A Daoist nun sat in one of the palanquins, a horsetail whisk resting on the crook of her left arm.
This horsetail whisk had clearly been repaired in the last two years and was very new.
The Daoist nun's brows were not like Old He's, but they always gave off an aged and heavy feeling. Moreover, they had a strange and loathsome temperament.
Wang Po loathed her. If not for her husband, he would have cut off one of her arms two years ago.
Of course, other than a person like Wang Po, no one dared to show any loathing towards this Daoist nun.
This was because this Daoist nun had an extremely ruthless temper, because this Daoist nun was called Wuqiong Bi, one of the previous Storms of the Eight Directions, an expert of the Divine Domain.
There was no one in the other palanquin.
The person who had been sitting in the palanquin was now standing at Wang Po's side.
It was a very fat middle-aged man, dressed in bright yellow clothes. The fat on his abdomen drooped down from his belt, making him look rather comical.
But no one dared to make fun of him.
Because he was the Prince of Xiang, the most powerful prince of the Great Zhou Imperial Court, supported by countless soldiers and ministers.
And not too long ago, he had finally broken through that threshold, becoming the first true expert of the Chen Imperial clan to enter the Divine Domain after Emperor Xian.
As for the latter matter, not many people knew about it until today.
Only when he came from the capital to Wenshui City, ascended the palanquin to Chicken Crowing Mountain, walked to Wang Po's side, and stood shoulder to shoulder with him.
Wang Po replied, "I didn't expect it."
The Prince of Xiang sighed, "I also didn't expect it."
… …
… …
The snowstorm enveloped Wenshui City, as well as the ancestral hall.
The black eaves of the houses were covered in snow, their whiteness pleasing to the eye. However, the white walls did not get whiter. On the contrary, the snow in the courtyard made them seem rather gray.
In this intermittent, sometimes dense, sometimes sparse snowstorm, the light shining down from the sky constantly changed, sometimes dark and sometimes bright.
In this gap between light and darkness, many figures appeared in the snowstorm.
These assassins wore white clothes and had their faces covered. Just like the snowstorm, they exuded a chill that made them very difficult to discover.
They had been discovered by Tang Thirty-Six the moment they appeared, but that was because they did not care about being discovered.
Tang Thirty-Six narrowed his eyes.
The cold wind blew on his face, but it didn't cool him down. His greasy hair floated up because he hadn't washed it for a long time.
He didn't feel good, because the scene wasn't beautiful enough, and because the smell was bad.
He looked at the white-clothed assassins in the courtyard of the ancestral hall and scratched his head. "So many of you are ganging up on me? It's so unfair. "
The white-clothed assassins naturally wouldn't answer him. They just looked at him expressionlessly.
Tang Thirty-Six raised his head to look at the old Guardian.
He was now sitting on the futon, and the Patron was standing beside him. If he wished to see the Patron's face more clearly, he had to raise his head high.
You could say that he was like a duck waiting to be slaughtered, or he could say that he was a proud goose.
Yes, no matter how cold and terrifying the auras of these assassins who had infiltrated the ancestral hall were, they were no match for the old Guardian.
However, these assassins obviously didn't care, and their gazes only fell on him, so there was only one explanation.
Where did the Tang Second Master's confidence in killing Tang Thirty-Six come from?
Because this old consecrator in the ancestral hall was one of his people.
The old Guardian said, "My apologies, Young Master."
Tang Thirty-Six smiled. "Hug your mother's apologies."
The old Guardian raised his right hand and slapped it down on his head.
The wind and snow suddenly picked up, and the candles in the depths of the ancestral hall fiercely swayed. The first few rows were extinguished, and ten-some memorial tablets tumbled down from the shelves, shattering into pieces on the ground.
Tang Thirty-Six moved.
The futon beneath him shattered into countless pieces, and a poisonous smoke rose into the air.
He scrambled and crawled towards the snow-covered courtyard.
It was obvious that the ancestral hall had no defenses of the Tang clan, but he had made his preparations.
But he had not expected that the person who wanted to kill him would be a Guardian of the Tang clan.
The poisonous smoke in the futon was naturally very formidable, but how could it poison his foe to death?
The old Guardian had once been an elder of the Longevity Sect. His true essence was extremely deep, and he had long since reached the peak of Star Condensation, half a step from the Divine.
Let alone Tang Thirty-Six, who was only at the initial level of Star Condensation, even if he suddenly exploded with ten times his strength, how could he block this explosive strike?
He frantically crawled into the courtyard, but how could he escape the range of the palm wind?
The old Guardian's palm descended like a mountain.
The wind and snow in the courtyard of the ancestral hall seemed to be drawn in by some invisible force. The wind stilled, and the falling snow suddenly slowed.
The old Guardian's palm was just about to land on Tang Thirty-Six's head.
Suddenly, the wind in the courtyard stirred once more, and snowflakes began to fall.
A sword glow appeared in the snowstorm.
This sword glow was extremely bright, illuminating the wintersweet stools and the eyes of the assassins in the courtyard.
This sword glow was both bright and sinister. It had restrained all its Qi, as if it had been stained by a hundred-some days of fallen leaves and dust, becoming one with the ancestral hall.
The snowflakes falling from the sky suddenly turned red.
They had been dyed red by blood.
An expression of disbelief appeared on the old Guardian's face.
The wind from the palm howled.
The sword glow silently advanced.
All the candles in the ancestral hall were instantly extinguished.
The numerous memorial tablets toppled to the ground.
Countless palm prints and sword slashes appeared on the pillars and walls.
With a light swish, the ancestral hall returned to silence.
The old Guardian stood on the stone steps in front of the ancestral hall.
His left palm had been run through by a sword, blood flowing from it.
A deep wound had also appeared on the left side of his chest, blood gradually seeping out of it.
His right palm had overlapped with his opponent's left palm.
His opponent was a man dressed in the clothes of a servant.
This man was very ordinary, with nothing special about him.
In the last five years, this man's shoulders had always drooped, just like Wang Po on Chicken Crowing Mountain outside the city.
But today, it was different, because his left wrist all the way to his shoulder had been shattered by the old Guardian's palm.
Who was this person that had managed to fight the Tang clan's old Guardian to the point where both sides were heavily injured!
Even if it was a sneak attack, it was still hard to believe.
… …
… …
The old Guardian faintly remembered this person. He was probably the mute servant in the ancestral hall.
He naturally knew now that this person was no ordinary mute servant.
And this person was not an expert of the Tang clan arranged by the Old Master, because he knew all the secrets of the Tang clan.
Then just who was this expert that had pretended to be a mute servant and swept the courtyard of the Tang clan's ancestral hall for half a year?
To be able to successfully ambush an expert half a step from the Divine meant that he was an extremely specialized assassin, and his cultivation was assuredly about the same.
Peak Star Condensation? In the present world, there was only one assassin of this level.
The old Guardian knew his opponent's identity, and his pupils constricted as he shouted, "Attack!"
These words were naturally meant for the white-clothed assassins.
But at this crucial moment, he had forgotten a very important matter.
The white-clothed assassins charged at Tang Thirty-Six in the courtyard, their sword intents swift and sinister, countless times colder than the snow in the depths of winter, causing one to shiver in fear.
Countless cold sword glows appeared in the drifting snow, and then came the sounds of sharp blades piercing through flesh and groans.
The blood sprinkled on the snow in the courtyard was particularly dazzling.
Several assassins lay in pools of blood, no longer breathing.
These assassins were very skilled and vigilant, but they had never imagined that the sneak attack would come from their companions.
The swift and sinister sword intent enveloped the courtyard of the Tang clan's ancestral hall.
The mute servant retreated into the courtyard.
The seven white-clothed assassins walked to his side.
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