He Transmigrated Into The Body Of A Demonic Sect Leader And Fell In Love With The Male Lead - Chapter 8

With all the evil cults near Luoyang completely eradicated, the surrounding area was bound to experience a relatively peaceful period for the foreseeable future. Naturally, this also meant that Lu Fenghuo and his companions were left without a destination.

“What are your plans next?” Lu Fenghuo asked the demonic monk.

Fu Yunming pressed one hand against his palm in a greeting, his tone steady and calm. “The Mysterious Moon Sect.”

“Very well.” Lu Fenghuo had no objections.

At the same time, Lu Fenghuo had a lingering feeling that he had forgotten something important. He frowned and tried to recall for a moment, but failing to dredge up any memories, he decisively and cheerfully abandoned the thought.

Tsk.

Things he could not remember probably were not all that important anyway.

Xu Ziwei, who remained securely bound inside the Dragon Chant Stronghold woodshed, felt like crying tears of sorrow.

Someone, please save him!

Half an hour later, Red Sand Town.

Inside an inn, Lu Fenghuo sat in the corner of the main hall with a few small dishes of food spread across his table. As he listened to the endless gossip exchanged by the surrounding guests, he poured and sipped wine at his leisure, his mood exceptionally relaxed.

Suddenly, Lu Fenghuo’s movements paused slightly.

His attention was caught by a newcomer.

The man possessed a tall, slender physique, draped in ink-black robes as deep as the night, with raven-dark hair cascading down to his waist. Standing with his back to Lu Fenghuo, his face remained obscured, though the pale, luminescent wrists protruding from his sleeves were faintly visible.

Even from a mere back view, one could instantly tell this was a beauty.

And reality proved that assumption correct.

However, the moment the black-robed young master turned around, Lu Fenghuo found himself momentarily stunned.

In stark contrast to his dark attire, the young master’s features were astonishingly pristine. His skin was snowy white and delicate, exuding an ethereal, crystalline clarity. His eyes were a striking, translucent shade of light tea, and when he swept his gaze across the room with a calm indifference, it was enough to instantly steal a person’s breath.

Peerless beauty.

The phrase surfaced unbidden in Lu Fenghuo’s mind.

With an appearance like this, the character could not possibly lack a name in his own novel!

Lu Fenghuo was entirely certain.

After a brief, effortless mental search, he instantly identified the newcomer’s identity.

The protagonist, Song Guyang.

To think of it, when Lu Fenghuo had first transmigrated into this world, his immediate reaction had been to seek out his protagonist and see what he looked like. Unfortunately, a few unexpected complications arose afterward, and the plan had fallen by the wayside.

To encounter him here and now, however, felt truly miraculous.

Seizing the opportunity with a mixture of quiet satisfaction and amusement, Lu Fenghuo began secretly observing his protagonist.

Then he discovered that the protagonist was currently sweeping the floor.

Lu Fenghuo?

For a moment, profound bewilderment washed over him.

Lu Fenghuo turned his head to glance toward the counter.

Indeed, this was the Fortune Inn, and the discreet corner mark was right there.

Lu Fenghuo had deliberately chosen this particular inn.

The Fortune Inn operated branches across the Central Plains, serving as a stronghold for the Dark Hall. And the master controller of the Fortune Inn, or rather, the Hall Master of the Dark Hall, was none other than the protagonist, Song Guyang.

That being the case, why on earth would the people of the Dark Hall allow their Hall Master to sweep the floors?

This made no sense at all.

Pondering this anomaly, Lu Fenghuo shifted his gaze back toward the counter.

The innkeeper of the Fortune Inn stood clad in gray robes, clutching an account ledger and sitting rigidly upright behind the counter. Though he appeared to be engrossed in the accounts, he was actually casting nervous, covert glances toward the protagonist.

The protagonist reached down to pick up a filthy rag.

The innkeeper instantly wore an expression of sheer terror, looking as though he had been frightened out of his wits, yet lacking the courage to step forward and stop him.

His facial expression was thoroughly bizarre.

A passing merchant glanced over with a puzzled look. “What is wrong with the innkeeper?”

With great difficulty, the innkeeper wrenched his attention away, tearing his gaze from the scene across the room as he ground his teeth in quiet agony, trembling slightly as he forced out a response. “My tooth hurts.”

Lu Fenghuo?

He completely lost his composure.

A sudden snort of laughter escaped his lips.

Hahahahahahahahahahaha!

Heaven knows what sort of bizarre order the protagonist had issued to make the innkeeper behave in such a fashion.

Tears of mirth welled up in the corners of Lu Fenghuo’s eyes.

His mood tonight was better than ever before.

Yet such high spirits did not last long.

Late at night.

The inn gradually settled into deep silence, with only a few stray travelers moving along the corridors.

Having finished bathing, Lu Fenghuo wore a light purple gauze robe as he sat in the corridor to enjoy the evening breeze. Not far ahead of him, the black-robed protagonist was quietly wiping down a stone table.

At a certain moment, the sound of the wind sharpened abruptly.

It carried a faint trace of blood and rust.

Though Lu Fenghuo maintained a lazy posture, a sharp, concealed edge glinted deep within his eyes.

Killing intent.

With his exceptional eyesight, he clearly spotted dozens of figures in black quietly lingering atop the inn’s perimeter walls. Their hands gripped fully unsheathed swords, the icy tips pointing straight toward the black-robed protagonist!

On the other side, the innkeeper stood before an upper-floor window, watching the scene with undisguised anxiety while his face once again twisted into that classic toothache expression.

“Honored Master, you brought this upon yourself!”

The innkeeper muttered with a bitter grimace.

What was going on here?

Lu Fenghuo felt a slight knot of confusion forming in his mind.

A wave of assassins had arrived to assassinate the protagonist, yet the protagonist’s own subordinates remained completely indifferent?

How truly bizarre.

A flurry of lethal sword strikes immediately rained down.

The protagonist wore an expression of utter astonishment. Acting precisely like an ordinary mortal devoid of martial arts, he stumbled clumsily and crashed beneath the stone table. His raven-dark hair spilled across the ground in disarray, creating an indescribably stunning aesthetic against his snow-white skin.

No, no, no!

This was hardly the time to be appreciating aesthetics.

The truly critical issue was, why did the protagonist lack any martial arts?!

He acted as though he had suffered complete amnesia, and faced with such a crisis, he did not even attempt to call upon the innkeeper for help.

Judging by the circumstances, the innkeeper upstairs clearly had no intention of coming to his rescue.

Harboring a head full of questions, Lu Fenghuo drew the long saber from his waist and moved swiftly to suppress the assassins. Perhaps they were elite death squads; realizing they stood no chance of victory, every single one of them bit down on the poison capsules hidden behind their teeth and committed suicide.

Not a single assassin managed to escape.

Nor did a single one survive.

Witnessing this outcome, the innkeeper by the window let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief.

That was terrifyingly close.

He had almost failed to restrain himself from charging out, but doing so would have ruined the Venerable Master’s master plan!

Fortunately, a righteous martial artist had stepped in to help.

The martial artist in question, Lu Fenghuo, sheathed his long saber and crouched down in front of the protagonist.

Deep in the night, illuminated by the soft glow spilling from the inn windows, he could faintly make out the protagonist’s flawless, delicate skin, his gentle, light tea-colored pupils, and an astonishingly stunning face.

“Song Jiu,” Lu Fenghuo called him by his childhood nickname.

Song Jiu raised his head.

Damn it!

Even though he was not a superficial person obsessed with looks, he still found himself momentarily frozen in place.

Wasn’t this appearance a bit too unfair?!

It was well worth the two or three hundred words of detailed physical description he religiously wrote every single time the protagonist appeared in his novel!

The result was truly something to behold.

Yet at this moment, Lu Fenghuo wanted to make a vow.

With no one else to guard you, I will.

Since I am the one who wrote you into the position of supreme honor, I can naturally protect you through all perils.

For as long as it takes.

This is what I ought to do.