Chapter 42: Chapter Forty-Two: The Chi Talks

Xi Wuqiu met the scholar a second time at a small town’s inn; the polite, shy young man from that day now had matted hair and a filthy face, his long robe turned grimy black-brown, and he leaned against the inn’s entrance, begging the waiter for leftover dishes.

Both his legs had been broken, forcing him to crawl on his elbows, and the hands that once held his pen—the very instruments of his life’s ambition—had been twisted into knots.

When he recognized Xi Wuqiu, his vacant face finally showed expression; tears poured down, his mouth opened wide, gradually falling into a silent wail.

After learning the full story, Xi Wuqiu set down his cup before finishing his wine, picked up his sword, and walked out the door.

Less than half an hour later, he returned with four severed heads—the very soldiers who had kidnapped and broken the scholar’s limbs.

The scholar wept in gratitude, never having dared hope that this stranger, a mere acquaintance, would kill a Commandant like Gao, who commanded two hundred soldiers; even killing just these four men was enough to invite death.

Yet Xi Wuqiu said: “Take this silver and heal your wounds properly. That Gao has gone to Yin City—I’ll go kill him.”

The reason this Commandant dared act so brazenly, why so many civil and military officials vied to flatter him, was not his modest rank, but his terrifying family background.

The Commandant’s name was Gao Muzhen, the illegitimate son of Prince Gao Zhigong; Gao Zhigong, old and with few sons, had lost all his other sons in battle, leaving only this last heir. He had just summoned him to be enrolled in the family register and properly groomed as heir apparent.

The scholar understood none of this, and Xi Wuqiu offered no explanation—he mounted his horse and rode toward Yin City, nearly a thousand li away.

But who was this Xi Wuqiu, daring to chase down and kill the son of Prince Gao Zhigong, commander of a hundred thousand border troops?

He was no imperial noble, no scion of a great house, no true disciple of a major sect, nor a high official of Fengchi.

He was merely a sword-wielding commoner.

Precisely because of this, his courage and righteousness shone all the brighter.

Yet if one spoke of his past, no true heir or scion could match him.

Indeed: Eastern Sea guest, Sword Chief of Tianmen; Western Desert revered, name inscribed on the Crane List; sword passed by the Old Ghost, eyes granted by a celestial; at a single cry from the Divine Capital, Bi’an answered first!

Though these titles might mean nothing to Prince Gao Zhigong, if Xi Wuqiu said he would kill someone, that person would not live.

Pei Ye couldn’t help interrupting: “Enough, I know he’s powerful—move on to the next part.”

Zhang Siche pursed his lips, reluctant to stop, then continued.

When Xi Wuqiu arrived in Yin City, rumors of Prince Gao Zhigong’s new heir were spreading; after a brief inquiry, he headed straight for the Prince’s mansion.

Perhaps heaven had eyes: that day, Prince Gao Zhigong was out on patrol and had not returned; the mansion was hosting a banquet to introduce the boy to those he knew.

Xi Wuqiu sat in the shadows, watching as a slender-browed, pale-faced young man sat obediently beside an elderly woman in rich robes, locking onto his target.

After waiting a long while, he saw the man rise from his seat; Xi Wuqiu followed silently, tapped his shoulder, and said: “Young Master Gao.”

Gao Muzhen turned around and saw a man of extraordinary bearing; though his clothes were not banquet-appropriate, his demeanor was calm and unruffled, as if the Prince’s mansion were no place of restraint.

Gao Muzhen, new to the city and cautious, smiled: “Forgive my ignorance, sir—may I ask which noble family you belong to?”

“Do you know Wanxiu of Kuiju Mountain?”

Gao Muzhen’s face changed instantly: “Sir… what do you mean?”

“Did you really do it?”

Gao Muzhen’s mind raced—was this some rival trying to use this scandal to sabotage him? He had done too many things in his life; denying it now would be useless, so he lifted his chin and said: “That woman tried to assassinate me. Did you know the full story?”

The man before him simply nodded, smiling faintly: “I’m here to finish what she started.”

Gao Muzhen’s heart clenched—military attire, sword, dust-covered… every suspicious detail flooded his mind; the man had drawn his blade.

The villain was about to meet his end when a voice cried: “Stop!”

…

Pei Ye frowned and looked up: “Why stop here?”

Zhang Siche leaned against the wall: “Your turn now. Come back and listen later.”

Half the people in the cave were gone; no one sat leaning against another. Those remaining were all bloodied, each silent and sharp.

“Nineteen wins. Next match: Twenty-one and Twenty-four.”

Pei Ye rose; his body had already recovered to peak condition from the flowing blue liquid. His opponent was a young man of similar height, pale as paper, slender torso, limbs long and even, resembling the insect known as “Oil Seller” that glides on water.

He walked out silently, head bowed, not glancing at Pei Ye; Pei Ye followed close behind.

As Pei Ye passed this stretch again, he tried piecing together these horrifying marks with the name “Zhu Gaoyang.”

This kind of destructive power—shattering mountains, severing rivers—

By Pei Ye’s own instinct, if Jing Ziwang, the Grand Master, felt one tier below beasts like Qiongqi or Black Chi, then Zhu Gaoyang bridged that gap.

If Zhu Gaoyang could pin a Chi’s head against a mountain and pound it, Pei Ye wouldn’t find the image strange at all.

No wonder Immortal Platform sent him to handle the descent of the Immortal Hunt.

Thinking of this, he called inwardly: “Hey, you can’t beat Zhu Gaoyang, right?”

Black Chi fell silent for a moment: “Not entirely.”

‘Oh, saving face.’

Pei Ye changed the subject: “Is he the ally you mentioned that day?”

“Probably. But I’ve never seen him—I only felt someone else sharing the pressure elsewhere.”

“Oh.”

“...”

“Little Chi.”

“Mm.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Can you come save me?”

“... Where do you think Qiongqi went after it left?”

“Hmm… it got stronger after eating Master Jing, and you’re running away with your tail between your legs?”

“Mm-hmm. Better than all of you scrambling to be a mother.”

“Sigh, if only you’d bonded with Ming Qi that day—maybe we’d both be saved.”

“You sound like the kind of man in tales who sells his wife for advancement.”

“Huh? You’ve read tales?”

“... I don’t know where these memories come from. My soul may not have originated in this body.”

“If we get out, I’ll find out if other Immortal Hunts are born with memories.”

“Thank you. I remember I had another name.”

“What?”

“Later.”

“Oh.”

“I remember I have something I must accomplish.”

“Later?”

“No, I can tell you now. Do you want to hear?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I only remember I must...”

“What?”

“Kill Taiyi Zhenlong Xianjun.”

“...”

“Scared?”

“I’m just an ordinary person without even a dantian seed.”

“Everything will be fine. Everything will come.”