Chapter 119: The Clay Figure in the Moonlight

Two men dressed in white quickly pulled two shovels from their vehicle. After selecting a spot on the desolate hillside, they immediately began to break the ground. The mountain was eerily silent, save for the occasional piercing, chilling sounds that echoed through the gloomy night. Scattered around were faint, mound-like shapes, resembling unmarked graves.

"Damn it, that this job fell to us is just pure bad luck," one of the men muttered, clearly displeased.

"Quit whining and start digging!" the other replied. "This place is creepy enough as it is, and it looks like rain is coming. Let's just dig a hole, toss him in, and bury him."

"I suppose that’s all we can do. It’s better than he deserves, having a hole to rot in. Still, he was someone—the First Deputy Hall Master of the Blood Hall. We used to have to look up to people like him, but look at him now. Dead as a doornail and at our mercy. Ha!"

"He died quite unjustly this time. If Hall Master Tian hadn't orchestrated the plan to plant Wan Hong and the other man inside the Yi Sect, they might have actually succeeded in their sneak attack today. We wouldn't have stood a chance."

Before long, a crude, deep hole was finished. The two men dragged Yang Feng’s body over and tossed it inside without ceremony. They grabbed their shovels again, rapidly piling mound after mound of dirt over him.

Yang Feng lay motionless in the hole, his pale face appearing ghastly under the dim moonlight. The shocking wounds on his body and the dried blood only added to the horror. Neither man noticed that not only was his pinky finger twitching, but his eyelashes were beginning to flutter as well.

Minutes passed, and the hole was partially filled. Yang Feng’s legs were almost entirely buried, and it seemed he would soon be sealed underground forever.

Just then, a fierce bolt of lightning tore across the dark night sky, illuminating the landscape. A thunderous rumble followed, shaking the very heavens.

"Damn, that was a loud one. Looks like the rain is coming. Let’s hurry up and finish burying him!"

"Damn you and your jinxed mouth. Look, it’s already starting."

As they spoke, the sky transformed. Blinding lightning streaked across the horizon, and the thunderous roar sounded like a million heavenly soldiers clashing in battle. A torrential downpour began, soaking the two men in an instant.

"Let’s go! I’m not ruining my good clothes for a dead man." One of them grabbed his shovel and bolted toward the van. The other cast a cold glance at the "corpse," decided it was enough, and hurried after him. Moments later, the van vanished into the driving rain.

Rainwater dripped onto Yang Feng’s face and body, the cold sensation slowly seeping through him. From the slight twitching of a single finger, his entire arm began to move. His eyes struggled, flickering as if trying to force themselves open.

"Cough... cough..." With a few painful gasps, Yang Feng managed to pry his eyes open. His pale face was etched with fury—a profound, burning rage. He had heard every word of the men's conversation while drifting in and out of consciousness. The mention of Wan Hong ignited a desire to tear him limb from limb to avenge the ten Blood Hall brothers who had died, hoping their spirits might finally find peace.

The bleeding from his wounds had stopped, but the agonizing pain remained constant. Summoning the last of his strength, he slowly and laboriously scraped the dirt off his legs. He collapsed back into the mud, gasping for air and coughing violently.

Ten minutes later, Yang Feng regained a sliver of strength. He realized that if he didn't make it back alive, Wan Hong, that traitor, would surely continue to wreak havoc on the Blood Hall and the entire Yi Sect. The consequences were unthinkable.

He crawled out of the hole, inching his way down the mountain, his body and face caked in mud until he looked like a clay sculpture. In the dark night, lit only by flashes of lightning, a grotesque, mud-covered figure could be seen slowly advancing through the wild grass, accompanied by the occasional cry of a wild animal.

At the Yi Sect headquarters, Chen Erpao paced the conference room anxiously, as did Wang Xing and Liu Hua. Only Wan Hong, standing to the side, wore a faint, imperceptible smirk of triumph.

Tomorrow was the weekend, so Chen Erpao didn't have to work and had stayed at headquarters waiting for word of Yang Feng’s mission. But dawn was approaching, and there was no news—not even a trace of the eleven men.

Chen Erpao spotted Huang Mao approaching and immediately asked, "Huang Mao, what has your intelligence unit found? What’s the situation?"

For once, Huang Mao’s demeanor was somber, tinged with grief. "According to the latest reports, the mission failed, and they are all dead."

"What? How could this happen?" Chen Erpao could not mask his shock. A mission that should have carried little risk had cost the Yi Sect one of its top leaders and ten elites, men tempered by countless bloody battles. The loss was immeasurable and devastating.

"The details are still unclear. Rumor has it that the Horizontal Hall sent reinforcements to protect their cargo, and Yang Feng’s team ran right into them."

"Find out! I want the truth. My people do not die without a clear reason. I don't believe in such coincidences. With Yang Feng and the Blood Hall members, unless the enemy knew beforehand and had laid a massive ambush, they could never have been trapped."

Chen Erpao’s expression was terrifying. It was the first time in a long time he had lost his temper in front of his brothers. Aside from major campaigns, the Yi Sect had never suffered such a heavy blow. The loss of his brothers stirred memories of their past, the pain of the Shennongjia incident surfacing once more.

Wan Hong trembled slightly. Chen Erpao’s rage and his words clearly indicated he was becoming suspicious. Thinking of the fearsome reputation of the Yi Sect’s Discipline Hall, a chill of terror ran down his spine.