Chapter Seventy-Two: A Hint of Pride Like Frost and Snow

When Nanluo heard that domineering voice, he slowly withdrew the sword sheath pressed against the woman’s throat. Yet the woman, who had been equally arrogant a moment ago, remained frozen, her eyes filled with terror.

To onlookers, it seemed Nanluo had subdued her with a single swift move, startling her into submission. But only she knew that, in that instant, she felt as if she had already died; no one could comprehend the sensation at that moment, when that cold killing intent shattered her audacious spirit in a single heartbeat.

It wasn’t until someone suddenly patted her shoulder that she seemed to awaken from a dream, stumbling back several steps in fright, unable even to meet Nanluo’s gaze. But when she saw who had touched her, her heart trembled even more, and she hurriedly withdrew, not daring to utter a word. She knew this person’s reputation for unbridled violence, showing no mercy whether to outsiders or his own kind—never one for explanations. If, on a whim, he took a dislike to you, he’d behead you with his axe without a second thought.

“I have come today only to seek out the Great Shaman Kuafu. I mean no offense. What happened last time was merely a misunderstanding. I hope Great Shaman Xingtian will not make things difficult,” Nanluo said, his tone exceedingly humble, posture lowered to its lowest ebb.

It was not out of personal fear—rather, this was the Wu tribe’s domain, and so many of his own people lived here. If things escalated beyond control, even if he were to die, he feared they would suffer as well.

“Who’s talking about the past? I, Xingtian, make my own judgments. This time you’ve come to the Wu tribe, and I saw you strike one of ours with my own eyes—there’s no faking that! Come, come—looks like your power has grown. Let’s see if, once I chop off your head with my war axe, you’ll still be able to speak.” With no intention of listening to Nanluo, Xingtian raised his axe and swung without hesitation.

The assembled humans turned pale with shock. They all knew Xingtian was a Great Shaman; his fearsome reputation was legendary. Hearing his words, they already sensed danger, and now, seeing him act exactly as rumored—beheading on a whim—they recoiled in panic, hearts clenching. After all, Nanluo was an immortal among the human race, and the thought of seeing him beheaded here filled them with dread.

Some even shut their eyes, expecting a scream, but when none came, they reopened them in surprise. They saw Nanluo, like a phantom, weaving between Xingtian’s twin axes.

Though Xingtian’s bearing was as fierce and domineering as ever, there was something different from last time. Gone was some of the wild external arrogance, replaced by a more restrained, deadly edge. Of course, that was only in his fighting style—his temperament remained as unreasonable as ever. So Nanluo thought, while his body, light as mist, danced among the swirling black axes.

“These people are such eyesores. Let me chop off all their heads first, then yours,” Xingtian said, turning away from Nanluo and striding toward the group of onlooking humans.

Nanluo had come only to see if Zhurong was here, or to ask her whereabouts if she was not, so he could continue his search. He had no wish to fight Xingtian. But Xingtian was utterly unreasonable—meeting someone, he immediately sought to behead them. Ever since arriving in the Wu tribe, Nanluo’s emotions had been a tumultuous blend, and now, seeing Xingtian about to kill his people, his anger erupted. Gritting his teeth, he said coldly, “Xingtian, if you insist, then I will no longer stand aside. Today you will learn that the human race is not to be slaughtered and bullied at will. If I die beneath your axe, I hope your Wu tribe spares my people. And if you die by my sword, I hope your tribe does the same.”

His voice was low and heavy, a barely contained killing intent swirling about him. His words carried a sense of life-and-death resolve, and immediately the air was thick with murderous intent, the temperature seeming to drop by several degrees.

Xingtian spun around, a hard, axe-like grin splitting his face as he laughed wildly. “I, Xingtian, chop off the heads of those I dislike, and I never make promises to anyone.”

“I also wish to see if you can still laugh after I take your head,” Nanluo retorted, his voice loud and unyielding. In that moment, his sharpness was laid bare, the pride deep within him shining through—like a sword’s edge, like frost.

Xingtian burst into raucous laughter, as if mocking Nanluo’s presumptuousness, striding toward him with every step.

His stride was not particularly large, yet it felt to others like an axe pressing inexorably toward their throats—forceful, domineering.

The onlooking humans were pale with fear. They had not expected Nanluo to suddenly turn so forceful, no longer yielding—such a sharp turn from the calm, humble demeanor he’d shown upon arrival. Their hearts were a mix of excitement and worry.

Clad in a blue robe, Nanluo stood tall and straight, chin slightly tucked, slowly drawing the Azure Blade. With each inch the sword left its sheath, his aura doubled in strength.

Now he was radiant, cold, shedding all restraint, letting all the pent-up killing thoughts, helplessness, and anger of recent days surge forth unchecked.

“Xingtian!”

Just as the battle was about to erupt, a gentle voice called out.

The soft, tender call was like a bucket of ice water poured over Xingtian; he fell silent at once.

Without another glance at Nanluo, he turned and strode toward the woman who had called him. Nanluo at once sheathed his sword, suppressing the surging murderous intent within him.

He wondered who could so easily quell Xingtian, who was on the verge of an all-out fight. Even in the presence of Xuanming in the past, Xingtian had insisted on beheading Nanluo before paying her respects.

Looking in the direction Xingtian departed, Nanluo saw a woman in earth-yellow robes frowning at the approaching Xingtian. Beside her stood a towering man in black robes: Kuafu.

Kuafu smiled and nodded at Nanluo, who returned the greeting with a smile and moved toward them.

As he drew near, he heard the woman in yellow say, “How many times have I told you not to pick fights at every turn? Why do you always forget when it matters?”

“I... have a bad memory, I always forget,” Xingtian muttered, head bowed in quiet defense.

Nanluo couldn’t help but feel a sense of amazement. Was this really the same overbearing, axe-wielding Xingtian from moments ago?

The woman in yellow now turned to Nanluo, her gaze as gentle and loving as her voice, as if she were looking at her own child.

Having lost his parents early, Nanluo was unaccustomed to such motherly kindness; he quickly averted his gaze, feeling awkward.

“This is our Lady Houtu,” Kuafu said, smiling, as if sensing Nanluo’s discomfort.

Nanluo was taken aback—so she was one of the Ancestral Shamans, and in such a gentle form. He quickly bowed and said, “Nanluo of the human race greets Your Grace.”

She smiled warmly. “You’re here to find Kongxuan, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

Nanluo quickly replied that he was. Houtu sighed, saying, “After Zhurong rescued him, no one knows where he’s hiding. We’re looking for Zhurong ourselves. I’m afraid your trip was in vain.”

Nanluo quickly reassured her it was no trouble, saying he would continue his search. Under her gentle, loving gaze, he felt increasingly ill at ease. After a few words with Kuafu, he prepared to take his leave. Houtu said, “There’s no rush—why not rest here before you go?”

Nanluo replied that he would not feel at ease until he found Kongxuan, and made ready to depart. As he glanced at the distant humans, a thought occurred to him, and he met Houtu’s gentle gaze to say, “Our people, who have come here to intermarry, suffer much bullying—are you aware of this, Your Grace?”

At these words, Xingtian’s eyes flashed with anger, but Houtu quieted him with a gentle word.

Her expression and smile remained soft as ever as she beckoned to the robust woman from before. The woman strode over briskly.

In that same warm voice, Houtu said, “Didn’t I tell you to treat them as our own? Why are you still like this?”

The woman bowed her head. “Yes, my lady. Yingge will remember.” With that, she withdrew, head bowed in meek submission.

Nanluo had thought that with such a kind and gentle leader as Houtu, life for the humans here could not be as difficult as it was. Now, everything was clear. Most likely, her excessive kindness meant she had never punished anyone; even when others erred, she merely spoke a few words. Though all acted like lambs before her, the moment her back was turned, things reverted as before.

With a helpless sigh, Nanluo took his leave, never able to adapt to the gentle, motherly gaze Houtu bestowed. As he bid farewell to each of his people and disappeared into the boundless sky, he did not notice a gray-robed, gray-haired figure watching him coldly from a corner.

That gaze was venomous, like a snake lurking in a shadowy ravine, sending a chill into the heart of any who beheld it.