Chapter 102 Day 24 of Transmigrating into a Wuxia Novel

Chapter 102: Day Twenty-Four Inside a Wuxia Novel

That day, the two arrived at a border town near the Fuyi Sect’s territory. The town was a den of chaos, crawling with spies from every sect, Fuyi agents, and opportunists who smelled blood—the atmosphere was explosive.

No sooner had they sat down in the only inn’s main hall than they caught a few Jianghu men at the next table whispering.

“Did you hear? Those Fuyi Sect elders are still bickering! While the Young Master’s gone, they’re all trying to grab power!”

“Exactly! Enemies outside, backstabbing inside—isn’t that just suicide?”

“Hell, I say the more chaos, the better! That’s our chance! Once we hit the headquarters, the gold, the manuals... hehehe...”

“I don’t care about the rest, but that Heart Erosion Art... they say it’s deadly!”

“Dream on, sucker! Even if we break in, the big shots will have gobbled up all the loot before us small fry get a scrap!”

“Yeah, that figures...”

Ling Fengyao pricked up his ears, then snorted. Lowering his voice, he said to An Yi, “Hear that? And they’re still daydreaming about getting their share.”

He was dripping with sarcasm, then added with a smirk, “Still, their chaos helps us. Ayi, you know exactly where the sect’s lower manual is stashed?”

An Yi picked up the coarse tea bowl, sipped the cheap brew, his movements still elegant. “No idea. Only An Luyuan knows.”

Ling Fengyao raised an eyebrow, echoing the name with a barely perceptible undertone: “An Luyuan... ah, the Fuyi Sect leader, your... father?”

“That’s right,” An Yi said flatly.

Ling Fengyao stroked his chin, a calculating glint in his eyes. “Then... would he actually tell you?”

“Not a chance.”

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A storm was brewing over the mountains where the Fuyi Sect made its base.

Outside, flags from every sect snapped in the dry wind. The righteous sects had the main exits surrounded in a tight ring, but they weren’t attacking, just locked in a tense standoff.

For An Yi, who knew every hidden path and trap by heart, slipping through that tight siege and sneaking into the base was a piece of cake.

The night was pitch black, with only a sliver of moon.

Ling Fengyao followed close behind An Yi, the two moved like specters, totally silent, through the defenses straight to the heart of Fuyi Sect—the leader An Luyuan’s quarters.

An Yi motioned for Ling Fengyao to stay hidden outside while he went in alone.

Ling Fengyao nodded with a lazy grin. “I’ll wait. In and out, fast.”

An Yi slipped past the Fuyi Sect guards and ducked through the door.

Inside, it was almost pitch black—only a faint blue perpetual lamp flickered, illuminating a stocky figure cross-legged on a platform.

A man in a black robe, face hidden in the dark, only his eyes visible—An Luyuan, the Fuyi Sect leader. His aura roiled like the sea, but with a subtle undercurrent of unease.

An Yi materialized from the shadows, appearing in the room without a sound, about ten feet from the platform.

The instant he appeared, An Luyuan’s eyes snapped open, sharp as blades, shock and fury mixing: “You?! You ungrateful bastard?!”

His voice was low and gravelly, heavy with pressure, echoing through the hall: “Rumors are all over, the sect’s in chaos, and you, you unfilial son, only show your face now?!”

Confronted with that towering rage, An Yi stayed calm, not a single breath out of sync.

He ignored the accusations, his eyes quickly scanning the hall—sparse furnishings. Just a bed, the perpetual lamp, and a huge white tiger painting on the wall. The tiger was all claws and rage, its eyes so lifelike they seemed to follow you.

For a split second, his eyes lingered on the tiger’s—looked like they were inlaid with special ink-jade, slightly off from the painted irises.

When An Yi didn’t answer, An Luyuan’s rage spiked: “Ungrateful brat!”

An Yi chuckled softly. “Don’t get mad—get sick and no one can fill in for you.”

An Luyuan: “?????”

When did this brat get so smooth? Feels like a whole different person!

An Yi casually grabbed a black sandalwood chair and sat down, looking totally at ease. He paused, then tried out an odd word: “...Father?”

Weird—he hadn’t called anyone that in two lifetimes.

“No rush. I came back to ask you something.”

He got straight to the point, amused: “The upper volume of the Youhuan Shu—Father, you know where it is?”

He wasn’t after the Heart Erosion Art, but the Youhuan Shu.

An Luyuan was stunned, then a more terrifying glint flared in his eyes. His aura turned deadly, the air itself seemed to freeze: “How do you know about the upper volume?! You come back, not caring about the sect’s mess, only lusting after its greatest treasure?! Ungrateful bastard!”

In his rage, his already unstable inner energy exploded, his robes flapping despite no wind.

An Yi squinted, not a trace of fear, and even provoked him: “With enemies at the gates, Father still finds time to meditate in hiding. Guess you don’t care about the sect’s future that much. So hand me the manual—maybe it’ll keep a spark of the Fuyi Sect alive.”

“How dare you!” An Luyuan roared, slamming the platform, his corrosive inner energy surging like a tidal wave!

That was practically a curse on his life!

But An Yi just smiled more serenely. “Why so angry, Father? Look at this.”

He flicked his wrist, producing an ancient scroll from his sleeve, and waved it nonchalantly.

“The middle volume of the Youhuan Shu—care to take a look, Father?”

The furious An Luyuan froze mid-motion, eyes glued to the scroll. Then he lunged off the platform, hand shooting straight at the book in An Yi’s hand.

An Yi smiled, stepping aside easily. “What’s the rush, Father?”

An Luyuan missed, steadied himself, eyes flickering with doubt: “Your footwork... it’s way better! You trained in the middle volume?”

An Yi just smiled, saying nothing.

An Luyuan: “Hand it over!”

An Yi: “Where’s the upper volume?”