In the heart of the tiger's den, Jiang Biehe, face masked in black cloth, clutched his head in agony. Embedded in his skull was Li Chaofeng's Five-Insect Dagger.
The short blade had plunged all the way to the hilt, buried deep in his cranium. Though it had only grazed the brain, Jiang Biehe knew—this kind of wound, not even a god could save.
He was still alive now only because the dagger hadn't been pulled out yet.
As for how Li Chaofeng had managed to stab that blade into his head in the first place—truth be told, Jiang Biehe still didn't understand.
When he'd entered the cave, he'd immediately spotted a tiger carcass lying on the ground, oddly lifelike, as though it might spring to its feet at any moment. The sight gave him pause.
But just a glance told him the tiger was long dead. A dark blue dagger—one he recognized all too well—was lodged in the beast's forehead.
It was that very dagger he feared most—Li Chaofeng's Five-Insect Dagger—brazenly planted in the tiger's skull.
Li Chaofeng, the boy, hadn't even bothered to retrieve it. He'd simply padded the ground with his outer robe and was now sleeping soundly on a dry patch of earth not far from the tiger corpse.
Perhaps it was the heat, but the boy was dressed so lightly that the outline of his muscles was faintly visible through the thin fabric.
Jiang Biehe was dumbfounded. He had never imagined he'd one day be so wary of someone so foolish that he'd only dare strike under the cover of night.
But once he confirmed that Li Chaofeng couldn't possibly be hiding a weapon on him, all fear left Jiang's heart. He accelerated, no longer concerned about waking the boy.
A powerless, ordinary youth—no inner energy, no true martial strength—unless he was holding a divine weapon, he couldn't possibly harm a first-class martial expert like Jiang Biehe.
True qi was far more effective than tough skin.
As Jiang Biehe approached at speed, Li Chaofeng woke from his slumber. Groggily opening his eyes, he saw a masked man charging toward him. The young man's face was full of panic, his expression raw and innocent.
Perhaps it was fear—or perhaps just sheer stupidity—but the boy actually reached out with both hands to try and grab a first-rate expert's wrist.
Jiang Biehe almost laughed aloud. True qi wasn't just for defense—it could strike directly at an enemy's internal organs.
This boy had no qi at all, yet he wanted to neutralize his enemy's moves by grabbing his wrist like some back-alley brawler?
Did he think fighting on the jianghu was the same as a street fight?
Hold your opponent's hands and they can't hurt you? Absurd.
Jiang Biehe didn't even bother to dodge. He thought he had already won. In fact, more than simply killing this boy, he preferred to hear the dying screams of his prey.
The moment Li Chaofeng gripped his wrists, Jiang knew the boy had no more hands left to fight with.
When the youth tried to pull him close for a headbutt, like some crude street brawl tactic, Jiang Biehe nearly burst out laughing. He enveloped his forehead in protective qi, ready to see which would prove tougher: the boy's skull or his own inner strength.
Then a short blade pierced through his skull—eerily similar to the one buried in the tiger's head.
Except this one missed the exact center, skewed just slightly—perhaps because Jiang had moved fast enough to avoid a direct strike.
He should have died instantly.
Jiang Biehe collapsed backward onto the tiger carcass, his mind spinning. Two phrases echoed relentlessly in his head:
"I'm dead for sure!"
"What a sharp blade!"
The dagger had sunk into his skull like a knife through tofu—silent, effortless.
Clutching the hilt tightly, Jiang's eyes welled with tears, but he dared not move his head—not even a twitch. He knew that if the blade shifted even slightly, he'd be dead. Utterly, irrevocably dead.
Though he struggled with all his might, at best he might cling to life for just a few more minutes. Still—he didn't want to die.
Li Chaofeng looked at him—Jiang frozen, gripping the blade embedded in his skull, too afraid to move. At last, the young man let out a breath of relief.
He'd finally done it. The bastard was as good as dead.
Rubbing his own forehead, Li Chaofeng finally understood something about true qi defense.
No wonder martial artists found it so easy to kill ordinary people—true qi was like wearing armor.
He walked forward and crouched beside Jiang Biehe.
With a gentle motion, Li Chaofeng placed his fingers on Jiang's eyelids, brushing away the tears. He looked into the man's eyes—saw the terror, the confusion—and his own smile deepened.
"Never thought someone like you could be afraid of death, huh?"
Everyone fears death—especially selfish cowards like Jiang Biehe.
To him, the deaths of others had always been irrelevant—sometimes even a source of amusement.
Now, Jiang Biehe wanted to beg for mercy. But even that would be useless. Nothing could save him now. His death was already a certainty.
Even if Li Chaofeng could somehow drag him back to the modern world, an injury like this—dagger fully embedded through the skull—would require an impossibly risky operation.
This wasn't just a blade nicking the skull and getting stuck. This one had gone all the way through. If Jiang Biehe were to turn his head, Li Chaofeng could probably see the tip of the dagger poking out the back.
That was the Five-Insect Dagger for you—unimaginably sharp.
As for how Li Chaofeng had retrieved the Five-Insect Dagger from the tiger's skull—naturally, it was because he was the weapon's master.
No matter the distance, as long as he willed it, the Five-Insect Dagger would return to him.
After Li Chaofeng brushed the tears from Jiang Biehe's face, some time passed. Jiang began to feel as if the dagger lodged in his skull had been stabilized by his own sweat. Regaining a bit of clarity, he looked up—only to see Li Chaofeng watching him with a half-smile, amusement flickering in his eyes.
He hadn't heard a word of whatever Li Chaofeng had just said.
But Jiang Biehe understood one thing clearly: how much longer he lived—whether it was mere moments, a few hours, or even a bizarre future where he went on living with a dagger in his skull—depended entirely on Li Chaofeng's whim.
So he quickly calmed his fear of death, kept one hand clamped tightly over his forehead, and used the other to pull down the black veil covering his face. Without asking what kind of martial technique Li Chaofeng had just used, he spoke in a tone of sincere inquiry.
"Brother Li, may I ask—when did you realize I was following you?"
"Take a guess," Li Chaofeng replied, offering no real answer.
Instead, he looked Jiang Biehe over from head to toe, then shook his head and sighed in disappointment.
This guy didn't seem to have much on him. At most, a few banknotes.
Hearing the sigh, Jiang Biehe's heart clenched in dread—but he still forced himself to press on, voice filled with desperate courtesy.
"If there's anything Brother Li desires, just say the word. Even if I must brave fire and water, I, Jiang, won't hesitate."
Li Chaofeng's expression twitched, then he chuckled—mockingly.
"A dead man braving fire and water?"
Jiang Biehe chuckled too, explaining:
"Brother Li may not know—having a blade in the head doesn't necessarily mean certain death. So long as it stays fixed in place, one could survive for quite some time. Of course, I wouldn't be able to walk the martial world again."
Li Chaofeng hadn't expected Jiang Biehe's will to live to be quite so strong. His smirk deepened with ridicule, though he was intrigued enough to continue the conversation.
"We'll talk about the future... in the future."
"But if you want to stay alive, you'll be walking away with my treasured blade. I don't know if you'd really jump into fire for me, but I do know this—if I let you live, I'm saying goodbye to a precious weapon."
He shook his head again, gaze fixed on Jiang Biehe's hesitant expression, then extended his palm.
"So... if you want to walk out of here with my dagger—what are you offering me in return?"
"I have silver..." Jiang Biehe began, only to be cut off instantly.
"You die, it's all mine anyway."
"I also own property deeds, some land—"
Li Chaofeng sneered. "Someone willing to brave fire and water for me... shouldn't those deeds already belong to me? Don't you agree, Master Jiang?"
"But if I die..." Jiang tried once more, but seeing the growing coldness in Li Chaofeng's eyes, he fell silent. He clutched his head, frustration and helplessness plain on his face.
"Then what does Brother Li want? Please—speak plainly."
Li Chaofeng broke into a bright smile at that, and casually held out his hand again.
"Why, of course—your martial arts manual, the one in that clever little brain of yours."