Chapter 134: A Calculated Ruse, Storming the Camp Alone

He Liancheng did not even flinch, taking the full force of Madam He’s powerful slap.

Soon, deep red welts appeared on his elegant left cheek. Yet, his expression remained unchanged; he did not even furrow his brow. Instead, he lowered his head slightly and said in a low voice, "Please calm your anger, Mother. I know I was wrong."

"You know you were wrong?" Madam He grabbed his collar, exposing his broad, firm chest, and upon seeing the blood-clotted wound there, she cried out in bitter frustration, "Tell me, where is that woman? Where has she gone? And why are you wounded? You know you were wrong? I think you have forgotten how your father died, and you have forgotten the oath you swore before his grave!"

"I have not forgotten," He Liancheng replied, his voice low but filled with an unshakable resolve. "Not for a single moment have I forgotten my father’s vengeance."

"Hmph, easy words," Madam He said, her face full of grief. "You say you haven't forgotten, yet why do you keep delaying your move against that woman? Look at the result—not only has she escaped, but you have also injured yourself. Tell me, have you been bewitched by some ghost?"

He Liancheng remained in his posture of contrition. After a long silence, he repeated the same words: "I know I was wrong."

Seeing his stubbornness, Madam He felt a sense of helplessness. With a deep sigh, she said painfully, "What good does it do to apologize to me? It is your father you have failed. Go to the ancestral hall and properly repent before his spirit tablet."

The sky gradually broke into dawn, with a few lingering stars embedded in the pale blue expanse. The earth was hazy, shrouded in thin mist. Inside the He family ancestral hall, the light was dim and the silence absolute. He Liancheng had been kneeling on a prayer mat, motionless, for two full hours.

His back was straight, his posture resolute. He stared expressionlessly at the spirit tablets of his father, He Yuanshan, and all his ancestors, while his heart churned with tumultuous thoughts. He recalled the scene seven years ago when his father died of incurable injuries, the long days and nights spent training at Tianshan, and the tangled web of hatred between the He family and the Prince Xuan estate.

"General, an urgent report," a soldier whispered from outside the hall.

"Enter."

The soldier hurried into the hall and bowed. "General, scouts report that Prince Xuan, Meng Yuanheng, entered Dading City an hour ago."

He Liancheng’s dark brown pupils contracted slightly, a sharp, cold glint flashing in his eyes. *Hmph, Meng Yuanheng really did find his way here. It seems the messages that woman sent out via the homing birds these past few days have finally taken effect.*

*Unfortunately, Meng Yuanheng, you are still a step too late.*

*However, since you have delivered yourself to my doorstep, I would like to meet you.* He wanted to see what kind of man Meng Yuanheng was—what extraordinary qualities he possessed that could make that woman so devoted to him after seven years of absence.

"Spread the word: say that the Princess of Xuan is being held at the He family military camp on the outskirts of the city."

He and Meng Yuanheng were destined to be enemies in this life. As for him and that woman—that woman who belonged to Meng Yuanheng—there would be no further entanglement between them. From now on, if they were to meet again, it would likely only be on the battlefield, fighting to the death.

***

In an ordinary guest room at an inn in Dading City, a man in black robes with long white hair sat by the table, leaning back in his chair with his eyes half-closed, as if resting. His silver hair was tied behind his shoulders, revealing sharp and handsome facial features. His pale, gaunt face made him appear cold, distant, and indifferent. On the table, a small, snow-white fox lay quietly, also gathering its strength.

For nearly ten days without sleep or rest, the man and the fox had followed the faint traces left by Shen Qianmo, finally tracking their target to Dading City, the capital of the Northern Di Kingdom.

But as time passed, the scent became harder to follow. Xiao Guai had reached the limit of its endurance, and Meng Yuanheng had no choice but to order a brief rest at the inn to recover their strength before continuing the search.

Naturally, the secret guards of the Prince Xuan estate led by Yan Mo, and the shadow guards of the Wolun Villa led by Yun Yi, had dispersed throughout Dading City to gather intelligence. As for Meng Yuanheng, he had been forcibly kept in the inn by Yun Yi. Not only had he not closed his eyes for days, his bloodshot eyes enough to terrify anyone, but he insisted on walking around Dading City with his conspicuous white hair—was he trying to attract more trouble?

Light footsteps sounded outside the door, followed by Yan Mo’s voice, which usually sounded cold and hard, now carrying a hint of joy. "Your Highness, there is news of the Princess."

Meng Yuanheng’s eyes flew open, all signs of sleepiness vanishing. Xiao Guai also woke up instantly, leaping onto Meng Yuanheng’s shoulder.

"Enter."

Yan Mo and Yun Yi entered the room, a study in black and white.

"Where is the Princess?" Meng Yuanheng asked urgently, his bloodshot eyes instantly glowing with intensity.

Yun Yi was clearly excited as well, though a hint of worry lingered in his tone. "It is said that Qianmo is being held at the He family military camp on the outskirts. However, it is unclear if this is a trap set by He Liancheng..."

Before he could finish, Meng Yuanheng stood up abruptly. Before Yun Yi and Yan Mo could react, he grabbed a long sword from the table and vanished, his black-clad, white-haired figure disappearing in an instant, leaving only the sound of the door swinging on its hinges.

Yun Yi was stunned. "This guy... he isn't planning to storm the He family camp all by himself, is he?"

Yan Mo looked at him with a deadpan expression, the implication being that it was obvious the Prince intended to do exactly that.

Realizing this, Yun Yi finally reacted. "Is he insane? The He family camp has over a hundred thousand troops! If he rushes in alone, he won't be able to save Qianmo, and he’ll likely lose his own life in the process!"

Even with Meng Yuanheng’s martial prowess and internal energy, it was impossible to fight thousands single-handedly. Wasn't this just suicide?

After exchanging a look, Yun Yi and Yan Mo sighed, then leaped up to gather their forces to follow. *You reckless, impulsive fool, Meng Yuanheng! I must have owed you in a past life!* Yun Yi cursed inwardly while praying to the heavens that this was not a trap laid by He Liancheng.

The He family military camp was located a hundred miles west of Dading City. Under He Liancheng’s orders, the camp had been fortified with a net from which there was no escape, waiting for Meng Yuanheng to walk right into it.

The soldiers guarding the camp gates were alert, scanning their surroundings with full vigilance, when they suddenly saw a man in black with long white hair descending from the air. Because he was backlit, his face was indistinguishable. The rising morning sun cast a soft, golden glow upon him, leading the Northern Di soldiers to briefly mistake him for a deity descending from the heavens.

But before they could see his face clearly, they felt a chill at their throats, darkness fell before their eyes, and their bodies slowly slumped to the ground, their eyes wide open, staring in death.

Meng Yuanheng, wielding a simple, heavy long sword, moved like a ghost, storming into the camp with lightning speed. Before the Northern Di soldiers could react, he charged toward the main commander's tent, cutting down anyone in his path. The camp was plunged into chaos.

Upon learning that Meng Yuanheng had broken into the camp, He Liancheng, sitting in the main tent, was not surprised. However, he had not expected Meng Yuanheng to dare storm the He family camp alone.

*It seems his feelings for that woman are truly profound!*

He leaped out of the tent. On the vast drill ground, his soldiers were locked in a fierce battle with the black-clad, white-haired figure. The He family camp held over a hundred thousand troops, and He Liancheng had already deployed his forces specifically to welcome Meng Yuanheng. The soldiers surrounding and fighting him were the elite of the He family army, and surrounding them were six thousand 'Owl Eagles' standing ready.

Even with heaven-defying abilities, it would not be easy for Meng Yuanheng to escape this camp alive today.

Yet, as he watched quietly, he felt increasingly alarmed.

He saw Meng Yuanheng’s black figure moving as fast as lightning, weaving through the encirclement of thousands of soldiers with ease. The simple, ancient sword in his hand gleamed with a cold, murderous light; wherever his sword energy reached, soldiers fell to the ground, dead.

*But hasn't Meng Yuanheng been crippled for the past seven years? I heard his leg injury was only recently healed. How is his martial arts cultivation this powerful?*

He looked at the formidable long sword in the man's hand. *So that's it. That sword—it is the Soul-Severer!*

Meng Yuanheng clearly noticed He Liancheng emerging from the main tent. He finished off the soldiers who were tangling with him and leaped toward He Liancheng, landing steadily just a few paces away.

"You are He Liancheng?"

Although they had clashed on the battlefield many times, they had rarely met face-to-face. Furthermore, seven years ago, He Liancheng was only a thirteen-year-old boy. After seven years, his appearance and demeanor had changed drastically, so it was no wonder Meng Yuanheng did not recognize him.

A dozen guards rushed forward, surrounding He Liancheng to protect him.

He Liancheng stared quietly at the thin, outstanding man in black with white hair. The Meng Yuanheng before him seemed to have changed completely from the impression he had seven years ago.

For a long time, his image of Meng Yuanheng had been that of a proud, favored son of heaven, riding high on a horse in fine clothes. But the Meng Yuanheng before him now was bathed in blood, ruthless and cold, like an Asura from hell who would kill gods or Buddhas if they stood in his way.

"Hand over my Mo'er." With the Soul-Severer sword pointed at He Liancheng's chest, Meng Yuanheng’s voice was cold, his face as frosty as ice.