Chapter 1114 - 297: Moon Shines on the Cold Pool, Blade Reflects Snow; Fragrance Condenses on Jade Fingers, Qi Surges Like a Rainbow (Part 3)

As the fierce battle reached its peak, Mo Qianji’s Nine-Section Steel Whip wrapped in a poisonous mist attacked.

Guo Xiangyu’s pupils slightly contracted, and the bamboo knife suddenly reversed, using the back of the knife to leverage against the reef.

Her jade-like leg stretched straight like a bowstring, rapidly spinning with the reaction force, and the bamboo knife traced an arc of "Wind Rolls Up the Remnant Cloud."

The water, drawn by the knife’s momentum, formed a curtain, blocking all the poison from the steel whip, and even swept away half of Mo Qianji’s sleeve in one fell swoop.

When the ultimate move "River and Sky Alike" was executed, Guo Xiangyu’s hair spread out in the water like ink. Her bamboo knife was lifted above her head, leaving a straight knife mark from top to bottom, drawing the entire cold pool’s water into a giant conical water blade.

The Water Charm Corpse let out a mournful scream, shredded into pieces by the water blade, and the blood spread through the pool like blooming red plum blossoms.

When chasing Mo Qianji, her bamboo knife was even more exquisite.

Guo Xiangyu tiptoed on the water, the bamboo knife flickering like a Spiritual Snake, tracing a Z-shaped path in the air.

Though the slashes seemed random, they secretly incorporated changes in the "Odd Gate Eight Trigrams," with each cut precisely severing a joint of the steel whip.

Finally, when sealing Mo Qianji’s meridians, the bamboo knife sheath lightly tapped on his wrist, her jade fingers blooming like orchids, instantly striking seven critical points.

When the fierce battle ended and the cold pool returned to calm, Guo Xiangyu stood by the pool, shaking the bamboo knife.

Water droplets slid off the blade like pearls, refracting a seven-colored light under the moonlight.

She gazed at the slightly trembling blade, a confident smile on her lips: "No matter his myriad evil arts, they are no match for my bamboo and blade."

The torrential rain pounded the rebel camp’s hide tents like a mad silver snake, lightning outside casting Yang Yinglong’s angular, scarred face in flickering light.

His one eye gleamed with sinister light, while a deep scar slashed diagonally across the empty socket, resembling a coiled centipede.

The thin lips beneath the hooked nose pressed tightly, occasionally twitching with anger, his chin’s uneven stubble stained with dark red marks, seemingly the remnants of recent battles.

He stood with hands behind his back before a tiger-skin chair, the hem of his python-pattern cloak muddy and rustling with his movements, the bronze token hanging at his waist engraved with a fierce ghost face totem, trembling slightly with each breath, exuding a faint chilling aura.

The tent was filled with a heavy scent of blood mixed with incense, thirty-six tallow candles flickering in the fierce wind, wax tears snaking down the copper candlestands like congealed blood traces, accentuating the violent aura enveloping him.

"That little brat Shi Feiyang actually led the Heroic Sakura Association disciples to break through seven of my passes! Truly unexpected, a Ming Army of 200,000 cannot compare to 3,000 disciples of the Heroic Sakura Association! Ugh!" Yang Yinglong sighed, lamenting a bit, abruptly turned, his facial scars twisting with the movement, his single eye emitting a devouring ferocity.

The bone whip concealed in his sleeve "slap" landed on the table, rattling the vermilion marks on the map, "Guo Dunyi’s Ming Army follows closely behind, at this rate, Bozhou is likely to be untenable!"

His voice was low and hoarse, each word squeezed from deep within his chest, filled with uncontrollable anger.

On the left, the first person in black slowly rose, revealing half a centipede-scarred face beneath the hood — it was Lan Qin’Er, Vice Sect Leader of the Miaojiang Five Poison Sect. She laughed daintily while twirling the jade bracelet in her hand, the jewel-inlaid poisonous spider eyes glinting with a ghostly light: "Why worry, Marshal Yang? Our sect’s Thousand Spider Poisonous Hand hasn’t truly been used. We only need to poison the water supply, and they will surely... hee hee..."

The laughter abruptly stopped as Yang Yinglong’s cold gaze swept over like a sharp blade.

At this moment, his single eye bulged, the scars on his face turning purple, veins bulging like twisted green snakes.

"Trifling skills!" Yang Yinglong snorted coldly, his facial muscles twitching incessantly, the scars rising and falling with his breath, "Shi Feiyang has cultivated the Bright Jade Technique, immune to all poisons; Guo Xiangyu’s Flower-Picking Finger specifically breaks sinister poisons, your poison techniques are in vain."

He paced over to the map, his face’s ferocity flickering in the candlelight, his finger jabbing heavily at the mark for Bozhou City, with dried blood caught in his nail beds, "What we need is a killing move to eliminate them all!"

Then, from the right stepped out a man, none other than Yang Yunxiao.

He wore a Golden Armor, his double maces still stained with blood from the previous day’s battle: "Foster father, I am willing to lead the Death Warriors in a night attack on Shi Feiyang’s camp, assuredly taking his head!"

The youth’s face brimmed with arrogance and confidence, yet he couldn’t hide the exhaustion in his eyes.

Yang Yinglong looked up at his foster son, a barely detectable glimmer of gratification in his single eye, yet the scars on his face remained taut, exuding a fear-inducing majesty. "No way!" a sinister voice echoed from the corner.

The speaker was Yama Fiend, high priest of the Western Ghostly Evil Cult, his purplish-black fingernails glinting eerily in the candlelight, "Shi Feiyang is surrounded by experts, including Wudang’s Seven Celestial Spirit North Dipper Array and Emei’s Su Qinghan’s Golden Summit Buddha Light. A hasty night attack will only result in more losses."

He paused, a glint of malice in his eyes, "I think it’s better to lay an ambush and lure them into a trap."

Yang Yinglong’s brows furrowed, the scars twisting into a terrifying pattern as he pondered, his single eye fixedly glaring at the sand table, as if trying to slice the enemy a thousand times. Yang Yinglong caressed his chin, pondering for a moment before the scars on his face suddenly twisted with a smile, revealing sharp white teeth, and he burst into loud laughter: "Good! Then set up an ambush! However, this ambush must have some novelty."

He waved his hand, and several soldiers lifted a huge sand table and carried it into the tent.