Chapter 131

130. Chapter 130: The Revenge Begins

“Giddy-up!”, “Giddy-up!”

Tall, muscular steeds galloped along the imperial road, iron hooves striking the ground in a rapid clatter; the dust they kicked up had barely risen into the air before being flung far behind.

Several agile figures rode hard, racing toward the direction of San Yang City.

After five full days of rest, at dawn on the sixth day, Zhao Ge, Zhao Qian, Rong Niang, Shou Hou, and Li Yi departed from You Shui Town; they were fully prepared, no longer hiding their trail or avoiding attention, but openly riding steeds along the imperial road straight toward San Yang City.

Their sole purpose this journey: revenge and redemption.

During these nearly six days, under the nourishment of the nutrient solution, Rong Niang and Shou Hou had recovered seven or eight tenths of their injuries—even combat posed no major issue—and their master Zhao Ge had also recuperated considerably; though lingering internal injuries remained, he was vastly improved from before, his lost blood and qi largely restored, making him seem years younger. Though not yet at his peak, he estimated he had regained six or seven tenths of his strength.

As for Li Yi, his transformation was even greater: he completed his Three-Day Bone Cultivation in three days, fusing tendons, bones, and skin into one unit, unleashing divine strength that even Qi-Opening experts had to avoid. In the remaining two days, Master Zhao Ge drilled him, correcting his combat flaws, and taught him several secret killing techniques of the Zhao Family Martial Arts Hall; his close-combat skills improved further, which delighted him.

Zhao Qian had also changed greatly: she could now skillfully use the sniper rifle, even assembling and disassembling it quickly. But for revenge, Li Yi had her undergo live-fire training, firing twenty standard rounds—though it pained him slightly, it was worth it; at least she now knew how to shoot moving targets and had developed high accuracy.

Even the Eight-Treasure Deer had undergone a transformation during these six days.

The old deer followed behind Li Yi’s black steed, leaping nimbly and lightly, its speed no slower than before—utterly unlike its former gaunt, aged appearance.

It wasn’t merely because it drank the golden nutrient solution; more importantly, every time Li Yi practiced the White Bone Contemplation technique indoors, the Eight-Treasure Deer would draw near, absorbing cosmic energy. After several nights of cultivation, the deer had been reborn—though not fully restored, it was no longer in mortal danger.

“Meng De, your divine strength is astonishing, your physique invincible. When you meet enemies, don’t hesitate—strike and kill them instantly. Qi-Opening martial artists have never fought someone like you; one clash will leave them at a disadvantage. Once you gain the upper hand, don’t let them escape. Kill just one Qi-Opening expert, and the path into San Yang City will be open.”

On the road, Zhao Ge galloped on horseback, his heart surging, yet out of caution, he couldn’t help warning Li Yi: “Don’t let your youth and overconfidence give the enemy a chance to turn the tide.”

“Master, rest assured—I won’t let them live once I strike.” Li Yi said calmly.

He wasn’t some TV villain who loved to monologue; he acted decisively. The only time he hesitated was when he killed the Blood-Cultivation martial artist named Han Sui in the ruined temple—and that was only because Rong Niang had been taken hostage.

“Good. The blood feud of all Zhao Family Martial Arts Hall members is entrusted to you, Meng De.” Zhao Ge nodded, then turned to the other side: “Rong Niang, once we enter San Yang City, stick close to Meng De no matter what happens. He’s not from Xingzhou—he knows nothing about San Yang City. You must guide him.”

“No problem, Master. Wherever Brother Meng De goes, I go.” Rong Niang said.

“Shou Hou, protect Zhao Qian. Her firearms are vital—they’re our trump card and last resort. They must not be lost.” Zhao Ge added.

“No problem—I’ll stay right beside Little Sister Zhao. Not a single hair of hers will be harmed.” Shou Hou patted his chest.

Zhao Qian touched the sniper rifle on her back. She understood the weight on her shoulders—Li Yi had entrusted her with such a precious weapon out of faith. She could not afford the slightest mistake in this mission.

After a brief exchange of instructions,

Zhao Ge said no more. From now on, everything rested on Meng De. As his master, he could do little—he was far from his peak. If he fought a martial artist of equal realm, he’d be swiftly defeated and captured. So he could only avoid causing trouble while raising the banner of Zhao Family Martial Arts Hall’s master, hoping to rally some support.

San Yang City was large.

He remembered how he’d ordered all disciples to scatter and flee. Perhaps some had escaped with luck.

If he succeeded in revenge, he could gather the scattered remnants of the hall—and still rebuild.

After traveling for over an hour,

In the distance,

A grand ancient city appeared on the horizon.

“Is that San Yang City?”

Li Yi’s eyesight was sharp. He gazed at the distant city, his heart quickening.

This city was his first step toward establishing himself across the Four Seas and Eight Provinces.

He would avenge his master and carve out a domain here—only then, when the Heavenly Collapse came, would his relatives and friends have a path to safety.

“San Yang City has arrived.” Zhao Ge stared at the familiar city, his emotions swirling.

He had trained in fists since childhood, showing great talent, rising to fame young, becoming a Qi-Opening expert by middle age. Then he entered San Yang City and, with his bare fists, carved out a martial arts hall. Twenty years passed in a blink—until his old age brought disaster. He was hunted like a stray dog, driven from the city, fleeing in desperation.

He had thought his life would end this way. He never imagined a day of resurgence.

If this succeeds, if he rises again, then as Meng De said, San Yang City will have only one martial arts hall: his Zhao Family Martial Arts Hall.

“If I truly take this city, my life will not have been in vain.”

Zhao Ge sighed inwardly, then immediately sternly said: “No hesitation—enter the city now. Catch them off guard. All factions in San Yang City participated in the destruction of Zhao Family Martial Arts Hall. Since they haven’t taken my head, none of them feel safe. Eyes are surely watching every corner near the city. The moment we show ourselves, we’ll be known.”

“But they’ll never expect us to enter openly and directly. Strike before they can mobilize. Don’t let them prepare or uncover our strengths.”

Since Li Yi intended to seize two martial arts halls, his master must plan carefully—even a brute must act with strategy, not recklessly.

As soon as Zhao Ge finished speaking, the group spurred their horses into a gallop again.

In moments,

They arrived before the gates of San Yang City.

At the gate, crowds surged—people of all kinds gathered. Though the world was harsh, San Yang City still exuded a sense of prosperity, making it seem not all was lost, that some corners remained beautiful.

“Stop.”

Suddenly, Zhao Ge’s expression changed. He pulled his horse to a halt, leapt down, and strode quickly in one direction: “Follow me.”

The others were confused, but when they followed Zhao Ge’s gaze, their faces paled.

Beneath San Yang City’s walls stood rows of iron cages, each holding martial artists tortured beyond recognition—bodies drenched in blood, limbs broken, major tendons severed, iron hooks piercing their scapulae, hanging them midair.

They still breathed, but they were barely alive.

Beside the cages lay dozens of bloody severed heads—some eyes wide open, staring with dead gray gazes, horrifying to behold.

Before each cage stood over a dozen men in tight-fitting uniforms, swords at their waists, guarding the scene and keeping onlookers at bay.

“These are the last remnants of Zhao Family Martial Arts Hall—guilty of heinous crimes, unworthy of life. If any of you know the whereabouts of other accomplices, come forward and report. Verified information earns ten taels of silver.” A martial artist shouted to those entering or leaving the city.

But passersby merely glanced once and hurried away, avoiding trouble.

The wise knew: this reward was not easy to claim.

Zhao Family Martial Arts Hall had dominated San Yang City for twenty years, deeply rooted. Though now reviled, as long as Master Zhao Ge lived, no one dared strike while he was down—lest he rise again and settle accounts later, turning today’s ten taels into their death warrant.

The overseer was a Blood-Cultivation martial artist from the Han Family Martial Arts Hall, named Han Ping, around thirty. He now sat comfortably on a high-backed chair under a canopy, sipping tea in the shade.

Two young, beautiful maids attended him.

“If we still have no news of Zhao Family remnants today, pick two more from the cages and execute them. Two per day—I want to see how long these remnants can hold out.” Han Ping sneered. “Have some courage. Don’t fear that old dog Zhao Ge—he’s gravely wounded, his soul damaged, he won’t last long. Our Han and Jin families have sent elite hunters after them. His head will be delivered soon.”

“Once Zhao Ge’s head arrives, Zhao Family Martial Arts Hall is finished. Without their leader, these remnants won’t stir up trouble again.”

Thinking of this, Han Ping felt a surge of pleasure.

Then he drifted into fantasy.

If he fully absorbed Zhao Family Martial Arts Hall’s assets, he’d surely claim several shops—steady income meant more wives, more concubines. Not bad. After today’s business, he’d visit the broker’s office.

But Han Ping’s fantasy ended abruptly.

“Ahh!”

A scream erupted nearby.

The disciple who had just been shouting to the crowd suddenly collapsed to the ground, face ashen, blood spurting from his mouth.

“Who dares cause trouble? Do you want to die? Who dares attack Han Family Martial Arts Hall of San Yang City?” Han Ping snapped awake, roaring, his martial energy exploding as he leapt from his chair.

But the next instant,

A powerful hand seized his shoulder and forcibly pinned him back down.

“Hn?”

Han Ping’s face darkened—he instantly felt the terrifying strength in that hand.

“Die.”

Han Ping flew into a rage, channeling all his Blood-Cultivation power. His tendons, bones, and skin surged in unison; his spinal dragon roared with layered force, determined to break free.

Yet despite his full power, he could not move—he remained locked to the chair.

And the chair remained unbroken.

Such effortless control of strength was terrifying.

Han Ping’s mind cleared slightly. He broke into a cold sweat—he realized he faced a true master. Instinctively, he turned his head.

There stood a tall, young man in lavish robes, draped in a crimson cloak, his eyes glowing faintly in the sunlight, eerily radiant.

“Who are you?”

Han Ping swallowed hard, fear deepening in his eyes.

“Zhao Family Martial Arts Hall, Senior Brother, Li Yi.” A cold voice carried a chilling aura of killing intent.

“What? Zhao Ge’s last disciple? This… how is this possible? When did he even take on a last disciple?”

At that moment, Han Ping’s eyes no longer held fear alone—they held terror.

He came from a martial arts hall—he knew exactly what “Senior Brother” meant.