Chapter 77 – The School of Yin-Yang… What a Disappointment

Night fell, eerily silent, a stillness so profound it stirred unease in the soul. The crisp sound of a chess piece landing echoed clearly, as did the chilling splatter of flesh tearing and blood erupting. Ni Yu trembled violently, her wide eyes brimming with terror. The Young Master… was enraged.

"Ni Yu, come in."

Lu Fan's voice came from within the house, calm and unshaken.

"Yes, sir!"

Ni Yu scrambled to her feet and scurried into the house, casting a glance at the cold, blood-soaked steamed bun on the ground, her heart inexplicably aching.

Creak… creak… Wooden wheels turned slowly, grinding against the ground.

Ni Yu pushed the wheelchair with careful, measured steps. Lu Fan gazed indifferently at the figure standing atop the roof.

"To gather all the cultivators under heaven… you dare presume to be worthy?"

Reclining in his wheelchair, Lu Fan toyed with a chess piece, his tone devoid of emotion.

The black-robed figures who had burst into blood mist in an instant, and the crushed mechanical beasts lying in ruin, seemed to faze the figure on the roof not at all.

"Interesting," came a strange, genderless voice from beneath the figure's wide conical hat. "It is said that Young Lord Lu, touched by immortal fate, can unleash an oppressive force so overwhelming that even martial masters cannot withstand it. Seeing it today, it is indeed a technique that borders on the divine."

"Indeed, cultivators are just as troublesome as the philosophers claimed," the figure chuckled.

"But knowing your methods, Young Lord, did you truly believe we would come unprepared?"

The metallic flute was lifted once more and gently placed to the lips. A soft melody began to drift through the courtyard.

Lu Fan raised an eyebrow, still idly playing with the chess piece. "The Hundred Schools… the School of Yin-Yang."

Among the Hundred Schools, the School of Yin-Yang was known for its mystery—masters of occult techniques, illusion, poisons, curses… and more. Lu Fan had studied them closely, finding their craft intriguing. When brute strength hits its limits, the Yin-Yang School expands possibility with cunning arts, pushing the boundaries of low-tier martial realms.

The Mohist warriors, the Yin-Yang magicians, the Mechanist beasts—these were the pragmatists among the Hundred Schools.

Lu Fan had not expected all three factions to appear at once.

The moonlight pierced the clouds, illuminating Lu Fan's face and setting his white robe aglow like polished jade.

Fireflies swarmed down from the sky like a flowing river of stars, dancing to the tune of the flute. It was dazzling, almost otherworldly.

Ni Yu pushed the wheelchair, her eyes sparkling as she watched the ethereal lights. "So beautiful."

"The more beautiful something is, the more dangerous it tends to be," Lu Fan replied.

Ni Yu blinked in confusion.

Suddenly, the flute's melody grew sharp and urgent.

The fireflies accelerated, descending like a waterfall aimed at Lu Fan.

The blood from the broken mechanical spider on the ground began to squirm, transforming into a swarm of crimson worms that slithered toward Lu Fan.

Ni Yu watched in horror as the bloody bun was instantly devoured by the wriggling mass, her face turning as pale as a sheet.

Those black-robed figures exploded by the chess moves… they were merely puppets filled with blood worms.

Lu Fan remained serene, unfazed.

The fireflies burst apart midair, transforming into a thick, blinding mist. Driven by the wind, the fog engulfed Lu Fan and Ni Yu.

On the rooftop, Wei Yu, hidden beneath the wide hat, smiled faintly as she continued to play her flute.

She watched Lu Fan swallowed by the mist and the bloodworms crawl into the house, contempt rising in her heart.

"A cultivator… is nothing special after all."

Once the bloodworms covered a body, they would devour it inch by inch. That fair-skinned, crimson-lipped Young Lord… would soon be nothing but a pool of blood.

Such a pity, for one so handsome.

"Boring…"

"Are worms all you know? Nothing more creative?"

"The School of Yin-Yang… how thoroughly disappointing."

Suddenly, a voice drifted from within the mist—calm and cold.

Wei Yu froze.

An overwhelming pressure descended upon her.

It felt as if someone had gently exhaled—and scattered the dense mist like it was nothing at all.

Moonlight returned, shining upon the young man in white, seated in his wheelchair, radiant and untouchable.

"Impossible!"

"The mist born of Yin-Yang fireflies… not even a Grandmaster of Nine Resonances could endure it! How are you unaffected?!"

Wei Yu's voice cracked with disbelief.

But what truly shattered her composure was this:

The youth in white… stood up.

He… stood up?!

Wasn't he supposed to be crippled?

The rumors were wrong!

Lu Fan glanced at her with detached indifference.

"You really don't know why I'm unaffected?"

"They say I am… a cultivator, after all."

As the swarm of bloodworms approached within three meters of Lu Fan, they suddenly stopped, shivering as if in the presence of an unfathomable terror.

Lu Fan raised a pale hand, delicate as jade, and snapped his fingers.

With a soft crack, every bloodworm evaporated into nothingness.

On the rooftop, Wei Yu's face drained of color beneath her hat. Her body trembled uncontrollably.

She no longer played the flute—there was no point.

The music could control the bloodworms, but… the bloodworms were all dead.

She turned to flee.

Yet a wave of dread surged around her, so suffocating that it paralyzed her completely. She could not even lift her legs.

And then, as if summoned by nightmare—

The youth in white now stood before her.

When—?!

Wei Yu's pupils shrank in terror.

The youth reached out and gently lifted the veil of her wide-brimmed hat.

A stunningly beautiful face was revealed to the night. She was the prime disciple of the Yin-Yang School, a master of many mystical arts. Even in the face of the Overlord of the Western Province, she had never known fear.

But now, faced with this frail-seeming youth, she found herself utterly powerless.

"Such a pretty face," Lu Fan said with a faint smile.

Wei Yu smiled nervously. "Young Master Lu… perhaps you might spare my life? I would gladly…"

But before she could finish—

A surge of black energy erupted from Lu Fan's body. It formed a blade, swift as shadow, and slit her throat in an instant.

Wei Yu's vision spun. She saw her own headless body still standing on the rooftop. Blood splattered three feet high.

But a demonic aura surrounding Lu Fan acted as a barrier, blocking every drop.

Sitting, he was immortal. Standing, he became a demon god.

Lu Fan casually took the metal flute from her lifeless hand. It still held the fading warmth of her fingers.

In the next breath, he vanished—back in his wheelchair.

He glanced at the sleeping Ni Yu on the ground, snoring like a piglet. With a trace of amusement, he conjured a slap of spiritual energy and patted her pudgy cheeks.

Smack… smack…

Ni Yu bolted upright like a frightened bird, instinctively wiping away her drool.

"You're awake? Then push me outside," Lu Fan said with a smile, twirling the flute with one hand while pinching her cheek with the other.

Ni Yu blinked in confusion, only to see the wreckage in the courtyard, the headless corpse on the rooftop.

Oddly enough… the Young Master's rage brought her a strange sense of peace.

Carrying the chessboard on her back, Ni Yu pushed the wheelchair out of the house, stealing a glance back at the spot where the bun had been devoured.

They moved slowly through the Lu Manor. Every guard had fallen unconscious.

Lu Fan saw Luo Cheng—still snoring, blade in hand.

"Should we wake them, Young Master?" Ni Yu asked.

"Let them sleep. We're going to the inn."

Ni Yu pursed her lips—truthfully, she wanted to sleep too.

Outside the manor.

On the long street, Lu Changkong staggered forward, struggling to stay awake.

Suddenly, a beam of spiritual energy descended from the heavens, clearing the drowsiness from his body in an instant.

Under the moonlight, Lu Fan approached in his wheelchair, pushed by Ni Yu.

"Father."

Lu Changkong exhaled with relief. "Good, you're unharmed."

His expression darkened. "This Yin-Yang Firefly art… it's a long-lost technique from the Yin-Yang School. The entire city has fallen into slumber."

"To kill unknowingly in one's dreams—that is the terror of the Yin-Yang School."

"It's nothing," Lu Fan said, gently tapping the flute. "Just a petty trick."

"Let's go meet this Mohist leader."

...

Second floor of the inn.

Mo Beike stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back.

His heavy-lidded eyes twitched faintly as he narrowed his gaze.

At the far end of the street, under the silver moonlight, a girl pushed a wheelchair carrying a youth in snowy robes. Beside them walked Lu Changkong.

"Young Lord Lu of Beiluo…"

Mo Beike murmured as he looked upon Lu Fan.