"Yes! He's just that good! If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in pain all my life!"

Trapped in the past, nearly possessed by a demon, Han Shuying suddenly raised her jade flute and attacked the person on the ground again. Han Yichen, lying on the ground with disheveled hair and dressed in red, desperately blinked away tears, closing his eyes and preparing to withstand the blow that seemed to bring him relief.

But the expected pain didn't come. In an instant, a dark figure flashed out like a ghost. Then, a man wearing a silver mask and holding a sword that shone coldly appeared. With a clang, he used his sword to separate the jade flute, picked up Han Yichen with one hand, and threw him onto the grass behind him.

The man in black clothes under the moonlight was tall and slender with an extraordinary bearing. He held the Soul-Chasing Sword in his right hand. Although he wore a cold silver mask on his face, it did not reduce the huge pressure from the superior emanating from him.

"You, don't hurt him!"

As the black-robed man spoke, he had already drawn his sword and charged towards Han Shuying. The two began to clash, one sword and one flute at a time. Within a few rounds, the black-robed man's sword, gleaming with a cold light, was placed across Han Shuying's neck.

“It is true that the Yangtze River’s waves behind push the waves ahead, and every generation has talented people!”

"hehe……"

"I never thought that I, Han Shuying, would not be involved in the martial arts world for seventeen years, and now there is such a young top master in the world!"

"It's not an insult to me to die at the hands of a master. Kill me!"

Han Shuying closed her eyes in pain, ready to give herself some relief. A tear fell from the corner of her eye, perhaps out of regret for not finding that man, or perhaps out of reluctance for not getting an answer from that man himself, but not a single tear was shed for her son.

“Slow… wait!”

"Forget it!"

"No matter what, she is the one who gave birth to me and gave me life. Let her go..."

Just as the black-robed man was about to chop off Han Shuying's head with his sword, Han Yichen, who was lying on the grass in a dishevel, spoke up to stop him.

Upon hearing this, the man in black retracted his sword, turned over and disappeared into the night, leaving only one sentence before leaving: My fate is in my own hands!

Han Yichen, dressed in red, watched the inky figure depart with such grace that he inexplicably felt a strong resemblance to Mu Lige from the Hua family's old residence. But thinking of his own gentle and kind elder brother, he chuckled to himself. Could it be that he, too, had gone berserk? How could this be possible?

Struggling to get up from the ground, Han Yichen staggered towards the Hua family's old house without even glancing at Han Shuying who was knocked to the ground by the man in black clothes not far away.

Han Shuying, lying on the ground with tears in her eyes, looked at Han Yichen's disheveled figure gradually moving away with a complicated expression. She felt lonely and desolate, and she inexplicably felt a pain in her heart.