Chapter 80: Lai Qing Takes Action

Jiang Pingchuan formed hand seals, and in an instant, his cultivation surged to the very peak of the Foundation Establishment stage. All those around him were momentarily stunned; even at his strongest during the duel with Wu Duo, Jiang Pingchuan had never displayed such power. The man they had considered an easy prey now loomed before them as an insurmountable force, making it difficult for them to act.

In Jiang Pingchuan’s hands, two square seals entwined with dragon patterns became even more tangible than the ones he had revealed in the Nether Spirit Pavilion. Gritting his teeth, Ah Hu took a step toward Jiang Pingchuan, but the pressure radiating from him intensified abruptly as Ah Hu approached, forcing Ah Hu to cough up blood and halt.

“Wait!” Master Gong instinctively stepped back two paces and pulled Ah Hu behind him. Seeing this, the others also retreated with Master Gong. Yet Jiang Pingchuan, watching Master Gong’s retreat, did not let down his guard; instead, he became even more vigilant.

“Master Gong, you are no ordinary man,” Jiang Pingchuan said coldly, staring at Master Gong’s calm face.

“Pingchuan, as long as you explain what happened tonight, we won’t trouble you. You are still our honored guest at the Gong residence,” Master Gong replied, choosing to sidestep Jiang Pingchuan’s question.

“Tonight’s events have nothing to do with me. Believe it or not, I, Jiang Pingchuan, will not waste words on meaningless explanations.”

Jiang Pingchuan gave the square seal in his hand a slight shake, its dragon pattern humming, becoming more dazzling and seeming as if it might leap from the seal at any moment.

“So you refuse to speak further?” Master Gong’s fingers tightened around his prayer beads, anger flickering across his previously placid features.

“The Ink Mouse is dead, but it wasn’t by my hand. I saw the killer’s back. I’m not explaining myself, just telling you: whoever blocks my way tonight will go down to accompany the Ink Mouse.”

Jiang Pingchuan advanced toward Master Gong, seal in hand. Master Gong retreated step by step, always keeping a certain distance between them—perhaps, in his mind, a safe distance. Jiang Pingchuan gave the seal another shake. The dragon pattern roared, and nine golden dragons leapt from the seal, coiling above it. His white robe turned silver, gleaming blindingly in the dim night.

“How dare you, Jiang Pingchuan!”

A furious shout erupted from behind Master Gong. Without hesitation, Jiang Pingchuan hurled one of the seals, which roared as it crashed toward Master Gong and his entourage.

A tumult of dazzling true energy followed, mostly green—belonging to cultivators at the Qi Refinement stage—with a few blue streaks mixed in. Amid this chaotic battle of spells and energy, Jiang Pingchuan clearly saw a wave of golden true energy surging toward him. It was not pure gold, but streaked with other colors, evidently forced together by someone. He flung his second seal, purple true energy swirling around him as he lunged at Master Gong.

Among this group, Master Gong was the most dangerous in Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes. He charged through the crowd straight for him, when suddenly, another blast of powerful golden energy struck from behind. Jiang Pingchuan whirled around to intercept it, but a heavy blow landed on his back. His insides churned, blood welled up in his throat, and he barely managed to steady himself, running the Gale Formation to withstand the golden energy.

To his shock, a thread of purple true energy pierced the formation and invaded his body. Though it was the same type as his own energy, it came from a different source, and the two clashed violently. His own true energy quickly devoured and transformed the intruding strand, but in that brief moment, his Gale Formation was shattered by a dozen more attacks. Drained, Jiang Pingchuan lashed out at each cultivator in turn, his inner energy rapidly depleting. When he tried to deploy a multi-directional attack from the “Ten Thousand Methods,” he found his eighth Dao crystal blocking the technique’s circulation.

Worse still, the faint image of the eighth Dao crystal was absorbing his true energy to take physical form. Thus Jiang Pingchuan’s reserves dwindled to almost nothing. After landing a final palm strike on Ah Hu, he quickly retreated to the yizhuang’s entrance, leaning against the door as he faced the battered cultivators.

Most of them had been gravely wounded by his attacks. Yet, to his confusion, they stared at him with bloodshot eyes, oblivious to pain, like starving wolves eyeing their prey. Their garments were tattered, their bodies battered, some with broken necks hanging at grotesque angles, yet their faces showed no pain or distortion.

“Pingchuan, I wasn’t mistaken about you. You’re truly extraordinary.”

Master Gong stepped forward from the crowd, prayer beads in hand and a genial smile on his face. As Jiang Pingchuan looked into his eyes, a memory of Horseface from Sanjiang County flashed in his mind. Master Gong was no longer the unremarkable middle-aged man he appeared to be; his eyes, like Horseface’s, were one black and one white. He, too, was a yin-yang entity.

How had Jiang Pingchuan failed to notice? Even earlier, he hadn’t sensed anything unusual from Master Gong.

“You may have judged me correctly, Master Gong, but I misjudged you.”

Jiang Pingchuan coughed, clutching his chest, his voice heavy. He had indeed misread Master Gong, failing to recognize such a unique existence.

“Heh, Pingchuan, if you admit you killed the Ink Mouse now, I won’t make things difficult for you,” Master Gong’s eyes gleamed as he watched him. Jiang Pingchuan merely snorted in disdain.

“Ah, youth knows no fear,” Master Gong sighed, advancing with his prayer beads. Jiang Pingchuan could sense the formidable, shadowy aura emanating from him, mingled with another scent—one not his own. It was a fragrance tempered by time, much like that which lingered on Foxy Mei.

“Foxy Mei is yours, isn’t she?”

Jiang Pingchuan frowned at Master Gong’s ferocious visage, his voice grave. If Foxy Mei belonged to him, then she was likely in grave danger.

“A dying man has no need to know so much.”

Striding forward, Master Gong’s prayer beads burst with green light, manifesting a hideous human head that lunged at Jiang Pingchuan. His pupils dilated as he struggled to muster his art to defend himself, but the eighth Dao crystal continued to greedily siphon his remaining energy. Jiang Pingchuan cursed inwardly—how could his own Dao crystal betray him at such a moment, draining him dry even as his life was on the line? As Master Gong’s conjured head bore down, a brilliant golden light flashed.

For a heartbeat, everyone’s vision went white. When their sight returned, only the empty yizhuang gate remained—Jiang Pingchuan had vanished.

Master Gong snorted in fury, his gaze landing on the spot where Jiang Pingchuan had stood. There, a purple skull still glimmered faintly. Picking it up, Master Gong examined it, then burst into raucous laughter.

Meanwhile, Jiang Pingchuan, half-conscious, was whisked away by someone’s arm. They sped through the night until they reached a thatched hut, where they finally stopped. Jiang Pingchuan found the surroundings oddly familiar; he felt he had been here before. Even if he hadn’t, the scene had imprinted itself somewhere in his memory. Though it was night, the bright moonlight confirmed his suspicion—he had definitely seen this place before.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Jiang Pingchuan said, bowing deeply to his rescuer. Looking up, he saw a cheerful, smiling man—Lai Qing, the leader of the Beggars’ Guild in Eastern Continent City.

“No need to thank me. I saved you at someone else’s request,” Lai Qing said with a smile, waving him into the hut.

Jiang Pingchuan followed him inside and immediately noticed a painting hanging on the wall. He felt sure he had seen it somewhere before. Looking closer, his expression changed—the painting depicted a young man with an immortal air, holding a wooden sword and wearing a mischievous, unruly smile.

“So, you recognize the man in the painting?” Lai Qing asked softly, noticing Jiang Pingchuan’s transfixed gaze.

Jiang Pingchuan stared at the painting. The man within was both achingly familiar and utterly strange.