Chapter 55: Intruder 1
The sharp, bitter wind rustled through the trees as the carriage came to another abrupt halt. Meng Hao let out a long, exasperated sigh, his expression already sour.
"Another group of bandits? Tch... what is this? The tenth time?"
Meng Hao didn’t even lift an eyebrow at the presence of new enemies.
Instead, with the same detached air of royalty watching a performance he had already grown tired of, he leaned further back into the luxuriously padded seat. One leg elegantly crossed over the other, and his elbow rested along the armrest, supporting his cheek lazily. His robes, deep black with silver embroidery, shimmered faintly under the sunlight slipping in from the narrow window slits.
The interior of the carriage was as refined as that of a young master from a noble clan. The wood was lacquered in a deep mahogany hue, carved with auspicious cloud motifs, and inlaid with thin strips of spiritual jade that radiated a subtle warmth. The fragrance of sandalwood permeated the air—a scent that calmed the mind and concealed one’s presence slightly from spirit beasts.
Outside, the world seemed to pause. Even the birdsong had ceased, as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation.
Meng Hao tilted his head lazily and let his gaze linger on the flowing curtains of embroidered spirit silk. They swayed faintly, stirred only by the gentle breath of wind seeping through tiny gaps. Sunlight filtered through the golden-threaded fabric, casting long, rippling shadows across the walls. The entire carriage glowed with a muted luminescence, as if it existed halfway between the mortal world and a cultivator’s dream.
"Well," he thought, sighing softly, "any moment now, I should hear Li Yao tearing them apart. A few shouts. The clash of blades. Maybe even a dramatic scream or two."
It was always the same.
The moment the bandits made their presence known, they’d bark some demands, act arrogant, and then Li Yao would—like the fierce beauty she was—strike them down one by one. If they were foolish enough to peek into the carriage and catch a glimpse of him, they’d usually make some lewd remark, and that alone would seal their fate. A flash of Li Yao’s sword, a cry of agony, and the dirt road would be soaked with blood before the dust could settle.
It had happened nine times already.
"This world really is ridiculous," he mused, closing his eyes briefly. "Bandits every two hours. Do these people have a death wish, or is there some hidden sect that specializes in producing cannon fodder?"