Chapter 65: Brushing Against Death

Deep in the middle of the night, he was sound asleep when a loud thud echoed from the courtyard.

Chen Guanlou jolted awake, grabbed the great knife beside his bed, took down the bundle from the rafters, then carefully opened the door and stepped out of his bedroom.

“Who’s there?”

He whispered a sharp demand, but no one answered.

By the dim moonlight, he saw a lump had appeared in the courtyard—like a person.

He walked forward slowly. “Who’s sneaking around at this hour?”

He demanded again, keeping his guard up.

He prodded the figure on the ground with the scabbard—no movement. Had he died?

To check if it was a ruse, he flipped the body over with the scabbard—ah, a familiar face: a swordsman from the fighting guild. Covered in blood, unconscious on the ground.

Confirming the man was still alive, he dragged him under the eaves.

Just as he rose to his feet, a sudden thrust came from the wall—he barely dodged a strange-glowing hidden weapon.

Poisoned!

The hidden weapon was poisoned!

This was meant to kill him.

In a single glance, his long blade was already drawn—the familiar demon mask, a member of Ghost Domain Gate.

Third-rank martial expert!

Two rounds… three rounds…

The “Ascension Scripture” sword technique was etched into his mind; his blade wove a dense net, and medicinal powder scattered with each strike.

Thud!

The Ghost Domain Gate third-rank martial expert lay stiff on the ground.

The top-tier sedative formula given to him by the flower thief—this was the first time he’d used it properly, and the effect was astonishing. If the flower thief’s spirit watched from heaven, he’d surely feel comforted seeing his sedative put to use, and could drink the Mandrake Soup without regret, reborn into a better life.

He poked the man’s kidneys with his blade tip—no reaction. Clearly, he was completely out cold.

Once certain it was safe, Chen Guanlou stepped forward and drove his blade straight into the man’s heart, twisting it. Only after confirming the man was dead did he reach up and pull off the mask.

A plain, forgettable face—ordinary, blending into any crowd, unnoticed by all.

Never seen him before! Completely unknown!

Search his body!

A dozen or so silver coins, nothing else—just a sharp sword and a poisoned hidden weapon.

This was his first real killing—and Chen Guanlou felt no discomfort, no nausea, no urge to vomit. Perhaps living too long in the Celestial Prison had hardened him to the smell of blood.

Quietly, he fetched a spade and hoe from behind the wall, dug a deep pit along the foundation, and tossed the thoroughly dead Ghost Domain Gate third-rank martial expert into it.

He took only the silver.

The mask, the sword, the poisoned hidden weapon—all were thrown into the pit with the corpse, buried, the soil trampled flat to match the surrounding ground. Not satisfied, he piled straw on top and placed a bamboo chicken coop over it as cover.

Tomorrow, he’d plant a peach tree here—it would grow lush and strong.

When he finished, he sat on a chair and gently wiped his great knife with soft cotton cloth. The blade, custom-forged by the old blacksmith, was sharp, balanced, and perfect in his hands. He’d never named it, but he treated it like a treasure, practicing his sword technique every day.

If it weren’t so conspicuous, he’d carry it with him every day to his duty.

His wiping motion was gentle, tender, as if caressing a woman’s body—every detail, every inch, meticulously attended to.

Only now did he begin to savor the feeling of fighting the third-rank martial expert—strange, thrilling, exhilarating—he wanted to do it again.

He’d survived five rounds against the third-rank martial expert’s sword.

And he was certain: Duan Tianlin had never possessed third-rank strength—his claim was exaggerated.

This third-rank martial expert was far stronger than Duan Tianlin—vastly superior.

Perhaps Duan Tianlin’s limbs had been bound by iron chains, preventing him from fighting at full power, hence the inflated claim.

Five rounds—did that mean he could now challenge a second-rank martial expert?

He looked at the swordsman on the wooden bed—a ready-made second-rank martial expert, wounded and desperate, fleeing here for refuge. Had Chen Guanlou not been vigilant, had he not constantly imagined ambush scenarios in his mind, had he not kept the sedative within reach and reacted swiftly, tonight would have been his death.

He’d escaped the third-rank martial expert’s blade—admitting it, luck played a large part, and skill only a little.

Had he failed in even one step, he’d be dead.

For example, if he hadn’t carried the sedative on his person, if he’d been even slightly less alert…

Now, thinking back, he felt a deep chill.

Tonight, he had brushed against Death itself.

Even with the Immortality Dao Fruit inside him, if his head was severed, nothing could save him.

The swordsman’s vitality was strong—he woke by noon.

The moment he opened his eyes, he saw Chen Guanlou sitting on a chair, reading a book.

“So Chen Tou saved me—thank you!”

Chen Guanlou set down the book and stared at him.

He’d considered killing the swordsman—the freshly dug pit could take one, or two.

In the end, he decided to spare him. Last night, the man had been completely unconscious, unresponsive even when stabbed—he knew nothing of what followed. Chen Guanlou faced no exposure risk.

“You’re awake? Then leave. This isn’t a shelter—don’t come back next time.”

“Last night…” the swordsman hesitated, puzzled, “I caused you trouble. Nothing happened, right?”

“A man suddenly falling into the courtyard at midnight—that’s the biggest thing.”

The swordsman, unusually, looked embarrassed.

For the first time, Chen Guanlou clearly saw his face—so young. Why dress like an old, weathered man? Always dressing so aged—he’d never attract young girls.

The swordsman struggled to sit up on the wooden bed, gasping in pain.

Chen Guanlou had only cleaned his wounds and applied hemostatic medicine—then ignored him.

Now that he moved, the wounds split open again, bleeding anew.

The swordsman gritted his teeth against the agony. “Thank you, Chen Tou. I’ll repay you someday. My surname is Qi.”

For the first time, they exchanged names.

Chen Guanlou bowed slightly—a formal greeting—and poured him a cup of hot water.

After drinking the hot water, the Qi-surnamed swordsman seemed revived, color returning to his face.

“I’m leaving now.”

“The carriage should be here. I’ll see you out. I’ve arranged one for you—tell the driver where you want to go.” Chen Guanlou explained.

He didn’t ask why the swordsman had come to his home, why he’d brought danger, or what grudge he held with Ghost Domain Gate.

He remained cold as a machine, emotionless throughout, finally seeing the swordsman out the gate, rid of this heavy burden.

The swordsman, sitting in the carriage and gasping from pain, could only smile bitterly. Last night, he’d been desperate—facing death, he’d chosen the Chen household over safer, surer places. Thank heaven and earth, the Ghost Domain Gate assassin hadn’t followed. Otherwise, he’d have dragged Chen Guanlou into ruin, becoming a wrongfully dead ghost.

He silently vowed: once healed and his current affairs settled, if he still lived, he’d repay Chen Guanlou’s life-saving grace properly.

But the Chen man’s rescue was crude and impatient—he’d applied medicine but refused to bandage the wounds.