Chapter 5: A Thousand Gold Coins Can

"Disciple, you're keeping these three with you—do you intend to use them as test subjects for your potions?"

Hearing Mo Ci's question made Chen Ye pause mid-step, his face clouded with confusion: "Master, you're not sleeping just to ask this?" He silently grumbled—wasn't it said that only through deep sleep could one restore energy? Why then was he now bothering himself with such trivial matters?

"I merely worry you'll expose your identity. Though mortals don't know you're using demonic arts, should you encounter a righteous cultivator and casually reveal even a scrap of information, you'll be exposed at once. The incident in Cui Xian was surely someone impersonating the Qinghe Sword Sect to collect boys and girls—the Qinghe Sword Sect will surely send someone to investigate."

"You think this place is far from Cui Xian, but the Qinghe Sword Sect's sword-flight technique is unmatched in the world—hundreds of li mean nothing to them; they arrive in the blink of an eye…"

Hearing Mo Ci's words brimmed with dread—he could not forget how that crisp, icy sword-light had effortlessly sliced his life's work, a treasure forged over half a century, cleanly in two.

The Qinghe Sword Art being the finest in the world was no empty boast.

With Chen Ye's current level, he wouldn't even have time to see the flash of the blade before his head rolled off.

Chen Ye cut off his master's rambling, speaking with full confidence: "If that's the reason, this family of three must not be killed. When Qinghe Sword Sect cultivators see them and ask a few questions, I'll appear as a benevolent, kind-hearted cultivator who saved this family."

Hearing Mo Ci snapped: "Foolish! If the Qinghe Sword Sect sees the Ten Thousand Souls Banner and the Blood Pills, how will you explain yourself? Do you think righteous cultivators are idiots?"

"Master, rest assured—I've already prepared my story." Chen Ye cleared his throat, his tone shifting abruptly, as if he'd become someone else: "Lords, I truly don't know what crime I've committed. I merely picked up this talking white banner on the road. The old man inside said he was betrayed and sealed within the banner, that he'd teach me cultivation and help me free him, and that he could grant me three wishes. I truly didn't know he was evil—I swear I've never harmed anyone, and I've even used his methods to save lives…"

Hearing Mo Ci watched his disciple's flawless performance—every expression, every inflection utterly convincing. Even with his sharp eyes, he found not a single flaw.

Moreover, upon careful thought, this story held no inconsistencies. The boy had only just entered the Spirit Awakening realm; in these past months of cultivation, he had indeed harmed no one—he was clean and pure. According to the Qinghe Sword Sect's rules, the boy might not even be punished.

But Hearing Mo Ci instantly sensed something wrong and roared: "Wait—you're offering me up as your scapegoat?!"

What "bewitched by the old man in the banner"? Wasn't that plainly handing himself over to the swordsmen's blades?

Chen Ye looked utterly reasonable: "What else can I do, Master? We're demonic cultivators. At a critical moment, I'll surely sacrifice you to save myself—I'm merely following your teachings: at critical moments, never show mercy."

Hearing Mo Ci was so enraged he nearly lost his soul, but seeing the smirk in the boy's eyes, he knew Chen Ye was teasing him, deliberately defying his master. Had Chen Ye truly been that ruthless, Hearing Mo Ci would have long since been obliterated, reduced to nothing.

After his anger subsided somewhat, Hearing Mo Ci lowered his voice: "Stop joking. Tell me honestly—what's your real reason for saving this family?"

Chen Ye kept walking as he spoke: "I saw Zhao Hezhou as a man of dignity. He fled a hundred li in desperation—how much suffering must he have endured? Yet even now, he still retains a scholar's pride. That's rare. So I'm giving him a face-saving way out."

Hearing Mo Ci snorted in contempt: "Hmph. Just clinging to pride. Such men aren't even worth the woman—his wife had more resolve than he did."

"True. His wife is rare too—stronger than Zhao Hezhou. Clearly, they lived comfortably and were young; having another child wouldn't be hard. But to abandon everything for family and flee far away—that's beyond ordinary people. Master, in these past months we've traveled many places. When others faced official conscription, they merely locked their doors and wept, fooling themselves that their children had truly entered immortal sects. How many truly fled with their entire families? Zhao Hezhou is just a frail scholar. If he were truly weak and cowardly, how could he have endured this hundred-li flight? He'd have abandoned his wife and child long ago."

Chen Ye's words left Hearing Mo Ci silent. Not because they were especially logical—but because he realized Chen Ye always tended to see the best in people, while he himself fixated only on their flaws.

In the end, he was still young—unlike Hearing Mo Ci, who had been worn down by time into a paranoid soul, convinced everyone sought to harm him.

In the past, Hearing Mo Ci would have severely reprimanded Chen Ye, teaching him the cruelty of human nature. But after Chen Ye used the Ten Thousand Souls Banner to preserve his soul, Hearing Mo Ci felt he had no right to lecture him anymore.

If this disciple had truly become as cold and heartless as Hearing Mo Ci had taught, could he have survived this long?

The Ten Thousand Souls Banner, though called a demonic treasure, was nothing but a burden to Chen Ye—useless, only inviting trouble.

If he truly wanted to teach Chen Ye to avoid danger and seek safety, shouldn't he advise him to discard the Ten Thousand Souls Banner first?

Seeing his master silent, Chen Ye added soothingly: "Master, I said all that just to joke with you. The real reason I saved this family is simple."

Hearing Mo Ci asked curiously: "What reason?"

Chen Ye smiled: "I cultivate the demonic Dao—doesn't that mean following one's heart? Why save them? Because I feel like it. That's enough. Why need any other reason?"

Hearing Mo Ci: …

This boy—he truly was a demonic cultivator. One could never tell which of his words were sincere. Fine. He'd sleep again.

Hearing Mo Ci snorted, then sank into the Ten Thousand Souls Banner, falling silent.

Chen Ye treated it as ordinary master-disciple banter, unaffected, his steps swift as wind as he vanished once more into the mountains.

Soon, birds took flight from the forest, wolf howls rising in waves.

From sunrise to sunset, Chen Ye returned to the ruined temple carrying several dead wolves.

Upon entering, he saw two bound wild boars already dead—tusks shattered, blood pouring from all seven orifices, their deaths horrific; the caged birds had lost most of their feathers, their bodies riddled with wounds. Without doubt, these creatures had suffered agonizing struggles before death.

Seeing Chen Ye return, Zhao Hezhou's face turned ashen. He trembled as he offered a piece of hemp cloth, voice shaking: "Brave sir, I've carefully recorded the appearance of these boars and birds before the poison took effect—please examine it."

As Chen Ye took the hemp cloth covered in charcoal script, Zhao Hezhou finally couldn't hold back—he ran to the side and vomited.

Chen Ye did not mock Zhao Hezhou's cowardice. Instead, he studied the notes carefully, and after a moment, his face lit up with delight.

Chen Ye hadn't misjudged him. Though Zhao Hezhou was a frail scholar, he still possessed the integrity of a true literatus—he had given his full effort to the task. From the onset of poisoning to death, he recorded every detail with precision, using no flowery, empty rhetoric, but vivid, accurate descriptions of the entire process.

Looking at Zhao Hezhou now, Chen Ye wondered how he had endured watching it all.

And from these notes, Chen Ye found the key: whether boar or bird, though the onset of poisoning varied, the symptoms were similar. At the moment of poisoning, each emitted a long, wailing cry—different in pitch, yet all with heads thrown back and necks extended, as if howling like wolves. In their struggles, they tore at everything wildly. Though birds only have beaks to peck, these birds had opened their mouths and bitten like wolves, shaking their heads left and right.

Zhao Hezhou recorded these details with exceptional clarity—surely not fabricated.

Could the Wolf Blood Pills cause those who ingest them to adopt wolf-like habits?

Chen Ye raised an eyebrow—he felt he had found the crucial clue.