After carefully placing the corpses of Sun Zhao and Sun Bao into his storage ring, ensuring their preservation, Sun Qing's expression hardened.
He spread his qi in every direction, probing the area for any signs or clues that might lead him to the culprit.
His energy rippled through the landscape, brushing against the remnants of broken trees, but it returned empty, offering him nothing useful.
Sun Qing's brows furrowed. "Nothing… not even a trace of him," he muttered, his voice cold with irritation.
With a flick of his wrist, his sword materialised next to him, hovering in the air. Sun Qing stepped onto it and rose into the sky, the world below him shrank as he ascended.
From his elevated point, Sun Qing's eyes scanned the vast expanse of forest and hills. A spark of focus ignited in his eyes when he spotted a cluster of what seemed to be houses far in the distance.
Without hesitation, he leaned forward slightly, urging his sword toward the settlement. The blade cut through the air effortlessly, becoming a streak of light slicing across the sky.
Moments later, Sun Qing hovered above the village, his posture that of a master, with his arms clasped behind his back.
His robes billowed faintly in the breeze, and his cold expression seemed carved from stone. The villagers below soon noticed the figure in the sky, their daily work came to a halt as they looked upward.
A murmur spread through the crowd, growing louder with each passing second.
"Oh my god, it's a master!" one man whispered, his voice trembling with awe and fear.
"He's flying… he's really flying!" a woman exclaimed, clutching her child closer.
"What do you think he wants?" another villager asked, his tone split into equal parts of curiosity and fear.
The murmurs spread and rippled through the villagers like waves.
Some bowed instinctively, while others stood frozen, unable to decide whether reverence or caution was the best response.
Sun Qing's ears caught the snippets of their conversations, though he paid little mind to the reactions.
His focus remained on the village itself, his gaze scanning every corner for anything suspicious.
The head of the village, an old man with a wrinkled face and a slightly hunched posture stepped forward hesitantly, his hands clasped together in a gesture of respect.
"Esteemed master," the elder called out, his voice quivering softly. "To what do we owe the honour of your presence?"
Sun Qing's gaze finally shifted downward, landing on the village elder with the mass of a mountain.
The old man's knees wobbled slightly under the intensity, but he stood his ground.
"I am searching for someone," Sun Qing said.
Although his voice was calm, it silenced the murmurs instantly. "Answer me truthfully, and no harm will come to you or your people."
The elder's face paled, but he nodded quickly, his head bobbing like a puppet's. "Of course, master. Ask anything, and we will answer to the best of our ability."
Sun Qing's gaze swept over the villagers again. These people likely knew little, if anything, of the events on Yanxia Mountain, but he would leave no stone unturned for his son's sake.
'If they've seen anything—or if the culprit passed through here—I'll know soon enough.'
The village below him remained eerily quiet.
Sun Qing hovered there, his figure imposing against the clear sky. His piercing eyes locked onto the village elder, his expression cold.
"Gather everyone here. I want every single person in this village accounted for, now."
The elder flinched, his hunched frame trembling as he hastily stammered, "O-Of course, esteemed master." He turned to the crowd and raised his voice. "Everyone! Bring all your immediate family here immediately!"
The murmurs among the villagers grew louder as they began dispersing to fetch their families. Some moved quickly, spurred by fear, while others hesitated, their eyes landing nervously on the hovering figure above.
A few minutes later, the villagers returned, forming a growing crowd in the central square. Roughly eighty people stood huddled together, their faces a mix of curiosity, fear, and resignation.
The village wasn't large, and everyone knew each other—though under the scrutiny of Sun Qing, familiarity offered little comfort.
Sun Qing's cold eyes swept over the crowd, his hands clasped behind his back. "Is everyone here?" he asked, his tone low but cutting.
The villagers glanced at one another, murmuring affirmations as heads nodded cautiously.
Sun Qing's expression darkened, his frown deepening as his qi spread outward, brushing against the auras of every person present.
His senses told him what his eyes could not.
Something was amiss.
"One of you is lying," he said sharply, his voice rising just enough to send a ripple of unease through the crowd. "You have one final chance. If you don't come forward now and fix it, the consequences will be dire."
Silence overcame them, as everyone froze in place.
A few villagers exchanged worried glances, but most stood rooted, too terrified to speak. Then, slowly, an older man, likely in his fifties, stepped forward. He had a hunched back, and he was reclining on a stick to hold himself up.
He bowed deeply, his voice trembling. "Sorry, esteemed master… It's me."
All eyes turned to him, some with sympathy, others with barely concealed relief that the catastrophe had moved away from them. If the old man remained hidden, the village would have most likely been destroyed.
Sun Qing's gaze bore into the man, who continued shakily, "My daughter… She's extremely ill and unable to move."
"Bring her here," Sun Qing ordered, his voice firm.
The old man hesitated, his grip tightening on his stick. "B-but—"
The village elder interjected harshly, cutting him off. "Didn't you hear him, Zhan Ting? Go bring your daughter!"
Zhan Ting's face twisted in anguish, his gritted teeth betraying the turmoil inside him. He turned reluctantly, his steps heavy as he left.
As he walked, Zhan Ting's mind raced with regret and self-loathing. He cursed his weakness, his inability to protect his daughter and his powerlessness in the face of authority. The stick he leaned on felt weaker with each step.