Chapter 128: The Conspiracy Begins to Emerge

Such a statement might seem a bit arrogant on the part of the Painted Butterfly, yet she certainly possessed the confidence to back it up within ten moves. After all, it was a long-established fact that Shen Wansan and Dao Tianfeng were evenly matched, a reality verified countless times. Having a clear understanding of Dao Tianfeng’s martial arts, she felt perfectly at ease, even taking the opportunity to mock her opponent. She knew well that martial arts required a calm and composed heart; if one grew agitated, even ten parts of strength would struggle to manifest as more than eight.

Despite her words, the Painted Butterfly had no intention of pausing. As she assumed her stance, her spiritual energy began to swirl rapidly in the direction her hands moved. Knowing full well that she was inferior to her opponent in both technique and spiritual cultivation, she knew that confidence alone was not enough—caution was paramount. Thus, seizing the initiative was essential. An opening strike would always be more potent than passive defense. Furthermore, ten moves seemed just right; the most exquisite techniques of her "Flying Flower Hand" were contained within that span. Even if she couldn't force him back, she could at least remain undefeated.

Shen Wansan stood motionless, as if performing a trick of subduing movement with stillness, or perhaps his confidence had truly reached an extreme. A gust of wind rose, growing stronger, fluttering his greying hair. Beneath the faint moonlight, he truly possessed the bearing of an immortal, had his heart not been weighed down by such deep obsessions. He was destined to be an unreachable legend in the world of martial arts.

"Falling Leaves and Flying Flowers," the opening move of the Flying Flower Hand, was not particularly lethal; its purpose was to test the waters, yet it was far from simple. The swirling leaves enveloped the Painted Butterfly, yet every corner seemed poised to strike. With a slight adjustment of her spiritual flow, this move could transform into any other in her repertoire—a perfect blend of offense and defense. With a graceful flick of her fingers, as if dancing, the leaves transformed into sharp blades and darted toward him.

"Using the same move twice? How listless. If this is all you have, why would I need ten moves? I suggest you show your true capabilities!" Seemingly disdainful, Shen Wansan did not move even as the blades drew near. Just as before, they parted before touching him. The Painted Butterfly, however, showed no surprise; a faint, smug smile played on her lips. "Then watch closely. Is this truly the same as before? Don’t blame me for not warning you—if I happen to hurt you, Master Shen, please forgive this junior!"

As they exchanged moves, neither was willing to admit defeat, either in combat or in words. Suddenly, Shen Wansan sensed something amiss. The leaves that had been deflected by his spiritual energy did not fall as they had before; instead, they retained their energy, bypassed his defensive edge, and looped behind him to strike with renewed speed.

"Clever girl, your eyes are sharp indeed to spot the weakness in my defense!" With blades attacking from behind, he could not use the same method to parry, as the frontal assault remained constant. As he countered the pincer attack, he secretly admired her. At her age, to possess such skill was remarkable. In time, she might even surpass him. He suddenly recalled another figure—if that person were here, this girl might not even last a single move. He mused that throughout his life, he had only encountered such prodigies in his twilight years. Perhaps if the Mingyue Manor were entrusted to her, it could remain glorious for decades more.

"You have been following me for a long time, Hall Master Ronghua. If you have something to say or ask, you can be open about it. There is no need for such skulking."

They had reached the final turn before the armory. While the path ahead was brightly lit, this corner remained shrouded in darkness, blocked by a large, ancient tree. Shen Chengbi stopped in his tracks, sensing that the figure ahead had also halted. Soon, that voice drifted toward him.

*A sly old fox,* Shen Chengbi cursed under his breath. He walked forward reluctantly. Standing beneath the tree, neither could clearly see the other’s expression. The silence hung heavy, as if neither wanted to break the tension or reveal their thoughts.

"If you want to ask about those two from this evening, just say so. No need for this pretense; I intended to tell you anyway." After a long silence, Dongfang Mingyue finally spoke. Usually, the one who speaks first is seen as yielding, but Shen Chengbi did not feel that way. He knew this strange old man was no simple person. "Since you intended to tell me, why wait? Why let me harbor suspicions? And since you knew I was following you, why lead me to such a place?"

"You are indeed sharp. No wonder the Old Ghost Shen values you so highly—he even wants to entrust the Mingyue Manor to you!" Dongfang Mingyue chuckled, his voice cold and aged, carrying an eerie quality. Coming from him, the comment felt strange. He was an elderly man who could easily walk ahead of Shen Wansan; why would he care about the manor? Furthermore, he had always called Shen Wansan "Old Two," yet today he used the term "Old Ghost." Shen Chengbi was confused and remained silent.

Dongfang Mingyue continued, his laughter turning chilling: "You want the answer? I brought you here because everyone knows that you, Shen Chengbi, are like a shadow to that Old Ghost. If the two of you stay together, not even I, Dao Tianfeng, or even the resurrected Demon Sect Leader Shui Lianhua could gain the upper hand. I cannot let you stay together. Because this time next year will be the death anniversary of both you and that Old Ghost. Do you understand now?"

Shen Chengbi was stunned, his expression one of pure disbelief. "The Hall Master of Zhaoyang would never say such things. Who are you?"

"Who am I? Ha! I have almost forgotten who I am myself after all these years!" The voice sounded as if it were mocking itself. When the laughter ceased, the old man spoke with heavy, deliberate words: "But today, I will tell you. Listen well: I am the Master of Cold Mountain Valley, Dongfang Mingyue!"