My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

Zhao Damang panicked as well.

He frantically struck the tinderbox, but the tiny sparks couldn't last even a moment in the cold wind.

He then tried tapping the bluestone slab with the blade, hoping to create sparks to ignite the pine resin—a rudimentary method for starting a fire in the wild when escorting goods.

"Clang! Clang!"

Sparks flew as the blade struck the stone slab.

But the sparks that had just jumped off the blade were blown away by the cold wind, not even touching the edge of the pine resin.

"It's no use..." Lin Zhenyuan smiled bitterly, his face pale. "These damned things... won't let us light a fire."

The paper figures stopped fanning themselves.

They stood on the steps, looking down at the disheveled group of living people in the courtyard.

On his pale face, Mo Hua's eyes were empty and lifeless, but the mocking meaning was clearly conveyed.

Then, they started moving forward.

Step by step, I walked down the stairs.

The movements were slow, but relentless.

Without torches and flaming blades, the镖师 (bodyguards/escorts) were left with only cold steel.

These things have just been proven ineffective against paper figures.

"Back off! Back off!" Zhao Damang roared through gritted teeth.

The group slowly retreated, but behind them lay the burnt remains of the paper door, and beyond that, the wall—a dead end from which they could not climb over.

The paper figures drew ever closer.

Five zhang (approximately 10 meters).

Four zhang (approximately 10 meters).

Three zhang (approximately 10 meters).

The paper guards at the front had already raised their paper knives.

The knife was made of paper, but in the dim light, the rough edge of the blade seemed to gleam with a cold, metallic sheen.

Lin Zhenyuan gripped the knife handle tightly, his knuckles turning white.

He glanced at his wounded brothers, then at Zhao Damang's despairing face, and finally at the main hall—

The son is still inside.

"Brothers," he said in a hoarse but unusually calm voice, "it seems we're going to die here today."

No one spoke.

But everyone gripped their knives tightly and straightened their backs.

The bodyguards of Weiyuan Escort Agency can die by sword, by arrow, or even by fire, water, or off a cliff—but they must never die on the run.

This is the rule of the escort agency, and also the backbone of those in the martial arts world.

The paper figures stopped when they were about two zhang (approximately 6.6 meters) away.

They seemed to relish the despair of their prey, their ink-painted eyes scanning each person as if choosing who to attack first.

Just then, a person slowly walked out of the main hall.

It's not a paper doll.

He was an old man wearing a blue cloth robe, with a thin face and three long wisps of beard—the very same "butler" who had greeted Lin Yunfeng earlier.

But his demeanor at this moment was completely different from before.

He stood at the top of the steps, hands behind his back, looking down at the crowd in the courtyard.

The dim candlelight shone from behind him, casting a huge shadow that almost covered half the courtyard.

"Gentlemen," the butler began, his voice no longer dry but carrying a cold, magnetic quality, "trespassing on private property and injuring my servants—what is the punishment?"

Lin Zhenyuan gritted his teeth: "Playing tricks! Hand over my son!"

The butler smiled.

The smile was faint, but paired with his pale face and dark eyes, it was terrifying enough to send chills down one's spine.

"Young Master Lin and my young lady are in love and have chosen to stay here," he said slowly. "It is you uncouth people who are disturbing our peace and quiet; you should be punished."

He raised his right hand and waved it gently.

The paper figures below the steps all raised their "weapons".

Paper knives, paper swords, paper sticks, paper whips... a wide variety of items, but without exception, they are all made of paper.

But no one dares to underestimate them.

The battle just now has proven that these paper things, under the blessing of some kind of power, are more terrifying than real swords and knives.

"Kill," the butler uttered a single word.

The paper figures have moved!

No longer approaching slowly, but like an arrow released from a bow, they pounced on the bodyguards!

"Charge!" Zhao Damang roared, brandishing his sword to meet the first paper figure!

"when!"

The knife and the paper knife collided, producing a sound like metal striking metal!

Zhao Damang's hand went numb, and he took three steps back, but the paper figure only swayed and pounced again!

Other paper figures rushed up as well.

Without the restraint of fire, these paper figures are practically invincible.

A knife cuts only leave a white mark, and a sword pierces only a hole.

However, the paper figures' counterattacks were incredibly powerful, and each collision sent the bodyguards' arms numbing.

What's even more terrifying is that they are tireless and unafraid of getting hurt.

A bodyguard's knife pierced the paper figure's shoulder and got stuck in the bamboo frame, unable to be pulled out.

The paper figure ignored him and grabbed his neck with its other hand—the paper hand was incredibly strong, and the bodyguard's face turned red instantly, on the verge of being strangled to death!

"Seventh Brother!" The bodyguard next to him tried to help, but was entangled by two paper figures.

The first casualty was about to occur—

Sudden.

A glimmer of light appeared.

It was not firelight, nor candlelight, but a kind of... pure, warm light, like the first light of dawn.

The light shone from the direction of the courtyard entrance, starting as a small point and then quickly spreading, enveloping the entire courtyard in the blink of an eye.

The light was soft and not dazzling, yet it possessed a strange penetrating power.

When the light shone on the paper figures, they reacted as if they had been burned, letting out a silent "hiss" and freezing in place.

The paper hand that was gripping the bodyguard's neck loosened.

The paper figure that was lunging at Lin Zhenyuan stopped.

All the paper figures seemed to be frozen in place, their ink-painted eyes all turning towards the light source.

The bodyguards were also stunned.

They stared at the light, at the figures slowly approaching within it, and for a moment forgot to breathe.

The light was coming from that person's hand.

No, to be precise, it was a ball of fire... suspended above that person's palm.

It wasn't the crimson or orange-yellow of ordinary flames, but a pure, almost transparent white.

The white flame burned quietly, without flickering or swaying, as stable as a piece of luminous white jade.

At the heart of the flames, faint golden rays could be seen swirling, like a reflection of a galaxy.

And the person holding up this flame—

He wore a blue Taoist robe, spotless.

Her long hair was casually tied up, with a few stray strands falling across her forehead.

His face was calm, his eyes indifferent, as if what lay before him was not a battlefield of life and death, but an ordinary courtyard, an ordinary night.

He walked slowly, his footsteps landing silently on the bluestone slabs.

He has the air of an immortal.

This word instantly entered everyone's mind.

"It's...it's the Taoist priest!" Zhao Damang was the first to react, his voice trembling with excitement.

His shout was like a thunderclap, waking up the other still bewildered bodyguards.

"It's...it's that immortal Taoist priest!"

"My God! It really is him! I saw him in the dilapidated temple!"

"We're saved! We're saved!"

Low, gasps of ecstasy and awe spread rapidly through the crowd.

These men, who had just been struggling in despair, now had a burning light in their eyes, as if they were dying and had seen the only way out.

They looked at Ye Qingfeng as if gazing up at a rope hanging from the clouds.