150: Mo Linglin

Salt City, Mo Residence.

When Mo Yuhan, holding the small, weak, and still unconscious Qing Lin, silently slipped out of the nauseating underground ventilation shaft like a Gui Mei, and once again breathed the cold but clean air above ground, the murderous intent churning in his chest finally subsided a little.

He looked down at the girl’s pale face in his arms, her eyelashes trembling uneasily beneath her tightly closed eyelids, and the faint three-petal green mark on her forehead was dim and lifeless. Yu Han’s gaze was bone-chillingly cold.

His fingertips gently brushed Qing Lin’s cold wrist, and a pure, gentle trace of Xuan Huang Purple Flame origin carefully entered her depleted meridians, ensuring her life was out of danger.

He did not linger for a moment, his figure merging into the shadows of Salt City’s night, disappearing into the intricate alleys after a few leaps.

West of the city, an inconspicuous, secluded small courtyard. This was a temporary lodging Mo Yuhan had rented under a false identity before infiltrating Salt City.

After carefully settling Qing Lin on the soft bed and placing several bottles of soul-nourishing and vitality-replenishing pills by her pillow, Yu Han stood quietly by the bed for a moment.

Under the dim lamplight, the girl’s breathing gradually became steady and long, and a hint of color returned to her small face.

Only then did his taut nerves truly relax, but the cold flame in his eyes burned even more fiercely.

Mo Residence… this blood debt had only just begun to be settled.

The next day, the atmosphere in Salt City was distinctly different.

Lanterns and festive decorations adorned both sides of the streets, especially the main thoroughfare leading to the Mo Residence, which was swept spotless and covered with brand new red carpets.

The air was filled with a false sense of festivity, and a deeper, invisible pressure belonging to a major power.

The expressions of passersby varied: some showed reverence, some flattery, and some deeply hidden apprehension and disgust.

Mo Yuhan had changed into an ordinary grey cloth robe, concealing all his sharpness, blending into the surging crowd like a common mercenary or small merchant.

His soul perception, like an invisible spiderweb, quietly covered the surrounding sounds and fragments of information.

“…Elder Mo Cheng’s birthday banquet, I heard even the Yunlan Sect sent a gift…”

“…Of course, which influential force around Salt City would dare not come? The Mo Residence now…”

“…Shh! Watch your words! I heard Young Master Mo Li has been in a bad mood recently and arrested many people…”

“…Heh, the post station was quite lively yesterday. I heard some hothead got into a conflict with the Mo Residence’s second young miss’s carriage…”

“…Mo Linglin? That littlechili (spicy pepper)? Tsk tsk, who’s so blind…”

Post station? Conflict? Mo Yuhan’s steps paused slightly, a cold arc forming on his lips.

An opportunity, wasn’t it just delivering itself to him?

Following the direction of the discussions, he quickly arrived at the Salt City Post Station located in the east of the city. It was noisier than usual, filled with various luxuriously decorated carriages, clearly where guests from all over, coming to celebrate Mo Cheng’s birthday, were staying.

Mo Yuhan did not enter the post station directly. Instead, he found a private seat by the window on the second floor of a popular restaurant diagonally opposite the post station.

He ordered a pot of the most ordinary strong liquor and a few small dishes, his gaze seemingly casually sweeping over the people entering and exiting the post station below, but in reality, his soul perception had already quietly locked on.

Not long after, a commotion arose at the entrance of the post station.

A magnificent carriage, pulled by four snow-white, extraordinarily spirited unicorns, slowly approached, surrounded by several robust men with sharp auras, dressed in Mo Residence guard uniforms.

The carriage was entirely inlaid with dark purple metal borders, and a striking silver “Mo” character was embroidered on the carriage door curtain, signifying the owner’s extraordinary status.

As soon as the carriage stopped steadily at the post station entrance, the curtain was angrily flung open from inside.

A foot wearing exquisite deerskin boots emerged, followed by a fiery red figure, like a dancing flame, leaping lightly from the carriage step with a hint of petulance.

She was a girl of about sixteen or seventeen. A well-tailored fiery red tight-fitting leather armor perfectly encased her newly mature, delicate figure, with full curves at her chest, a slender waist like a willow, and firm, rounded hips, forming a breathtaking youthful allure under the leather armor’s outline.

She had a rather pretty oval face, fair skin, a straight nose, and full red lips like ripe cherries.

Most striking was the small, exquisite, teardrop-shaped light blue crystal ornament she wore on her smooth forehead, which swayed slightly with her movements as she got out of the carriage, reflecting tiny glints of light, adding a strange liveliness to her face, which at that moment held clear expressions of petulance and impatience.

It was the Mo Residence’s second young miss, Mo Linglin.

“So annoying! This wretched road is killing me! Butler, quickly unload the things, this young miss wants to go in and rest!”

Mo Linglin wrinkled her upturned nose, her voice clear and filled with undisguised complaint, as she instructed a shrewd-faced middle-aged butler dressed in a dark silk gown beside her.

She casually uncoiled a long, dark, metallic-lustered whip that was wrapped around her slender waist, and impatiently snapped it in the air, producing a crisp “snap” sound.

“Yes, second young miss, please wait a moment, it will be ready soon.” The butler quickly bowed in response, directing the guards and post station servants to unload the luggage.

Just then, Mo Yuhan moved.

He put down his wine cup, stood up, and walked straight downstairs. He did not deliberately release any aura, nor did he make any fancy moves, simply crossing the street in a plain manner and walking towards the post station entrance.

His steps were not fast, yet they carried a peculiar rhythm; each step he took seemed to land on a spatial node, and though he was clearly moving, he gave off an elusive sense that made him hard to pinpoint.

He walked directly towards the luxurious Mo Residence carriage, as if the guards were nothing to him.

“Stop! Who goes there?!” A guard captain was the first to react, shouting sharply, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The other guards also instantly became alert, their gazes sharply fixed on this uninvited guest.

Mo Linglin also noticed Mo Yuhan.

She was already irritable from the fatigue of the journey, and seeing a young man dressed in ordinary cloth robes, seemingly even younger than herself, dare to ignore the Mo Residence carriage and walk straight towards it, looking as if he had no one in his eyes, her temper instantly flared up.

“Hey! Where did this country bumpkin come from! Are you blind? Get lost!”

Mo Linglin shrieked, and the dark whip in her hand, like a venomous snake, whistled through the air and lashed fiercely towards Mo Yuhan’s face without warning! The whip tip cut through the air, producing a sharp, piercing sound, and the force was vicious, clearly not holding back.

In her opinion, an ignorant commoner, whipping him was just whipping him, it would just let her vent her anger.

The dark whip shadow, with its fierce whooshing sound, instantly tore through the false calm at the post station entrance.

The air seemed to be whipped into a white streak, and the force contained in the whip tip was enough to tear the skin of an ordinary Dou Zhe.

The surrounding crowd let out suppressed gasps, and some timid ones even closed their eyes.

The Mo Residence guards’ eyes were cold, with a hint of cruel anticipation.

Butler Mo Lan’s brows furrowed imperceptibly, but he did not speak to stop her. A young man who didn’t know his place, it was fine to let the second young miss teach him a lesson.

However, just as the whip tip, imbued with vicious force, was about to touch Mo Yuhan’s face—