He transformed into a burly fellow with a full beard, looking a dozen years younger, a long sword slung at his waist, his demeanor aggressively sharp, radiating a fierce edge, like a drawn blade ready to erupt in violence at any moment.

He was utterly different from before, a completely new person; even those familiar with him would not recognize him, for Deng Jiuru had absolute confidence in his disguise skills.

Riding a fine steed, he galloped out of the Qinghe Sword Sect, heading straight north toward the Mingjing Sect. Confident in his disguise, he feared no recognition, speeding past travelers without slowing his pace, instead shouting loudly.

Traveling swiftly for two days, he was already a thousand li away, entering a large city.

The next morning, he stabled his horse at the Qinghe Sword Sect’s branch courtyard, changed his attire again, and morphed into a refined and elegant middle-aged scholar.

He employed a unique secret technique; the skin on his face was smooth and full, appearing barely thirty years old at first glance, yet the aura between his brows hinted at deep experience, giving him a unique charm.

He wore a long sword at his hip and held a folding fan, looking like a pampered young master who cared nothing for worldly affairs, the sword at his waist seemingly just an accessory.

This time, he was even more unrestrained, using his movement technique to glide as if riding the wind; though his pace seemed measured, it was incredibly fast, surpassing even the fine horse.

By dusk, he was thousands of li distant, nearing the border of the Mingjing Sect. His heart gradually eased; once within the Mingjing Sect’s territory, the Xijiang Gang would not dare act so brazenly.

The last rays of the setting sun dyed the woods gold, the dense forest holding a mysterious air, as if concealing infinite secrets within.

He frowned, scanning the area, cautiously channeling his inner energy in defense, sensing that this thicket of trees carried an oddness, perhaps an ambush.

"Come out!" he suddenly bellowed as he stepped toward the woods, halting his advance.

His gaze was piercing as lightning, but the forest remained eerily silent; even the low chirping of insects had ceased.

"Hmph!" He curled his lip, sneering, "Cowardly rats hiding their heads and tails, just stay put!"

He continued to sneer, his face etched with disdain.

"Good! Good!" A low chuckle suddenly sounded, and four elders in grey robes drifted out of the woods, settling silently five zhang in front of him like shadows.

Deng Jiuru frowned and asked coldly, "Who are you people?!"

"Why does Sect Leader Deng play the fool?" A thin elder in grey shook his head. "Sect Leader Deng, your skill at changing faces is indeed impressive, but for a dignified sect leader to resort to such petty tricks is shameful!"

Deng Jiuru’s heart sank upon seeing them, knowing the situation was dire, but unwilling to reveal his identity before the final moment, he cupped his hands in a hopeful attempt to bluff his way through.

He frowned, staring at the four, shaking his head: "Nonsense!"

The thin elder in grey shook his head and smiled, "Sect Leader Deng, you truly lack magnanimity, still playing coy at a time like this!"

Deng Jiuru resolved to maintain the facade to the end, saying in a deep voice, "Who exactly are the four of you? This is absurd. Do you want a fight?"

"Forget it, no more wasted words with you!" The thin elder in grey shook his head helplessly, waved his hand, and, along with the other three, lunged toward Deng Jiuru.

"Seeking death!" Deng Jiuru roared in anger, his sword light multiplying rapidly, like a pear blossom blooming all at once, mesmerizing to the eye.

"Clang, clang, clang, clang..." The four grey-robed elders struck the sword with their fingernails, which were as hard as steel, producing metallic chimes as they clashed with the long sword, continuous and dense.

Deng Jiuru's heart continued to sink. In his bid to gain the upper hand, he exerted no restraint, infusing several sword strikes with his lifetime of cultivation, yet he could not overcome the four.

Their cultivation was already a level above his, and they attacked as a unit. Deng Jiuru gritted his teeth internally; he could only resort to his final technique!

After taking a deep breath, his body suddenly swelled and then contracted, as if shrinking by a full circle, causing his sword light to more than double in brilliance.

"Clink. Cling, cling, cling..." The ringing sound grew more urgent. One grey-robed elder groaned, taking a sword strike to his wrist; his right wrist was injured, and now his left hand was struck as well.

"Good spear..." This grey-robed elder laughed furiously, drifting back two zhang, glaring intently at Deng Jiuru.

With both hands injured, he was powerless and could only rely on his companions for revenge.

Deng Jiuru moved like a phantom, his sword like a streak of lightning. Though he injured one, the pressure on him suddenly intensified; the force transmitted through the fingers of the three remaining grey-robed elders grew stronger.

Fortunately, his power had doubled, allowing him to barely hold on, but the three's strength was increasing, and he was beginning to struggle, finding it difficult to endure.

The three grey-robed elders shook their heads; indeed, he was the leader of a sect, possessing ultimate secret arts that were not so easily countered; they would have to exert themselves.

"Bang!" The three suddenly struck out with their palms against their companion (who was nursing his injury, Note: Text implies they struck their injured comrade or redirected power related to him), emitting a muffled thunderous sound. Immediately, the grey robes fluttered violently, as if a great wind had swept through, and their movement technique suddenly accelerated.

"Bang!" Deng Jiuru flew backward.

He spat out a stream of blood mid-air, staring with despair at the three approaching grey-robed elders, knowing his life was about to end here.

Unwillingness and rage boiled within his chest. He threw his head back and let out a long cry, but the sound was hoarse and weak, his injuries consuming his strength.

"Bang!" He crashed heavily onto the ground. The thick, soft leaves could not cushion his pain; every part of him ached, and several streams of internal energy rampaged through his meridians like slicing knives.

He suppressed the agony and slowly pulled himself up. The three grey-robed elders approached and looked down at him. The thin elder said in a deep voice, "Sect Leader Deng, do you have any final words?"

Deng Jiuru sneered, wiping the blood from his lips, and said coldly, "Kill me or slice me up as you wish!"

"Then we won't be polite!" The thin elder shook his head. "If you have anyone to blame, blame the fact that you are the leader of the Qinghe Sword Sect. In eighteen years, you’ll be a fine man again!"

Saying this, he raised his palm to strike Deng Jiuru’s head. Deng Jiuru closed his eyes, accepting death calmly.

"Whoosh!" A piercing sound arrived in an instant. The thin elder’s downward striking palm abruptly lifted, blocking his chest. "Bang!" He was thrown straight backward.

His feet carved two deep grooves into the earth, and after ten-odd zhang, he stopped, swaying unsteadily, his face flushed as if drunk.

Li Muzhan appeared beside Deng Jiuru gracefully, shaking his head. "Sect Leader Deng, I truly did not wish to reveal myself."

Deng Jiuru turned his head and smiled at him, "Young Hero Li, you have saved my life again!"

Li Muzhan laughed, "Sect Leader Deng, you owe me a life. This time, I wasn't acting under orders!" "How is it? Can you hold on?"

"I won't die!" Deng Jiuru nodded slowly. "Good, I owe you a life!"

Pulled back from the absolute despair of certain death, gratitude surged within his chest. He wasn't afraid of dying, but he didn't wish to die either, especially facing death and then suddenly being given life back; this shock of joy was overwhelming.

Li Muzhan turned to face the four grey-robed elders and shook his head, "Defeated generals have nothing more to say. You all get lost!"

The thin elder’s face turned ugly, the flush receding to a pallor, looking withered like a drought-stricken flower about to wilt: "Li Wuji, don't think we fear you!"

Li Muzhan smiled, "It seems you know my background!"

The thin elder squinted at him, letting out a cold sneer of disdain. "We can’t deal with the Mingjing Sect, but we can’t handle the Tianyuan Pavilion?!"

Li Muzhan’s expression also darkened, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You are courting death!"

"Then try me!" The thin elder scoffed. "As long as we send a message, your Tianyuan Pavilion will vanish into thin air!"

Li Muzhan narrowed his eyes and stared at him for a moment, then suddenly smiled, "Quite a boast, but I don't believe it!"

He flashed behind the thin elder, and a streak of sword light flashed across the elder's throat. "Uh..." The thin elder clutched his throat and collapsed. (To be continued)

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