The mist beneath the floor moved first.
It slid between the cracks of the stone like water, thin and pale, spreading toward Fang Lin's feet without sound. At nearly the same moment, the pressure from Black Mountain Gate changed. It was no longer scattered around Zhu Kang's body. It sank, gathered, and pressed toward the center of the hall.
Toward Fang Lin.
The first attack came from behind.
A Black Mountain Gate disciple shot forward with both palms raised, his black-brown armor robes snapping in the air. Stone pressure wrapped around his arms, and the floor beneath his feet cracked with every step. From the side, another disciple moved behind a broken weapon rack, his palm aimed at Fang Lin's ribs.
The mist rose.
Three jade-blue needles hid within it, nearly invisible.
Feng Jiu'er's eyes turned cold. Fire stirred at her sleeve, but Fang Lin had already moved.
The Night Burial Sword rose in his hand.
No light flashed.
The sword simply cut.
The mist before him split apart as if it had been cloth. The three needles broke silently in midair, their faint blue glow swallowed by the black blade. Fang Lin stepped forward instead of retreating, and the stone pressure falling onto his shoulders made the ground beneath him crack.
His body did not bend.
The Black Mountain Gate disciple rushing from the front froze for half a breath.
That half breath was enough.
The Night Burial Sword passed across his throat. Blood sprayed across the stone floor, hot and bright against the cold black ground. The disciple's eyes widened, and his body took two more steps before collapsing.
The hall went silent.
Fang Lin turned.
The disciple behind the weapon rack tried to retreat, but the sword had already reached him. The black blade cut through the rack, shattered the old wood, and entered the man's shoulder. Bone cracked. One arm flew away, spinning through the air before landing near a rusted spear.
The man screamed.
Zhu Kang's face changed.
He had expected pressure. Resistance. Perhaps a difficult fight.
He had not expected Shen Mo to kill the first attacker before anyone could even understand where the true exchange had begun.
Zhu Kang stepped forward, and his Late Spirit Foundation aura burst out heavily. The black mountain crest on his chest trembled as dark stone Qi rolled through the hall. Weaker cultivators staggered back, faces paling under the pressure.
His palm struck toward Fang Lin.
The air hardened.
Fang Lin moved half a step to the side. Heavy pressure briefly locked around Zhu Kang's wrist and elbow, too quick for most people to clearly see. The Night Burial Sword followed that tiny opening.
Blood burst from Zhu Kang's hand.
Two fingers fell to the ground.
Zhu Kang roared and retreated, pain twisting his face. "You dare!"
Fang Lin looked at him.
The hall became colder.
"If you stretch your hand toward what is mine," Fang Lin said, "be ready to lose it."
The words were calm, but they landed like a blade.
Several cultivators felt their throats tighten.
Behind Jade Mist Palace, Ruan Cheng's smile had already disappeared. He had not moved openly with Black Mountain Gate. He had only released a little mist, hidden a few needles, and left enough distance to deny everything if questioned. In ruins, such things were common. If the victim died, the dead could not argue. If the victim survived with difficulty, a few polite words could smooth the matter over.
But Shen Mo had not survived with difficulty.
He had killed too quickly.
Lan Meiyu stood still at the front of Jade Mist Palace. Her soft eyes lowered slightly, and her fingers remained hidden inside her sleeves. She gave no order. She made no explanation. The jade-blue mist around her body did not advance another inch.
Ruan Cheng swallowed.
Then he moved anyway.
Mist threads shot from his sleeves and coiled toward Fang Lin's legs. Two Jade Mist Palace disciples beside him hesitated for a breath before following, their blades hidden inside pale fog. It was not a sect order. It was greed borrowing chaos.
Fang Lin stepped on the stone floor.
A dull vibration spread beneath him.
The mist threads broke apart. One Jade Mist disciple lost his footing, and before he could recover, the Night Burial Sword pierced through his chest. Fang Lin pulled the blade free, and blood ran down the black edge before vanishing into the metal.
The second Jade Mist disciple turned pale and tried to retreat.
Fang Lin's left hand pressed down slightly.
The man's knees buckled. The sword passed over his neck, and his head struck the floor with a dull sound.
A collective gasp spread through the hall.
Someone whispered, "Who is he?"
No one had an answer.
Ruan Cheng's face drained of color. His body dissolved like a mist as he tried to flee toward Lan Meiyu's side, but the Night Burial Sword cut sideways. The mist split open, revealing his real body stumbling within it.
He raised a jade-blue shield of Qi in panic.
The sword struck.
The shield cracked at once. The blade did not cut through his neck, but it tore across his chest and sent him crashing into a weapon rack. His ribs broke with several muffled sounds, and he spat out blood as the rack collapsed behind him.
Fang Lin walked toward him.
Ruan Cheng scrambled backward, one hand pressed against his chest. "Fellow Daoist Shen, misunderstanding! This was a misunderstanding. The mist in this hall is unstable. I only wanted to protect myself."
Fang Lin stopped before him.
His gaze was calm.
Ruan Cheng trembled harder.
Lan Meiyu's expression remained gentle, but her face had lost some color. She finally spoke, her voice soft and careful. "Fellow Daoist Shen, Ruan Cheng acted rashly. Jade Mist Palace had no intention of becoming enemies with Green Bamboo Sect."
She had seen Fang Lin with the Feng Jiu'er's group.
Feng Jiu'er looked at her coldly. "Then Jade Mist Palace should teach its disciples where to place their hands."
Lan Meiyu lowered her gaze slightly. "Senior Sister Feng is right."
Those words caused several cultivators to look at her differently.
Jade Mist Palace stood beneath Moon Reflection Valley, and Moon Reflection Valley had good relations with Thousand Leaf Immortal Sect. If she openly defended Ruan Cheng now, the matter could become larger than a weapon hall dispute. If she abandoned him too quickly, her own disciples would remember it.
She chose to be neutral.
Soft words.
No rescue.
Ruan Cheng understood too. His lips trembled, and he immediately threw his storage pouch forward. "Compensation! I offer compensation for my rashness!"
The pouch slid across the bloody floor.
The Night Burial Sword stopped an inch from his forehead.
No one dared breathe too loudly.
Fang Lin picked up the storage pouch with his free hand.
Then he kicked Ruan Cheng in the chest.
Ruan Cheng flew backward, slammed into the ground, and fainted.
Zhao Feng stared at him. "Is fainting also a survival method?"
Murong Yue replied quietly, "For him, it may be his best technique."
Bai Qing pressed her lips together. This time, her smile almost escaped.
Zhu Kang saw this, and his face darkened until it looked like iron. His severed fingers lay on the floor, and two of his disciples were dead or crippled. He wanted to continue, but the Night Burial Sword in Fang Lin's hand made his anger sink into his stomach.
That sword had changed the fight.
Shen Mo's aura had not risen beyond what he had shown before, but every movement had become sharper. The sword cut mist, broke pressure, and drank blood without sound. It suited him too well.
Zhu Kang's gaze flickered.
Those pressure methods were also strange. They were not exactly Black Mountain Gate's methods, yet they carried a similar heavy restraint. With Elder Luo Cheng and Wu Shanzun missing for many days, this was not something he could ignore.
He stepped back.
The Black Mountain Gate disciples behind him went rigid.
Fang Lin looked at him.
Zhu Kang clenched his jaw. "Black Mountain Gate will remember this."
Fang Lin's expression did not change. "Good."
Zhu Kang froze.
Fang Lin lowered the sword slightly. "Remember clearly."
No one from Black Mountain Gate answered.
Lan Meiyu cupped her hands slowly. "Jade Mist Palace withdraws from this matter."
Fang Lin looked at her for a moment.
Lan Meiyu's back felt cold, but she did not look away.
Then Fang Lin turned his gaze aside.
She exhaled quietly and gestured for her disciples to pull Ruan Cheng back. The surviving Jade Mist disciples moved quickly, their faces pale. Black Mountain Gate also retreated several steps, carrying the wounded and the dead. Zhu Kang did not leave the hall, but he no longer stood near the center.
The chickens had been killed.
The monkeys understood.
Only then did the hall seem to breathe again.
Smaller sect disciples stared at Fang Lin with fear and awe. Some had ignored him when he first entered, thinking he was only an unknown cultivator traveling near Feng Jiu'er's group. Now their eyes had changed completely.
"He fought Black Mountain Gate alone…"
"And Jade Mist Palace's mist arts could not even hold him."
"What kind of monster is he?"
"Which sect is he from?"
"Is he a hidden disciple of some old senior?"
"No. Look at his aura. Maybe he is from a major force."
"He does not look like one."
"Would a true hidden figure write his sect name on his forehead?"
The whispers spread quickly, soft but heated.
He Lanyue looked at Fang Lin with a cautious smile. Duan Qingshan's expression was grim. He was blunt, but not blind. If he had pushed too hard for the Battle-Scar Spear earlier, Iron Spear Valley might have been the one bleeding on the floor.
Xu Hanjiang stood among the River Sword Sect disciples with a calm face.
Too calm.
Fang Lin turned toward him.
Xu Hanjiang's heart tightened.
The Night Burial Sword hung loosely in Fang Lin's hand. Blood slid down the blade, thinned, darkened, and disappeared into the metal. The sight made several people's scalps prickle.
Fang Lin looked at Xu Hanjiang and said, "Fellow Daoist Xu, your praise truly is expensive."
The hall quieted again.
Xu Hanjiang's smile stiffened.
Murong Yue's eyes curved faintly. "Senior Brother Xu, next time you praise someone, perhaps warn the rest of us first. We are poor and cannot afford it."
A few disciples almost laughed, then swallowed the sound.
Xu Hanjiang forced a smile. "Fellow Daoist Shen is joking."
Fang Lin wiped the Night Burial Sword with a strip of cloth torn from a dead attacker's robe. His movement was slow and unhurried.
"I rarely joke with people who borrow knives."
Xu Hanjiang's smile finally disappeared.
Borrowing a knife to kill.
No one needed the matter explained. There was no proof, but in a hall full of cultivators, proof was not always sharper than suspicion. Zhu Kang had just arrived and attacked. Ruan Cheng had followed under mist. Xu Hanjiang had praised Shen Mo's treasures in front of everyone before that.
Many gazes shifted.
Some landed on Xu Hanjiang.
Some quickly moved away.
The River Sword Sect disciples behind him lowered their heads. A few faces changed slightly. They had already seen enough in Black Lamp Hall to know what kind of person Xu Hanjiang could be when benefit appeared.
Feng Jiu'er's crimson-green aura stirred faintly. Her eyes were cold.
Xu Hanjiang said nothing.
For the first time since entering the Weapon Resting Hall, he did not try to explain.
Fang Lin stored Ruan Cheng's pouch away and looked across the hall.
No one met his gaze for long.
A small sect cultivator near the back whispered, "Silent Mountain Sword…"
The words were quiet, but they spread.
"Silent Mountain Sword."
"A man who crushes with mountain pressure and kills with a silent black sword."
"The Silent Mountain Sword, Shen Mo."
Fang Lin heard the title but showed no reaction.
Feng Jiu'er looked at his side profile. For a moment, the figure before her overlapped with someone else in her memories. Calm when mocked. Sharp when pushed. Shameless when speaking. Terrifying when acting.
Her fingers tightened slightly.
Fang Lin turned and met her gaze.
He gave a faint smile, as if nothing important had happened.
Feng Jiu'er looked away first.
Zhao Feng leaned toward Li Shan and whispered, "Silent Mountain Sword sounds better than Fellow Daoist Shen."
Li Shan said calmly, "Do not say that to his face."
"Why?"
Murong Yue answered for him. "Because he may charge naming fees."
Fang Lin glanced back held his laughter.
Zhao Feng immediately straightened. "A very reasonable nickname."
For the first time since the ambush, a few Alliance disciples allowed themselves to smile.
But the blood on the floor had not dried.
And inside the Weapon Resting Hall, no one looked at Shen Mo as an unknown cultivator again.
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