Chapter 21: Blood Corrosion (Please Add to Favorites and Recommend)

From the outside, the courtyard appeared battered and ruined, yet within, it was vast beyond expectation. He crossed the front yard, traversed several long corridors and stairways, passed by a large pond, and moved through three round gates set into the surrounding walls.

His expression grew increasingly grim, his grip on the Blood Kill tightening unconsciously. Strange—most peculiar! The silence was overwhelming, far too quiet. He had ventured so deep, yet not a single soul could be seen; this was utterly contrary to what he had anticipated.

Could it be that Chen Shanqi, the master of the Crushing Heart Palm, was so careless? Unlikely. This man controlled a human trafficking syndicate from the shadows, outwitting even veteran Detective Wang, who after years of investigation had failed to grasp a single clue. Such caution and shrewdness made it impossible that Chen would be careless when his life was at stake.

Only two possibilities remained. First, Chen was supremely confident in his men outside, believing they could eliminate any threat and let no intruder slip through. Second, he had absolute faith in his own strength.

Yao Qian did not need to deliberate; he was certain it was not the first. Given this, it would be strange if his expression were anything but grim.

He strode through a large garden and paused for a moment. Ahead, the main hall was ablaze with lanterns; a solitary figure sat on a stone chair, a stone table before him adorned with two small dishes and a jug of wine, seemingly enjoying a quiet drink.

Yao Qian narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the figure. The man looked to be about fifty, six feet tall, clad in a blue robe, his frame lean, his face gaunt and dark, resembling not a crime lord but a seasoned farmer.

As Yao observed, the elder sipped his wine, suddenly raising his head. His eyes gleamed with predatory intensity, as fierce as a tiger, fixing on Yao Qian.

A chill ran down Yao’s spine; he felt as though a wild beast had locked onto him, and his face turned wary.

“Boy, go home. Tonight I am in high spirits, and I would rather not spill more blood.” The man slowly set down his cup, speaking with calm detachment, as if he were a sage.

Yao Qian heard this, gripped his Blood Kill tightly, and steadied his heart. In the past, such words might have driven him back.

But since he began training, the Five Tigers Gate-Cleaving Blade cultivated the heart, its philosophy of relentless advance, never retreating; the Iron Shirt forged the body, pain endured like rock, unmoved by adversity.

With both body and mind tempered, no mere threat could make him falter.

“A dark night, when the wind is high—the perfect time for killing. Old man, you seem frail; why not surrender now and save your bones some trouble? If your arms and legs end up broken, it will not be pleasant.” His tone was calm and unruffled.

“Hmph! Boy, when I was practicing martial arts, you were not yet weaned. To dare utter such arrogance before me—you will pay the price.” Chen Shanqi’s expression changed abruptly, becoming twisted and menacing, his eyes glinting with naked hostility.

Yao Qian saw no reason for further words. He pushed off with his foot, darting forward like a hunting leopard, a tiger descending from the mountain. In a flash, he was upon Chen Shanqi, drawing his Blood Kill and swinging it down, forceful as splitting Mount Hua.

The blade whistled, slicing through the air with a sharp, explosive sound.

But Chen Shanqi was no ordinary foe. As the blade descended toward him, he shouted,