Chapter 78 – Young Lord Lu Slays the Philosophers in Three Steps

One stood above, the other below. The two men met each other's gaze across the shadowed space.

Night deepened, a creeping mist veiling the moonlight, thinning the once-clear lunar glow into a pale haze.

Lu Fan sat silently in his wheelchair. Without speaking, he cast a fleeting glance at the towering figure by the window—Mo Beike of the Mohist School—then gently shook his head and lowered it, toying with a metal flute that still held the fading warmth of its former mistress.

Regret flickered now and then across his features, though it was unclear for whom or what he mourned.

Mo Beike squinted toward the flute in Lu Fan's hand, his puffy eyelids twitching slightly. It was Wei Yu's flute.

On the rooftops, the priests of the Yin-Yang School stood still under their fluttering cloaks. Down the long street, mechanical beasts bared metallic fangs, their presence matched by the chilling wind that swept through, casting an air of imminent bloodshed.

Lu Changkong's face was cold as frost as he stared at Mo Beike.

"Master Mo, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded, drawing the blade from his waist. His hair danced in the wind, and within his body, a stream of spiritual energy stirred like a restless serpent.

"Sigh…"

By the inn window, Mo Beike let out a soft sigh.

"Why remain awake, Lord Lu? Wouldn't it be far more pleasant to sleep soundly until morning?"

His hoarse voice echoed.

"The entire city slumbers—why must you alone remain lucid?"

"If I were to sleep… I fear I might never awaken," Lu Changkong replied coolly.

"If my guess is correct, then tonight, in Beiluo, Zuilong, Tong'an, Pingnan, Yuanchi, and Wangtian—the Mohist School has made its move."

Mo Beike's wrinkled face curled into a light smile as he looked at Lu Changkong.

"Cultivators are anomalies. But the rise and fall of the world follows destiny. We cannot allow anomalies to disturb the destined course. Thus… cultivators must be controlled. Only when order is established can we explore the mysteries of cultivation."

His words, though seemingly directed at Lu Changkong, were clearly meant for Lu Fan.

Lu Changkong said nothing.

Because at that very moment, the mechanical beasts on the street and the priests atop the inn were all set into motion.

With the fall of Mo Beike's words, killing intent surged like a tide.

Lu Changkong tensed, his body taut with dread.

Ni Yu, pushing the wheelchair, had turned deathly pale, her legs trembling.

Lu Fan remained serene. Watching the charging beasts and descending priests, he raised the flute in his hand with unhurried grace.

"You know nothing of cultivators," he said softly. "You speak of them disrupting the realm's balance, when in truth, you wield martial strength to suppress and subjugate.

"What's laughable… is how convinced you are that everything lies within your grasp.

"But when it comes to cultivators… you are utterly blind."

He paused, voice laced with faint disappointment.

"I had hoped tonight I would face the true leader of the Mohist School. It appears I was mistaken."

Lu Changkong was startled by his words.

Above, Mo Beike's eyelids trembled again. His sharp gaze locked onto Lu Fan… then, unexpectedly, he chuckled.

"Mo Beike warned me to be wary of Young Lord Lu of Beiluo. Seems the old fox was right as always—his vision remains terrifyingly sharp."

Laughter echoed down the street.

Then—

"Mo Beike" reached up and clawed at his own jaw. Slowly, he peeled off a twisted human mask.

Beneath it, a devilishly handsome face emerged, framed by cascading gray hair.

The stooped frame straightened, unfolding into a towering, broad-shouldered figure.

In an instant, his entire aura transformed.

Lu Fan remained unmoved, still toying with the flute.

Lu Changkong gasped in recognition.

"One of the Hundred Schools… a philosopher of the Yin-Yang School—Wei Luan!"

A figure of philosopher-level rank!

And not just any philosopher—but one from the most enigmatic of all the schools.

Lu Changkong marveled at the Mohist's cunning. To invite such a force into Beiluo solely to deal with Lu Fan…

But then again, he understood.

After all, before the secret realm of Wolong Ridge, Ning Zhao and Nie Changqing had bathed the land in blood under Lu Fan's command. A man who commanded such disciples was no ordinary target.

No wonder they brought in Wei Luan.

"What have you done to Wei Yu?"

Wei Luan's gray hair fluttered wildly as he stepped from the window, leapt from above, and landed gracefully in the long street, robes billowing.

The mechanical beasts roared as they charged, and Yin-Yang priests streaked across rooftops, forming a swift encirclement.

Lu Changkong's muscles clenched—this was a philosopher-level presence. The pressure was suffocating.

Lu Fan, still seated, remained composed.

Boom!

The blue bricks of the long street shattered as a mechanical tiger let out a fierce roar and pounced.

Moonlight reflected off its cold, murderous frame.

"Wei Yu… the woman who played with insects?" Lu Fan said lightly. "Don't worry. She passed… peacefully."

With that, he flicked the flute in his hand.

Buzz…

Spiritual energy surged, rippling the air, followed by a piercing whistle.

In a flash, the flute vanished—then reappeared, lodged in the tail of the mechanical beast.

Somehow, the beast had been pierced clean through. The Mohist engineer inside was skewered alongside, blood flowing freely.

The beast crumbled, its shattered parts crashing at Lu Fan's feet in a gust of wind.

His white robe fluttered fiercely.

The flute hovered in the air, a single drop of blood glistening on its tip.

Lu Fan glanced at Wei Luan's icy expression, then gently pressed downward.

The flute plunged like lightning.

Another beast, this time a mechanical wolf, was instantly nailed to the earth—unable to move.

With elegance and ease, two beasts had been slain.

Around him, even the Yin-Yang priests flinched slightly.

Wei Luan narrowed his eyes and shouted, "Form the array!"

The priests moved as one, doffing their conical hats.

They seemed to merge with the shadows, vanishing and diving toward Lu Fan like phantoms.

Lu Changkong slashed fiercely at one—only for his blade to pass through a cloud of black mist.

The priest had vanished, reappearing elsewhere.

Beads of cold sweat formed on Lu Changkong's brow. Even a martial grandmaster could feel death lurking in every shadow.

Ni Yu collapsed in fear, curling on the ground.

At this moment, she wished she were sleeping like Luo Cheng. But her strength… did not allow it.

Lu Fan remained calm. From the side of his wheelchair, he took out a single chess piece.

Moonlight pierced the mist and illuminated his face, the piece, and the glowing chessboard.

Grasping it between his fingers, he watched the phantom priests flit through the fog like wraiths.

Unperturbed by wind from any direction, Lu Fan leisurely rolled up his sleeve and placed the piece.

In that instant—

An overwhelming spiritual pressure erupted.

Boom…

The world warped.

Two explosions burst in the mist.

Two Yin-Yang priests failed to retreat and were obliterated, bodies turned to ash.

The survivors landed atop rooftops, terror in their eyes.

"So needlessly ornate," Lu Fan said calmly.

He made no further move to place pieces.

Instead, he handed the board to Ni Yu, then turned his gaze on Wei Luan.

And rose from his wheelchair.

His white robe gleamed brighter than snow.

Wei Luan's pupils shrank. It was the same reaction Wei Yu had shown when Lu Fan had stood.

"You may be the first philosopher of the Hundred Schools to perish in Beiluo," Lu Fan declared.

"Don't worry. I'm quite merciful—I'll let you die as peacefully as your disciple did."

Wei Luan's gaze sharpened. His gray hair surged as he bit his finger, drew a droplet of blood, and painted strange symbols across his face—

The Yin-Yang School's… Curse Seal.

Suddenly—

Wei Luan's body blurred. From one, came two, then three, then five.

He split himself into five avatars.

Lu Fan's expression remained unchanged.

Then—

Dark spiritual energy swirled around him.

He stepped forward.

Boom—

The very ground of Beiluo trembled.

All five Wei Luans flinched simultaneously.

Lu Fan took a second step.

The crushing pressure made all five drop to their knees, unable to resist.

Lu Fan took a third step.

All five bowed low, unable to lift their heads. Terror spread through their eyes.

And then—

Lu Fan stood before them, hands clasped behind his back.

Dark energy surged, condensing into a blade that swept in an arc.

Swish.

All five heads flew into the air.

Just like his disciple Wei Yu—

They fell with eerie peace, like autumn leaves drifting… silently to the ground.