Chapter 023: Turning the Tables

The blade in his palm tore through the air, producing a mournful, explosive howl.

Chen Shanqi, the Bull Demon, wore a face twisted with cruelty and malice; his lips curled into a wicked laugh, as if he could already see Yao Qian’s demise.

Just as the blade was about to fall and Yao Qian’s body leaned precariously, his eyes flickered, betraying a deliberate vulnerability. He had offered up a flaw in his defense, intentionally.

“Not good!”

Chen Shanqi’s expression changed as a sense of foreboding swept through him.

But it was already too late.

He bellowed, his voice hoarse and guttural, his face flushed, muscles in his legs swelling and tendons twisting like drawn bows. Suddenly, he sprang forward, crashing directly into Chen Shanqi’s chest.

This collision caught everyone off guard.

It was abrupt, utterly unexpected.

Yet Yao Qian had calculated this moment countless times in his heart.

After Chen Shanqi transformed into the Bull Demon, his entire form seemed as solid as stone, devoid of weakness. To kill him appeared impossible.

The only possible vulnerability—if it existed at all—was his eyes.

At the critical moment, Yao Qian had no choice but to gamble with his life, throwing himself headlong at his foe.

Chen Shanqi’s face contorted as the palm blade struck Yao Qian’s chest, blood spraying forth and splattering across Chen Shanqi’s face and head.

Yao Qian groaned in pain, yet his eyes burned fiercely, an unusual pleasure flickering across his features.

The two collided with a heavy thud. Though Chen Shanqi had assumed a demonic form, he had not transcended the realm of mortals.

Blood splashed into his eyes, turning his vision into a field of crimson, blinding him. His eyes swelled and stung, driving him to wipe them clear.

All this took mere moments.

Strike while he’s down!

Yao Qian, having plotted so long, would never let such an opportunity slip away.

As his body crashed into Chen Shanqi’s chest, his Bloodbane dagger flew up in his hand. He seized the hilt, driving the blade straight toward Chen Shanqi’s left eye.

With a sickening sound, the blade sank half an inch deep, blood spurting forth.

Chen Shanqi cried out in agony, his hands transforming into claws, attempting to push Yao Qian away.

His screams echoed, his face twisted with fury, his right eye brimming with naked hatred, as if he might devour Yao Qian whole.

The strike landed, but Chen Shanqi’s palm was already upon him. With the two locked so close together, there was no time to dodge. The blow connected, blood spraying from Yao Qian’s mouth as his body was flung away like a torn sandbag.

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No sooner had he been hurled through the air, separated by barely half an arm’s length, than Yao Qian’s expression twisted with ferocity. Veins bulged on his forehead, and with a tiger’s roar, he unleashed a beastly bellow.

Tiger’s Roar, Wind’s Fury!

At such close range, his cry crashed into Chen Shanqi’s ears like a sonic wave, freezing his body.

“Die!”

Blood trickling from his lips, face contorted like a wild animal, Yao Qian let out a fierce shout and slammed his fist onto the hilt of the Bloodbane dagger.

With a thunderous crack, he was sent flying, crashing to the ground more than ten meters away, blood bubbling from his mouth like fish eggs.

The stone slabs beneath him shattered, and he lay as though his sinews and bones were broken, unable to move.

Pain racked him, forcing hissed breaths and groans from his lips.

Now, his strength and stamina were utterly spent. He couldn’t muster the slightest energy, lying on the ground helpless.

Like meat on a butcher’s block, even an ordinary person could now easily kill him.

Never before had Yao Qian felt so weak. The sense of vulnerability gnawed at him, as if his life hung in another’s hands.

It was a dreadful feeling.

He lay on the cold ground for a long while before recovering a shred of strength. He shifted, glancing toward Chen Shanqi.

Chen Shanqi stood motionless, his ugly bovine face twisted with malice, his right eye glaring with tangible hatred at Yao Qian.

“Still alive?”

Shock flooded Yao Qian’s heart.

Such grievous wounds, yet he had not died—what would that mean for himself?

He dared not imagine the consequences; his face darkened with gloom.

But just then, Chen Shanqi seemed to attempt a step forward. As he lifted his foot, his face froze, body slackened, and he toppled backward with a dull crash, convulsing briefly before falling still.

He exhaled heavily, cold sweat beading on his brow—a false alarm, thankfully.

Relieved, he felt his back drenched in an instant.

Between life and death, terror reigns supreme.

Resting on the ground for a while, he gathered some strength and finally managed to stand. The movement tugged at his wounds, eliciting sharp gasps.

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Pain pulsed through him, veins bulging on his forehead, sweat soaking his body. He glanced down and a bitter smile curled his lips.

How wretched!

This battle had truly ruined him.

A long, gaping wound stretched across his chest and abdomen, staining his clothes crimson with blood.

Had he not activated his Iron Shirt technique fully and crashed into his foe, the palm blade would have struck with full force and he would surely have perished.

He quickly applied hemostatic pills and medicinal ointments to the wound, swallowing several healing pills before the bleeding finally stopped.

Aside from this terrifying cut, a dark palm print marred the upper part of his chest—the last strike from Chen Shanqi. Fortunately, it had been delivered in haste and his Iron Shirt was formidable. Otherwise, the venomous Crushing Heart Palm would have damaged his organs irreparably.

Aside from these two deadly injuries, the rest were numerous but less severe, though poor recovery would certainly diminish his future strength.

“Damn it, suffering such serious wounds—if I don’t get something in return, it’s a huge loss.”

Even he, usually restrained in speech, cursed aloud, limping over to Chen Shanqi’s corpse.

Upon seeing it, his expression shifted.

The bull’s head had vanished, and the body had returned to its original human form, as if the Bull Demon he had fought moments ago was nothing but a hallucination.

“Perhaps this is for the best,” he murmured. If he handed over this corpse, ordinary folk would be terrified out of their wits.

Who could have imagined that among their own kind, such monstrous aberrations lurked? If word spread, chaos and unrest would surely follow.

He shook his head, drew the Bloodbane from Chen Shanqi’s eye socket, and supported himself on the single blade, kneeling to search the corpse.

Before long, his face was radiant with joy.

Perhaps Chen Shanqi had truly intended to flee; he carried a wealth of treasures. He found over ten hundred-tael silver notes, more than a thousand taels of silver, and—most precious of all—a secret manual.

He had no time to peruse it now, so he tucked the silver notes and manual into his pouch and sat aside to meditate and recover.

After a good while, footsteps echoed from outside the grand garden. He opened his eyes and saw figures approaching, with Old Wang at the forefront.

In moments, Old Wang and the others entered the courtyard. Seeing Yao Qian seated cross-legged on the ground beside the corpse, they breathed a collective sigh of relief and cheered.

Only then did Yao Qian notice that the group was smaller than when they had first arrived. He could guess their fate without needing to ask.

Old Wang walked over, glanced at Chen Shanqi’s corpse, and said, “Yuanzhen, how are your wounds? Are you able to leave?”

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