Chapter 73: I Am Truly a Carpenter

The departing Master Ji found an excuse for himself: Master Chen’s safety rested on my shoulders; I had no firm guarantee of killing Fu Jingyu, who raised the dog’s head guillotine, so it wasn’t worth the risk.

…

Fifteen minutes after Xu Yuan charged into the bloody mist, Wang Shen arrived.

Yan Lao risked his life to hold her back: “Madam, you absolutely cannot go in!”

“This red mist contains potent malevolent energy. Your body… is likely already compromised. If you enter, you’ll instantly mutate into a malevolence—not helping Xu Yuan, but killing him!”

Only then did Wang Shen, her face dark, stop at the edge of the bloody mist.

But she grew restless, pacing back and forth, adjusting her limbs, constantly feeling her posture was wrong.

Yan Lao’s abacus kept clicking, though no one knew what he was calculating; then he pulled out all his remaining counting rods.

This set of counting rods totaled two hundred and seventy-one.

But Yan Lao’s combat limit was eight rods at once.

Yan Lao began planting the remaining rods into the ground like rice seedlings, around the ruins.

Wang Shen glanced over and said: “I underestimated you.”

When the bloody mist suddenly shrank, Yan Lao and Wang Shen rejoiced: “Xu Yuan!”

But soon, thunderous hoofbeats shook the ground as a ten-zhang malevolence charged toward them.

Yet this malevolence seemed trapped by a ghostly maze—the old temple ruins lay right there, yet it circled the iron steed, turning round and round without finding it.

But on its fifth circuit, the ten-zhang malevolence saw through it all, kicked its steed forward, crushed every counting rod underfoot, and charged straight in.

Yan Lao gritted his teeth: “Old man will sacrifice his life…”

Wang Shen’s face darkened, silently thinking: He won’t live till the fifteenth of next July; Xiao Mo, Auntie’s broken her promise.

The ten-zhang malevolence closed in—Wang Shen knew Yan Lao was useless against it, and reached into her chest to pull out her own heart…

BOOM!

The ten-zhang malevolence suddenly exploded into a shower of water, drenching both of them head to toe.

Yan Lao whirled around—the bloody mist over the old temple ruins had vanished completely!

…

Xu Yuan spat “belly fire,” the clay statue now a slurry; even as he dodged, he was slowly being refined away.

If the flesh-curtain had shielded him, as Master Gao said, he could’ve burned out his belly fire without touching the clay statue at all.

But once the clay statue was exposed, the belly fire’s suppression of malevolence made it unstoppable.

This clay statue was part of the former statue of the “FuDong Heavenly King” from this old temple.

From a bizarre perspective, the clay statue's level was low.

The true power lay in the “FuDong Heavenly King,” whose unyielding resentment had stripped him of his divine office and cast him down as a malevolence.

The clay statue was merely a “trigger.”

But the flesh-curtain transformed into a colossal blood-serpent, endlessly biting at itself.

Xu Yuan found all his methods ineffective against the serpent, and grew furious.

So he opened his mouth and swallowed the slurry whole.

Bait!

The Five Cauldrons Cooking!

Spitting belly fire was nowhere near as fast as cultivating the method directly inside his belly.

The slurry never expected Xu Yuan would dare this.

Caught off-guard and swallowed whole, it could never escape.

The blood-serpent shattered on the spot, clattering to the ground in hundreds of pieces, twitching weakly, then rapidly losing vitality, turning into stiff, dry fragments.

The bloody mist vanished with it.

Xu Yuan landed and walked slowly toward a piece of flesh.

On this fragment, a face was frozen—Master Gao’s face.

The flesh fragment’s vitality was fading fast; Master Gao’s face grew rigid.

Xu Yuan slipped on his pidan gloves, swung it high, and slapped the face hard—whap, whap, whap—several times.

“You were so full of talk just now—I’ve been holding back!”

The flesh fragment died completely, shattered by Xu Yuan’s final slap.

Xu Yuan stretched his shoulders, his mind cleared.

…

Master Ji, half a li away, saw the ten-zhang malevolence collapse instantly and the bloody mist over the ruins vanish—he froze: “Master’s plan has failed!”

The iron hat concealed a special technique: once the ten-zhang malevolence killed Ma Tianshou, Chen Liangxuan would activate it—not to control the malevolence, but to destroy it.

Otherwise, the ten-zhang malevolence would surely slaughter the entire Chen family.

Master Ji kept running, and as he moved, he drew his battle sword from behind.

The battle sword was five feet six inches long, narrow at the tip, broad at the hilt, thick at the base, weighing forty-five jin and nine liang.

It had accompanied Master Ji for fifty years, slaying countless malevolences and foes.

Today’s scheme was Master’s life, family, and clan’s future on the line—he must see clearly how the ten-zhang malevolence died!

Master Ji rushed to the ruins and saw Yan Lao and Wang Shen.

Wang Shen’s expression was unfriendly.

Master Ji narrowed his eyes, wary of the old woman—he couldn’t read her at all.

Xu Yuan stepped out of the ruins, his body covered in wounds, clothes torn and hanging loose. One hand held a rain umbrella riddled with holes, the other manipulated the sword pellet—slow, his gaze wild as he stared at Master Ji.

Master Ji noticed Xu Yuan’s eyes, stirred inside: This boy is on the edge of corruption.

Such a state means certain death—why risk my life against a dying man?

Master Ji lowered his blade, pointing it diagonally at the ground, slowly retreating, vanishing into the fine, intricate rain.

Xu Yuan’s body trembled uncontrollably; he covered his mouth and whispered: “Auntie, take me home fast!”

With this tremor, a layer of skin on his exterior rubbed and began peeling away.

…

Since childhood, Chen Liangxuan had believed an ancient sage’s saying: When facing great matters, maintain calm.

After sending off Master Ji, he sat in the “Xuchun Pavilion,” didn’t call for servants, lit bamboo charcoal himself, and boiled water to brew tea.

Then he savored the fine tea he normally couldn’t afford, quietly waiting for news.

Beside him lay a jade gangmao—the artifact controlling the final technique within the iron hat.

As soon as news of Ma Tianshou’s and Xu Yuan’s deaths arrived, he would crush it.

When the rain lessened, he heard the ten-zhang malevolence charge out of the city.

“What is it going to do?”

Chen Liangxuan stood, walked to the door, peered out—of course, he saw nothing.

He chuckled bitterly: “Still too impatient.” He turned to return to the bamboo pavilion.

Then he stopped—the rain held a figure holding an oiled cloth umbrella, walking toward him from behind the garden’s foliage.

Mao Si’s umbrella was better made than Xiao Mo’s.

After all, legend said umbrellas were invented by the carpenter patriarch, Lu Ban.

I am a true carpenter.

Master Chen glanced sideways, guessing: “From Riverwork Lane?”

Mao Si’s face, already lined with worry, grew even more creased. He nodded, opened his mouth—and burst into violent coughing.

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(Chapter End)