SS CH47

Chu Xiwei despised the rain, especially when he was all by himself.

At the moment, he was huddled inside a mountain cave. Outside, torrential rain curtained the sky, cloaking the entire mountain forest in a dense mist where nothing was clearly visible. A cold wind blew sprays of rain through the cave entrance. Hiding his figure behind a large boulder, Chu Xiwei struck a fire striker, barely illuminating this tiny patch of land and his pale, bloodless face.

Blood trickled down his right temple, staining nearly half of his face. Expressionless, Chu Xiwei wiped it away and wedged the bottom of the fire striker into a crevice in the rock. He then unbuttoned his robes, exposing his lean and muscular upper torso. Five gruesome finger holes were carved into the left side of his abdomen. The blood had already congealed around the wound, presenting a terrifying sight.

“The Asura Hand…”

The sharp glare in his eyes gradually settled, yet his movements remained calm. He tore off a piece of cloth to wipe the blood clean, then pulled out a pill, crushed it into powder, and applied it to the wound. Leaning his back against the stone wall, his breathing grew so faint it was barely audible, as if he were a dead man.

Parting ways with Ye Fusheng back then had been done out of a moment’s impulse, but it was also a necessity.

Chu Xiwei had not lived a good life over these past years. Holding a high position with the power of life and death was a status he had attained only in the last year or two; prior to that, he was still living a dangerous life on the razor’s edge.

Once you enter the Hundred Ghosts Sect, your life no longer belongs to the mortal realm. Countless people had their lives and moral character broken in this hellhole. When Chu Xiwei first entered the sect, he was merely a young boy. That he managed to survive until today was partly a stroke of luck, but mostly because he was ruthless enough to stake his own life.

The martial arts he cultivated originated from the Hundred Ghosts Sect’s supreme internal manual, the Qilu Jing (Book of Divergent Paths). It reflected the concept that “all divergent paths in the mortal world ultimately lead to the same destination.” Unrestricted by fixed techniques, it allowed the practitioner to absorb and assimilate an opponent’s internal energy. It was hailed as one of the three great martial arts secrets of the Jianghu, alongside the Taishang Palace’s Wuji Gong (Ultimate Supreme Skill) and the Burial Soul Palace’s Qianjie Gong (Skill of a Thousand Tribulations).

However, although the Qilu Jing was a discipline that sought common ground while preserving differences, its introductory method required the practitioner to thoroughly purge their qi and cast away all residual internal energy. In other words, anyone who wished to cultivate it had to cripple their original martial arts and start from scratch; otherwise, they would easily fall into qi deviation.

At that time, there were nine other candidates for the position of Sect Master learning the first volume of the Qilu Jing alongside him. They were all young, yet every one of them was ruthless enough to discard the old to acquire the new when facing such a supreme martial art. Chu Xiwei was the only one who refused.

He had begun learning martial arts at the age of eight. Though that person had an improper temperament, he had treated Chu Xiwei with genuine sincerity back then, imparting the Jinghong Technique without reservation. Even before the two turned against each other, he had clearly explained all the crucial points of the martial art to him, fearing he might make a mistake in his training.

Afterward, everything fell apart and underwent drastic changes. He went from a favored imperial descendant to possessing nothing at all. Having fallen into the Jianghu, apart from the martial arts he relied on for self-defense, nothing else belonged to him.

To him, the Jinghong Technique was like a floating log to a drowning man.

Chu Xiwei refused to destroy his Jinghong internal energy, nor was he willing to sit idly by and await death; he chose to attempt the impossible, knowing full well the risks involved.

The Qilu Jing was the most bizarre cultivation manual in the world. It possessed no fixed martial techniques, adapting according to changes and arising from the mind. Only by using such internal energy as the foundation of the dantian could one lay the groundwork for later assimilation; otherwise, the internal energies would easily clash. When Chu Xiwei first began cultivating it, he was tortured half to death by the two opposing streams of internal energies. Every meridian and bone in his body throbbed with excruciating pain. Had the former Sect Master not taken a shine to him and assisted him several times, the grass on his grave would probably be taller than him by now.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to cripple his martial arts or abandon the Qilu Jing. After enduring the pain until it became a habit, sweetness finally arrived after the bitterness, and he managed to grasp a subtle trick.

It was also fortunate that his fate had not yet run out. The Jinghong Technique was the exclusive mental technique of the Jinghong saber lineage, characterized by an unfettered, swift, and ingenious style that favored adaptability over rigidity. In that sense, it shared an uncanny resemblance to the Qilu Jing. Throwing caution to the wind, Chu Xiwei simply retained the similarities and cast aside the differences, forcibly merging the two types of internal energies into one. Not only did he stumble upon success, but the two arts also complemented each other, allowing his progress to outpace others by thirty percent.

The former Sect Master once remarked: “Stubborn mind, unyielding temper. If you survive this, you’ll be a rival to the King Yanluo who refuses to accept fate.”

Naturally, Chu Xiwei refused to accept his fate. Over the years, he had walked on thin ice over a deep abyss, never daring to slack off in the slightest. His path in martial arts was more perilous than walking a single plank over a cliff, but now he had finally achieved success.

However, hidden dangers remained hidden dangers. The early mistakes in his cultivation had left a root cause of trouble within his body. Once his emotions grew intense, the internal energy inside him would wreak havoc. Mild cases led to qi deviation, while severe cases resulted in harming himself and others, driving him mad until death.

Precisely because of this, the former Sect Master had gifted him the “Soul-Freezing Bead,” an old item bestowed by an acquaintance, which could forcibly calm his mind. Yet ever since he lost the Soul-Freezing Bead and reunited with Ye Fusheng, his moments of extreme joy and anger had become increasingly frequent. Shifting from calm waters to turbulent waves, the internal energy in his body seemed suspended by a single hair, at risk of collapsing into total destruction at any moment.

Having his abnormality seen through by Ye Fusheng in the forest, he had panicked and spoken without thinking. Coming to his senses later, he felt even deeper self-resentment. To prevent his emotions from running wild any further, Chu Xiwei chose to leave first. He did not enter the underground palace, but instead sought a quiet place to hide and regulate his breathing.

Yet just as he smoothed his breathing, he was startled by a loud noise. Realizing something had gone wrong in the underground palace, he rushed in, only to find no sign of Ye Fusheng.

Searching anxiously through the underground palace as chaos broke loose in the Jianghu, he finally heard a scream. The familiar voice belonged to that girl who had run away from home.

Chu Xiwei rushed toward the sound, only to find that besides Xiao Yangu and a bunch of lackeys, there was also an unfamiliar person dressed in white.

To save the girl, he took a direct hit from Xiao Yangu’s technique. After heavily injuring her, he seized the opportunity to carry the girl out of the underground palace. His qinggong was as fast as riding the wind, leaving the lackeys far behind. However, he hadn’t expected the white-robed man to still keep pace with them. Left with no choice, Chu Xiwei sent the two burdens away first and faced the man alone.

“To cultivate the Qilu Jing to such a realm at your age makes you a rare genius in this world,” the man said as he raised two fingers to block Chu Xiwei’s frontal palm strike, his voice coming from beneath his mask with the playful tone of a cat playing with a mouse. “Unfortunately, you are still too green.”

The white-robed man’s qinggong was even more uncanny than his own. After five exchanges, Chu Xiwei was forced to shift from offense to defense. However, the man closed in on him; one hand rushed toward his face like a phantom shadow, while the other hooked its fingers into a claw and thrust toward his dantian.

Chu Xiwei used the Qilu Jing to neutralize the force and employed the Jinghong Technique to retreat, narrowly dodging the fatal blow. The two fingers originally meant to gouge his eyes grazed across his face, scratching his forehead. Meanwhile, the hand aimed at his dantian missed its mark by a fraction of an inch, brushing through his flesh before being knocked away by him.

The moment they clashed, Chu Xiwei recognized the martial art the man was using. It was precisely the ruthless technique recorded in the Qianjie Gong—the Asura Hand!

The Asura Hand used fingers and palms as blades. It was indestructible, making piercing skin and snapping bones a simple matter. It was said that a hundred years ago, someone had used it to run amok in the Jianghu, killing an untold number of heroes before finally being brought to justice by the founder of the Taishang Palace. Though that demon died, the evil art survived and was obtained by the evil paths in the southwest, eventually becoming the primary technique cultivated by the Palace Master of Burial Soul Palace.

At this thought, Chu Xiwei dared not be arrogant. He fought with all his strength until he finally caught an opening to leverage the force and flee. Fortunately, the man had no intention of taking his life and did not pursue him relentlessly.

Chu Xiwei had not suffered a defeat in a long time, and this turn of events was deeply alarming.

He was injured, and the internal energy within his body had been stirred up by his wild emotional swings and the uncontrollable duel. Chu Xiwei could not rashly go to meet up with Ye Fusheng and the others. He planned to find a way to contact nearby sect members to tend to his injuries first. Unexpectedly, the heavens seemed fond of kicking a man when he was down; he was caught in a downpour midway through his journey. Left without options, he found this mountain cave to shelter from the rain and adjust his breathing.

Before he could rest for long, Chu Xiwei suddenly heard voices outside. Opening his eyes, his expression turned sharp. He immediately extinguished the fire striker, covered the bloodstains and shredded cloth on the ground with dirt, and silently shifted deeper into the cave. Like a pitch-black shadow merging into the darkness, he pressed against the wall’s blind spot and remained motionless.

A moment later, a group of people trickled into the cave. Cursing at the foul weather, they gathered in a circle to light a fire for warmth. Fortunately, the cave was deep; Chu Xiwei quietly retreated further back, hiding in a spot untouched by the firelight while observing them in secret.

Four men and one woman. The oldest had a head full of white hair, while the youngest female was still in her early teens.

They all carried bulging luggage and appeared to be travelers on a long journey who had just crossed paths. They spoke in various regional accents and discussed different matters. Listening casually, Chu Xiwei gathered that the old man was talking about the flood in Changning County two years ago, where officials had lined their own pockets and treated refugees like dogs. Now that public indignation had been ignited, some had fled their homes, while others raised makeshift banners to rebel. The tall man and the thin man were likely brothers; while chewing on mantou, they spoke of the severe drought in the south, where many resorted to exchanging children for food and dead bodies littered the roads. The young girl lamented the battle at Jinghan Pass two months ago, where many men from her hometown had died, leaving the women either to degrade themselves into servants following traveling merchants, or to stay in the village doing their best to survive day by day…

It sounded like a group of refugees gathering to compare their miseries. Chu Xiwei let it go in one ear and out the other, but his gaze landed on the plump man who had remained silent.

The man looked to be in his nineties, dressed in a brocade hat and mink coat that made him look completely out of place with the other four. His face was as large as a flatbread, the fat seemingly spilling out from under his skin. With thick eyebrows, large eyes, and a Maitreya-like smile, he possessed the amiable demeanor of a wealthy merchant.

He slowly chewed on a mantou, swallowing his grievances down along with the bread like a side dish. Waiting until the other four turned to look at him, he finally said, “Finished?”

The old man coughed softly. The fat man patted off the mantou crumbs on his hands and said, “Since you’ve finished speaking, it’s my turn.”

Pausing for a moment, he first cast a glance toward the interior of the cave. Chu Xiwei keenly drew back his presence, and when the man found no anomaly, he turned back. His gaze swept across the four faces one by one as he spoke word by word, “Ruan Feiyu has left his seclusion. Are you… afraid to die?”

Upon hearing the name “Ruan Feiyu,” Chu Xiwei’s brows furrowed. The four individuals fell silent, their breathing suddenly becoming heavy as if suppressing a violent storm.

“Fear that old dog?!” The tall man suddenly gritted his teeth and spoke up, his eyes flashing like lightning. “That old villain living for so many years is already proof that the heavens are blind! If he hadn’t acted like a hiding turtle, I would have cut off his head long ago to appease my ancestors!”

The old man also spoke: “Earlier I wondered why you suddenly sent a secret letter to gather us… So it was for this matter… However, Boss He, Ruan Shen’s whereabouts are a mystery, and he certainly has Lueying guards and his own lapdogs protecting him. To make a move on him? It will be difficult.”

Before his words could finish, the thin man sneered: “Old Zhang, are you getting more afraid of death as you age? If you don’t dare, go home and raise your grandchildren. There’s no need to stay here.”

“Do not speak like that!” The fat man called “Boss He” scolded lightly. His voice was not loud and his tone was not heavy—he even maintained his smiling expression—yet no one dared to act out of line.

The girl hesitated for a moment, reached out to tug at Boss He’s sleeve, and asked, “Master, is the news reliable?”

“It’s news probed from the capital, and the informants I sent out returned with consistent reports. Moreover…” Boss He patted her hair, “That person also left a secret message. It’s correct.”

Hearing this, the three men’s breathing grew even heavier. The thin man asked impatiently, “Time, location?”

“In three days, at Mount Anxi.”

Chu Xiwei narrowed his eyes. The moment the words “Mount Anxi” were uttered, the eyes of the remaining four—excluding the young girl—turned blood-red. The old man said hatefully, “Serves him right! Retribution! Dying at Mount Anxi is the best outcome for him!”

Boss He looked at each of them and said slowly, “If we do not succeed this time, we will never have another chance in this lifetime to kill this traitorous villain. If news leaks out, it will involve many others. Have you all truly made up your minds?”

“What is there to fear?” The tall man’s eyes were blood-red, his voice raspy. “As long as that old villain doesn’t die, I won’t close my eyes even in death!”

They ceased talking. Boss He spread out a sheepskin map and gathered with the other three men to trace it with their fingers. The young girl pulled out a pipa from her bundle, sat on a rock, and began to play and sing. Her voice was not mellow, nor was her skill with the pipa particularly refined, making it sound somewhat unpleasant, like a funeral dirge:

“A hundred li of green mountains bury desolate bones,

A generation of new graves replaces the old.

The frost is cold, the lingering candle unmourned,

Yellow flowers carpet the earth, obscuring the path.

The grave grass grows lush and green,

The deep pool glimmers crystal clear.

Where have the eternal heroes gone today?

Alas! The mountains and rivers are built of piled bones!

Facing the dusk, the setting sun shines red upon the evening sky…”