The morning mist had not yet lifted over Qinglan City as Ye Fan stood beneath the West Gate, his boot heels grinding against the fragments of armor left behind from the fierce battle the previous night. Qín Wǎnshuāng’s hand was still clutching the hem of his sleeve, her knuckles pale and bruised from staying awake all night, yet she refused to let go. Ever since the dawn raid on the Zhao Estate's secret guard camp, she had followed him like this, clinging like a trumpet vine to an ancient pine—clearly capable of climbing into the clouds entirely on her own, yet stubbornly choosing to borrow half of his strength.
"Young Master Ye," Elder Chén’s voice came from behind. The Outer Elder of the Cangwu Sword Sect always wore a stern face, but at the moment he managed a rare trace of a smile, his iron scabbard still stained with un-wiped blood. "In the dungeon of that old dog Zhao's private militia camp, we dug up a secret door. Behind it is an ancient cave, with the four characters 'Qinglan Ye Family' carved into the stone wall."
Ye Fan’s pupils suddenly constricted. In his past life as an Inquiry Realm powerhouse, his greatest regret had been that the Ye Family's ancestral Qinglan Nine-Layer Strength had lost its final three tiers during the massacre a century ago. The moment those four characters—"Qinglan Ye Family"—struck his ears, they pierced his decade of endurance like a red-hot silver needle, leaving a sweet, bloody taste in his throat. It was the phantom sensation of bei…
Chapter 109