Chapter 186

Li Guanyi looked at the martial artists surging forward—each was agile, most possessed internal qi, and now they all gripped their weapons, staring fixedly at the young boy; just moments ago, five had struck together, only to be decapitated in a single strike, enough to terrify them.

Li Guanyi gripped his battle halberd and stepped forward.

The fire in his heart had turned to killing intent; when his aunt took him on the road, she protected him carefully; later, near Yicheng Pass, where the Xue family held sway and imperial laws reigned, the black-market human traders had been crushed once by Xue Lao, forcing them to flee to the Ghost Market.

That place lay at the heart of the great nations.

Order—now, the order of Chen State—was far better than chaos.

"Kill him! He's only one man!"

"Kill him, or we won't escape either!"

These martial artists surged together, all attacking at once; as their internal qi erupted, faint traces of crimson shimmered—undoubtedly tied to the alchemist's research. Li Guanyi tilted his neck slightly to evade an arrow, then swung his battle halberd sharply backward.

The spiral tail of the Tiger Roaring Halberd pierced straight through a man's abdomen.

The martial world…

He finally understood what had felt off about this town.

Such a town, just after sunset, made not a single child's sound.

For a place where people lived, that was impossible.

Li Guanyi had seen the joys of the martial world, but after ten days in it, he saw its darkness; he did not know if what he'd witnessed was the full picture, but his body knew exactly what to do now.

Kill!!!

He retracted the Tiger Roaring Halberd; this divine weapon was heavy, perfectly suited to Li Guanyi's state.

He stepped forward, both hands gripping the halberd, and swung it horizontally—simple, direct. All those elaborate arts, sword techniques, knife methods, had to turn to defense; his physical strength exploded, and over a dozen weapons shattered outright.

The next instant, the halberd shifted from horizontal slash to vertical chop.

It split a man cleanly in two.

A shockwave erupted, carrying flesh and blood.

Li Guanyi strode forward.

No longer the steps of a martial artist, but the direct, coiled momentum of military strategy—he shouldered into one man, then unleashed a burst of force that sent him flying; midair, the man spewed blood, clearly dead.

Seizing the momentum, the halberd rose sharply.

The burst of force became a raging tide.

This was military battlefield tactics—the true generals who stepped onto the battlefield, wielding divine weapons, taught that the martial world's best choice was never direct charge, but entanglement and retreat; someone fired a poisoned crossbow bolt from a mechanical bow, aiming to strike Li Guanyi during the halberd's wide, sweeping motions.

The boy paid them no mind.

The Crimson Cloud Sword shadow clung to the Shao Yang Sword, a crimson streak circling Li Guanyi's body, deflecting and knocking down every hidden projectile.

Perfectly compensated for the battlefield martial arts' overwhelming power, yet inevitable gaps.

The Tiger Roaring Halberd came down hard, embedding itself into a man's shoulder—a fat man, nearly three hundred jin, gripping the halberd's shaft with both hands, roaring: "Kill him! Kill him!"

Several other martial artists surged forward.

But they saw a cold expression on the young Daoist's face.

The man suddenly screamed.

He and the halberd were lifted together!

Li Guanyi spun, released his grip, then seized the halberd's spiral tail; the twelve-foot Tiger Roaring Halberd emitted black murderous aura, sweeping sideways in an instant—the tiger-mouth blade howled, unleashing a roar like a tiger's fury.

【Rolling Tide】!

A moment of deathly silence.

A furious tide erupted, force becoming waves; over a dozen martial artists were flung back, limbs flying; the man gripping the halberd had been shattered and flung somewhere unknown—such a brutal weapon, wielded in military martial arts, was never beautiful.

No elegant kill with only a mark on the brow. No ethereal footwork.

Only violence. Directness. Brutal dominance in technique.

Li Guanyi exhaled.

His internal qi from the Second Story had been drained severely.

But he could still fight.

Because his physique was strong—he could lift the divine weapon and fight with pure physical power alone. Sounds came from afar; the battle's commotion was loud enough to wake the townsfolk, who realized something was wrong—sword clashes rang out—and they rushed over, gritting their teeth.

What met their eyes was corpses scattered everywhere; many turned green, nearly vomiting, yet still rushed into the house, shouting: "Where are the children? Where are the children?"

The Five of Divine Beast Manor also turned pale.

Low-level martial artists had never seen such a scene.

A few nearly vomited up their dumplings; only the boss, hearing children were in danger, came to lend a hand and uphold Divine Beast Manor's face—barely holding back his vomit. They turned over and searched everywhere, but found no children.

Suddenly someone shouted: "Here! Here!"

Everyone surged over.

Then silence. In the rear courtyard's corridor of the lavish mansion, dozens of children slept peacefully; a young Daoist sat cross-legged, wearing only a white undergarment, a clean Daoist robe spread beneath them for the children to sit on, a Song-Wen Ancient Sword resting on his knees.

Outside, a sea of corpses; inside, strangely serene.

The boy hummed an ancient lullaby.

A bloodstained longsword lay beside him, its tassel swaying gently in the wind.

The children slept beside him, utterly at ease.

The Daoist opened his eyes, his gaze calm, not a trace of murderous aura—only whispering:

"Don't wake them."

So the townsfolk came searching for their children; their expressions were almost disbelieving—mingled with pain, daze, countless emotions; those who found their children wore wild joy, the emotion of recovery nearly bringing them to tears.

But those who hadn't found their children were frantic, faces pale.

Soft weeping, murmurs, despair, sorrow—humanity in all its forms. Li Guanyi picked up the Song-Wen Ancient Sword, donned the bloodstained Daoist robe, and stepped out; the corpses outside had been arranged neatly. The Divine Beast Manor disciples stammered: "This, this Dao Master…"

His lips trembled as he spoke.

I thought this guy was kind—he beat me up the very first time we clashed.

Now I know, he just didn't care.

Good heavens, dozens of them, wiped out in such a short time, chopped clean—how did that sword even make such horrific puncture wounds? It nearly split them in half…

He hadn't planned to come, but after thinking it over, he said:

"These corpses must be handled properly. I took a look—they're all martial artists, looks like disciples of the Yin-Yang Cycle Sect. That's one of the Mo Sect's branches, notoriously vengeful. If we don't handle this right, we'll invite revenge."

Li Guanyi grunted.

Then he said: "Please gather these corpses."

The Divine Beast Manor group exchanged glances, grimaced, and said nothing. The townsfolk were now either grieving or rejoicing—no time for this. Besides, they themselves had just killed two martial artists trying to slip them mafeisan. They were already on this criminal boat.

Fine. Time to work.

They spent a long time collecting the corpses of the villains.

Then they rummaged through them, gathering silver and other valuables into a pile.

They dared not take any—just left them aside. Li Guanyi stared at the enemy corpses, pulled a small, vivid green porcelain bowl from his waist satchel, opened it, scooped out a bit, and sprinkled it over the bodies. Instantly, the corpses began bubbling with blood, and within moments, the dozens of Yin-Yang Cycle Sect disciples melted into a pool of blood.

He then poured two buckets of water over them—nothing remained.

Li Guanyi's mood eased slightly.

"Hou Zhongyu's powder really works."

The five from Divine Beast Manor stared at the blood, shivering with cold.

After finishing these tasks, dawn had just broken. The townsfolk returned home, then prepared to host Li Guanyi and the others. But Li Guanyi merely held his sword, lost in thought. The group's leader, Lei Laomeng, said: "Uh, Dao Master, what about this silver?"

Li Guanyi snapped out of his reverie and replied:

"Divide it among every household. Let them nourish their children's bodies."

"I'll write a few more prescriptions—tonics for blood and qi."

"As for this place…"

The boy gazed at the lavish mansion, gripping a torch, the Fire Qilin exhaling flame.

Li Guanyi flicked his wrist and hurled the torch inside.

The lavish mansion erupted in flames. The boy held his sword, his hair slightly stirred by the wind, a map in his hand: "Do you know… the style of such sects? There's only one town here—but the Yin-Yang Cycle Sect disciples couldn't have suddenly appeared here."

Lei Laomeng smirked: "Of course! Hmph, I'm no stranger to the Jianghu. Centuries ago, the Yin-Yang Cycle Sect was part of the Mo Sect, until they angered Chen Duke, the founding emperor of Chen State. That old butcher went wild."

"Eventually, the demonic sects split. The western demons loved internal qi going berserk, clinging to people and exploding with a bang. The Yin-Yang Cycle Sect claimed to have uncovered Daoist mysteries—yin-yang cycles, blended with Yin-Yang School doctrines—and reestablished themselves."

"Logically, there should be a branch here nearby…"

Lei Laomeng fell silent—he saw the boy's calm eyes.

A thunderclap crashed in Lei Laomeng's mind. He stammered:

"This, Dao… Dao Master, are you…?"

The young Daoist whispered: "I killed their people. If we leave, the townsfolk here will be blamed. A hero acts, feels satisfaction, then walks away—but what becomes of the people left behind?"

"Before I came, they could barely survive. After I leave, they'll be killed."

"Then what am I?"

Lei Laomeng had never considered this. Heroes acting justly was natural—but what came after?

This wasn't the kind of thought a wandering hero would have. Yet this self-questioning felt like a box opening—thoughts surged in Lei Laomeng's head, making his skull ache.

He tapped his head, forcing the thoughts out.

Lei Laomeng stammered: "But the world works this way."

"Heroes right wrongs, then walk away with grace."

"This…"

The young Daoist smiled: "So the people are just footnotes? I won't accept that."

"I want the hero's name—and I want to save the people."

"A true man doesn't choose between these things."

"Either don't do it—or do it thoroughly. I thought about it: how do I make them ignore these people?"

"Only by destroying their branch here."

Lei Laomeng's scalp prickled. He stared at the young Daoist—blue robe, wooden hairpin, flames swirling behind him, fire tracing his eyes, an unmistakable wildness radiating from him.

Who in the Jianghu would dare provoke the Yin-Yang Cycle Sect?

They say "cut the grass, remove the roots." They say "if you strike the young, the old come." This one, though dressed as a righteous cultivator, strikes the young—and to prevent trouble, wipes out the old too. He's twisting "cut the grass, remove the roots" into its opposite.

This… this…

Is this still a righteous cultivator?!

Lei Laomeng's courage trembled—but looking at the boy, something inside him stirred, a rush of blood, a strange thrill. He crushed it down, silently reciting the Jianghu mantra: "Steadiness."

Then he gritted his teeth and grabbed Li Guanyi's arm: "Dao Master, I'm not saying this to stop you—but that mountain? At least a hundred to two hundred martial elites. Those who serve in a branch like this—even the lowliest servants are as strong as me."

"Even the ones washing pots and cleaning chamber pots have internal qi."

"The Jianghu is full of injustice. You must be steady, steady—steadiness comes first."

"Even that big monk says: don't entangle yourself in karmic ties. Just report this to the authorities. Besides, martial artists act with justification—you must be able to explain it to others, say it was done right."

He pleaded earnestly. He didn't know why—perhaps because last night, the young Daoist stood amid a sea of corpses, sword in hand, while the children slept peacefully behind him—something in his heart stirred. He didn't want this young Daoist to fall into a trap.

The Ancient Daoist stepped forward, standing beside Li Guanyi, and said calmly:

"A murderous nature."

Li Guanyi asked: "Master, do you think they shouldn't be killed?"

The Ancient Daoist looked at him: "Why did you kill them? Do you believe it was good?"

Li Guanyi said: "Naturally."

The Daoist said: "Good and evil are like black and white—there is no such thing as absolute goodness in this world. Then tell me, what is good, and what is evil?"

Li Guanyi said: "To kill is evil."

The Daoist looked at him: "You've killed many people. Are you evil?"

"If you slaughter all the evil ones, will the world become purely good? Or will new evil arise then?"

Li Guanyi looked at the Daoist, then suddenly laughed. "Master, I don't want to argue such obscure, lofty principles with you—I'm not clever enough. Save your wisdom for another day."

"Why not look down, Master, and see the world below? When you see scenes like this, don't you feel rage? Don't you feel the urge to kill?!"

"If you don't feel rage…"

"Then, Master, you are unworthy to speak principles to me."

Li Guanyi looked at the sky, then suddenly laughed, grabbing the Fire Qilin and placing it on his shoulder.

He turned and strode toward the common folk, who came to thank him, bringing many gifts—odd, varied things: fine cured pork, fine wine, fine gourds.

The remaining four of the Divine Beast Manor quintet had no choice but to begin cleaning up.

That Daoist had too much killing intent—they felt like drinking from the same pool as tigers and lions; even the sound of their own lips smacking had to be muffled. How could they let this killing-minded Daoist clean up himself?

He saw the child with the severed arm, still happily playing.

The men and women who had returned with their children were joyful, yet the elders bore sorrow in their brows, forcing smiles. Li Guanyi walked over; the young Daoist knelt halfway, meeting the child's gaze levelly, smiling: "... Brother wants to ask you for something."

The child frowned: "Hm?"

The young Daoist whispered: "I'm just an ordinary man. I have no courage. What Lei Laomeng said made sense—people always dislike risk. But if I did that—accepted your thanks, then left—I'd regret it."

"Can you give me something? To help me make up my mind."

The child thought, reached into his chest, and pulled out something.

He placed it gently in Li Guanyi's palm and smiled happily: "Candy. Very sweet."

The young Daoist smiled softly.

"Good. The pact is made."

He stood, looked toward Lei Laomeng, and said: "Now, it's no longer any of my concern."

Lei Laomeng froze.

The young Daoist lifted his sword and said:

"This child traded one piece of candy for the lives of an entire mountain of warriors."

"I take this karmic debt!"

Lei Laomeng stared, dumbfounded, yet somehow his heart surged wildly.

The young man turned, bowed slightly with clasped hands to the common folk, and said:

"Please give me three quivers of arrows."

The townspeople brought the items; Li Guanyi asked: "Where are the town officials?"

Someone said: "The ones you killed—they were the town's leaders."

Li Guanyi laughed loudly, but the laughter sounded absurd. The world was absurd. The Jianghu was absurd. The court was absurd.

He looked at the few warriors nearby: "Gentlemen, can you do me a favor?"

Before Lei Laomeng could speak, the smallest, most impulsive one—the man Li Guanyi had knocked down first, still red-eyed with his club—pounded his chest: "Master, after what you did last night, say the word—we'll do anything!"

Lei Laomeng stamped his feet in fury.

"Be calm! Be calm!"

But Li Guanyi said: "I've confirmed with the townspeople where the Yin-Yang Wheel Sect's local branch lies. You can command beasts—listen to me..." Li Guanyi told them to use beasts to create disturbances around the area, as if a great army were coming to exterminate them.

The tactic of surrounding three sides and leaving one open.

Lei Laomeng asked: "What about the entrance?"

Li Guanyi said: "I alone am enough."

He had killed those men, seen that scene—anyone with a heart would draw their sword and kill. But he could not simply walk away. If he left like a wandering hero, he would not be himself. Reporting to officials was useless—but he still had his sword, his horse, the fierce wind—this too was the Jianghu.

The young man rode the horse Lei Laomeng had tamed, sword and bow in hand. As he rode out, he tugged the reins and looked toward the ancient Daoist.

He raised his eyebrows: "I am indeed an evil man, Master."

"But if bloody hands can save the majority..."

"Then let me forever fall into the hell of slaughter."

"Your Dao is fascinating. I cannot answer it. But to me, a principle without people is nothing but worthless paper!"

The warhorse neighed; the young man rode away calmly.

The silver-haired girl had arrived without notice. She watched Li Guanyi's back, sighed softly, and said: "Elder..."

Yao Guang whispered:

"Big Brother Li's nature is blunt, but he means no harm."

The Ancient Daoist said calmly: "It doesn't matter. If he hadn't said that, he wouldn't be the one Zu Wenyuan chose."

"Knowing how to avoid danger and seek safety lets one live long—but only such a person can tear through this chaotic age..."

He saw the child with the severed arm playing alone, chasing butterflies, looking up at his father: "Father, I'm home now."

"When will my arm come back?"

"That old man said my arm just went out to play—it'll return."

The man beside him turned away, covering his mouth and nose, eyes red with choked sobs.

The child ran over: "Father, don't cry. Look—I can still do things. I can dress myself, eat, even play with butterflies."

The child awkwardly performed each motion, trying to make his parents laugh.

Like a little clown with a broken arm.

The man collapsed to his knees, as if stabbed through the heart, and wept aloud.

The Dao Master lowered his gaze, went to fetch water and soil, blended the mud, and idly molded a single arm; then he called the child over and directly attached the clay limb to the boy's severed stump, brushing his fingers lightly across it.

The child froze; the Dao Master bent slightly and offered him something.

The child instinctively raised his severed right arm.

He grasped the flower the Dao Master had offered.

Then the child froze, staring in disbelief at his arm; after that, the boy who had seemed so optimistic burst into tears.

He wept with a heart-shattering wail.

He wept with a soul-rending cry.

As if finally coming to his senses.

The silver-haired girl said: "Daoist creation of life—you truly are…"

The Ancient Daoist said coolly: "Merely the unfolding of vital energy—nowhere near the mechanical arts of the Mohists, nor the flesh-rebuilding technique of the man in the blue robe. I merely gave the child a thread of hope. Yet, the Dao numbers fifty; Heaven's evolution yields forty-nine."

"Our cultivation and contemplation of the Dao are precisely to seek that one lost thread of hope."

"I came to see the one chosen by Zu Wenyuan—he…"

"He truly lives up to Zu Wenyuan's expectations, yet there is one flaw."

The Dao Master said coolly:

"The sixtieth chapter of the Book of Imperial Supreme Cosmic Order, which was passed to Zu Wenyuan, is unsuited to him."

These words alone were an offer of tailored transmission!

The Daoist lowered his gaze and looked at Yao Guang:

"How is your father?"