Li Yan's face was twisted in agony as enormous beads of sweat trickled down his brow. His earlier surprise attack had been thwarted, and now he bore the cost—a ruined leg that throbbed with pain. Across from him, Master Ji—seasoned yet desperate—wore an expression as savage as his determination. His features, distorted in suffering, spoke of a man fighting to cling to life. In a final burst of strength, Master Ji's right hand yanked sharply, drawing Li Yan dangerously close—only inches away from his opponent's left hand. In that moment, memories of witnessing Hong Linying's demise surged in Li Yan's mind. He recalled Dong Fu Yi's warning that Master Ji had mastered several immortal techniques designed to catch him off guard. Now, with grim certainty, Li Yan suspected that the very tactic he had feared was in play.
At that critical moment, Li Yan felt the full, crushing force of Master Ji's massive hand pressing down hard upon the top of his head. With no time to think, Li Yan funneled every reserve of his spiritual energy into reinforcing both the crown and his lower body. His desperate strategy was simple: increase the weight of his lower half so that before all his vital energy could be siphoned away, the fire poison mastered by Master Ji would claim its victim first. Both combatants strained against each other, their bodies trembling as they fought for every precious moment of life.
Master Ji, already dizzy and shaken from the ongoing struggle, found his vision beginning to blur. His head swam as if caught in a tempest of conflicting emotions and mounting exhaustion. In a fit of defiant desperation, he bit down hard on his tongue—a painful yet centering act that momentarily cleared his fog of dizziness. His eyes turned bloodshot as he abruptly released all the spiritual energy he had been hoarding to suppress the lethal fire poison. Splitting his energy into two surges—a small portion into his left hand and the overwhelming majority channeled into his right—he executed a powerful pull.
Clenching his teeth against the intensity of both physical and internal pain, Li Yan struggled to maintain his grip. His body, slick with sweat and battered by the relentless outpouring of spiritual power, had now reached the point of exhaustion. His heart pounded loudly, every beat echoing like a drum in his ears. Then, as if fate had delivered one final blow, Li Yan sensed an even greater force emanating from above—a sign that Master Ji was unleashing his ultimate gambit. With a resolute surge, Li Yan abruptly ceased directing his energy downward and instead retracted every last drop from his crown and his lower body.
In that sudden change of momentum, Master Ji's right hand lost all resistance. Li Yan, as if caught by a powerful gust, was sent tumbling into Master Ji's embrace. Though the earlier intent had been to draw him closer for a fatal strike, the unexpected reversal left Master Ji momentarily unbalanced, as if his own strength had been misdirected onto empty space. In that split second, as his left hand fumbled the incantation for an essential seal, Master Ji's technique lagged by a fraction of a heartbeat—yet that fraction was enough. Li Yan, falling into his grasp, instinctively lifted his head and wrenched it sharply to one side. A flash of cold, unforgiving light broke through the darkness—a blade of icy radiance that seemed to cut through both flesh and spirit.
Before Master Ji could fully recover his senses, he was forced to echo the "Fire Bomb Technique." The rapid movement sent Li Yan tumbling away, and in the process Master Ji's throat was suddenly stricken with fierce pain. Almost immediately, his body became the unwitting conduit for a torrent of blood and energy that erupted violently from a single point. In a moment of primal fear, he reached out with his right hand as if to stifle the grievous bleeding, but the very method of siphoning spiritual energy—the "Absorption Technique"—held his limb in place. In an act of frantic mitigation, every last reserve of remaining energy surged to his right hand, gushing out in a desperate bid to repel Li Yan.
The result was a scene of gruesome beauty and terror: splatters of blood danced in the darkness like ghostly, night-blooming flowers, showering Li Yan's face in crimson. Amidst the spray, Li Yan's lips clutched a tiny blade—a remnant of his own secret techniques. In that blurred, almost dreamlike moment, he felt a surge of exotic energies. The warmth of his previously unleashed fire energy mingled with an unfamiliar, cool wooden energy, and compounded with an overwhelming measure of fire poison that now dwarfed any poison he had borne before. In only two exhalations, these forces overwhelmed him entirely, coursing into his battered body with an intensity that left no hope of resistance.
When the tumult subsided, Li Yan could be seen lethargically leaning against an ancient tree. His breathing was shallow, his vitals failing, and the once-clutched thin blade had fallen lifelessly onto his chest. Nearby, Master Ji lay motionless amid a sprawling pool of blood—a tragic testament to a duel fought too fiercely. Even as lore extolled the resilience of cultivators compared to ordinary mortals, the sight of Master Ji's mutilated throat—a grotesque gash where flesh had been ripped away—and his spasming body told a different story. With his eyes fixed intently on Li Yan, even in death his defiance persisted. A final, weak hiss escaped his bloodied lips, barely coherent:
"You… have been practicing… cultivating… spitting blood…" he croaked.
A mirthless laugh curled through Li Yan's parched throat as he sank further against the tree. The sight of spilled blood meant nothing to him now; it was as if he were looking at a dying, mutilated beast that he had once hunted in the wilds of Da Qing Mountain. Despite the searing pain spreading through his injured legs, his expression held an eerie calm.
In a voice stripped of all pretense, Li Yan murmured, "Ever since I realized you treated me as nothing more than a caged pig, I have been planning my escape. I have schemed to ensure that you never harm my loved ones—or me. Don't continue that hissing; I know you wish to hear every detail, but if I were to recount it all, would you even be able to bear it? As for your intentions and the immortal art you practice… perhaps you will have to seek enlightenment in your next life."
His words, choked by both pain and weary amusement, hinted at a deeper strategy. "I have studied your annotated manuscripts, memorizing your unique script as I practiced in secret. I imbibed the fragrances of countless herbs, applying the subtle scent of the 'Kindred Insect' to you. I deliberately made inconspicuous purchases—but each was designed to wear your mind out, to dull your vigilance. When you finally dismissed these acquisitions as trivial, you let your guard down. It was then that I began to secretly train with hidden weapons. I had my brothers at the Ironworks forge craft concealed blade boots, a soft-sword belt, and even miniature thin blades meant to be worn in the mouth. Though these contraptions appear mundane, they require only a few practiced movements to wield deadly precision… cough, cough."
Li Yan continued, his voice growing hoarse with the strain of both battle and confession. "Every day, I risked practice with that tiny blade hidden under my tongue. I sliced my lips, my mouth, leaving it stained with my own blood—always feigning that it was the inevitable backlash from the fire poison countering my cultivation. I could not risk you discovering my true strength. Yet, all those cuts—and the pain they wrought—were essential, each a step toward perfecting my secret art. And take heed: the hidden blade boots, the soft-sword belt, even the concealed blades—all form my ultimate arsenal. I never dared trust that one single strike would kill you, so I always ensured that I could finish you off with one decisive, final blow… cough, cough."
For a brief moment, Li Yan shifted his head, his gaze drifting to the charred remnants of a collapsed structure nearby—a small patch of blackened earth—and the mangled corpse of a giant man, his life forced into knots. "I never wished for Marshal Hong to suffer such a fate," he whispered. His mind immediately flashed away from the carnage to thoughts of his family: the aging parents in his home village, his older siblings, his childhood playmates, and even the stray dog that used to scamper about with its tail between its legs. With a sudden, overwhelming surge of burning agony deep in his belly, his awareness began to fade. In those final fleeting moments of clarity, he saw Master Ji—whose eyes had long been vacant—confirming his demise for an eternity.
A half-hour later, the silence was broken by streaks of radiant light gliding across the darkened sky. These shimmering beams descended slowly over the secluded valley, circling as if seeking the truth of what had transpired. After several exhaled breaths and measured moments, one beam touched down in the wooded glen. As its light subsided, a slightly plump young man with a round face and bright, curious eyes emerged. He studied the carnage intently—the crimson pool beneath him revealing the broken form of Master Ji.
Not long after, two more beams of light followed. One revealed a young man with a dark, almost horse-like visage paired with a complexion as wind-swept as night; the other, a gentle and composed youth dressed in deep green robes. The three converged, a makeshift council formed under the somber colors of dawn.
The dark-featured youth stepped purposefully to the side of the plump young man and remarked in an even tone, "Lu Shidi, your little scouting technique has grown remarkably sharp. It seems you noticed the disturbance first." Before the dark-featured youth could continue, the composed young man smiled amiably and added, "I, too, am cautious—every venture outside requires surveying the surroundings carefully. It appears our master's methods have exposed more than we expected."
The trio then spread out slightly, each surveying the gruesome scene. "This must be that military advisor," murmured the one known to them as Brother Wu as he knelt by Master Ji's bloodstained form. His eyes carefully inspected every mangled detail before speaking, "His features—though marred and twisted by the final throes of pain—bear an uncanny resemblance to those described in the jade tablets we received. His throat, torn open in a savage twist of fate, confirms our worst suspicions."
As Brother Wu's gaze drifted to Li Yan, he noticed the tiny metal blade that had fallen on his chest. "It seems the advisor met his end at this man's hand," he observed coolly. "And those two by his side—they surely suffered from the effects of the 'Fire Bomb Technique' and the 'Wood Thorn Technique.' What exactly transpired here?" His words carried the weight of experience as he then glanced toward the smoldering remains left by Marshal Hong and the dismembered figure of a hulking fighter.
A soft, bitter laugh escaped the plump young man. "It appears our military advisor was not so adept in our sect's ways. He foolishly trusted crude methods to overcome the fire poison, and in doing so, sealed his own fate. As for his disciple, look—he clings to that tree over there, obviously a fellow who practiced an imperfect version of the 'Wu Ye Lianqing Technique.' His time must be nearly up."
Brother Wu then produced from Master Ji's withered robes a small jade book, once fastened to his waist—a sacred text stolen by a treacherous outsider. "This is the very method that was taken away by that external traitor," he said. "We must also verify if the paper manuscript is still on him." The composed youth crouched, his fingers deftly unfastening the black robe to reveal a second book, which he then handed to Brother Wu with a quiet, "He always carried it on his person, sparing us the trouble of searching his dwelling."
Brother Wu's eyes then returned to Li Yan. "It appears that your hand delivered the final blow to the advisor," he stated, raising an eyebrow as he examined the discarded blade on Li Yan's chest. "And what of those two companions—clearly they were struck by your techniques. How does one reconcile this chaos?" His gaze shifted to the smoldering remnants of Marshal Hong's presence and the tragic remains of a once-mighty fighter.
A dry chuckle emerged from the plump young man. "That advisor was nothing more than a bumbling fool. He believed that a low-level method could counteract the fire poison cocooning him—it was laughable. And his disciple, caught in a storm of misfortune, inadvertently joined forces with two other martial experts, leading to this gruesome finale."
After a moment of silence, Brother Wu nodded grimly. "It is a pity, truly—a wasted life, now doomed to be a burden if taken back for healing. Better that he remains fallen, spared the torment of the soul-entwining worms that would only waste our precious elixirs."
As the plump young man was about to form an incantation with his finger, Brother Wu sharply interjected. "Hold on now," he warned, "come too close and you might startle the living—this proximity is dangerous." The young man's hand trembled, his incantation scattering in a brief, almost self-recoiling burst. "Brother Yu, you don't have to be so unnerving," he muttered.
Before anyone could further debate, the composed youth stepped forward and, with a precise surge of spiritual energy, directed a pulse toward Li Yan's abdomen. Brother Wu's eyes narrowed as he watched this display, his own focus whittling to every detail of Li Yan's faltering state. After a few lingering seconds, the composed youth raised his head and, in tandem with Brother Wu, muttered in unison, "Disintegrate the toxic body."
For an instant, the plump young man, still grappling with confusion, stammered, "Then how do we finish him off once and for all?" Their whispered exchange faded as the eastern sky began to blush with the first light of dawn.
As the new day broke over Da Qing Mountain, the horrors of the previous night yielded to a gentle, almost serene awakening in the distant village below. In the early morning air, the cool breezes carried the scent of dew as birds began their quiet chorus. The sky above the small mountain hamlet was streaked with wisps of smoke from household hearths, while outside, lush fields of wheat meandered around the village's edges. Terraced farmlands stretched across the horizon, and patches of yellow rapeseed peppered the green—a peaceful counterpoint to the violence of the night.
In one humble home at the edge of the village, Changbo set down his bowl and carefully wiped the oil smudged on his lips. A broad smile tugged at his face as he reflected on the better fortunes that had befallen him over the past few months. Beyond the modest fee paid when Old Five enlisted, and the extra remittances from a mischievous younger relative, his household had slowly come into a more secure state of wealth. In less than a year, the accumulated funds promised enough to sustain his family for decades in this secluded mountain village.
Just yesterday, word had come from the city that a new belt had been delivered—a prestigious gift from Lord Ji himself—meant to be enshrined in the family's ancestral temple. Although Changbo had quarreled repeatedly with Li Guoxin about its placement, he had finally conceded—with a secret, satisfied gleam in his eyes. Li Guoxin had even guaranteed that during this year's ancestral rites, Changbo's family would be honored first, complete with the ceremonial lighting of incense and recitations of sacred prayers. Overjoyed by the prospect of being admired and envied by the village's elders and youths alike, Changbo had wandered about all day, silently savoring the admiring glances and respectful nods of his neighbors.
"Today I won't go to the fields," Changbo declared cheerfully after setting the bowl aside. "Last night I gathered a few of the able-bodied villagers to repair our house. With weather this fine, we'll expand the house by building several extra rooms this afternoon—so that come autumn, my third son's wedding can be celebrated in proper style." Li Wei, blushing and shifting uncomfortably, joined in as he grabbed a tool from against the wall, hobbling along to assist.
Inside, Li Yan's mother, ever practical yet full of warmth, watched the men with a pleased smile. "Look at you two—full of vim and vigor, as if you could fly! Later, when we've finished the repairs, we'll take that half pig, cut it up, wash it carefully… so that our helpers may dine heartily and quench their thirst. Only then will they have the strength to work even harder on the house."
Overhearing this from the doorway, Li Xiao Zhu—who had been silently observing with a smile—suddenly scowled and teased, "Oh, you there! Why does your in-law's family never seem to succeed? It's already the season of blossoms, and yet they still have no money to gather. Well, at least our family is never short of spirit. Once your third brother's house is finished, I'll find you a better match—someone worthy of you!"
With that, Li Xiao Zhu stamped her foot and bounded out the door, leaving behind the light-hearted banter and hopeful energy that filled the morning.
And so, as the bloodshed and bitter duels of the previous night became nothing more than a fading memory, life in the mountain village resumed its gentle rhythm. Amid the everyday tasks and humble conversations, the villagers carried on with their work, their steps imbued with the hope and resilience that only a new day can bring. In every whispered word and every shared meal, there lay an unspoken promise that no matter how fierce the night, the light of dawn would eventually break through, ushering in hope and renewal for all.
Thus, in the shadow of untold violence and secret struggles, two worlds converged—one marked by mortal combat and tragic betrayal, the other by the simple, enduring pulse of village life. The wounds of the past might never fully heal, yet the promise of a new day offered a quiet counterpoint to despair. In the interplay of light and shadow, of blood and hope, life continued, ever determined, ever human.