Chapter 83: Spying On Ye Fan
Amidst this chaos in the Stone Mountain Sect, Ye Fan thrived. Treated with a newfound respect bordering on reverence, he enjoyed a stark contrast to his initial humiliating experience. Disciples and elders alike showered him with attention, clinging to the hope that he, the celebrated hero, could vanquish the demon.
Among them was Zeng Liuli, one of the three beauties of the sect. Her playful nature remained, yet a newfound earnestness shone in her eyes as she interacted with Ye Fan. Their conversations, once light and teasing, now held a deeper undercurrent, a blossoming connection fostered by shared anxieties and a flicker of something more.
However, the other two beauties presented a different picture.
Shi Feiyan, the introverted cultivator, emerged from seclusion, having attained the late stage of Core Formation. However, true to her nature, she maintained a distance from Ye Fan.
Mao Caiwei, on the other hand, remained a thorn in Ye Fan’s side.
This fiery cultivator hadn’t apologized for her scathing questions that had made him a laughingstock. With the arrival of the demon, the tables had turned. Disciples and elders alike mocked Mao Caiwei for her initial skepticism, but she seemed unfazed, channeling her energy into finding the demon’s trail.
Her focus on finding the demon, rather than seeking his approval, annoyed Ye Fan quite a bit.
Meanwhile, within the confines of his private chambers, Sect Master Huang held a communication talisman, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation. It was a message from Matriarch Xia Bingling of the Xia Family. Her words crackled with accusation, insinuating a connection between Ye Fan and the demonic attacks.
Sect Master Huang scoffed at the notion.
Ye Fan, an inner disciple of the Azure Peak Sect, a bastion of righteous cultivation? Impossible! Yet, a sliver of doubt remained.
To remain on the side of caution, Sect Master Huang discreetly ordered Ye Fan’s every move to be monitored – his meetings with Zeng Liuli, his conversations with other cultivators, all meticulously documented and reported back.
The demon, as if on cue, escalated its attacks. It targeted groups of disciples led by elders, tearing through them with brutal efficiency. Sect Master Huang compared the timing of the attacks to Ye Fan’s documented whereabouts.
A cold sweat prickled his skin. In each instance, Ye Fan’s location couldn’t be accounted for during the critical timeframe.
This chilling truth sent shivers down the Sect Master’s spine. The evidence, circumstantial as it was, pointed towards a disturbing possibility – Ye Fan, the celebrated hero, could be somehow involved with the demonic attacks.
His mind raced with conflicting emotions. Fear gnawed at him. How could he expose a hero of Ye Fan’s stature? The backlash from the cultivation world, the potential damage to his own sect’s reputation – the consequences were too dire to contemplate.
He envisioned the skeptical gazes of fellow Sect Masters, the accusations of slander flung at him by other righteous sects.
Who would believe the outlandish claim that the world-renowned hero was in league with demonic forces?
But the safety of his disciples, the very future of the Stone Mountain Sect, rested on his shoulders. Ignoring this truth was not an option.
He spent the night poring over reports, searching for a single shred of evidence that could explain Ye Fan’s suspicious movements.
A chilling realization soon dawned upon the Sect Master Huang.
It became clear that Ye Fan thrived on a steady diet of adoration.
Those who catered to his inflated ego, those who fawned over him – these were the ones he favored, the ones he bestowed his supposed “heroism” upon.
And then there were the beauties. Zeng Liuli, with her playful charm, clearly held his interest.
The reports mentioned his inquiries about Shi Feiyan and Mao Caiwei, though the reason remained unclear.
Was it Shi Feiyan’s elegant beauty that piqued his curiosity?
As for Mao Caiwei, Sect Master Huang suspected a deeper motive. Perhaps, beyond the initial humiliation, Ye Fan desired an apology for the ridicule he had endured. Could it be this wounded pride that fueled the demonic attacks?
The realization sent a surge of anger through Sect Master Huang. Lives had been lost, disciples and elders slain by this unseen menace. Was it all a twisted game orchestrated by a man seeking revenge for petty insults?
The thought ignited a fire in Sect Master Huang’s gut.
He summoned his most trusted disciple, a young man named Han Li known for his unwavering loyalty and sharp mind.
“Han Li,” he began, his voice low and grave, “I have a task of utmost importance.”
He recounted the events, the accusations from the Xia Family, and his own unsettling discovery – Ye Fan’s suspicious absences coinciding with the demonic attacks.
“We need to find out the truth, Han Li,” Sect Master Huang concluded, his eyes blazing with determination. “But we need to be discreet. No one, not even the Elders, can know of our suspicions.”
Han Li bowed deeply, the weight of the task settling upon him. “I understand, Sect Master. I won’t let you down.”
Thus, Han Li began to discreetly tail Ye Fan.
The following day dawned, casting its pale light upon the Stone Mountain Sect. Han Li, clad in unremarkable robes, embarked on his mission. He clutched a pouch containing a small arsenal of rare illusionary talismans, his heart heavy with the burden of his task. The weight of the Sect’s future rested upon his shoulders, and failure was not an option.
Throughout the day, Han Li shadowed Ye Fan like a phantom. He flitted through bustling courtyards, utilizing the exquisite craftsmanship of the talismans to mask his presence.
Each step was a constant strain on his spiritual energy as he maintained the illusion for extended periods.
Hours bled into one another as Han Li shadowed Ye Fan. Every conversation, every interaction, every fleeting expression was meticulously observed and catalogued.
Yet, nothing seemed amiss. Ye Fan went about his day seemingly unchanged, a picture of amiable courtesy as he interacted with disciples and elders.
Frustration began to gnaw at Han Li. Had the Sect Master been misled? Had the Xia Family fabricated their accusations? Just as doubt began to cloud his judgment, a shift occurred.
As the last rays of the setting sun painted the horizon in fiery hues, Ye Fan excused himself from a gathering with Zeng Liuli. He strolled out into a secluded bamboo forest, an unsettling aura clinging to him like a shroud.
Han Li’s instincts flared. He quickened his pace, his heart thundering in his chest. Peering through the dense foliage, he witnessed a sight that chilled him to the bone.
Ye Fan, his familiar features twisted into a cruel smirk, raised his hand, and a torrent of inky black energy surged forth.
This wasn’t ordinary spiritual essence. It crackled with malevolent power, an unmistakable signature of demonic cultivation.
With a gasp, Han Li fumbled for his Vision Recording Jade, a precious artifact used to capture a scene in its entirety.
It was imperative to document this unholy spectacle, to have concrete proof of Ye Fan’s treachery.
The jade pulsed faintly as it activated, capturing the chilling scene unfolding before him.
But a grave miscalculation had been made.
Han Li, in his haste, had underestimated the immense power surge that accompanied Ye Fan’s demonic transformation.
His senses, sharpened by the dark energy, pierced through the illusionary talisman. In an instant, Ye Fan’s gaze snapped towards Han Li’s hidden position.
A cold smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across Ye Fan’s face. “So,” he drawled, his voice laced with a chilling amusement, “a little fly has been watching me.”
Han Li’s blood ran cold. Despite the illusion’s protection, Ye Fan had detected him!
Panic surged through him, churning his stomach and constricting his throat. He had to get away, to warn the Sect Master of the monstrous truth.
“Foolishness,” Ye Fan snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. In a flash, he lunged towards Han Li’s hiding spot.
The air crackled with demonic energy as Ye Fan unleashed a vicious palm strike, the “Demonic Crushing Strike.”
Reacting with desperate reflexes honed through years of training, Han Li abandoned his previous position.
He unleashed a flurry of defensive maneuvers, his fists blurring as he executed the “Soaring Crane Stance” – a movement technique that mimicked the graceful agility of the bird.
However, the disparity in power was undeniable.
Han Li, though a formidable cultivator at the early Nascent Soul Realm, was woefully outmatched.
Ye Fan’s demonic power imbued his attack with a terrifying strength. The “Demonic Crushing Strike” smashed through Han Li’s defenses with a sickening crunch, shattering the bones in his left arm and sending him flying through the air.
A grunt of pain escaped Han Li’s lips as he slammed against a nearby tree, the impact knocking the wind out of him. Blood trickled down his arm, staining his robes crimson. He knew escape was a dwindling hope.
Ye Fan, like a predator stalking his prey, moved towards the fallen Han Li.
He raised his hand once more, dark energy swirling ominously around his palm. This time, the attack was aimed at Han Li’s core, the source of his spiritual essence.
“Any last words, little fly?” Ye Fan mocked, a cruel glint in his eyes.
