Chapter 126 – Killing Intent Draws Near

The old man still struggled to rise, as though he was determined to kneel in obeisance to the young Daoist before him, but was held back by the people around him.

No one knew where he found the strength.

Grasping the young Daoist’s hand, he haltingly recounted the general course of events, his voice choked with emotion—grief, anger, and sorrow interwoven.

He had already been bedridden for many days, yet had struggled so much these past few days that no one could restrain him.

The old man felt that he must apologize on behalf of an old friend of the Crippled Old Monster. No matter how much pain wracked his body, no matter how unwell he was, it did not matter.

What must be done must be done. Throughout his life, the old man had upheld simple and honest principles—if one made a mistake, one must apologize. And when a man died, he ought to be laid to rest. Though that Old Monster had little rapport with the villagers in life, he had been buried here in the village, and thus it was the duty of those of them still living in this place to look after his resting place.

Yet now his grave had been dug up, his coffin raised—he was not even allowed peace in death.

How could he still face this child?

He cared little for his own condition; he only wished to rise and bow in deep apology. The young Daoist placed a palm gently on the old man, sensing that he was exerting considerable force. But with a mere stir of Qi Wuhuo’s Primordial Qi, the old man’s Life Treasure dispersed, his force unable to gather—thus he could not exert strength, and his body eased back into a peaceful, reclining posture. Only his eyes continued to shed tears, filled with remorse, sorrow, and helpless indignation.

The young Daoist spoke softly: “Let’s treat your injuries first.”

With just a single sweep of his Primordial Spirit, he understood clearly.

There were no wounds on the old man’s body—he had been knocked over, just like one might fall on their own.

In such a case, even if one reported it to the authorities, if the perpetrator steadfastly denied it and insisted that the old village head had fallen on his own, it would very easily become a cold case.

The work of a practiced hand.

The force was struck upon the ground, with residual energy rebounding outward—a calculated technique. The old man’s bones had fractured, especially his spine, rendering him immobile. For one of his age, nothing was more feared than prolonged bedrest. In time, bedsores would form, his essence and spirit would leak away, and even someone who was once full of life might, with a single fall and some time lying in bed, quietly pass away.

The young Daoist extended a hand, hovering it over the old man’s lower back.

The Innate One Qi began to circulate and transform.

The old man froze, seemingly sensing changes within his body, a difference he could not name. His eyes widened in disbelief.

Qi Wuhuo lifted his hand and said gently: “Try to move.”

Beside them, a middle-aged man who bore some resemblance to the old village head grew anxious and was about to lash out in anger, but was held back by his own father.

The old village head, puzzled, tried to exert some strength to rise—and to his astonishment, he was actually able to straighten his body. He tried again and found he could set his feet on the ground. Incredibly, he could already walk without hindrance. It was just that, having lain in bed for several days, he was a bit weak, and his head felt somewhat dizzy. But aside from that, it seemed as though he had entirely recovered—no, perhaps he was even better than before.

An uproar broke out among the onlookers.

Everyone stared at the scene in disbelief.

Then, all eyes turned to the young Daoist with a bamboo basket on his back and a gentle expression on his face.

For a time, no one spoke. They were astonished, wanting to approach, yet also held back by a sense of reverence and awe.

The great monk finally spoke, praising him:

“Daozhang, what a remarkable technique.”

Daozhang?

Everyone knew that ordinary cultivators were simply referred to as Daoren(Daoist person) or Daoshi(Daoist priest). They might say, “We met such-and-such Daoist today,” and mention that he spoke of this or that from the mountains. But Daozhang was different—that title was reserved for someone capable of establishing a Daoist temple on a mountain or in a city, gathering disciples, and passing down the teachings of the Dao. Yet this youth before them looked no more than fifteen or sixteen. To be addressed in such a way, as though he were the head of a temple—it left all present dumbfounded.

Still, to be so young and yet called Daozhang by that venerable master monk…

To possess such arcane skills…

It somehow felt perfectly natural.

None among them truly knew how severe the old man’s illness had been, nor how difficult it was to treat. But once the identity of Daozhang was spoken aloud, they all accepted it without question. And so, Qi Wuhuo joined the monk in preparing medicine. The middle-aged man from before came to help as well, deeply grateful—and having witnessed such a marvel with his own eyes, he now carried a touch of unease and restraint in his manner.

The monk simply told him to go and tend to his own father, saying there was no need to remain here.

The man expressed his thanks several times more before finally departing.

The great monk withdrew his gaze and looked toward the medicine cauldron. He said: “The Daoist lineage’s most refined Innate One Qi truly lives up to its name.”

“With such wounds, this humble monk would only know how to slowly nourish and heal. I lack Daozhang’s remarkable means.”

Innate One Qi—it was the result of reversing the Three to return to the Two, a true cultivation of the Daoist path.

Thus, in theory, as long as one’s foundation was pure and the Innate Qi sufficiently refined, it could circulate and transform of its own accord, evolving from within one’s own Primordial Qi.

From Two comes Three—through such means, one could emulate the Dao’s generation of all things.

It could bring spring to withered trees, restore broken bones to wholeness, and manifest all manner of divine abilities and supernatural feats.

All within a single thought. In comparison, all those methods of riding the wind, releasing sword Qi, or turning frost into ice—those were merely classified as [Cutting Outer Demons].

They were protective arts, defensive means to safeguard the path of cultivation.

Essential for any cultivator, to be sure—but by no means the entirety of the Dao.

Those who truly tread the Dao and reach the realm of Innate One Qi, if they do not open a temple or pass down the Dao lineage, will often travel the mortal world instead, leaving behind tales and legends: planting beans that grow into vines reaching the heavens, swallowing blades and smiling at the ignorance of the world—most of these belong to this very tier of cultivation, the so-called “wondrous men and eccentric masters”, already possessing great means.

As for the Buddhist path, its methods leaned more toward clarity of the soul, subjugation of inner and outer demons.

Those who practiced the Dharma of the Wisdom Kings, the Diamond Vajra, the Bodhisattva, or the Arhat—each had their own characteristics.

Great demons, if moving by instinct and drawing in the radiance of sun and moon, could wield brute force and dominate the land. Their ways were still different from the Daoist Innate One Qi.

The monk finished brewing the medicine and gave it to the old village head to drink. He left careful instructions, then pulled the middle-aged man to the side. In a gentle tone, he explained how to nurse the old man back to health, how to take his medicine, what to avoid in diet and daily habits—he covered everything in detail. Meanwhile, the young Daoist tended to the old man’s condition. The elder once more recounted, in rough strokes, what had transpired that day.

Finally, after some hesitation, he still said: “Daozhang, are you planning to go find the one who did this?”

“You might think this old man’s words unpleasant to hear.”

“But you’re a man of the outer path, meant to roam the clouds and cultivate in purity, like an immortal. You don’t need to involve yourself in such things, don’t need to provoke those people… it’s really not worth it. Besides, I believe there’s still law in this land. There’s still justice. The current Sage Emperor is wise and virtuous—far better than that deposed Crown Prince from before.”

“I won’t let this matter go. We will find justice!”

The old village head had spent a lifetime abiding by the rules, and so he placed great faith in law and righteousness. His eyes shone with stubborn conviction.

How could this world be without fairness or law?

How could there be no justice?

He believed in these things.

The young Daoist paused, then answered gently: “Yes. Justice surely exists.”

He rose to take his leave. As he departed with the medicine basket on his back, the monk came to see him off. The grey-robed great monk watched the youth fade into the distance before returning to tend the sick. Qi Wuhuo’s expression remained quiet, saying nothing to shatter the old man’s hopes. He merely stepped once more into the mortal realm. Only the little peacock at his side seemed to sense the change in his emotions. Its nature-spirit voice sounded in inquiry:

“Ah Qi, Ah Qi, what’s wrong?”

“You look like someone who’s lost their appetite.”

The young Daoist seemed to answer, and yet also seemed to speak to himself: “Wearing black robes, carrying a sword, and with means like those…”

“One of the secret guards of the Imperial Court.”

“Most likely, one of the Hidden Dragon Guards under the Eastern Palace Crown Prince.”

“All their commanders are eunuchs who were raised alongside the Crown Prince since childhood.”

Old Village Head, the justice you seek—

It lies in their hands.

The little peacock was dizzy just from listening: “Hidden Dragon Guards? Imperial Court?”

“Mm.”

The young Daoist replied, “The name comes from the hexagram ‘The Hidden Dragon Lies Beneath the Abyss’—the hope being that they, like the hidden dragon, may bide their time in obscurity, store their strength, and await the right moment to rise in a single soaring flight, shaking the four corners of the world.”

The little peacock squirmed noisily. The young Daoist lifted it with his palm and let it perch on his shoulder.

He found a more comfortable spot, squinted his eyes slightly.

The wind blew past, and the youth’s black hair at his temples swept to and fro. The little peacock found this amusing and pecked at the dark strands as it chirped in response.

“Ohhh… I see.”

“So, Ah Qi,”

The little peacock put on a serious tone:

“Can this ‘Hidden Dragon Thing’ be eaten?”

The young Daoist chuckled and said gently: “The Hidden Dragon Guard is an organization, not something edible. As for what they are…” Qi Wuhuo shook his head. He was holding a wine jar. Earlier, the old village head had mentioned a quarrel between himself and an old soldier—arguing that the soldier drank nothing but turbid swill, while the soldier retorted that the old man had never tasted fine wine.

So the old village head once had his son purchase good wine from Zhongzhou’s Capital to bring back.

At the time, he had exchanged it with the old officer using a jar of that very swill.

Old Village Head had originally planned to secretly swap the wine, intending to give the old veteran a good scare, but never got the chance. In the end, he poured the fine wine into the old soldier’s grave, fulfilling a small wish.

This was the very jar that once held that turbid wine for the legless old officer.

Just now, Qi Wuhuo had asked Old Village Head’s son to retrieve it for him. The young Daoist found a flowing stream, channeled water into the jar, then, with a slight motion of his fingers, the water within boiled up into his mouth. He closed his eyes, sensing the medicinal nature hidden within the wine. Then, forming a mudra with his fingers, he lightly tapped his throat, opened his mouth toward the side, and the water was expelled, scattering back onto the earth.

He wiped the corner of his mouth and said:

“Poisoned.”

“If the Hidden Dragon Guard has appeared here… then my suspicions were correct.”

“That thief doesn’t feel at ease—he’s come to tie up loose ends.”

“…So he drank poisoned wine like that, for seven years.”

The young Daoist fell silent, stunned.

“That’s why the flesh and blood that once fought demons in a life-and-death struggle deteriorated into such a wretched state.”

Did he know that he had been drinking poison?

If not—if he died ignorant of it—how bleak, how desolate that end must have been.

But if he did know, and still drank cup after cup…

Then it felt even more sorrowful.

The young Daoist closed his eyes. He thought, if that person stood before him now, he would likely draw his sword and strike. But this world was too vast, and though the will to kill burned in his heart, the man could not be found. So his long sword merely rang mournfully in its sheath, unable to be drawn. He stood there quietly for a long while, then tossed the wine jar into the pile meant for the city’s refuse collectors. The little peacock, ever sensitive, seemed to have sensed something. Even the downy feathers on its body bristled slightly, and the whole bird puffed up, saying:

“Ah Qi, Ah Qi, are you going to go beat up that Crown Prince guy?”

“This sort of thing is not something little ones should ask about.”

The young Daoist’s voice was gentle. Within, his Primordial Spirit still lingered on the hazy dreamscape of that Yellow Millet Dream.

The Crown Prince?

The one now known as the Crown Prince was not the same man who later inherited the throne.

The current emperor—Great Sage, Great Mercy, Virtuous and Filial—had, perhaps, long known that his path to the throne had not been so clean or righteous. It had stirred the discontent of many senior officials in the court. What’s more, he had left behind many loose ends.

So he had raised a Crown Prince whose maternal and spousal families both hailed from the Five Surnames and Seven Clans—an heir he could wield as a blade to counterbalance the aristocratic houses, and to sever those lingering entanglements.

Cutting down noble houses. Forcing the hand of the talented.

They called it “tempering the Crown Prince”, but in truth, the Crown Prince was being used to carry out what the emperor himself could not do openly.

And in the end, when the deed was done, he discarded the Crown Prince to soothe the outrage of those same clans.

A calculated trade.

He deposed the Crown Prince and reestablished the line through the son of a younger son—his imperial grandson.

Thus, he erased the stains of his own past while also weakening the aristocracy, centralizing all imperial authority.

Ah, right—

In the end, for the sake of his favored imperial grandson—whose reputation was still lacking—he left behind [Master Wuhuo], someone capable of stabilizing the situation.

All of this had been planned.

Erased were the signs of a faltering state. Erased were the bloodstains of millions of suffering commoners. Erased was the front line, where the demon kingdoms had pounded at the gates.

The emperor was skilled, clever beyond question.

Only—he had never once bowed his head to look upon the common folk.

The young Daoist absentmindedly traced the earth with a twig tied at his waist—one that had been soaked in the waters of the Celestial River.

The Hidden Dragon Guard—it wasn’t impossible for them to act independently from the Crown Prince.

But if they moved with ceremonial display, then it was plain to see: the Crown Prince must be nearby.

And yet the surrounding officials had not greeted him according to the full protocol.

Which meant this was no formal inspection on behalf of the emperor.

It was a secret visit. A private descent.

The year’s end was fast approaching.

The fifth year…

The young Daoist lowered his gaze.

That Human Emperor—the Sage—was about to change the reign title.

The new era would be called “Shengde”—Holy Virtue.

And that Crown Prince must have finished his tour and come here to search for some treasure, intending to present it to his father at the New Year’s assembly. Aside from that, the former Crown Prince’s son—the Commandery Prince—was also in this place, which likely explained the Crown Prince’s arrival.

Although he didn’t know how that Commandery Prince had managed to escape from the capital, both the emperor and the Crown Prince clearly would not want him roaming free outside.

As for that soldier’s case, it probably didn’t even merit a second thought in the eyes of the Crown Prince and the emperor.

The young Daoist had already made up his mind. He reattached the twig, soaked in Celestial River waters, to his waist.

The little peacock blinked, puzzled. “Ah Qi, Ah Qi, where are we going now?”

Qi Wuhuo replied: “To the Mingzhen Dao Alliance.”

“Oh.”

Still confused, the little peacock asked again: “Ah Qi, Ah Qi, are justice and the law tasty?”

“No, but to old folks like the village head and the others, they’re probably just as important as food and water.”

“Ohhh, then that must be something really big.”

The little peacock immediately grasped the importance, and its feathers puffed up again in solemn respect.

Then, with a trace of concern, it asked:

“Will that grandpa from before get to eat… I mean, will he get the justice he wanted?”

The young Daoist replied: “…Probably not.”

The little peacock’s tone turned pitiful. “Eh? Then that’s really sad. If I didn’t have anything to eat, I’d be sad too. So if someone doesn’t get justice, it’s like me having no food?”

“Then, where is justice?”

The young Daoist thought for a moment, then answered: “In the human heart.”

“What if you can’t find it in people’s hearts?”

“Then it’s found at the edge of a sword.”

The little peacock tilted its head.

“Then what about you, Ah Qi?”

“Do you follow justice and law too?”

The young Daoist gave a calm answer: “I’m a Daoist.”

“Ah, so what does that mean?”

The youth’s voice remained soft:

“So, I do not regard the king’s law with my eyes.”

“Hah! So sentimental and righteous—yet lawless and unrestrained. What a killing aura. Who’s out here looking for fun, huh? Let me see…”

Suddenly, the Daoist’s Primordial Spirit sensed those mocking words drifting over with a playful laugh. He lifted his gaze and saw a man in gray robes, lazing about, holding a wine jug in one hand and chuckling loudly. With that one line, paired with such a grand entrance, to any outsider, he would seem like a reclusive master toying with the mortal world.

He tipped his head back to drink, carrying the air of a famous scholar, and his gaze turned.

And locked onto the young Daoist standing quietly with a bamboo basket on his back.

Staring at him in silence.

Then he looked at the young Daoist’s shoulder again. It looked like a peacock, but when he closed his eyes, it’s aura was like that of a Nine-Headed Lion.

So the fortune teller’s carefree smile froze.

His body suddenly stiffened.

He stared at the young Daoist and then at the strange peacock.

And blurt out a sentence.

F***k!!!