One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Chapter 130 The Wang Family's Trump Card

Wang Ai slumped into the rosewood armchair, his body sliding down like a rag doll. Only his withered hands gripped the armrests tightly, his knuckles white from the excessive force. His ebony cane, inlaid with gold and adorned with dragon heads biting pearls, slipped from his loosened hand, falling with a clatter onto the bluestone slab. It rolled twice before coming to rest on the blood-stained ground.

He raised his head—a movement that seemed to have exhausted his last strength—his cloudy old eyes, like two oil lamps about to go out, tremblingly swept over the battlefield beneath the archway.

Everywhere you look, there is devastation.

The cobblestone path was littered with people lying haphazardly. Some were still groaning, their voices as faint as the struggles of dying insects; some were already motionless, their eyes wide open, pupils dilated, reflecting the pale moon in the night sky; and some, though still standing, were swaying, covered in blood, their hands gripping weapons trembling like leaves in the wind, their eyes filled with terror, staring intently at the gray-haired youth standing in the center of the battlefield.

Those were most of the elite forces the Wang family had accumulated over the years—more than thirty core disciples, fifty or sixty of the most loyal servants and subordinates, and a dozen or so assassins trained at great expense using secret methods and drugs.

Now, fewer than twenty remain standing. And each one is wounded, some with minor cuts and lacerations, others with severed limbs, clinging to life by sheer willpower. Their opponent—the gray-haired youth—still stands in the center of the battlefield. The black, white, and blue aura surrounding him has slowly receded, but it still lingers on his body like a flowing halo. Although his clothes are torn in several places, and blood still seeps from the wound on his left shoulder, soaking half his garment, his eyes are clear as a deep pool, his breathing long and steady. His aura, far from weakening, is even deeper and more powerful than before the battle began.

lost.

A crushing defeat.

Wang Ai felt a chill in his heart, as if he had sunk into the depths of an icy lake in the dead of winter. The cold seeped into his very bones, making him tremble all over—not a trembling of fear, but the despairing shudder of someone whose life was about to end and all hope had been shattered.

He lived for ninety-seven years, ruled the Wang family for sixty years, weathered countless storms, encountered countless masters, and even survived the Jia Shen Rebellion. He believed the Wang family was powerful enough to dominate the entire world of supernatural beings, powerful enough to continue for another hundred or a thousand years.

But now...

A young man in his early twenties came to the door all by himself. He first defeated all the elites he brought with him, then he forcefully broke through the Wang family's secret divine array, and even... broke through in the battle, mastering a strange and unprecedented technique that seemed to be able to devour everything.

"This child... must not be allowed to live." Wang Ai gritted his teeth, his gums bleeding from the force of his grip, the taste of rust filling his mouth. Countless thoughts flashed through his mind, spinning rapidly like a revolving lantern.

If we keep him alive, the Wang family will surely perish. Today they can come knocking on our door, tomorrow they can storm the ancestral hall, and the day after tomorrow they can completely erase all traces of the Wang family.

But... even if we kill him today at all costs, what will the Wang family have left?

The people lying on the ground are the backbone of the Wang family's strength accumulated over the years. Some are dead, some are wounded. Even if they manage to win by sheer luck, the Wang family will inevitably be severely weakened, and they will certainly lose their position as one of the Ten Elders. Those other powerful families that are eyeing the family with covetous eyes will pounce on them like hyenas smelling blood, tearing the Wang family to pieces and dividing up their assets, resources, and territory.

They lost, and the Wang family was wiped out, becoming a laughing stock in the world of supernatural beings.

They won, and the Wang family never recovered, falling from their former glory and barely surviving.

A dilemma, a dead end.

Wang Ai closed his eyes and took a deep breath—the air was filled with the smell of blood, dust, and a faint stench of ink. When he opened his eyes again, all that remained in his cloudy old eyes was a frenzied stillness, like ashes burned to the last embers, with only a tiny spark remaining, yet carrying the heat of burning everything away.

With trembling hands, he pulled a cell phone from the inner pocket of his Tang suit—an old-fashioned flip phone, its black plastic casing worn white, the edges revealing the silver metal inside. He had prepared this specifically, storing only one number, for the most urgent situations.

His trembling fingers pressed the only shortcut key.

"Beep—beep—"

The ringing of the bell was particularly jarring in the silent night.

The phone was answered after only one ring. A young, composed voice, but with a hint of barely perceptible tension, came from the other end:

"grandfather?"

The voice was clean, like spring water in a mountain stream—clear, gentle, and instantly endearing.

Upon hearing that voice, Wang Ai's eyes suddenly welled up with tears. He forced back the lump in his throat and spoke in a voice that was as calm as possible, yet still trembling uncontrollably:

"Feng'er..."

He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed with difficulty, swallowing a mouthful of saliva that tasted of blood.

"...Come to the archway. Now."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. Wang Ai could hear the other person's steady but slightly rapid breathing, as if they were weighing their options and hesitating.

"But Grandpa," Wang Feng's voice was still gentle, but with a hint of confusion and caution, "the Grand Elder said... that 'that thing' in the ancestral hall is at a critical moment, and that I must not leave under any circumstances, but must stay there until..."

"Ignore the Grand Elder!" Wang Ai roared, his voice hoarse like a broken bellows, but he immediately lowered it again, speaking rapidly like a machine gun, "Listen, Feng'er, the Wang family... is at a critical juncture of life and death. Nie Lingfeng has broken in, and the Divine Array... has been broken by him. Our people... are about to collapse."

The breathing on the other end of the phone was noticeably heavier.

Wang Ai could imagine Wang Feng's expression at that moment—his handsome face, always bearing a gentle smile, would now have a slight furrow in his brow, a serious look in his eyes, and lips pressed into a straight line. That was his habitual expression when he was thinking.

"Grandpa needs you," Wang Ai continued, his voice carrying a strange, almost tender tone—a tone he had never shown to Wang Bing before. "You are the last hope of the Wang family, Grandpa's... most prized creation. Grandpa is giving you everything; you... must carry the Wang family to live."

He paused, then added, his voice carrying an undeniable resolve:

"No matter the cost."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

So long that Wang Ai thought the signal had been lost, so long that his hand holding the phone began to tremble again.

Then, Wang Feng's voice rang out again, calm and soft, but each word was enunciated clearly:

"……I see."

He paused:

"I'll be right there."

The phone hangs up.

The receiver emitted a busy tone.

Wang Ai slowly put down his phone, his palms clammy with cold sweat, so slippery he could barely grip the old flip phone. He took a deep breath, stuffed the phone back into his inner pocket, and then looked up at the battlefield.

Nie Lingfeng is walking towards this side step by step.

His steps were slow, even leisurely, as if he were strolling in his own yard. But with each step he took, the Wang family members who were still standing took a step back, their faces filled with terror as if they had seen a ghost, and their hands gripping their weapons trembled even more violently.

Their defenses had completely collapsed. Not by force, but by an invisible, terrifying sense of oppression. The young man before them was no longer an "enemy" in their eyes, but "Death"—an invincible being who could easily reap lives.

"Stop him!" Wang Ai roared, his voice as piercing as a night owl's. "All elders! Stop him at all costs! Even if it costs you your lives! Hold him off!"

The words fell.

Seven or eight figures slowly emerged from the shadows behind the archway, from behind the half-closed doors and windows of the houses on both sides, and from the darkness in the direction of the ancestral hall.

They were all elderly people.

The youngest looked to be in his sixties, with gray hair and not-too-deep wrinkles on his face, but his eyes were as sinister as a venomous snake; the oldest looked even older than Wang Ai, with a full head of snow-white hair and deep wrinkles on his face, leaning on a rattan cane, walking unsteadily as if he might fall at any moment.

However, the "qi" emanating from them was stronger and more profound than the last. Like seven or eight volcanoes that had been dormant for a hundred years, though their surfaces were calm, the magma inside was boiling and could erupt at any moment.

They were the elders of the Wang family.

They were Wang Ai's brothers, uncles, and even grandfathers. Some had been living in seclusion deep within the Wang family ancestral hall for thirty years, some had spent half their lives traveling and were only recently urgently recalled, and some were even rumored to have been dead for more than ten years, yet they reappeared here at this moment.

They are the Wang family's last trump card, the cornerstone of the family's survival. They will not be used lightly unless there is a threat of extermination.

At that moment, they came out.

Seven or eight clan elders spread out in a fan shape and slowly walked to a stop ten feet in front of Nie Lingfeng. Their eyes were cloudy and their faces were expressionless, like seven dried corpses crawling out of their graves, but their bodies were filled with "qi" energy, like an invisible, heavy wall of qi, blocking Nie Lingfeng's way.

The air seemed to freeze.

Even the wind has stopped.

The moon in the night sky seemed startled by the somber atmosphere, hiding behind the clouds and only revealing a hazy glow.

Nie Lingfeng stopped and looked at the seven old men, his brows furrowing slightly.

His senses were fully activated, and the Ice Heart Technique was activated to its limit. He could clearly sense that the strength of these seven old men was more than one level higher than that of the Wang family disciples from before. Although they were old and their blood and energy were declining, and their physical strength might not be as good as that of the younger generation, their control over "Qi", their understanding of martial arts, and their combat experience had all reached a level of perfection and simplicity.

More importantly—in the eyes of these elderly people, there was no fear, no hesitation, not even anger. There was only a numb, cold stillness.

Like seven hard stones, like seven withered ancient trees, like seven guardians protecting the Wang family's soon-to-collapse tomb...