Chapter Thirty-Six: Tap, Tap, Tap

As soon as Lu Chenyuan’s voice fell, the murderous intent that filled the hall wavered and stalled. Han Lin and his guards had already formed a battle formation, poised to kill Qian Dahai at a single command. Yet the moment they heard these words, their hands faltered, and every face was marked by uncertainty and suspicion.

This young man had clearly been traveling with Young Master Chu just moments before—why, at this critical juncture, would he suddenly switch sides and shield this heretical villain?

For a while, everyone hesitated, not daring to act rashly.

Shangguan Chuci’s delicate brows knit together as her gaze flickered, recalling how Lu Chenyuan had appeared to act recklessly in the alley, but in truth had his own depths and strategies—both his wit and courage surpassed the ordinary. She remembered too how, before that cultivator of the Tainted Stream perished in the street, while the passersby remained oblivious, only Lu Chenyuan sensed something amiss before anyone else and pulled her away just in time.

“This man always acts with purpose—never reckless. His words now seem protective, but in fact he’s luring Qian Dahai out of the fight and placing him before everyone’s eyes…”

“There must be a deeper meaning here. What is he truly aiming for?”

Though her mind raced with speculation, her face revealed nothing; she simply observed in silence.

Qian Dahai, on hearing Lu Chenyuan’s words, burst with wild joy, convinced that the youth had believed his twisted lies. He scrambled and stumbled toward the stairs, wailing as he went, “Good lad, Lu! Protect your innkeeper—if I survive this ordeal, I’ll reward you handsomely!”

He staggered to Lu Chenyuan, intending to hide behind him. Lu Chenyuan’s expression was calm as he reached out to steady Qian Dahai, soothing him, “Don’t panic, innkeeper. I’m here.”

Yet this gesture, seemingly comforting, was in fact quite deliberate. Lu Chenyuan placed his right hand on Qian Dahai’s shoulder and subtly shifted his own body, exposing Qian Dahai’s plump frame entirely to the hall—most notably the vital points on his back, laid bare for all to see.

With her keen perception, Shangguan Chuci instantly noticed this and the faintest smile curled her lips. “So that’s his plan! Clever boy.”

She hesitated no longer, casting a barely perceptible glance toward the shadows in the rafters above the second floor.

Just then, Qian Dahai sensed something amiss. His nostrils flared as he frowned. “Boy, why do you smell of blood—and filth, as if from a sewer? Where exactly did you come from just now?”

Before his words had finished, he felt a sudden gust at his back and was seized by terror, trying to spin around.

But it was too late.

From the shadows above, several cold stars shot out in silence—thin as ox hair, swift as shooting lights, vanishing in the dim glow of the lanterns.

Qian Dahai felt sharp pains in several vital points on his back, as if stung by hornets; instantly, a numbing sensation swept through him, and his spiritual energy—once surging through his body—now felt as if a pierced bladder, all but blocked. Nearly eighty percent of his cultivation was sealed in an instant.

His beady eyes went round with disbelief as he stared at Lu Chenyuan before him.

Lu Chenyuan stepped back two paces, gazing at him with a complex expression and speaking slowly: “I just killed someone—a cultivator of the Tainted Stream cult.”

He paused, a trace of sorrow flickering in his eyes before he continued, “Innkeeper, how I wish… those two buns you kept warm in the steamer were truly hot.”

“How I wish… the things you told me about your granddaughter were spoken from the heart.”

Qian Dahai’s bloated body trembled violently at these words!

He had never, in all his scheming, imagined this youth would see through his secret, or that his trust would be used against him, placing him in mortal peril.

All his careful plotting undone in a moment. The hope for his beloved granddaughter—shattered like a dream.

Lu Chenyuan’s words were the final straw that broke the camel’s back.

A wail burst from Qian Dahai’s lips, inhuman in its anguish, as his Dao heart—long teetering in greed and sin—collapsed with a roar.

A surge of monstrous evil erupted from within him, shattering the seals on his spiritual veins through sheer madness of the soul. His body swelled, flesh writhing, and in moments he was on the brink of becoming nothing more than a mindless, murderous beast.

Everyone present was appalled. Han Lin shouted, “He’s about to suffer Dao collapse! Brother Lu, get back—now!”

The hot-tempered Xiahou Pan cried, “Didn’t Lord Shen already seal several of his vital points? How can this be?”

The black-clad Shen Guizhou stood to one side, his expression grave. “I sealed his channels, but not the source. His Dao heart is gone; the Tainted Stream is erupting from his very soul—no external force can stop it now.”

Xiahou Pan was beside himself. “So we just watch and do nothing?”

Shen Guizhou shook his head. “Young Master Lu is too close. To kill Qian Dahai by force now would harm the innocent. We must wait for the Suppression Division to arrive and form the formation.”

Xiahou Pan, nearly frantic, shouted to Lu Chenyuan, “Brother Lu, run! Qian Dahai’s lost his mind—if you don’t run, not even immortals can save you!”

Lu Chenyuan stiffened at these words.

Only now did he realize that Xiahou Pan was one of the four itinerant cultivators from overseas—and sure enough, a glance out of the corner of his eye revealed all four had gathered at Shangguan Chuci’s side, wary and on guard.

So all along, this had been her trap…

He recalled how he’d foolishly urged them to leave earlier, afraid they’d fall prey to the inn’s evil cultivators. In the end, it was only his own sentimentality.

A thought suddenly surfaced in his mind—

If that “Bright Moon Pearl” was false, then what of that night on the shore, when they’d spoken heart to heart? How much of it was true?

To her, was he only ever a convenient pawn?

For reasons he could not name, this thought filled his chest with a suffocating heaviness, as if a great invisible stone had lodged there.

He forced himself to suppress the chaos in his mind and prepared to retreat.

Yet to his horror, he found himself utterly unable to move.

At the moment of Qian Dahai’s Dao collapse, the overwhelming force had locked onto him completely.

Worse still, the beast dormant within him, long suppressed, seemed to sense a feast of its own kind—it now roared madly, straining at its bonds, eager to answer the call of the Tainted Stream outside.

Sinister energy began to pour uncontrollably from the blood-red eyes opening slowly in the palm of his right hand.

In an instant, all sounds faded—the shouts of Han Lin, the urgent words of Shangguan Chuci, the anguished howls of Qian Dahai—everything became distant and unreal.

His world was plunged into utter silence.

Then, suddenly, a sound reached his ears.

Tap, tap, tap.

Those clear, crisp syllables split the boundless dead quiet like a chisel.

As if spring rain had fallen on an oil-paper umbrella in the Jiangnan region—cool, yet washing away all the blood and filth of the world.

The sound seemed to come from Qian Dahai himself.

What was it?

Tap, tap, tap.

Light and lively, almost cheerful—so strange amid this chaos.

Lu Chenyuan remembered.

This sound was not unfamiliar to him.

It came from the simplest memories of childhood, from every market brightened by sugar figures and pinwheels.

A vision rose before his eyes.

A red string trembled, drawing two wooden beads back and forth in a pair of childish hands, striking a tightly stretched little drum.

The sound of a rattle-drum.

Those rhythmic taps, filled with innocence and carefree joy.

The gentle thump of two tiny pellets striking the drumhead.