Chapter 5

Pei Ye recalled the casual chat during Lin Lin’s lessons on boxing.

“But when facing real enemies, it’s not like that.” A tall and a small figure sat beneath a tree; Lin Lin used Qi to chill a jar of well water with plums, sunlight filtering through leaves dappling his face. “No one will stand still and let you strike vital points. If you always aim for a single killing blow, you’ll rarely succeed. In actual combat, you must seize every opportunity to harm your opponent—strike wherever you can, building advantage bit by bit.”

“Even if your Wu Gong is superior?”

“Hmm… it would have to be vastly superior.” Lin Lin said, “For instance, between you and me—I’m stronger than you, but I can’t kill you with one strike to your heart or lungs. You’re too fast; you’ll block it. Then I’d have to break one of your arms first before I can breach your defense. That’s… at least three moves.”

“Ah… so all those stories about one move defeating an enemy are fake?”

“Not entirely. There are many people in this world… terrifyingly powerful.” Lin Lin gazed at the sky, his tone wistful, then turned and pointed at the training dummy, smiling at Pei Ye. “But imagine—if you could strike with perfect precision, slicing a throat or crushing a heart in one move—wouldn’t that mean your enemy is as lifeless to you as this dummy?”

Now, that conversation had entered reality—the once seemingly invincible elder had truly become a wooden dummy in others’ eyes.

Coldness, rage, and suffocating pressure surged in his chest, yet regret faded somewhat—he now understood that even if he had arrived in time, he could not have changed the outcome; he would only have added one more corpse here.

He rose, gripping his sword hilt, and looked around.

In the center of the grove lay a flat stone-paved clearing—the ruins of a dismantled pavilion.

Now a straight pole stood upright in the middle, crowned by a faint blue illumination flame, seemingly about to burn out.

Before the flame lay seven sets of boot prints; the foremost belonged to the man Pei Ye had been chasing, the other six stood in a line behind him.

Further ahead lay four fallen bronze cups; the old man’s words about “immortal water” surfaced again in his mind.

Beside the cups were four torn, bloodstained small garments, all ripped apart by something claw-like—their owners vanished without a trace.

One was a long nightgown, likely from a wealthy household in the county; two were short pants like those on Pei Ye’s legs, belonging to two young boys.

Most striking was the last one: scattered, shredded blue silk, beside it a ruined fragment of a main body—a misshapen belly band.

The girl’s name hovered on the edge of his lips.

Pei Ye and Lin Jue had been close childhood friends, but as they grew older, Pei Ye took to climbing mountains and wading rivers to fish and hunt deer, while Lin Jue, unable to venture out, preferred reading poetry and tales indoors; their meetings grew rarer.

Yet whenever Lin Jue came to the martial school to bring food for Lin Lin, they still talked for a while; back then, the girl was Pei Ye’s most loyal cheerleader—whether in casual sparring within the school or the county-wide Mid-Autumn Martial Gathering, she always shouted loudly for him, and Pei Ye always won every match as if by right.

Even after his dantian was damaged for half a year, when other companions had nearly stopped visiting, the girl still seized every chance to come and encourage him—handmade crafts, snacks, calligraphy, sometimes even silver coins; over a hundred exchanges passed between them, mostly to Pei Ye’s benefit.

Pei Ye slowly picked up the blood-and-mud-stained garment; the orchid embroidery on it was clumsy, its stitches awkward—he could picture the girl, by candlelight, straining with her weak hands, cheeks clenched, painstakingly stitching each thread.

…

…

County Magistrate Chang Zhiyuan, over sixty, remained vigorous, his face as stern as his character; though his hair and beard were half-white, when he occasionally lifted his gaze to fix someone, it felt like a blade pressing against the face.

County Deputy Feng Zhi, in his thirties, had a dark complexion, eyes like bronze bells, thick brows and long beard, a fiery temper, a booming voice, and a barrel-shaped body; when standing beside the pale-skinned Lin Lin, newcomers often confused their civil and military roles. In truth, Feng Zhi possessed martial skill himself—if, apart from Shen Yanping and Lin Lin, there was any usable force in Fenghuai County, it was Feng Zhi.

Shen Yanping of Immortal Platform wore blue robes and a jade hairpin, his face refined and elegant; though he looked nothing like it, he was roughly Feng Zhi’s age. Immortal Platform stationed personnel in each county specifically to handle such unusual incidents; though Shen Yanping was not a sorcerer, he was a martial cultivator like Lin Lin and Feng Zhi, yet his knowledge far surpassed ordinary men. Now he glanced at the fire talisman on Pei Ye’s head, furrowed his thin brows, and returned to the county office to search through books.

Day had fully broken; the forest buzzed with constables hurrying to and fro—likely nearly all the county’s constables had arrived, given Fenghuai’s size.

This was indeed a horrifying case, clearly a continuation of yesterday’s incident at the northern temple ruin; six victims total, the only corpse left being County Commandant Lin Lin, yet the killer had left not even a scrap of clothing.

Pei Ye had also donned a robe; his wounds had been carefully bandaged. He stood beside Chang Zhiyuan and recounted his experience in calm, measured tones, lowering his eyes to detail every moment, his expression unreadable.

Feng Zhi finished inspecting the scene and walked over, face dark.

“I’ve sent men to compare the boot prints with tailors’ records, but this man is surely an outsider—he likely has no records. Unless he suffers from some odd aversion to dirty shoes.” Feng Zhi growled. “Also… this palm strike is truly extraordinary. We’re out of our depth on this case.”

Chang Zhiyuan said: “I’ve sent word to the prefecture for aid, but the messenger just returned—the rain last night was too heavy; the mountain paths were destroyed by mudslides; no horses can pass.”

“Then wait for Shen Yanping to return. Have him send a soul-bird to Immortal Platform.”

“That’s all we can do.” Chang Zhiyuan nodded. “What about your side? What of the beast?”

“The claw marks match yesterday’s, but this time four people were victimized, and it confirms someone is orchestrating this. Come look.” Feng Zhi led them over. “The beast left bloody claw prints at each of the four garments—these four still appear to have been devoured. But between one garment and the next, there’s no trail—like it leapt from one spot to the next.”

Behind him, no explanation was needed—the two could see it plainly: after devouring Lin Jue, the unknown beast stepped toward Lin Lin. The blood trail, fainter now, was slightly clearer—but it did not eat Lin Lin; instead, it killed him with an inefficient method.