Fu Nanhua regained his composure and scanned his surroundings, leaving no rooftop or alley unchecked, detecting no anomalies. He took a deep, steady breath, neither advancing nor retreating. Instinctively, he reached for the ancestral jade pendant but grasped at emptiness. Hastily, he murmured a fragmented Taoist incantation—not a magical spell, but a technique to calm the mind and gather qi. If the mind were a small boat adrift on a lake, this incantation was its anchor.
He turned sideways, pressing his back against a wall, then stepped cautiously to the fork between two alleys. His muscles tensed, adopting a defensive stance, eyes locked unwaveringly on the narrow lane ahead. There, the straw-sandaled youth stood beside Cai Jinjian, whose body lay collapsed in a pool of blood. The boy's slight bow conveyed a subtle offensive posture, his gaze fixed intently on Fu Nanhua. It was a primal standoff—predator and prey, one seeking answers, the other survival.
The youth's sole target was clearly Cai Jinjian; his posture toward Fu Nanhua expressed a tacit truce: "If you don't provoke me, I won't provoke you." Fu Nanhua asked a superfluous question, "Did you kill her?" The boy remained silent, clutching the murder weapon—a jagged shard of porcelain, smaller than his palm but razor-sharp, partially exposing a bloodied fist. His hands dripped crimson, whether from Cai Jinjian's blood or the cut inflicted by the shard, staining the alley floor.
After confirming no others lurked nearby, Fu Nanhua felt a mixture of absurdity and relief. His gaze fell upon Cai Jinjian's delicate form—despite the grim scene, her innate beauty remained untouched. Her lithe figure breathed shallowly, her ample chest rising and falling faintly, deep red blood pouring relentlessly from her neck and mouth, life ebbing fast. Yet, her body, forged by relentless cultivation, endured suffering far beyond ordinary measure.
A faint, cruel smile touched Fu Nanhua's lips, though cold steel gleamed beneath. "Why kill her? You bear no grudge, no enmity. Is it merely a cruel jest in Mud Bottle Alley that drove you to murder? When did this town become lawless? Don't you know murder demands retribution—death for death, debt for debt—no matter where you go?"
The boy was mute, expressionless. Fu Nanhua disregarded his silence and stepped forward with resolute calm. He knew Cai Jinjian's fate was sealed. This was no celestial sanctuary like Yunxia Mountain, but a prison where magic was forbidden. Only a transcendent immortal or a golden-robed Arhat wielding immense power could contain her soul and resurrect her. Sadly, Cai Jinjian was far from such fortune. The saint overseeing this town bore grave duties and would never show favoritism, only uphold the natural order.
On the path of cultivation, untimely death by misfortune or in pursuit of a fleeting chance was common—not frequent, but far from rare. If immortality meant a smooth, hazard-free ascent, the carefree immortal beloved by commoners would hardly be worth reverence.
Fu Nanhua had prepared for a desperate struggle in this town, but witnessing a temporary ally fall so swiftly under this boy's hands—no dazzling talismans, no earth-shattering divine arts—was unprecedented. The young lord of Old Dragon City could scarcely believe it. If not for this town, for a lowly figure like the straw-sandaled youth, even a fleeting glimpse of Cai Jinjian of Yunxia Mountain would be an impossible dream.
His expression grave, Fu Nanhua said solemnly, "Though I failed to save Lady Cai and cannot exact vengeance, having witnessed your crime, I cannot stand idle. If news spreads, Old Dragon City's reputation will be tarnished. For justice and propriety, you must be taught a lesson. How Yunxia Mountain will respond, how Lady Cai's grievances will be addressed—that is your concern."
These grandiloquent words were meant for the saint's ears—a polite pretense to avoid offending higher powers. They might also serve the venerable masters of Yunxia Mountain; Fu Nanhua sought only to fulfill his duty honorably. Otherwise, harboring a deep-seated desire to eliminate Cai Jinjian, he would gladly thank the youth for inadvertently saving him a great deal of trouble—truly a fortunate ally.
As he advanced, Fu Nanhua remarked, "Judging by your lethal efficiency, your physical explosiveness surpasses that of most able-bodied youths—a rare trait. Had today's chaos not intervened, and given a chance to join the ranks of soldiers, with courage and luck, perhaps a seasoned general might have taken you under his wing, bestowed upon you a martial cultivation manual, and in decades you could have carved a new destiny."
As Fu Nanhua walked forward, the youth retreated slowly, facing the finely robed lord of Old Dragon City. Tall and elegant, Fu Nanhua moved with a natural noble grace. Extending a hand palm down near his waist, he smiled, "What a pity. Your fate is ill-starred; otherwise, according to my reckoning, you might have reached such heights... impossible now."
Amused by his own jest, Fu Nanhua's smile deepened. As he stepped forward, his foot hovered half a foot above the ground. "Apologies, I meant this high."
Since arriving in town, Fu Nanhua's fortunes had soared: a lucrative deal with Song Jixin of Mud Bottle Alley and the sudden death of Cai Jinjian, possibly the source of his cultivation obstruction. Not only did he remain untainted by bloodshed, but he also gained two bags of golden copper coins from her—and perhaps a secret treasure from Yunxia Mountain, surely not inferior to their famed relics. He doubted Cai Jinjian traveled without protective charms; he himself carried more than a mere deceptive Old Dragon silk pendant, including two exquisite artifacts, nearly priceless treasures of Old Dragon City.
Among unorthodox cultivators, a popular saying prevailed: "Collecting corpses for others brings blessings." Passing Cai Jinjian's body without a glance, Fu Nanhua instead felt the faint metallic tang of blood stir an inexplicable exhilaration within him.
Maintaining a distance of over ten paces, the two circled—Fu Nanhua needed only to ensure the youth remained trapped in the alley; capturing a local boy outside was like searching for a needle in a haystack. Moreover, the still-warm beauty's fate was a stark warning. Should he allow the youth even a moment to recover, a "surprise" might well fall upon him.
What seemed a cat-and-mouse game was actually Fu Nanhua adjusting his own rhythm. Since beginning cultivation at nine, he had never relied purely on close combat to determine victory. He had no intention of fighting the youth to the death—such a contest would cost more than it was worth. Along with Cai Jinjian, these were two golden opportunities. But he must ensure this unpredictable youth remained incapacitated for the foreseeable future, eliminating any chance of trouble.
Suddenly, Fu Nanhua smiled and asked, "By the way, what's your name?"
The boy, hands still dripping blood, answered irrelevantly, his dark face marked by a rustic toughness. "Neither you nor she truly understand—my eyesight is sharp. When she spoke to me in Mud Bottle Alley, the look in her eyes was exactly the same as when she looks at me now."
Fu Nanhua paused, genuinely impressed. Chuckling, he said, "Interesting. Very interesting indeed."
Though seemingly nonchalant, Fu Nanhua watched the boy's left hand closely; it continued to bleed, evidence that his grip and pain tolerance had not waned—ordinary men would have long succumbed to such agony. His earlier "pity" was more accurate than he realized.
Feeling the moment ripe, Fu Nanhua posed one final question: "You killed with such cold decisiveness—surely someone tipped you off. I'm not curious about their identity; what baffles me is how a child raised here could so swiftly cross that inner threshold and kill with such... equanimity. Do you understand? Even I, after my first kill, trembled uncontrollably once the initial thrill faded, reciting calming incantations for a long time. But you—calm as if eating or drinking—this is unnatural."
The boy's expression, previously impassive, suddenly twisted in terror, eyes fixed behind Fu Nanhua as if the fallen woman had come to life. Alert, Fu Nanhua turned sharply. Halfway through, his heart jolted. When his gaze returned forward—due to their height difference—the youth had vanished.
In a flash, the straw-sandaled boy exploded into motion—three swift strides, a sudden launch from his left foot, soaring high. His right foot landed on a wall beside the alley, propelling him in a swift pivot. He raised his left hand high toward the tall, robed lord.
The youth was like a sparrowhawk unleashed.