traced a crimson, crescent-moon arc, sweeping horizontally to meet the overwhelming golden-white onslaught.

"Whether my life is worthless or not is not for the likes of you to decide!"

He refused to yield even an inch. The wind howled, flames melted gold, and a hot, bloody scent filled the air.