Chapter 110: Don

Seeing this situation, Li Rui turned and ran.

“Fuck, old man, I’m talking to you—stop right there!”

“Still running?”

Li Rui scooped up a large clump of earth, moving with the agility of a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old boy, and vanished in a flash into the nearby forest.

Zhang He flew into a rage and shouted at those behind him:

“Useless bastards, what are you staring at? Don’t just stand there—go after him now!”

“Yes, yes.”

The old man had moved too fast—like flowing clouds and running water, he’d made off with his bundle before they’d even reacted.

The subordinates were kicked by Zhang He and scrambled after him.

Zhang He stomped over to the depression.

The old man had run off, but he’d also grabbed a big clump of earth—that didn’t make sense.

Since he’d seen it.

Wasn’t it now Zhang Da’s property? Who else dared lay a hand on it?

Zhang He crouched down.

Studied it carefully.

“Sanfu, what’s so special about this soil?”

The middle-aged man named Zhang Sanfu was the head of the Zhang family’s guards and the only eighth-rank among them.

But his real surname wasn’t Zhang—it was Liu.

The surname Zhang had been personally granted by the Zhang family’s patriarch.

This was common among wealthy households: granting a surname was a mark of approval for servants, seen by them as a great favor, signifying they’d become part of the family.

At least on the surface.

Zhang Sanfu paused, pinched a bit of soil, tasted it, then gasped in shock.

He pointed excitedly at the soil in the depression.

“It’s spirit soil!”

Zhang He, who had been grinning, froze instantly.

Spirit soil?!

It was actually spirit soil!

Zhang He switched emotions in an instant, overcome with wild joy.

“Good stuff, good stuff.”

Spirit soil held far greater value for a sect or family than for any individual—it was a family heirloom meant to be passed down.

The Zhang family had spent enormous resources to collect spirit soil.

“If I bring this spirit soil to Father, I’ll surely earn his praise.”

Zhang Hao had seven sons.

He was the third.

Competition within great clans was far crueler than outsiders realized—everyone fought desperately for their father’s approval.

Approval meant access to cultivation resources.

Zhang He wasn’t the most outstanding among the seven sons.

There was an old saying: the favored son stays home to guard the family. Only the son most loved by the father was kept to inherit the household.

This time, Zhang Hao had brought four sons along.

All of them were usually disliked.

Zhang He naturally wanted to seize this chance to present his treasure—to at least outshine his other three brothers.

“Sanfu, this is a major achievement—hurry, gather all the spirit soil.”

They’d come here to hunt.

Only a hemp rope was tied around their waists; they carried nothing else.

Zhang Sanfu tore off his outer robe, carefully scooped up the spirit soil, and wrapped it inside.

Then tied it into a sealed bundle.

He met Zhang He’s gaze.

Both saw the excitement in the other’s eyes.

With this spirit soil, their status in the Zhang family would rise sharply, and the rewards wouldn’t be small.

This was a massive windfall.

Zhang He, still uneasy, took the bundle from Zhang Sanfu and held it himself.

Zhang Sanfu sighed inwardly.

Servants were always servants.

Normally, Zhang He might call him Brother Sanfu, but in moments of truth, the master-servant divide became clear.

Even when he found something valuable, he still had to hand it over.

Just because he’d been given the surname Zhang didn’t make him truly a Zhang.

Holding the bundle, Zhang He finally felt somewhat at ease.

But soon his expression turned sour:

“Useless bastards—how long does it take to catch one old man?”

Since arriving here, a full cup of tea had passed, yet the men sent to chase the old man still hadn’t returned.

Logically, it was just one old man—and everyone except Zhang Sanfu and himself had been dispatched. There was no reason for such delay.

Zhang Sanfu frowned slightly:

“Something’s off.”

He’d spent years guarding the estate; he had an instinctive sense for danger.

“Young Master, perhaps we should leave. The old man took only a little—let it go.”

He couldn’t help but urge caution.

Zhang He glanced at Zhang Sanfu: “Sanfu, you’re truly magnanimous—spirit soil, just like that, you’d give up?”

His tone turned sharp: “Spirit soil is vital to the Zhang family—not a single grain may fall into outsider hands.”

He spoke with righteous indignation.

Zhang Sanfu felt a headache coming on.

He knew further words were useless.

=9+ Shu _ Ba

Zhang He, a pampered son of a great clan, had never faced hardship—stubborn and self-willed, he’d never listen to a servant.

“I’ll go check.”

He stopped urging.

Mainly because the old man looked at least sixty—Zhang Sanfu himself was eighth-rank; he posed little threat.

After weighing it, he decided he’d overthought it.

“Brother Sanfu, let’s wait a bit longer.”

Seeing Zhang Sanfu about to leave, Zhang He panicked.

He was only ninth-rank himself; alone in this deep forest without Zhang Sanfu’s protection, he truly felt uneasy.

Zhang Sanfu was even more exasperated.

Neither leaving nor letting him go search.

Wasn’t this a stalemate?

As he pondered how to break it, faint footsteps echoed from the forest.

Zhang He’s face lit up.

He cursed: “Useless bastards—how long does it take to catch one old man?”

But Zhang Sanfu’s expression changed instantly.

The footsteps sounded scattered, but clearly someone was faking a larger group.

Because he’d used the same trick himself.

“Who’s there?!”

Zhang Sanfu roared.

Before the other could answer, a hidden dart shot from his sleeve.

The move was sudden.

Zhang He’s eyes widened.

He hadn’t expected the usually submissive Zhang Sanfu to dare such boldness—to strike without even seeing the enemy’s face.

Didn’t he fear killing the wrong person?

Then came a sound—

Ding!

“Armor!”

Zhang Sanfu’s heart tightened—he had ample battle experience; the sound told him the dart had struck metal, likely a protective armor.

Just as he was about to make his next move—

The leaves before him stirred without wind.

An invisible force swept across his neck.

“Hmm, all dead.”

Li Rui stared at the two corpses beneath his feet.

He glanced again at the small hole torn in the abdomen.

“This soft armor is indeed useful.”

The tactics of the corpse on the left had indeed surprised him, but remained within manageable limits.

If not for fearing additional reinforcements,

The speed of death could have been much faster.

Li Rui bent down, snatched the bundle clutched tightly in Zhang He’s hands—it contained the spiritual soil he had not yet dug out.

He glanced at the corpse beneath his feet, then looked toward the seven or eight corpses nearby.

“Good thing this is in the mountains; otherwise, I’d be worn out today.”

Someone dies in the mountains.

Or seven or eight people die—it’s perfectly normal.

He knew there were several sinkholes nearby.

Toss one anywhere, no one would find it; within two days, wild beasts would have devoured it clean, leaving no trace.

(End of chapter)