Peking Opera Cat: I Became A Zi's Brother

The wind at Broken Soul Ridge is like a knife tempered with ice, whipping up goose-feather snowflakes that crash against the cliff face, howling and howling as if countless wronged souls are wailing in the wind and snow.

The chaotic aura spread along the wind's path, mingling with the swirling snowflakes and turning into grayish-black snow foam. Upon landing, it melted into a sticky black liquid, silently eroding the frozen earth beneath our feet—this place, once a natural barrier between the Panzong and Duzong territories, had now become a den of chaos, every inch of land permeated with a bone-corroding evil aura.

Ruthless leaned against Iron Face's shoulder, his consciousness twitching between lucidity and drowsiness.

The wound on his lower back felt like it had been pierced by countless ice needles at the same time. It was a mark left by the purification energy of the ink rhyme, with extremely strong penetrating power. Even though he tried his best to mobilize the chaotic energy to resist, he still couldn't stop that power from rampaging through his meridians and gradually disintegrating the chaotic foundation along the way.

His blue silk official robe was no longer recognizable as its original color. Dark red bloodstains dripped down the hem and fell into the snow, instantly freezing into dark red ice beads. These were then covered by layers of snowflakes, leaving only traces of varying shades, like eerie flowers blooming in the snow.

"Hold on for another half an incense stick, and once we get past Eagle's Beak Pass, the people at the outpost will be able to come and meet us."

Iron Face's voice was terribly hoarse, each word sounding like it was being squeezed out of his throat.

He held Wuqing tightly with his left arm around Wuqing's waist and abdomen, pressing his fingertips against the outside of the other's wound, using all his strength to stop the bleeding. His palms were already soaked in blood and frozen stiff, but he dared not relax for a moment. Just now, when the sect collapsed, if he hadn't pounced quickly, that sweeping purifying energy would have already caused Wuqing's soul to be scattered.

The withered wooden cane he leaned on was hastily broken from the snow. It was as thick as his forearm, yet it trembled slightly under the weight of each step he took. Its bottom was deeply embedded in the frozen soil covered by snow, bringing out chunks of soil with ice shards and leaving a trail of varying depths, extending a difficult path through the wind and snow.

Iron Face's back was already soaked with cold sweat, and then the cold wind made it stiff.

Just now, in order to cover Wuqing's retreat, he took the aftershock of Mo Yun's energy. The skin and flesh on his back were frostbitten by the icy energy, and charred marks appeared. Taking advantage of the weakness, it entered and drilled into his meridians along the wound. Every movement felt like countless small knives scraping his flesh. The pain made the veins on his forehead bulge, and the muscles in his neck tensed up from the effort. The old scar on his side of his face looked even more ferocious in the wind and snow.

But he dared not stop, nor even show the slightest sign of pain—Wuqing was already at his limit, and if he lost his strength, both of them would perish on Broken Soul Ridge.

His merciless eyelids felt as heavy as lead weights, and the chaotic and purifying forces were tearing him apart within his body, making even opening his eyes a luxury.

The roar of the collapsing altar of the Judgment Sect still seemed to echo in his ears. When the purification wave swept in, his disciples, who had been nourished by chaos for more than ten years, regained their senses one by one. Their eyes were full of resentment and hatred as they looked at him as if he were an irreconcilable enemy.

Someone roared and lunged at him, but he instinctively used his chaotic energy to blast them away. After landing, they struggled to get up again, shouting, "Give me back my sanity!" and "Blood for blood!"

All the power he had built up over his life, his proud control over chaos, and the three chaotic altars he had painstakingly constructed were reduced to ashes with a wave of Mo Yun's hand. This crushing defeat was more frustrating than the time when he fought Mo Yun to the death, and it gave him a deep-seated sense of powerlessness.

"Mo Yun...that barrier...he really broke through it..."

The merciless voice was squeezed out from between his teeth, hoarse as if it had been rubbed by sandpaper. Every word aggravated the wound in his chest, causing him to cough violently. More blood foam spilled from the corner of his mouth, sliding down his chin and dripping onto the iron-faced shoulder armor, spreading a small patch of dark red.

This difference in dimensions made him doubt the path he had been following for the first time—chaos was clearly a power that could allow a cat to break through its limits, and he had absorbed it for so many years, so why was he being left further and further behind by Mo Yun's orthodox power?

Iron Face paused, the wind and snow blowing across his cheeks, bringing a biting chill.

He glanced sideways at Wuqing's pale, paper-like face. The once spirited and powerful leader of the Pan Sect, who once commanded the court and rivaled Moyun in skill, was now so weak that he couldn't even stand up, like a withered leaf that could be broken by the wind and snow at any moment.

"Don't think about these things, getting back to the Imperial Clan is the most important thing."

He said in a deep voice, forcefully poking his withered wooden cane into the snow, using the momentum to prop Wuqing up a little.

"We have prepared secret medicine at the outpost that can temporarily suppress the purifying power in your body and stabilize your meridians. Although the three great magical artifacts have also been somewhat eroded by chaos, they can still be activated. As long as we guard the Du Sect, we will always have a chance to turn the tide."

"Comeback?"

Ruthless tugged at the corners of his mouth, revealing a self-deprecating smile, the laughter so faint it was almost drowned out by the wind and snow.

"With Mo Yun's current power, even the Chaos Altar can be reduced to ashes. How long can the three great magical artifacts withstand this? Back then, we could still contend with him, but now... it's nothing more than a cornered beast fighting for its life."

He closed his eyes, and the scene of Mo Yun's attack involuntarily surfaced in his mind—the pale blue icy power spread out like a tide, and wherever it passed, the chaotic aura melted away, the disciples regained their senses, the altar collapsed and shattered, and the entire Pan Sect was transformed from a chaotic nest back to its former appearance in the short time it takes for an incense stick to burn. However, that purity seemed particularly glaring to him.

Just then, the name "Tang Ming" mentioned by Tie Mian struck him like a thunderbolt, shattering his ruthless and chaotic thoughts. A glimmer of light suddenly ignited in his dim eyes.

“Yes… Tang Ming…” He suddenly gripped the iron-faced collar tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force. The pain of his wound reopening instantly brought him to his senses.

“Xiaoqing is the most loyal and righteous girl. Tang Ming is her master. If Mo Yun wants to save Tang Ming, she will definitely storm the Du Sect. We... we can use Tang Ming as bait to set up a trap.”

Iron Face paused, looking down at Ruthless, whose eyes gleamed with calculation, showing no trace of his earlier dejection.

His heart stirred slightly, but he also understood that this was the only way at present—the purification power of the ink rhyme could suppress the chaos, and there was no chance of winning in a direct confrontation. Only by relying on Tang Ming to restrain Xiao Qing and by making use of the terrain of the Du Sect and the three great magical artifacts could there be a glimmer of hope.

"But Tang Ming has also been corrupted by the chaos. Although we controlled the concentration and prevented him from completely losing control, what if he makes a move inside..."

“The chaos within him bears my mark. If he dares to make any move, I can make him suffer unbearable pain.”

He ruthlessly interrupted Iron Face, his tone firm and ruthless, leaving no room for doubt.

"Moreover, if Mo Yun wants to save him, she must first purify the chaos within him, a process that will consume a large amount of his spiritual energy. We can take this opportunity to set up an array and trap him inside once he enters the territory of the Du Sect."

His fingertips trembled slightly, not from weakness, but from the thought of the upcoming game, which filled him with an indescribable excitement—even if the sect was gone, he could still control the game and still compete with Mo Yun.

As they spoke, the Eagle's Beak Pass came into view in the distance. At the pass stood a simple watchtower, its body made of bluestone, covered with dark brown moss and black spots eroded by the chaotic aura, making it look dilapidated.

The banner of the Duzong sect hung on the tower. The blue banner with black patterns fluttered in the wind, while the edges were surrounded by a faint, chaotic black mist, as if it had been soaked in ink.

Two disciples dressed in the robes of the Du Sect stood at the foot of the tower. Upon seeing them, they immediately hurried forward, their steps slightly stiff, yet unable to conceal the fanaticism in their eyes—a morbid excitement brought on by the increased power after being corrupted by chaos.

"Iron-Faced Commander! Ruthless Lord! You two have finally arrived!"

The disciple on the left stepped forward quickly, his voice tinged with urgency. When his gaze fell upon Wuqing, a hint of fear flashed across his eyes, but even more so, admiration.

"The secret medicine is ready and is in the outpost. Please come in and rest!"

The disciple on the right quickly echoed, reaching out to help Wuqing, but was stopped by a look from Tiemian.

Iron Face didn't say much, just nodded, and helped Ruthless walk straight to the sentry post.

The wooden door of the sentry post was ajar, and when pushed open it made a creaking, ear-piercing sound, as if it were about to collapse under the weight of the weight.

The warmth of the charcoal fire wafted over, carrying a faint, decaying scent—the lingering aroma of chaos after it had eroded living beings. This scent mingled with the smoky fragrance of the charcoal, creating an eerie odor.

……

The outpost was small and simply furnished. There were a few stone benches against the wall, and a charcoal fire burned in the center of the floor, the flames flickering and casting dim light on the surrounding walls.

In the corner, there was a pile of miscellaneous items, and you could vaguely see a few blood-stained robes of the Overseer, as well as a few broken weapons with black spots of chaotic erosion remaining on the blades. Clearly, this place had just undergone a cleanup.

Iron Face glanced at the clutter, his eyes showing no emotion whatsoever—in a chaotic world where turmoil was spreading, mercy was tantamount to self-destruction. Cleaning up those disciples who had been completely turned into puppets was ruthless, but it was also the safest choice at the moment.

A disciple walked over carrying two bowls of dark brown medicinal liquid. The liquid in the bowls emitted a strong, bitter smell, mixed with a faint, chaotic aura.

"Commander, Lord Ruthless, this is the secret medicine prepared as you instructed. Drink it while it's hot."

Iron Face took the medicine bowl and handed it to Ruthless, who drank it down without hesitation.

The bitter medicine slid down his throat, bringing a burning pain, but it also calmed his disordered meridians a little. The restless chaotic energy in his body seemed to be temporarily frozen by a thin layer of ice, no longer rampaging.

He put down the bowl, leaned against the stone bench, closed his eyes, and began to silently circulate his internal energy, guiding the power of the medicinal juice to flow through his body and suppressing the purifying force that wanted to break free of its restraints.

Iron Face picked up another bowl of medicine and drank it all in one gulp. The pain in his back seemed to lessen a bit, and the chaotic energy surging within him calmed down somewhat. He breathed a sigh of relief, sat on the stone bench opposite Ruthless, and stared intently at the wooden door of the sentry post, as if he were on guard against something, or perhaps he was gazing in the direction of the Duzong headquarters.

The crackling sound of burning charcoal was particularly clear in the silent sentry post. Occasionally, a gust of wind and snow would sneak in through the cracks in the door, bringing a chill and causing the flames to flicker slightly.

Two disciples stood at the door, talking in hushed tones, their words filled with admiration for the power of chaos and hatred for the purifying power of ink.

"Once Lord Wuqing and the Commander stabilize their injuries and activate the three great magical artifacts, we can show those who cling to orthodoxy just how powerful the power of chaos truly is!"

"Exactly! Does Mo Yun think that purifying the Pan Sect will make a difference? Our Du Sect is the true foundation of chaos, and sooner or later we will make the entire Cat Land submit to chaos!"

Their voices weren't loud, but they carried a morbid fanaticism, their eyes gleaming with greed, as if they could already see the scene of controlling Cat Land.

With a furrowed brow, Iron Face said in a deep voice:

"Keep to your own business! Do what you're supposed to do, and don't gossip about things you shouldn't!"

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the authority he had developed over many years of leading the sect. The two disciples immediately fell silent, lowered their heads, and dared not speak again, though the fervor in their eyes remained undiminished.

Looking at their appearance, Iron Face felt a sense of irritation. These disciples, after being corrupted by chaos, had become increasingly powerful but also increasingly out of control. If it weren't for his and Ruthless's suppression, they would probably have already caused a great disaster.

But right now, there's a shortage of manpower, and he has no choice but to rely on them, a contradiction that makes him feel particularly frustrated.

Wuqing slowly opened his eyes, the weariness in them fading somewhat, and his expression regaining some of its former composure. He lightly tapped the surface of the stone bench with his fingertips, producing a soft "tap, tap, tap" sound that was particularly clear in the silent sentry post, each tap seeming as if he was calculating something.