Chapter 65: The Living Flower Vase Part 2

The black-robed woman couldn’t get anywhere near the desk. She was forced back, stumbling clumsily against a folding screen with Feng Yun’ai’s blade pressed against her neck.

The swords Feng Yun’ai held weren’t even a matched pair. One was Chen Jinsai’s umbrella sword, while the other was a standard blade forged by the Dieshan Alliance for its subordinates. They differed in length and temper, yet in her hands, they were as formidable as divine weapons.

Feng Yun’ai used the hilt of her sword to flip back the woman’s hood, revealing a face that matched the familiar voice.

It was Lin Yaoyao!

“I didn’t expect your swordsmanship to be so formidable,” Lin Yaoyao said softly. “Feng Rong is dead, but I suppose I can count myself lucky for having ‘exchanged’ blows with her legacy. However… that red-lacquered desk must be destroyed.”

Feng Yun’ai kept the blade pressed to Lin Yaoyao’s throat. Since her time at the Yao Yao Inn, she had suspected the woman harbored hidden depths, so this revelation wasn’t entirely shocking.

Suddenly, Lin Yaoyao’s cheeks puffed out. A sharp crack echoed from her mouth, as if she had bitten down on something.

Whether it was suicide by poison or a hidden projectile, Feng Yun’ai didn’t take chances. She held her breath and pressed the blade forward, though she had no intention of killing her yet—Lin Yaoyao was needed alive.

Lin Yaoyao suddenly bent low, her sleeves fluttering as she released several thin threads. They were so fine they were practically invisible; had the sunlight not been streaming into the room at that exact moment, illuminating them with a shimmering glint, Feng Yun’ai would have missed them entirely.

Poison in the mouth, and now these puppet strings…

This must have been the Nightmare Art used on Zhou Gui!

No matter how prepared Lin Yaoyao was, she was no match for a dual-wielder. The silk threads were resilient and wouldn’t break easily, and Feng Yun’ai’s swords were too ordinary to cut them, but they were enough to act as a shield to prevent the threads from entangling her.

Feng Yun’ai parried the silk, rotated her right wrist, and slammed the hilt of her sword into Lin Yaoyao’s neck. It wasn’t a chokehold, but it was far more painful and suffocating.

Lin Yaoyao’s strength buckled. She doubled over, retching, her tightly pressed lips forced open.

Feng Yun’ai didn’t know what was hidden in her mouth, but the moment she opened it, a faint buzzing sound emerged—like the frantic beating of insect wings.

In that heartbeat, a hand reached over Feng Yun’ai’s shoulder. It pried Lin Yaoyao’s jaws apart with brute force and pinched the object out.

“The Innkeeper is truly blessed to have met our Xiuxiu,” Sang Chencao remarked casually. “She doesn’t use these underhanded tricks, nor would she take your life.”

Between her two fingers, Sang Chencao held a black-winged insect. The creature had already bitten into her finger, drawing blood, yet she seemed completely unbothered.

Lin Yaoyao’s eyes widened in horror. “How… how can you feel nothing?”

“What am I supposed to feel?” Sang Chencao teased. “Is one bite from this Sickle-toothed Winged Mole-cricket supposed to paralyze my limbs and knock me unconscious? What a pity. I am immune to all poisons.”

Feng Yun’ai froze, staring at Sang Chencao’s fingertip and then into the woman’s smiling eyes. She frowned. “What are you doing here? How is the situation outside?”

“With Sui Jianxue there, it’s fine.” Sang Chencao didn’t crush the insect; she kept it trapped in her palm. She turned toward the door and raised her arm. “I hope you all saw that clearly. This bug was hidden in her mouth. Don’t go saying we planted it on her.”

A crowd surged into the room. Someone demanded, “Who are you, and who is behind you? Is the Sun Chasing Cult still hiding its remnants among us!”

At the mention of the Sun Chasing Cult, Feng Yun’ai’s heart skipped a beat, her body trembling almost imperceptibly.

Lin Yaoyao, however, let out a triumphant, mocking laugh. It was clear the questioner had missed the mark entirely.

Seeing her manic laughter, the interrogator pressed further. “It seems you’re just a nameless rat. If you don’t confess, you won’t leave this place with your life!”

Lin Yaoyao was just as she had been back in Sand River—every frown and smile dripping with charm. Even in her current pathetic state, her laughter was captivating. She crinkled her eyes and said, “The Sacred Cult doesn’t even have you in its sights. I wonder who the real nameless rat is.”

“You—!”

Feng Yun’ai turned and struck several of Lin Yaoyao’s acupoints to silence her. “Forgive me,” she said softly.

Sang Chencao smirked and slightly loosened her grip on the insect.

The Sickle-toothed Winged Mole-cricket buzzed loudly, diving toward the people near the door. Several cultivators scrambled back, bumping into one another. They swung their swords at it, but they couldn’t land a single hit on the tiny creature.

The insect’s speed was staggering. Before any sword qi could reach it, it darted away, leaving no trace of its path.

Feng Yun’ai gave it only a glance before thrusting her sword with unerring precision. The tip of the blade skewered the insect instantly.

The crowd stood in stunned silence. They retreated several steps from the door, and though no one spoke, their eyes betrayed a genuine sense of awe.