Chapter Thirty-One: The Boy's First Kill

The east wind refuses to blow away sorrow, and spring days only seem to stir up lingering resentment.

On a chilly spring night, within the small courtyard, the fierce clash lasted but a moment, yet it was enough to decide victory and defeat. The cold wind swept through the night, as if it brought with it a lasting bitterness.

This bitterness, naturally, belonged to Hu Jingang, who lay collapsed on the ground. He hated the nobleman who had summoned him to kill the youth, and also the coachman waiting outside the alley.

From the moment the youth revealed his innate breathing and spirit, flicking chopsticks like flying swords, a shadow fell over Hu Jingang’s heart, foreboding trouble.

Faulty intelligence angered him, but a master of perfected blood and energy could still contend with one who had mastered innate breathing.

Yet, when the seated youth rose like a fierce tiger, the vitality surging beneath his skin and through his meridians was even stronger than Hu Jingang’s, his aura more formidable. Hu Jingang could have cursed the heavens.

What worthless information—deadly traps with no compensation!

The youth’s blood and energy were perfected, his aura like a magnificent tiger. In an instant, Hu Jingang was overwhelmed. Clearly, the youth’s physical cultivation method was of the highest grade, far superior to his own.

Refining spirit and innate breathing, both had perfected blood and energy; but the youth’s method was superior. How could he hope to kill him?

With a single move, Hu Jingang was struck and sent flying, his back scraping along the ground. Yet his experience prevailed, and he sprang upright with an agile roll.

Immediately, the youth attacked with the bird form!

The Five Beasts Body Cultivation: tiger form fierce, bear form steady, deer and monkey forms agile, and the bird form like a sword—most suited, now, to An Le, who possessed the innate "Natural Swordsman" Dao fruit.

Though he held no sword, his bird form struck as if wielding one!

Blood and energy surged through his meridians, generating force. Before Hu Jingang could react, An Le, nimble as a deer, closed in on him. His hand, sword-like, chopped relentlessly at Hu Jingang's chest.

Hu Jingang was sent flying again, crashing hard to the ground. His skin and flesh were shredded, several ribs broken, organs protected by bone seemed cracked, blood spilling from his lips, his face darkened, utterly powerless.

An Le finished with the bird form, gazing coldly at Hu Jingang, his excitement slowly ebbing.

The battle was a crushing victory. The Five Beasts Tiger Pounce, empowered by fifteen strands of age energy, had grown in strength. With perfected blood and energy, a single strike was as fierce as a white-browed tiger; Hu Jingang barely survived. The sword-like bird form attacks followed, turning Hu Jingang into nothing more than a sandbag.

An Le understood—though both had perfected blood and energy, there existed a gap. That gap came from their cultivation methods.

It was as if Hu Jingang, wielding a degraded version of the "Zhao Ancestor Long Fist," squared off against An Le's "Five Beasts Body Cultivation"; his defeat was inevitable.

The leaves of the old locust tree rustled in the chilly spring wind.

An Le picked up the heavy-backed broadsword that Hu Jingang had used as a hidden weapon. The sword was heavy, but with An Le’s current strength, it was not difficult to wield.

"Young brother, could you spare my life?" Hu Jingang pleaded, blood bubbling from his mouth.

An Le dragged the sword to his side, gazing down at the fallen Hu Jingang from above.

"Give me a reason," An Le said.

"My entire fortune could be yours. Eighteen Yuan Spirit Treasure coins, hidden away. If I live, I can retrieve them for you," Hu Jingang said, enduring the pain of broken bones.

"Only eighteen? Pauper. For a single painting commissioned by the Lin household, my fee is ten Yuan Spirit Treasure coins," An Le retorted, leaning on the sword, stabbing at Hu Jingang’s heart.

Hu Jingang fell silent.

Suddenly, his eyes blazed with rage. He bit his tongue, blood and energy surging, and sprang up like lightning, aiming to strike An Le while he was off guard, risking everything for a desperate attack.

But An Le, his innate breathing and spirit taut, was already prepared. He kicked the heavy-backed broadsword, sending it spinning in an arc like a falling star. A massive head, drenched in surging blood and energy, flew skyward!

Blood splattered across An Le’s white robes, making his cold face twitch ever so slightly.

It was his first kill, but it would not be his last.

Hu Jingang’s severed head crashed to the ground; his body, which had risen so suddenly, lost all strength and fell back, the muffled thud lingering through the spring night.

Blood pooled throughout the courtyard, as An Le’s breath came in measured pants, a chilling sense of slaughter filling the air.

...

...

Qingbo Street remained silent as always. Every household’s lights extinguished, the residents deep in slumber.

No one walked the street—not even a single cat, fond of prowling the night, was to be seen.

The carriage stood quietly parked; the coachman sat atop, slowly opening his eyes. The wind from the alley carried the pungent scent of blood.

His face, hidden beneath the bamboo hat, was shrouded in darkness; his expression unreadable.

His spirit sense, upon entering the alley’s courtyard, was overwhelmed by the two men’s powerful blood and energy, making clear observation impossible.

He was strong in body cultivation, having stepped into the inner pill realm, but his spirit refinement was only at the innate breathing stage.

Innate breathing allowed his spirit to barely perceive outside, but like a ghost fearing the sun, his senses were weak and easily scattered.

"Is he dead?" The coachman sniffed the blood in the air. Was it the youth’s blood?

He looked toward the pitch-black alley, untouched by starlight or moonlight.

Within, the sound of blade scraping against the ground echoed, accompanied by footsteps.

The coachman’s burly frame straightened, his head raised, his face beneath the hat slowly revealed. He gazed towards the alley, awaiting Hu Jingang’s return.

If Hu Jingang had killed the youth, the coachman would have to escort him out of Lin’an, lest he lose his master's credibility.

Suddenly, the coachman's grip on the reins froze; disbelief flickered in his eyes.

Because emerging from the darkness was not Hu Jingang!

Instead, it was a youth clad in blood-stained white.

He dragged a sword in one hand, and in the other, held a lifeless head.

Black blood dripped from the severed neck as the youth stepped from the dense shadows of the alley.

Do not say the west wind is harsh; everywhere at the edge, yellow flowers bloom!

In that moment, the youth bore the chilling aura of a killer, like a sword drawn three inches, flashing with cold brilliance.

The coachman’s eyes widened beneath his hat, his breath quickening.

The youth stood at the entrance to Ta Temple Alley, a smile on his lips, his white robe splashed with crimson like plum blossoms, gazing at the imposing, familiar coachman atop the ornate carriage.

"So it was as I thought..."

An Le seemed suddenly enlightened, a hint of mockery in his voice.

Hu Jingang’s attack was no accident. This criminal, who should have been apprehended by the constables, was saved by a so-called nobleman, then turned into a blade to kill An Le.

For Hu Jingang to attack willingly, there must have been some promise made.

Perhaps the life of this young scholar was exchanged for the life of the blood-stained criminal.

Yet this time, the youth used his own strength to cut down the criminal and break the nobleman’s blade—a far better outcome than before.

Thud.

The youth tossed the head, which traced an arc before landing in front of the carriage, rolling to a stop against the wheel.

The coachman did not even glance at the head, but stared at the youth, seeing the sarcasm and killing intent in his eyes.

That day, in the spring rain, the youth’s spine stood straight as bamboo, proud among men. Not even the master's pressure could force him to bow his head—a scene that flashed once more in the coachman's mind.

His pupils relaxed, and a cold killing intent flashed in his eyes.

He dearly wished to kill the youth right then and there, to eliminate future trouble.

But he dared not.

That day, Lady Hua summoned three thousand drops of spring rain; a single drop shattered his bamboo hat. To shatter his head would require but a flick of another drop.

The master had said Lady Hua would be the youth’s protector. With such a protector, bullying the weak would violate the rules. If he were killed, the master would not even seek justice for him.

An Le gazed at the burly coachman atop the carriage—Lo Qingchen’s coachman.

He slowly raised the heavy-backed broadsword, blood and energy surging within, mind swirling, conjuring the scene from "Sword Cascade," the blade seeming to transform into a sword.

Suddenly, he hurled it. The blade shot straight, whistling towards the carriage.

The coachman saw it coming, heat surging beneath his skin, blood and energy roaring like a furnace forging a precious pill.

Five fingers clenched, catching the sword and slamming it onto the carriage, exhaling a heavy breath, not meeting the youth’s eyes.

With a snap of the reins, the red jujube horse reared and pulled the carriage forward, wheels crushing the severed head as they rolled, vanishing into the dark, silent night of Qingbo Street.

An Le watched the carriage depart, then turned and returned to the courtyard.

Once the carriage exited Qingbo Street, the coachman suddenly felt drained, collapsing atop the carriage, his eyes filled with deep fear.

Had he truly attempted to kill An Le, he would have been obliterated in an instant by a sword intent ever-present, poised at his throat. Only upon leaving Qingbo Street did the sword intent dissipate.

"That sword intent—was it Lady Hua of the Lin household? Only she could do such a thing... I never imagined Lady Hua would value this youth so highly..."

"The master was right, I must report back with care."

...

...

A chilly spring breeze sobered the drunk, cold and sharp.

On the ink-dark Qingbo Street, an elderly man in plain robes stood quietly with his bamboo staff, squinting as he watched the departing carriage.

"That coachman had some sense. Had he used his blood and inner pill to bully my young friend, the number of heads on the ground would have increased by one."

The old man’s long brows fluttered in the wind. Stroking his beard, he turned and walked slowly toward the distant, lantern-lit Ta Temple.

In the cold spring night breeze, the elder chuckled softly.

"After countless trials, still resilient—let the winds blow from every direction..."

"Young An wishes to reach such heights. Ah, the road ahead is long indeed."

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