Chapter 167: Poison Hand

Buzz buzz buzz…

A few flies kept flying around on the table. If you swatted quickly enough, your palm could hit their bodies directly, sweeping them aside. But soon enough, these annoying little creatures buzzed back again.

Mu Feng shooed a fly that had landed on the peanut plate. He pretended to know nothing, but secretly grew more tense, straining to sense the expressions and movements of everyone in the inn.

The waiter who approached bowed his head and bent his waist. Not only was there a clear Jianshui Gang mark on his wrist, but just like other gang members seen along the way, he seemed utterly ordinary and unremarkable. There were no energy fluctuations in his body—he seemed completely like a regular person. Clearly, he was unlikely to be the assassin lurking in the inn.

So, where was the sharp killing intent coming from? Who was the truly well-hidden, cold-blooded killer?

Mu Feng, who had just calmed down, felt his heart beat faster involuntarily. A cold glint flashed in his eyes.

To others, he appeared calm, as if slowly savoring the food on the table. But Jing Wushuang, sitting opposite him, quickly sensed something unusual. She didn’t scream nervously or panic. After a brief moment of shock, she composed herself. Pretending to refill Mu Feng’s rice, she quietly sat down beside him without drawing attention.

Faced with a true expert, she knew her own strength was no help at all. Staying calm and collected, not panicking or running around, was the best support she could offer Mu Feng.

No matter when, no matter what enemy they faced, as long as she could lean close to Mu Feng, she felt incredibly safe.

“Dear guests, here is some fine Snowy Mountain tea. Please enjoy!”

The waiter gave Mu Feng a subtle nod and placed two bowls of hot tea on the table.

This humble inn was so poor it didn’t even have teacups. The tea was served in two large porcelain bowls, their rims chipped in several places. It wasn’t exactly fine tea for appreciation, but for weary travelers, it was good enough to quench thirst. The bowls might not be much, but the tea inside gave off a faint, unique fragrance.

It wasn’t that the tea itself was especially good, but the water used to brew it was different—it was drawn from melted snow on the mountain, exceptionally clean. Even when served piping hot, it still carried a refreshing coolness of the Snowy Mountain.

“Thank you!”

Mu Feng’s words carried a double meaning. He instinctively reached for the steaming tea and was about to take a sip when he suddenly stopped, the bowl at his lips. A cold gleam flashed in his eyes.

He saw the mysterious Black-clad Woman not far away suddenly thrust her chopsticks forward, managing to catch two flies at once. The speed of her movement was startling. Even more shocking, the two flies caught between her chopsticks were still fluttering their wings, buzzing. They were merely held by the chopsticks, completely uninjured—her control was incredibly precise.

“So many flies in this remote wilderness—they just won’t go away! Waiter, bring me another pair of chopsticks!”

The Black-clad Woman released the chopsticks, letting the two flies fly away.

Her voice was pleasant, her figure slender. She didn’t look very old—hard to imagine why she had come here alone.

Flies?

Mu Feng frowned. Now that the Black-clad Woman mentioned it, he realized there really were quite a few flies in the inn. No matter how much they were shooed, many still buzzed around the food on the table. The fragrant peanut plate, in particular, attracted many flies. He blew on the hot tea in his bowl, about to take a sip, but abruptly halted, his pupils contracting.

He saw a fly pass over the rim of the bowl. Without any visible cause, its body suddenly dropped. It fell onto the table, twitched for a moment, then lay still.

Just a dead fly. Most travelers, tired and hungry from their long journey, wouldn’t pay it any mind.

But this seemingly insignificant detail suddenly raised Mu Feng’s alertness.

Was the tea in the bowl poisoned?

Startled, Mu Feng placed the steaming tea on the table and observed it closely.

Soon, another fly flew over. It not only circled above the bowl’s rim but also landed on it briefly before flying off. Its faint buzzing could still be heard over a dozen steps away—no abnormalities, no signs of poisoning.

“Strange. Could it be I’m being overly suspicious?”

Mu Feng furrowed his brow and slowly extended his middle finger toward the tea bowl, intending to test if it was poisonous. Just then, another fly flew near. Before it even got close, after inhaling a whiff of the steam rising from the tea, its body sank and it quickly dropped. Like the first fly, it struggled briefly before going still.

It really was poisoned!

Mu Feng’s expression changed, and he gripped the sword at his waist.

But before he could draw the sharp blade, the waiter, who had been bowing his head, suddenly pulled out a sharp dagger. Instead of lunging at Mu Feng, he wrapped an arm around Jing Wushuang’s throat, pressing the dagger against it. “Don’t come closer, or I’ll kill her!”

Seeing the situation turn bad, the waiter swiftly took Jing Wushuang, whose old injury had flared up, as a hostage. He slowly backed toward the door, intending to escape unscathed.

“You’re not the waiter here, and not from the Jianshui Gang. Did the Blind Master send you?”

Mu Feng’s face was icy as he slowly stood up.

Throughout their journey, they had faced countless life-threatening dangers. Yet this time, he had still misjudged.

The waiter, who showed no energy fluctuations and had a Jianshui Gang mark on his wrist—the least likely to be an assassin—was actually the well-hidden cold-blooded killer!

“Cackle, cackle! Impressive! The Jianning First Scholar is truly remarkable—no wonder they call you the Mu Manor God of Slaughter!”

The waiter gave a hoarse, cackling laugh, his voice utterly different from before. Having revealed his identity, he discarded all pretense, peeling off a thin mask from his face to reveal a sinister countenance. “To succeed, I, Xie Han, severed my own meridians and disguised myself as a simple waiter, waiting here for nearly half a month. And yet, you still saw through me in the end!”

Xie Han? The infamous Poison Hand Xie Han of the Southern Borderlands?

Gasps of shock quickly spread through the inn.

Poison Hand Xie Han wasn’t an assassin, but to many, he was even more terrifying. His poison skills were peerless. Even a Mortal Realm Peak expert could be poisoned to death before ever seeing his face. Known as Poison Hand, his name invoked fear throughout the Southern Borderlands.

Who could have imagined that such a fearsome Devil Leader would sever his own meridians, disguise himself as a common waiter, and lurk here?

Once they realized the waiter’s true identity, not only Mu Feng but even the onlookers were stunned, their scalps tingling. Thankfully, Poison Hand Xie Han’s target wasn’t them—otherwise, who could have escaped unscathed?

The crowd’s gazes toward Mu Feng, previously indifferent, now held a mix of admiration and fear. They quietly speculated about his identity.

If Poison Hand Xie Han was extremely terrifying, then Mu Feng—who forced him to sever his meridians, disguise himself as an ordinary person to get close, and still thwart his plans—must be even more fearsome.

Even the mysterious Black-clad Woman seated at the far right couldn’t help sizing up Mu Feng a few times, calmly watching how things would unfold.