The air between the Xuemo sect and the Liuguang sect wasn't as pure as before. As Mo Yan approached the Xuemo sect, they all smelled a scent. The air was filled with the smell of fire and destruction. And when they looked ahead, their pace slowed to a halt. The convoy suddenly stopped. A violent inferno blazed ahead. Bai Long, in the middle of the forest, was trying to extinguish the flames with his fierce breath, Like a majestic dragon weaving through the sky.

  Seeing that horrific reality, Mo Yan's breath stopped, his body suddenly turning cold. A terrifying fire raged ahead. Su Nian, from all sides, hurriedly brought his horse to Mo Yan and said,

  "Your Majesty, please let us go first. You stay behind with the four disciples."

  Hearing this, Mo Yan nodded and allowed Su Nian to proceed. Su Nian, accompanied by the 16 disciples, rode onward. Mo Yan followed behind with four disciples. His horse's footsteps crunched in the snow.

  Moving ahead at lightning speed, Su Nian saw the Liuguang Sect, and the atmosphere there was even more terrifying than the Xuemo Sect. Then, Su Nian glanced back at Mo Yan, who was steadily advancing. Mo Yan, noticing Su Nian's questioning gaze, nodded slightly in agreement. And just then, Su Nian's convoy headed for the Liuguang Sect. The horses were whizzing by with such force that the wind was blowing snow behind them. And Mo Yan sped straight towards the Xuemo Sect.

  And when Mo Yan finally reached the Xuemo Sect, his eyes widened as he saw black-masked, armored soldiers laying siege to the Tao Hua Chuan Academy. Mo Yan halted his horse's pace, and the horse stopped calmly in one place. Behind Mo Yan, his four disciples also stopped. But the silence and stillness that prevailed had taken on a sinister aspect.

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  In front of them, several masked men stood on the roof and doorway of their main entrance. At first, there was no movement, but suddenly, all the men drew their swords. The sound of their swords' withdrawal echoed like a cracked stone. At the same time, Mo Yan's disciples also drew their swords, which came out with a shriek and ripped through the air. But Mo Yan remained calm. No expression appeared on his face; he simply raised his hands, closed his eyes, and made a hand gesture. As soon as the hand gesture was made, the same ancient Zixian zither appeared in the air before him, emitting its beautiful, shimmering waves as always.

  Just then, the masked men advanced simultaneously, their swords drawn. Their intent was evident in their movements. Just then...

  Mo Yan placed his hands on his divine sound instrument, the Zixian. His cool, cold fingers plucked the 18 resonant strings with lightning-fast speed. As each string produced sound, he unleashed deadly blows one after another. Hundreds of glowing, moon-like blades emerged from the air,

  spinning at lightning-fast speed, piercing through one enemy after another. A single strike wiped out 36 men. Mo Yan's disciples watched in amazement, without even a chance to swing their swords.

  Over there, in the attack on the Liuguang sect, the swords of Mo Yan's 16 disciples were slicing through the oncoming enemies with a single blow. Each disciple's swords were so precise and restrained that not a single drop of blood stained their white robes, not even a corner of their robes touched the ground.

  Their flying robes remained untouched by fire, while their swords and their blows were so deadly that a single blow could bring down an enemy.

  But perhaps the conditions in the Xuemo Sect were even more intense and difficult than war.