Chapter 011: A Tragic Death

Page 1/3

Night had fallen deep and thick, shrouded in a thin mist, the distant howling of wolves faintly discernible. Yao Qian’s expression shifted uneasily; he no longer knew where he was and yearned desperately to find a way out.

Suddenly, a sound of weeping reached his ears.

“Why would there be crying here?”

He had barely formed the thought when he saw, just ahead, a woman sitting with her back to him, her head bowed, sobbing quietly.

He hurried forward, giving her shoulder a gentle pat. “Why are you crying here?”

Startled by his voice, the woman flinched and looked up at him. She was, without question, a beauty—her face fresh and innocent, her figure alluring, her chest heaving as she sobbed. Even from above, the faint allure of her form was evident, a mystery half-veiled, like a beauty hiding behind a lute.

Seeing the tears glistening in the eyes of this stunning maiden, her cheeks wet as a flower in the rain, Yao Qian could not resist. He pulled the lovely woman into his arms, eased her to the ground, and prepared to comfort her wounded and lonely heart, to fill her emptiness with warmth. Unconsciously, his hands came to rest upon her chest.

Their bodies were aflame, passion burning like oil poured on fire. Just as he was about to complete his conquest, the maiden—who had been softly moaning beneath him—suddenly revealed a hideous visage. Her mouth gaped wide, her entire head splitting open, exposing her true form: fangs jagged as sawteeth, a bald scalp with only a few strands of hair, a blood-soaked face stripped of skin, only flesh remaining, gaping eye sockets, and a single eyeball dangling beside her nose, swinging to and fro.

This horrific sight struck Yao Qian with such terror that his limbs went limp, all desire vanishing in an instant. Like a spring released, he bounced upright off her.

Panting heavily, he was about to dash away when sunlight streamed in through a crack in the door, warming his face. He jolted awake, glancing left and right.

Damn, it was all a dream—he was so frightened his legs could barely support him.

Looking around, he found himself sitting alone on his bed. There was no beautiful ghostly maiden beneath him.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he calmed himself, jumped out of bed, washed with cold water, changed into clean clothes, and stepped outside.

The sun was already high, though the ground was still slick and dotted with puddles, remnants of last night’s fierce storm.

Returning to his room, he gathered his single-edged blade and wooden chest, then made his way toward the yamen.

Inside the magistrate’s rear hall, the portly magistrate stood to one side, peering curiously yet fearfully, anxiously scratching his head. Old Wang stood next to a chest, staring at the grim severed head within. After a long moment, he nodded. “It is indeed Yu Hongchuan.”

Once Old Wang had confirmed it, the magistrate’s plump, pale face broke into a broad grin. “Excellent, excellent, Yuan Zhen! I knew I was right to let you succeed your father’s post. You’ve rendered great service, and I shall see you handsomely rewarded.”

He clapped his hands in delight, his eyes narrowing to slits, already plotting how he would spin this case.

Page 2/3

He imagined how he would describe braving the storm, personally leading the charge, rounding up the criminal, and finally bringing the villain to justice, restoring peace to Pingyang.

With a plan forming in his mind, Old Wang spoke up, “Indeed, Yu Hongchuan was a fiend beyond compare, his crimes too numerous to record. Such a villain meeting his end under your wise leadership is truly a blessing for the region—congratulations, my lord, for bringing peace to your people.”

Old Wang’s flattery made the magistrate’s whiskers curl with pride. He quickly smoothed them, beaming, “It’s also thanks to the county constable’s wise appointments and tireless efforts that such merit was achieved.”

Listening to these two shamelessly praise each other, Yao Qian felt a chill of disgust and involuntarily took two steps back.

Yet the two officials seemed oblivious, their mutual fawning knowing no bounds or shame.

At length, after finally seeing off the overexcited magistrate, Old Wang had achieved his aim.

Not long after, a burly man in plain clothes arrived, bearing a pile of silver.

Each ingot weighed five taels, totaling twelve in all.

“Take them, you’ve earned every bit,” Old Wang said, pushing the silver over. Yao Qian accepted the twelve ingots without protest. Their relationship was closer than that of uncle and nephew, so there was no need for formality.

Moreover, in killing Yu Hongchuan, he had sustained several injuries. Fortunately, they were all superficial and he had treated them with fine ointment, but it would still be a few days before he fully recovered.

“How’s your recovery from last night’s battle?” Old Wang’s tone grew serious, all traces of their earlier flattery gone.

“It was a great gain. After the fight, I felt my swordsmanship had changed.”

“Good, that’s how it should be. The blade’s purpose is to kill—if it never tastes blood, it’s no better than a fire poker. No matter how dazzling your technique, if it can’t kill, it’s useless. This fight taught you that a hundred days of practice is worth less than a blade tested in blood.”

Yao Qian nodded wisely at his uncle’s words. Though his swordsmanship had not advanced, he had undergone a profound psychological transformation.

He chatted with his uncle a while longer, listening to stories of his uncle’s own training, before finally taking his leave.

Over the next few days, he made no further moves, nor did he practice the Five Tigers Gate-Cleaving Blade, focusing solely on recuperation.

The Bone-Grinder had been a formidable foe. Though he had slain him, he’d suffered many wounds, especially to his left arm, which stubbornly refused to heal despite the best medicine. For days, it ached and itched as if ten thousand ants gnawed at the bone.

Page 3/3

Seven days later, his wounds finally healed completely.

Leaving the yamen, his expression was somber and dark.

He could not help but recall the woman he had seen unconscious in the carriage. She had still been breathing, merely terrified out of her wits. Yet today, he learned from his uncle that she had died—and had been drained of blood, reduced to a shriveled corpse.

Thinking too of the old woman he’d encountered that night, he could not help but feel his pallor worsen.

“I have to grow stronger. With my current strength, I have no chance against supernatural beings. If they come for me, I’ll be doomed, powerless to resist.”

The deeper he pondered, the heavier the burden on his shoulders seemed to become, pressing down like a mountain, making it hard to breathe. It was as if a cloud hung over his head, ready to crush him at any moment, his very bones obliterated.

This world was simply too hopeless for ordinary people.

Finally rallying his spirits, he turned pressure into motivation and called silently in his heart: “Blue Star.”

Yao Qian—

Five Tigers Gate-Cleaving Blade: Level Two

Locking Technique: Beginner

Potential Points: 2

He examined the information closely and saw a green symbol appear again after the Five Tigers Gate-Cleaving Blade, meaning it was ready to advance further.

Joy flickered across his face. Without hesitation, he focused his will on the symbol. At once, his mind shook as a flood of memories surged into his brain.

When everything settled, his Five Tigers Gate-Cleaving Blade had advanced to Level Three, and he still had one potential point remaining.

“It only took one point to advance!”