Chapter 23: Who

The Luo disciple’s eyes widened, staring in disbelief at the bloodied sword piercing his chest. His lips trembled, but no sound came out.

To think he’d been so easily deceived.

Struggling, he lifted his head to see his attacker.

The figure wore a mask—half smiling, half weeping, eerily unforgettable.

Through the mask’s hollows, cold eyes stared without a trace of pity.

The figure held his back, gently lowering him: “Relax, deep breaths. Dizziness is normal.”

He tried to struggle but had no strength.

His vision blurred, breathing grew labored.

In his final moment, he saw—

The masked figure’s form twist and shift, gradually taking on his appearance…

…

Some time later, Luo Chen’s group regrouped.

Most looked shaken; that sword strike had been too sudden. A split-second slower, and the consequences would’ve been dire.

“Damn…” a Luo disciple muttered. “Luo Jiutian’s ruthless, huh?”

“He’s really out to kill us all?” another gritted out.

Whispers rippled through the group—some angry, some stunned, most afraid, especially Su Xinyan.

She’d thought, no matter how resentful, Luo Jiutian wouldn’t actually strike.

Their team included Luo Chen, the Luo Young Master, plus her and Su Zimo from the Su family.

Even if he went mad, he’d hesitate to cross both clans’ power.

But the reality was clear: he’d struck, and struck hard, leaving no room for mercy.

Su Xinyan tried to stay composed, but her trembling fingers betrayed her.

She glanced at Luo Chen, silently pleading for help.

Luo Chen noticed, his heart tightening.

If this fear spread, the team would spiral out of control.

He stepped forward, voice steady: “Don’t panic.”

All eyes turned to him.

“We’re fine, aren’t we?” He scanned the group. “That sword was impressive, but it was a sneak attack. Face-to-face, he’s not guaranteed to win.”

“Young Master’s right,” someone chimed in. “He’s just a cheap trickster!”

“Yeah, he’s gotta catch his breath sometime—he can’t keep slashing nonstop, right?”

The words steadied the group somewhat.

Then Su Zimo frowned, murmuring: “Wait, we’re missing someone… uh, what’s-his-name.”

They froze, quickly counting heads—one short.

“What’s-his-name’s gone?” Luo Chen asked, brow furrowed.

Before anyone could answer, footsteps echoed.

“I’m here!”

A flustered voice rang out as a disheveled Luo disciple stumbled from the mist, relief washing over his face.

“Finally found you guys.” He panted, clothes messy. “That sword blast sent me flying. Took forever to get back—thought I’d lost you.”

The group exhaled in relief.

Only Luo Chen’s expression darkened, eyes narrowing at the disciple.

Sensing the scrutiny, the disciple grinned: “What’s up, Young Master? Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me—I’m what’s-his-name!”

Luo Chen stayed silent, stepping forward. Under everyone’s gaze, he raised two fingers, touching the disciple’s forehead, probing with divine sense for cultivation and aura.

Moments later, he withdrew, his face unchanged.

“That’s odd,” he thought.

Something felt off, but the cultivation and aura were flawless.

Seeing Luo Chen’s silence, the disciple looked puzzled: “Young Master, what’s wrong?”

Luo Chen snapped back, his eyes shifting. He smiled: “Nothing, what’s-his-name. It was dangerous earlier—I just wanted to check if you’re hurt.”

“Phew, scared me there.” The disciple scratched his head. “Thought I’d done something wrong.”

His goofy demeanor made the others chuckle.

“Haha, with your guts, what could you even do?”

“Next time you get lost, shout louder—don’t make us hunt for you!”

Some teased, others patted his shoulder, and the mood lightened.

Behind “what’s-his-name,” White Tiger Mysterious Monarch’s mouth twitched.

She couldn’t fathom how someone’s name could be so abstract.

Nor could she grasp how everyone accepted it so casually.

She began to wonder if her long slumber had left her out of touch, or if she’d just stumbled into a group of lunatics.

Yes, “what’s-his-name” was Luo Jiutian in disguise.

From the bloodied sword to the shapeshift, White Tiger had watched it all.

What shocked her wasn’t the mask’s effect, but his acting.

One moment, he was a cold killer dispatching a Luo disciple; the next, he blended into the enemy’s ranks, joking and laughing.

For most cultivators, mimicking someone’s demeanor—let alone tone, gaze, and subtle gestures—would give them away.

But he nailed it perfectly.

“What has he been through…” she murmured, her gaze complex as she studied his smiling face.

Meanwhile, Luo Chen didn’t idle.

Seeing the group’s mood stabilize, he seized the moment: “Everyone—”

All eyes turned to him.

“We wasted time regrouping, and by now, Luo Jiutian’s likely far gone,” he said bluntly, neither exaggerating nor posturing.

“If we linger, we might not catch him and could miss the realm’s opportunities.

The secret realm’s time is limited—every moment could shape our future cultivation. I trust none of you want to leave empty-handed.”

They nodded in agreement.

Su Zimo asked: “Young Master’s plan?”

“Split up,” Luo Chen said directly. “Group exploration avoids both missing opportunities and being picked off, but first, we leave here.”

The proposal met no objections.

After regrouping, they followed Luo Chen toward a safer direction.

Though the misty forest obscured vision and divine sense, with ground markers and treasure guidance, they eventually emerged.

Confirming no threats, Luo Chen stopped.

“This area’s safe for now,” he said. “Time to split up.”