Chapter Nine: The Blood-Soaked Field of Asura

Under cover of darkness, Lu Baichuan crept close to the study, hiding among the beams for two days before the man finally entered. He watched as the man toyed with the jade token for a long time, seemingly grasping its mysteries. But Lu Baichuan could not afford to wait any longer—this was his only chance, and he needed a single, decisive blow to avoid future calamity.

With the advantage of surprise, Lu Baichuan struck with thunderous force. The military governor, one of Wuzhou’s renowned experts, sensed something amiss and dodged hastily. Fortunately, Lu Baichuan’s attack was both swift and fierce; though he did not kill his target outright, his sword still found a vital spot. The deputy governor, sword lodged in his chest, knew he could not retaliate and collapsed, shouting for help.

Lu Baichuan stepped forward to finish the man and seized the jade token as well. The dying deputy governor, now understanding his assailant’s purpose, looked up with a flash of unwillingness and regret in his eyes before breathing his last.

Shouts and chaos erupted outside, but Lu Baichuan remained calm. Only when he saw his enemy draw his final breath did he finally relax. The assassination had been executed with ease, but escaping would be the true ordeal.

This estate housed two core formation cultivators, with dozens more at the fusion and foundation-building stages, not to mention the guards. Sword flight was impossible within the city, neutralizing much of his advantage. Even the fusion and foundation-stage fighters could surround and trap him. If the deputy governor’s soldiers arrived, escape would be impossible. But there was no time for hesitation—brandishing his immortal-grade sword, Lu Baichuan cut a bloody path outward.

Blades flashed, voices shouted, and screams of death filled the air. One core formation master led the defenders in pursuit, but Lu Baichuan, fearless and relentless, slew a dozen men, suffering wounds himself before drawing near the main gate.

He might have escaped then, but from the crowd burst a man crying, “Seize him! Don’t let him escape! He murdered my father—I’ll interrogate him to find out which family sent him!” The city’s garrison had long held grudges against the local aristocracy, but rarely did such conflicts result in casualties of the governor’s rank.

This was, in fact, one of the deputy governor’s sons. Lu Baichuan, having spent over two months in this residence, knew well the arrogant ways of the man’s offspring. He thought: if I do not kill him now, and he uncovers any clues, it will implicate the innocent. Thus, he doubled back, plunging into the crowd and personally slaying the son.

Once his blood was up, Lu Baichuan thought to eradicate the roots of trouble entirely. He charged into the rear quarters, intent on slaughtering the family. The household guards, in their panic, had focused on defending the main gate, hoping to delay until reinforcements arrived. No one had expected the intruder to turn on the inner courtyard, leaving it unguarded.

The rear quarters were filled with family members: aside from a few adult sons who practiced cultivation, the rest were women, children, and the elderly—utterly defenseless.

Lu Baichuan was not usually one to kill the weak; he was known for his compassion, never harming the defenseless. Even when he and Mei Daoqing had killed the elders of the Yellow Crane Sect in a secret realm, he had spared their wounded disciples. But today, to spare the Mei family from future retribution, he resolved to play the villain.

Entering the rear courtyard, he kicked open the first door, only to find a man already dead on the floor, body bound, his death gruesome beyond measure—abdomen split, entrails spilled, limbs shattered and scattered. Even with his experience, Lu Baichuan was stunned; never had he seen such torment inflicted upon a human being.

The core formation master pursuing him from behind saw the carnage and cried out in anguish for his brother.

Now it was clear why only one of the two core formation experts had appeared—the other had met a horrific end here. There was no time to ponder further, but the sight seemed to awaken a demonic fury within Lu Baichuan. Gritting his teeth, he went from room to room, seeking out the governor’s kin.

In a frenzy, he left no woman, child, or elder alive—cries and wails filled the air, severed limbs and bodies strewn everywhere. Nearly a hundred souls, guilty or innocent, perished; the rear quarters became a living hell, horrifying the guards who arrived too late.

Not until the massacre was complete did Lu Baichuan, as if possessed, fight his way out. The guards, seeing him mad with bloodlust and their masters slaughtered, dared not confront him further, allowing him to escape the estate.

But he soon encountered the garrison and, driven by sheer will to survive, managed to escape death, though grievously wounded.

As Lu Baichuan recounted his tale, Yang Cheng and his companion were left speechless, inwardly thankful that the man before them was now lucid and his berserk rage had passed. Otherwise, the consequences would have been unimaginable.

Though the man had killed countless times, Yang Cheng had always admired such bold heroes, men who lived and died by their code of vengeance and justice, never expecting to find himself so close to one. While the governor’s family was mostly innocent, perhaps this was retribution—do good and avoid evil, as the saying goes.

Seeing Lu Baichuan still weak, Yang Cheng urged him to rest and recover before making further plans. Lu Baichuan managed a bitter smile and shook his head. He had braved many dangers in the north and suffered countless wounds, but this time his injuries were too severe. In his madness, he had been struck by many masters—no ordinary elixir could heal him. Without precious medicinal pills, it would take a year or two to recover, if at all. He had not expected to survive and had already given his valuables to Su Yunxue. Aside from a skylark hidden in his spiritual awareness, he had nothing left to his name and no coins to buy medicine.

Early the next morning, the returning servants gathered at the residence. Daniu and seven others had brought helpers—men and women, fourteen in all—who stood expectantly before Yang Cheng. With no time to spare, he instructed them to help receive guests, serve tea, and assist in the kitchen for the morning; further arrangements would wait until afternoon.

Another lively morning passed. By midday, in addition to the twenty-five contracted partners from the Eastern District, thirteen more merchants had made reservations.

That afternoon, after arranging for Steward Yang to collect payments and assigning others to prepare for the next day’s event, Yang Cheng took Daniu and Maozi with him, moneybags in tow, to the busiest commercial district in the southern city, searching for a spiritual medicine shop. Unlike ordinary pharmacies, these establishments sold elixirs and miraculous pills—catering exclusively to cultivators, not common folk.

The southern city boasted many commercial districts, but the most prestigious were dominated by the city’s great clans and sects. The merchants Yang Cheng had recruited were mostly small tavern owners; the noble families rarely involved themselves in such lowly businesses. Those inns and teahouses offered little profit and required endless courtesy, which could sully a family’s reputation.

The great clans focused on the bustling districts, operating the most lucrative trades: spiritual medicine shops, weapon stores, auction houses, and exclusive venues for the elite. Major escort agencies and merchant guilds also established offices here to dispatch and receive high-profit commissions.

Yang Cheng had no time to browse; he entered the first shop he found, the Zhong Family Spiritual Medicine Shop, one of the city’s most respected. The manager glanced at the arriving young man, saw his cultivation was only at the Qi refinement stage, and his companions were mere mortals—obviously not scions of any great clan, perhaps not even a minor one. His enthusiasm vanished, and he waved for an assistant to attend them.

“May I help you, young master?” the assistant asked perfunctorily.

It was Yang Cheng’s first visit to a spiritual medicine shop, and the dazzling array of elixirs and pills on display left him momentarily astonished.