Chapter 220: 微末之人

Upon seeing the facial mask, Chu Muyun's pupils subtly contracted, as if he had recalled something.

Before he could fully process it, the figure vanished instantly.

The collision between the crimson light and the lightning spear unleashed a shockwave that swept a vacuum across the sky. Black-eyed Jian Changsheng grunted, taking a slight step back as the spear recoiled towards his face, which he deftly caught with a backhand.

It was only then that he noticed the dark red spear was now merely half a shaft. The upper section, where the spearhead once was, had transformed into a plump, juicy piece of sugarcane, even adorned with a red string at its tip.

The sugarcane and spear had merged bizarrely, appearing seamless and natural, as if this had always been its intended form.

Black-eyed Jian Changsheng's gaze at the colossal eye in the sky grew icier. As he prepared to act, the blood vessels beneath his skin began to turn black and writhe violently, while the killing intent radiating from him flickered erratically.

"Has it reached its limit?" Black-eyed Jian Changsheng murmured, his brows furrowing as he observed his body.

Sensing Black-eyed Jian Changsheng's domain begin to falter, the turbulent red clouds surged with increased frenzy, swirling into a vortex around him. The sporadic lightning flashes could no longer fully tear through the encroaching paper strips.

Black-eyed Jian Changsheng tossed the broken spear aside. As he was about to make another move, a soft whisper drifted from behind him:

"Senior of the War God Path, please cease your actions."

The instant the voice rang out, the surging red paper strips hesitated, pausing briefly in mid-air as if they had forgotten their purpose, then circled aimlessly.

A look of surprise crossed Black-eyed Jian Changsheng's face at the sight. He turned to see a figure, clad in a Starfall Merchant Guild guard uniform, slowly approaching.

He was an ordinary-looking man, of average height, the type of person who would be difficult to spot in a crowd after a single glance. His only distinguishing feature at that moment was a distinctive and mysterious facial mask.

Black-eyed Jian Changsheng's eyes narrowed. "Who are you? I didn't sense your presence just now."

"Every story has its share of minor, inconspicuous characters who utter irrelevant lines and serve as unheeded background figures," Mo Jiao replied with a faint smile. "I am them... or perhaps, they are all me."

Black-eyed Jian Changsheng gazed at him coldly, offering no further words.

"Senior, given that this body is nearing its limit, I implore you to cease," Mo Jiao said again. "As for that calamity, I will ensure it is handled."

Mo Jiao's tone was respectful but not obsequious, like a gentle breeze, instilling an inexplicable sense of confidence.

Black-eyed Jian Changsheng glanced down at his hand, which had turned almost completely black, then looked at the eye still suspended above the red clouds. After a moment of silence, he finally withdrew his precarious domain.

"You had better be capable of handling it," Black-eyed Jian Changsheng stated flatly.

As he finished speaking, the killing intent surrounding him violently receded back into his body, and the blackness in his eyes ebbed away like a tide. Jian Changsheng's entire body began to blacken as if poisoned, and after a slight tremor, he plummeted headfirst towards the earth below.

From several hundred meters above the ground, Mo Jiao watched as Jian Changsheng fell headfirst, hitting the earth with a wet thud and disintegrating into a gruesome pulp.

A figure cloaked in a woolen coat stepped out from the side and stopped beside the pulp of flesh. It was Chu Muyun.

He looked up at the sky and spoke respectfully:

"Please proceed as you wish; I will manage the aftermath here."

Mo Jiao nodded subtly, shifting his gaze from Jian Changsheng back to the paper-sun eye hovering in the distance.

He stepped forward, moving through the surging sea of red paper. As he drew closer, the serpentine red papers seemed utterly oblivious to his presence, fluttering aimlessly, their trajectories even automatically diverting to avoid his path.

He moved like a specter between life and death, unseen even by calamity and danger.

However, Chen Ling, behind the grand curtain, clearly perceived him.

"Based on the facial makeup... it's definitely the Mo Jiao face," Chen Ling mused, a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he looked at the mask. "Could he be a wielder of the Opera God Path?"

In traditional opera, all roles are categorized into five types: Sheng (male), Dan (female), Jing (painted face), Mo (minor old male), and Chou (clown), with each category having further subdivisions. The face before him, characterized by a white base and simple, understated blue lines, was distinctly monochromatic and unadorned—precisely the defining features of the Mo Jiao facial mask.

Because Mo Jiao roles typically involved secondary characters with singular appearances, and could sometimes be replaced by other character types, the Mo Jiao role had faded from many regions. Even in his memories from his previous life, Chen Ling rarely encountered this particular type of role.

Chen Ling observed Mo Jiao moving effortlessly through the red sea, a flicker of curiosity in his heart. This was his first encounter with another wielder of the Opera God Path, and remarkably, even the sixth-tier red paper monsters failed to detect his presence.

"Junior brother, are you in there?" Mo Jiao asked softly, standing before the eye.

Chen Ling froze.

Those few words sent his mind racing. The red-clad figure who had called himself "master," a presence he had recently felt deep within his memories, resurfaced in his thoughts.

Was this Mo Jiao also that person's disciple? By seniority, could he even be his senior brother?

Chen Ling attempted to respond, but as anticipated, his voice couldn't pass beyond the grand curtain. Mo Jiao stood waiting before the eye for a long time, receiving no answer, and his brow furrowed slightly.

Chen Ling could only desperately push his arm deep into the grand curtain's barrier. Thanks to his efforts over time, the opening was now just wide enough for one arm, and his fingertips were on the verge of piercing the thin boundary between the stage and the real world.

Through the grand curtain, Chen Ling observed a somber expression on Mo Jiao's face. He meticulously examined the enormous eye, seemingly contemplating how to extract Chen Ling, his brows tightly knitted into a "Chuan" character.

Just then, an almost imperceptible gap silently opened on the surface of the eye. It was roughly half the size of a fingernail, resembling a mere speck of sand compared to the eye's vastness—the absolute limit of what Chen Ling could achieve.

The instant the gap opened, Mo Jiao's eyes instantly fixated on that precise spot, and the somber expression on his face vanished completely.

He chuckled softly and spoke gently:

"I've found you... Junior brother."