Chapter 85: Change of Circumstances

According to the Tai Chu Palace regulations, a standard human-grade Dao Foundation enemy is worth 100 merit points; Daoist Cui Yu credited him with 80, effectively confirming that these wounds would have taken eight-tenths of a normal human-grade cultivator’s life. If a human-grade cultivator died, it counted as exactly 100 merit points—the extra silver taels were called condolence payments.

After treating his wounds, Wei Yuan had not yet risen when two young Daoists carried a blood-soaked cultivator over and laid him down beside him—the man had no breath left. Wei Yuan dared not linger and quickly left the infirmary, not taking up someone else’s space.

After leaving the infirmary, Wei Yuan checked the direction and walked toward the South Gate; moments later, he passed through it and arrived beside the flying vessel.

Outside the flying vessel, two temporary halls had been erected; Daoists at the entrances shouted: “Tai Chu Palace disciples enter the left hall! All other sects enter the right hall!”

Cultivators filed in and filed out. Those in the left hall entered empty-handed and exited empty-handed; those in the right hall entered empty-handed but exited burdened with bundles and sacks.

Wei Yuan stood at the end of the line; when his turn came, he entered the left hall. Inside, only a few tables stood, each behind which sat a cultivator, expressionless. Each newcomer was scanned with a ledger, a number was called out, then the next person stepped forward.

When it was Wei Yuan’s turn, the cultivator behind the table was a middle-aged female Daoist, her eyes sharp as a hawk’s, lips downturned, nose hooked like a beak, her expression as if everyone owed her several silver taels.

But when she saw Wei Yuan, her face softened suddenly; she studied him carefully several times before scanning his ledger, then read aloud: “Total kills: four company commanders, eleven squad leaders, one hundred thirty-seven common cavalry?!”

Not only the female cultivator, but everyone in the hall was stunned. Wei Yuan had no Dao light—clearly still unestablished in Dao Foundation; his realm was barely equal to that of a Liao barbarian squad leader. A squad leader was worth twenty merit points; a company commander equaled a Earth-grade Dao Foundation, worth two hundred!

The battlefield was not a one-on-one duel. At Wei Yuan’s realm, killing even a few squad leaders was already impressive. A rare genius with extraordinary luck might slay a company commander, but someone like Wei Yuan—who had only been here three days, slain several company commanders, cut down squad leaders in chains, and slaughtered common soldiers by the heap—was unprecedented!

Though stunned, merit points could not be faked. All Tai Chu Palace disciples cultivated a Dao technique that, before battle, was activated to record combat results directly into their Primordial Spirit. Since it recorded only results, the technique carried almost no burden and could be used long-term. When verifying merit points, the Tai Chu Palace simply checked the technique’s recorded data.

The female cultivator gave Wei Yuan a long, deep look, then wrote in the ledger: Tai Qing Hall, Wei Yuan, merit points: one thousand two hundred thirty-seven.

In the Tai Chu Palace, merit points were far more useful than silver taels—they could be exchanged for nearly all supplies. Many elixirs, spiritual materials, and magic treasures could only be obtained through merit points. If one had nothing specific to exchange, they could convert them directly into silver taels at the palace’s fixed rate: one merit point per ten silver taels.

In reality, among disciples, many privately traded silver taels for others’ merit points; this rate fluctuated, generally between twelve and fifteen silver taels per merit point.

That meant, after these three days of battle, Wei Yuan had earned over ten thousand silver taels—if privately exchanged at a high rate, he could net nearly twenty thousand.

The left hall was for Tai Chu Palace disciples only, so only merit points were recorded; if one wished to exchange for goods, one returned to the palace to do so. The right hall was for disciples of other sects, so the Tai Chu Palace had prepared a stockpile of goods for immediate exchange. Though options were limited, several items there were unobtainable elsewhere, so most still chose immediate exchange.

Seeing everyone leave with arms full, joyous and triumphant, Wei Yuan understood the immense power of immediate merit settlement. So many had rushed to aid not merely to curry favor with the Bao family, but likely primarily for the sake of instant settlement.

After leaving the merit hall, Wei Yuan returned to the fortress, followed regulations to locate the military supply depot, and reclaimed his spear case and bow and arrows—his post-battle rest was complete.

Wei Yuan’s rest took little time; after collecting his gear, he had nothing to do. The fortress was now crowded with people, roads choked, Dao Foundation cultivators everywhere—no one paid attention to this junior who hadn’t even established his foundation.

The great battle had just ended; clearing the battlefield, treating the wounded, restoring defenses—all tasks were complex, and everyone was frantic. Bao Yun was doing something unknown, but one could guess she was now surrounded like the moon among stars. Among the reinforcements from surrounding regions alone, many high-ranking figures had arrived; on Wei Yuan’s front alone, he had spotted several units with over a hundred cavalry. Among their commanders were young geniuses who had already solidified their foundations and entered mid-stage Dao Foundation, even some who had reached late-stage Nascent Soul. From any perspective, Wei Yuan ranked nowhere.

Wei Yuan had come alone—and he was not even Dao Foundation.

Wei Yuan did not linger. He walked once around the fortress, studied the defensive layout, then returned to Shayang Village. He did not notify Bao Yun; he came quietly and left quietly. Now he and Bao Yun belonged to two different worlds—both in cultivation and status. The only bond between them was a debt note worth tens of thousands—likely, Bao Yun had already forgotten it.

After leaving the fortress, Wei Yuan felt the array plate in his pocket still trembled occasionally—others were still calling for help. But the main Liao force in Bian Ning Prefecture clearly centered on Bao Yun’s position; even a Law-Form cultivator had intervened. Now that the Law-Form powerhouse had been wounded and fled, and the main force repelled, only scattered cavalry remained on the battlefield, and they too would soon withdraw.

Wei Yuan’s primary duty was guarding his own sector; aid beyond that had strict limits—anything outside was other cultivators’ responsibility. The Quyang direction, however, was calm, no disturbances—Wei Yuan thus settled in peacefully.

On his return, Wei Yuan constantly saw corpses of men and horses littered beside the road, testifying to the brutal battle that had just occurred. The eastern part of Bian Ning Prefecture was not A Gul’a’s main thrust, yet fires of war blazed everywhere.

Along the roadsides, occasional villages could be seen in the hills—each abandoned. Bones lay scattered everywhere, their deaths long past, their causes unknown.

In just three days, Wei Yuan’s heart had changed; corpses and bones no longer shocked him, yet a faint sorrow lingered, stubbornly clinging to his soul.

The northern heavens were a dull yellow, perhaps retreated further due to the defeat. Behind the yellow haze, nothing could be seen—how many Liao warriors hid there, licking their wounds, preparing for the next assault.

Soon, Shayang Village and Quyang County came into view—but Wei Yuan’s expression suddenly changed!

The ramparts of Shayang Village were collapsed in many places, the main gate wide open, blood splattered across walls and battlements; the village was utterly silent, not a sound. The two villages behind were the same—ramparts collapsed, gates open.

Wei Yuan activated his Qi-Viewing Technique and saw blood and grievance qi intertwined above each village, swirling and refusing to disperse. In Shayang Village, however, a thin white qi rose upward—fine, yet solid and unbroken.

Wei Yuan’s eyes sharpened; he gripped his spear, spurred his horse, and galloped full speed toward Shayang Village.

In an instant, he reached the village entrance, dismounted, but slowed his steps. The wooden gate now bore several large holes; the bolt had been cleaved in two. Arrows were embedded everywhere on the ramparts—some driven so deep their fletchings vanished. All arrow fletchings were white—something never seen before.

The village was filled with deathly qi; blood had dyed nearly every road, most dried, but in deeper pools, it still felt soft. Corpses lay everywhere—on roads, inside houses, in courtyards, behind buildings—and none were whole. Most limbs had been severed; only a few retained a hand or a leg.

Every corpse had no head.

Wei Yuan walked step by step; each footstep crushed the still-wet blood, leaving clear prints.

(End of Chapter)