Chapter Thirty-Two: Shattered Mastery

At the beginning of the first watch of the night, the lights in the Watching Tides Inn had already thinned. Inside the hall, a few tables of lingering drinkers remained, unwilling to disperse. The waiters, weary from the day, leaned against the counter, dozing.

In such quietude, murderous intent found perfect cover.

On the second floor, outside the corridor of Heaven Room No. 2, Qian Dahai’s seemingly fat and clumsy figure moved with surprising agility. His small eyes glinted with a sinister sharpness beneath the dim lamp, his tongue unconsciously licking his chapped lips as he sneered inwardly:

“A few fools from overseas, flaunting their precious treasures is one thing—but to covet the staff of my inn as well? They can hardly blame me for being ruthless.”

He had timed it precisely; the wine and dishes, laced with a powerful drug, should have rendered even a bronze Buddha helpless by now. Stealing to the door, he pressed an ear close. Within, all was still as stagnant water.

Heart settling, he drew from his sleeve a slender blade, thin as a willow leaf, and slowly pushed open the door.

Inside, the four foreign wanderers lay sprawled in utter disarray—some slumped over the table, others sprawled in chairs, eyes tightly shut and utterly insensible. They looked for all the world like lambs ready for the slaughter.

A cold gleam flashed in Qian Dahai’s eyes. Without hesitation, he crouched low and lunged at the leader, Han Lin, his blade aimed in utter silence at the man’s throat.

...

In the storeroom, the stench of blood mingled with the salty sea breeze, making the air all the more nauseating.

Daoist Li had just finished gnawing the scholar’s left arm and was about to seek his next delicacy when he suddenly froze.

Hidden behind a fishing net, Lu Chenyuan saw that uncanny eye fix upon him. Noting Li’s strange movements, he knew his presence had undoubtedly been discovered.

He dared not hesitate, inching backward in hopes of slipping away under the cover of silence.

Just as he reached a patch of firmer ground, that eerie voice echoed through the storeroom:

“A pack of useless fools—yet not one of you noticed the little mouse that’s been tailing us for so long.”

The other heretics turned, alarm flooding their faces as they stared toward Lu Chenyuan’s hiding place.

His heart plummeted. All hope of escape vanished.

He gathered himself, then with a sudden burst of strength shot from the tangle of fishing nets like an arrow loosed from the string, fleeing headlong down the pitch-black alley from which he had come.

“After him! Don’t let him get away!”

One of the heretics roared, and two of them sprang after him with the hunger of wolves.

Fortunately, Daoist Li seemed uninterested in such an appetizer, or perhaps had not yet finished his main course. He did not even lift his head, his mouth twisting into a bloody, deranged grin as he bent again to feast upon the scholar’s still-warm corpse.

As a mere mortal, Lu Chenyuan’s heart thudded wildly under the pursuit of two ruthless cultists. He drew upon every ounce of training in evasion and agility, wind howling past his ears, while the footsteps behind him beat out a relentless, deathly rhythm.

The alley was narrow, cluttered with obstacles. One misstep, and a searing pain tore through his left shoulder as a foul, powerful gust struck him, leaving half his body numb.

...

Though these heretics were low-ranking, their spiritual power was tainted with the corruption of their order, enough to shake the minds of ordinary men. For Lu Chenyuan, it seemed as though this force was a poison crafted expressly for the monster lurking within him, its menace ever greater.

Clenching his teeth against the agony, he found his mind all the sharper and quickly assessed his predicament.

The good news: after that blow, he could tell his pursuers were only second-tier cultivators, not so formidable that he couldn’t outrun them, even if a direct fight was out of the question.

The bad news: the way ahead was blocked by a high wall.

Despair chilled him. Yet, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a slop bucket in the corner, filled with fish scales and vegetable scraps, rank and foul.

In that instant, Qian Dahai’s advice in the inn flashed through his mind:

“Those who cultivate corrupted flows, their energies are most sensitive to filth and impurity…”

It was worth a try.

A glint of desperate resolve flashed in Lu Chenyuan’s eyes. Instead of avoiding the dead end, he charged straight toward it.

...

Just as Qian Dahai’s blade was about to strike, Han Lin—who should have been comatose—suddenly opened his eyes, clear and unclouded.

A cold brilliance flashed in his gaze. Without moving his body, he twisted his wrist, and a long black-sheathed saber appeared in his grip. With a sharp clang, he parried Qian Dahai’s blade.

Sparks flew.

At the same time, the other three “unconscious” men sat upright like corpses, each drawing a weapon and taking up positions to block all exits.

Not lambs for the slaughter, but hunters lying in wait.

Qian Dahai’s heart lurched as he realized the trap. His body quivered, preparing to force Han Lin aside and retreat.

But Han Lin’s saber style was unwavering and powerful. Each move was honed in the Demon Suppression Bureau’s battle formations, binding Qian Dahai tight, leaving no room to break free.

Panic and fury warred within him as he sought a way out. Suddenly, he heard a sharp crack behind him.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he saw that a young man in white had appeared behind the door, four elite guards at his back, all watching him like tigers eyeing prey.

She opened her white jade folding fan, revealing the words “For the Common Good.”

“Manager Qian,” she said, her eyes shimmering with amusement, “You seem so anxious about Lu Chenyuan—are you perhaps planning to trade him for some rare treasure of your corrupted cult?”

...

The two heretics chasing Lu Chenyuan sneered as he appeared to corner himself, their hands glowing with lethal energy, ready to strike.

Just as he reached the corner, Lu Chenyuan did not turn but lashed out with a precise backward kick, striking the bottom of the wooden bucket.

...

With a crash, the entire bucket of fetid, oily water—reeking of fish and rot—splashed directly over the two heretics.

They had never expected such a move. As they marshaled their energies, the scalding, filthy water crashed into them, and their spiritual energy faltered, their power threatening to collapse in an instant.

In a contest of masters, victory and defeat hung by a thread.

Lu Chenyuan twisted in midair, the boning knife he had snatched from the kitchen tracing a cold arc beneath the moon.

With a wet thunk, one heretic, wiping filth from his face, felt a chill in his chest. Looking down, he saw the thin blade protruding from his heart. Disbelief filled his eyes; he tried to speak but only spat blood, collapsing in a heap.

The other, seeing his companion slain by a mortal youth, was struck with terror and fled without a backward glance.

Lu Chenyuan, exhausted but seizing his moment, fixed his gaze on the fleeing man. Noticing the fallen heretic’s long blade on the ground, he hooked it deftly with his foot, caught it in his left hand, and, without hesitation, hurled it with all his remaining strength.

The sword struck the man in the back. He screamed, grievously wounded though not killed, and staggered off, vanishing into the darkness.

The alley fell silent once more.

Only Lu Chenyuan remained, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath.

The mingled stench of blood and slop nearly made him faint.

He forced himself upright and scanned the area. Confirming that the formidable Daoist Li had not given chase, he finally allowed himself to relax.

That man’s strength was unfathomable; if he had followed, even unleashing the monster within might not have allowed Lu Chenyuan to escape unscathed.

Coming back to himself, Lu Chenyuan looked down at his blood- and filth-smeared hands, his stomach churning.

Unable to hold back, he gripped the corner of the wall and vomited violently.