Chapter Ninety-One: The End

A sharp sound sliced through the air as the blade cut forward, cold and fierce, aiming directly for Leng Yue Tian’s throat.

Though Yang Yan was now like an arrow at the end of its flight, his strength still far surpassed Leng Yue Tian’s, who was utterly powerless to resist. Earlier, Leng Yue Tian’s sword technique had clearly been meant to kill Yang Yan, and Yang Yan himself was no gentle soul. Since he had already become an enemy of the Jade Sword Pavilion, he resolved to finish what had been started—no more half measures—he would silence his opponent for good.

At that moment, Leng Yue Tian felt as if he had fallen into an icy abyss. The murderous intent radiating from Yang Yan’s body stripped him of all will to fight. As the young master of the Jade Sword Pavilion, no one had ever dared to draw their blade against him—let alone threaten his life.

But just as Yang Yan’s sword was about to slice across Leng Yue Tian’s neck, the enormous light screen at the center of the Hundred Hunters Field suddenly erupted in dazzling golden radiance. A humming sound, like distant enchantment, reverberated from the screen. Simultaneously, every remaining contestant in the field grew blurred and ethereal. An immense suction force surged from the void around them, swallowing up their figures completely.

In less than a second, every participant vanished without a trace from the Hundred Hunters Field...

At the entrance, a crowd had gathered—among them were Zhang Tai and Zi Ling. The latter was standing on tiptoe, her bright, dark eyes scanning eagerly toward the entrance.

“Look, it’s Brother Yang Yan!” Zi Ling exclaimed excitedly as a figure flashed out at the entrance. Yet, upon seeing his bloodied and battered appearance, concern flickered in her eyes.

“Yan’er, are you all right?” Zhang Tai called as Yang Yan landed steadily within the Zhang family’s camp. Seeing the concern on Zhang Tai and Zi Ling’s faces, Yang Yan smiled softly.

“I’m fine—just a few superficial wounds,” he replied, then glanced toward the Jade Sword Pavilion’s camp of Hanxiang City. There, another battered figure had landed: Leng Yue Tian, who had barely escaped death.

Leng Yue Tian sensed Yang Yan’s gaze. Terror flashed briefly in his eyes before it was replaced by a surge of furious, murderous intent.

Today’s events were a humiliating disgrace for Leng Yue Tian. After exhausting all his hidden cards, not only had he failed to defeat Yang Yan—who was only at the third level of Spiritual Sensing Realm—but he had nearly lost his life. Even the Pavilion’s high-level spiritual artifact, the Crimson Refining Cauldron, had been seized by Yang Yan.

“Pity... this one got off too easily,” Yang Yan thought, seeing the murderous glare from Leng Yue Tian. He felt only a twinge of regret. He had lost all affection for the Jade Sword Pavilion. They had colluded with the Xu family, plotting to use the Qingxuan Sect disciple examination as a cover to kill him in the Hundred Hunters Field. With this, Yang Yan had already placed the Jade Sword Pavilion on his blacklist. He believed that soon, he would have the power to erase their name from Jinzhou entirely.

For now, however, the Zhang family’s strength was not enough to contend with the Jade Sword Pavilion. But if the Pavilion tried to attack the Zhang family outside of their own city, bypassing Qingxuan Sect’s oversight, they would have to think twice.

“Yan’er, how did the assessment turn out?” Zhang Tai asked, his trust in Yang Yan’s strength unwavering. But as both father and patriarch, he was deeply concerned about whether Yang Yan could become a Qingxuan Sect disciple.

“Brother Yang Yan definitely passed, didn’t he?” Zi Ling interjected, her expression firm and earnest.

Yang Yan smiled, ruffled her hair, and then took an identity token from his robe, handing it to Zhang Tai.

“I did not disappoint you. And I’m not the only one who made it,” he said.

Zhang Tai took the token. The bright red number “3” marked Yang Yan’s placement in the Hundred Hunters Field exam.

Before Zhang Tai could express his joy, Yang Yan’s next words stunned him, and a thought he could scarcely believe began to take shape in his heart.

“Could it be...?”

Just then, the entrance to the field rippled, and two figures shot out to land in front of the Zhang family’s camp.

The two appeared quite battered—their clothing scorched with holes, hair yellowed and clumped, skin showing obvious burn marks. Yet both faces were lit with irrepressible joy: Zhang Lin and Zhang Fei, who had entered the field alongside Yang Yan.

“Patriarch, Third Young Master!” they greeted Yang Yan and Zhang Tai, stepping forward. With a flip of their tightly-gripped hands, they revealed two identity tokens, each bearing the same bright red number: “38!”

“Is... is this real?!” Zhang Tai was utterly stunned by this windfall. He had never expected Zhang Lin and Zhang Fei to pass the entrance exam. He had only entered them to fill the three available slots, hoping that even if they failed, they might help Yang Yan a little. Yet fortune had favored the Zhang family—both Zhang Lin and Zhang Fei had not only become Qingxuan Sect disciples, but had achieved an impressive thirty-eighth place.

“With you here, the Zhang family will prosper! Hahaha!” Zhang Tai laughed joyously, stepping forward to embrace the three.

“Patriarch, this is all thanks to Third Young Master—without him, there’s no way we could have entered the Qingxuan Sect!” Zhang Lin said, his gaze full of admiration for Yang Yan.

Zhang Fei nodded vigorously in agreement. Though their strength ranked in the top five among the Zhang family’s younger generation, in the talent-filled Hundred Hunters Field, they were barely at the bottom. Without Yang Yan’s guidance and help, not only would they have failed to become disciples—even surviving the field would have been uncertain.

Zhang Tai’s face showed deep satisfaction as he patted Yang Yan’s shoulder heavily, saying nothing, his eyes shining.

Yang Yan was genuinely happy for his father. Since he had begun cultivating, smiles had become more frequent on his father’s face. Yet for reasons he could not name, he often sensed a thread of unease and struggle behind those smiles...