Chapter 37: The Calamity at Mount Song

Before the mountain gate, there were at least seven or eight hundred people, yet not a single sound was heard...

Dusk fell without a bright moon; the jade rabbit in the sky was veiled by a dark cloud, obscuring its silver glow. Lanterns were lit before the gate, shattering the silence as footsteps approached!

Then the disciples of Mount Song parted into two groups, and from the crowd emerged Zuo Lengchan.

Though missing one arm, his expression remained stern, but the arrogance that once defined him had vanished. His pride had been left behind in Shaolin along with his right arm.

When Zuo Lengchan saw Ren Yi, his body trembled uncontrollably.

It was fear, and also hatred.

“What grudge does the Mount Song Sect hold against you?” Zuo Lengchan asked.

Ren Yi replied calmly, “You’ve seen it for yourself: my martial skills are excellent.”

Zuo Lengchan pressed his trembling lips together and forced himself to remain composed. “Indeed, in today's world, everyone says you are supreme, unmatched, and no one dares to challenge your sword’s edge.”

Ren Yi smiled. “If no one can defeat me, then what is there that I cannot do?”

“Do you truly intend to annihilate the Mount Song Sect?” Zuo Lengchan ground his teeth.

Ren Yi nodded slightly, chuckling. “I have come precisely to exterminate. Asking questions won’t change anything; you might as well brace yourselves. Of course, you can resist.”

Zuo Lengchan’s voice quivered. “You... you... The affairs of the world all hinge on reason. No matter how strong your Divine Sword skill is, you cannot act tyrannically, killing at will.”

Ren Yi shook his head. “I only follow my own logic; others’ words are mere nonsense to me.”

“What logic is that?” Zuo Lengchan asked hoarsely.

Ren Yi laughed again. “The logic of pleasure. Whatever brings me joy, I will do. Slaughtering the Mount Song Sect? That would make me happy.”

“Kill him!” came a decisive shout.

The Mount Song disciples surged forward like a swarm of bees. They all knew who Ren Yi was—some had seen him, some had heard of the carnage he wrought.

And now, with bodies strewn everywhere, and after hearing his words...

To survive, they struck without mercy. When one fights for life with desperation, their sword will show no hesitation, their moves grow even fiercer, their martial power intensifies.

But if the gap is too great, all efforts are in vain...

Ren Yi had said he would slaughter the Mount Song Sect, and indeed, it was a massacre.

---

The moonlight shone faintly, just illuminating the mountain gate... The clouds parted, the moon appeared—and people died!

In a flash of light, the surging crowd turned into a rain of blood. Ren Yi walked through them, unhurried steps accompanied by swift sword shadows. Each step seemed to trample upon life itself.

Life was like wild grass—to be trampled and cut down at will.

Ren Yi’s sword danced effortlessly; wherever its edge struck, nothing could withstand it. It sliced through metal and bone, pierced hearts and severed throats. Figures flew and fell with every flash of light, and life ceased.

No matter who stood before Ren Yi’s sword, all were as fragile as children, utterly defenseless.

Silver light radiated like encircling peaks. The roaring crowd, the rise and fall of screams... the once dense throng had thinned considerably.

A terrifying man wielding a sword more fearsome than terror itself. The cold wind bit sharply, and the air was thick with the metallic stench of blood.

At first, they would rather die than not fight!

If only they could kill the Divine Sword Ren Yi, they could stand alone within the Mount Song Sect, wielding great influence!

If only they could kill Ren Yi, their name would spread far and wide, their prestige unstoppable!

Yet beneath that exquisitely lethal figure, beneath that most sacred and absolute swordlight, such resolve and thoughts began to waver.

Now, they were burned by their own fighting spirit.

They mounted the most desperate combined attacks against Ren Yi, but his response was the same—relentless slaughter.

Their fighting spirit was extinguished by the killing; once snuffed out, it could never burn again.

Zhao Sihai led the retreat, having witnessed the deaths of Zhang Jingchao and Bu Chen. In an instant, the swordlight seemed like a dream, an illusion.

It was a moment of beauty—fleeting—and then their chests were cleaved open by the blade.

Zhao Sihai had yet to strike. Leaping into the air and landing lightly on his toes, he fled through the crowd. But the swordlight suddenly sought him out.

Like a shooting rainbow and a streak of lightning, the swordlight pursued him. No matter how fast he fled, it was swifter still. The swordlight caught up with Zhao Sihai; he let out a long roar, his sword transforming into a flying arc.

But before his sword could strike, another blade shattered his swordlight and pierced his throat.

“Shhh!”

Moonlight flowed like water, enveloping a figure in white standing beneath it. Silence fell once more, and all eyes watched as Ren Yi withdrew his sword.

Countless lives had been lost—too many to tally. The corpses lying down outnumbered the living.

Ren Yi turned and walked on, silent. The path of his swordlight was like a divine terror, a ghostly wail. Life and death hung on a single moment, yet his swordlight seemed eternal.

---

Because his swordlight was frozen at the instant of each person’s death.

The massacre stretched from dusk to dawn, from the mountain gate to the main hall...

Zuo Lengchan and Elder Deng bided their time in the hall’s corner as Ren Yi strode forward step by step.

Sha Tianjiang hid behind Ren Yi, suddenly unleashing a strange move. A figure flickered before him—then vanished.

A palm struck down on Sha Tianjiang’s head with a “bang.” The ground beneath him shattered as blood burst from his mouth, nose, and eyes.

Elder Deng’s pale face was marked by red-rimmed eyes. In a last desperate effort, he unleashed twelve moves in an instant—nine strange techniques followed by three deadly strikes.

Yet with a single palm from Ren Yi, the man was sent flying far away, landing without a sound.

Finally, Ren Yi glanced at Zuo Lengchan and lightly snapped his fingers.

They stood three or four yards apart.

The gust from his fingers struck Zuo Lengchan. The latter neither dodged nor resisted, as he had said before—he would simply endure.

Blood spurted forth. Zuo Lengchan was finally dead. The Mount Song Sect was utterly destroyed; there was no reason for him to live.

The Mount Song Sect’s base was stained red with blood, a sprawling web of intersecting crimson lines stretched across the mountain gate—hardly a patch remained clean.

Killing always brought joy, for Ren Yi only slaughtered those who could make him happy.

But after the bloodshed came only exhaustion and emptiness.

At the foot of the stairs stood a little girl, surrounded by many corpses. She bore a few wounds but smiled brightly. “Brother Ren, where shall we go next?”

Ren Yi said nothing.

“Ah, Brother Ren, where is your sword?”

“Broken.”

“Broken? That won’t do! I’ll help you find it.”

Qu Feiyan turned to go back, but Ren Yi said lightly, “You should return to find your grandfather.”