"Buzz."

The soul banner trembled. Wen Yue opened it, only to see two words appear on the surface of the banner.

"It’s done."

Should one say that fools have their own kind of luck, or that the Ghost Hand simply couldn't affect Sanhu's will? Even its baleful aura was suppressed by the vastness of his vital energy and blood.

Perhaps it was due to his already low intelligence and introverted nature, or maybe because there were few martial artists in his family, but Sanhu, knowing full well the strength he possessed, had always been extremely cautious in wielding it.

Even after drawing in evil energy, the Ghost Hand’s power never manifested.

Xue Yi, who had been watching from the side, remained dumbfounded. It wasn’t that he looked down on Sanhu but that a clearly dim-witted man had managed to fuse with the Ghost Hands.

Yet he, a sound-minded adult, had been kept at the threshold.

Anyone would find this hard to swallow. Wasn’t this just proof that he was worse than a simpleton?

A surge of dejection rose, and he felt the cruel fickleness of fate.

Cradling his long blade, Xue Yi looked down at it, then looked up at the grinning, foolish Sanhu, and let out a long sigh.

“Ai, what kind of damned thing is this?”

“Had I known, I wouldn’t have come.”

Wen Yue consoled him: “Master Xue, don’t lose heart. At your age, you still have hope of breaking through to the Innate realm.”

Xue Yi only gave a bitter smile. His vital energy and blood were indeed at their peak now, but a few years from now, when that vigor began to wane, his chances of breaking through might be even slimmer than they were now.

Wen Yue had no good solution either. The Yin Soul Pill could indeed increase a martial artist’s internal energy reserves, but it couldn’t repair the physical body.

His own breakthrough had relied on the soul banner.

Using it as a medium, he had completed the Great Cycle and external circulation.

Old Xiang had similarly used the soul banner to complete that same circulation, thus advancing into a Qi Cultivator.

But now, the soul banner could only be activated by his own spiritual power. Other people’s internal energy was of no use.

At this point, Wen Yue wasn’t sure whether he should tell Master Xue the truth.

There was no need to ask, he already knew that martial artists harbored an obsession with the Innate realm.

If he told him that using Yin Soul Pills could push him to perfection, Xue Yi would certainly attempt a breakthrough, no matter how low the chances of success.

But now, Wen Yue had also discovered a flaw in Xue Yi’s state of mind. What hope would there be then?

To be honest, Wen Yue also harbored a selfish concern, he feared that Xue Yi would die in the attempt.

Within the soul banner, Tu Shanjun observed all this.

And yet, why hadn’t he directly told Wen Yue to use the Yin Soul Pills to help Xue Yi?

Not just Xue Yi but others among the guards, or even Chu Jiu.

Firstly, second-rate martial artists who consumed Yin Soul Pills had a high chance of succumbing to the invading baleful aura and freezing to death. Only those with exceptionally tenacious wills could survive it.

Did they truly believe that the pills used by Qi Refining cultivators could be consumed freely by mortals?

Li Qingfeng had taken Yin Soul Pills in large quantities and ended up neither man nor ghost, how could ordinary people withstand them?

Secondly, the basic resources were severely lacking.

The soul banner, a superior-grade magical tool, could only passively absorb ambient baleful energy to condense one Yin Soul Pill per day.

With Wen Yue’s talent, even if he cultivated slowly by himself, it would take at least three years to reach the fifth layer of Qi Cultivation. Perhaps even longer. After all, he had reversed to innate to become a Qi Cultivator, and his spiritual root was inferior even to five-element roots.

If he consumed Yin Soul Pills, however, this time could be drastically shortened.

If those resources were handed out to others, it might end with no Innate grandmaster being trained at all and his own cultivation would be delayed.

In Tu Shanjun's opinion, using the Yin Soul Pills was inferior to applying the Nightmare Pattern Spirit-Affixing Technique¹. This method could rapidly increase strength and conserve resources, a far superior choice.

Whether one could endure the Nightmare Pattern’s corrosion would depend entirely on the recipient.

As for the Demon Ape Focus Fist, aside from the banner’s master, Tu Shanjun would not teach it to anyone else.

The more he practiced this visualized technique of using fists to enter the Dao, the more he realized its immense power.

If it ever spread, others would surely covet it.

When that time came, even he would be drawn into the whirlpool and then he would truly lose all control.

He could not bring himself to be so magnanimous, trading his own safety for the meager rise in strength of a few others.

So when Wen Yue had asked him why he wouldn’t pass down the Demon Ape Focus Fist, it wasn’t only because of Xue Yi’s flawed mindset, but also because Tu Shanjun had his own considerations. He didn’t want to see this powerful visualized fist technique disseminated.

The group returned to the marquis' estate in the ox-cart.

All that remained was to wait for the autumn harvest to end.

At month’s end, the army would gather and march.

This month alone, the beacon towers had already lit their smoke signals twice.

According to the war dispatches from the front lines, the area north of Tong Pass had been completely lost.

Seven small outer cities had fallen.

Were it not for the natural barrier that made Tong Pass easy to defend and hard to attack, the Northern Wei’s advancing speed might have already breached it as well.

The situation at the border grew increasingly tense.

Fifty thousand troops were about to mobilize.

In Liang City, aside from brief shadows when war reports arrived, life remained largely unchanged.

Riverboats still plied the inner waterways. The night markets blazed with lanterns.

For the nobles and dignitaries, life had not changed at all.

At the southern office of the Liang City Embroidered Guard,

Xiao Wu was being helped up by a group of his brothers.

Their days were growing harder and harder. The newly appointed baihu commander had brought in his own retinue, and they, the veterans, had been pushed to the margins.

Any minor mistake would lead to a harsh reprimand, sometimes a dozen or even twenty lashes.

Whether one had protection from higher-ups was now painfully obvious.

“Brother Tietou, I miss the boss…”

Xiao Wu wiped his tears, his voice choked with emotion.

Only fifteen brothers remained by their side.

Two more had perished while carrying out tasks outside. The death benefits paid were only thirty percent of what they were due.

The brothers had little money among them. They scraped together a bit of silver, but it was far from enough.

If they tried to argue for more, they would be accused of insubordination and beaten on the spot.

Hearing Xiao Wu speak, all their expressions turned heavy and mournful.

When Commander Xiang Hu had protected them, they always received their rightful rewards. The bereaved were compensated fairly. And with a second-rate martial artist in the Bone Tempering Realm among them, no one dared bully them.

Now they were like orphans taken in by a stepfamily, no one to cry to even when they were wronged.

The Embroidered Guard inspired fear, but they could not even guarantee their own lives. They could die at any moment, and when they did, their families might not even be able to claim funeral money.

“Brother Tietou, my family helped arrange a new job. I’m planning to resign.”

Tietou stared at the brother who spoke. “You want to leave?”

“Brother Tietou, we really can’t take it anymore.”

“Boss Xiang is dead. Brother Shuzhu has left. Of the more than a hundred brothers we once had, only fifteen remain.”

“I’m truly afraid.”

“I’m afraid I won’t die chasing criminals, but at the hands of our own people.”

“I’m afraid I’ll be the next one.”

Tietou looked at the remaining brothers. All of them wore sorrowful expressions.

They knew better than anyone what the Imperial Prison was like, where even the dead had to speak.

And now, their immediate superior was clearly set on eliminating them.

Tietou stayed silent for a while. He had, in fact, already been pondering their way out.

But after much thought, the original path still seemed the most reliable.

If they didn’t want to drift into oblivion and die without purpose, they needed to find another way to live.

“Brothers, the heir’s leg has healed. We can pledge ourselves to him.”

“But… will the heir still accept us?”

San Gou’s eyes lit up, but then dimmed again. He muttered uncertainly.

Old Xiang had killed the Jing’an Marquis’s second branch household.

It was already a blessing that they hadn’t been implicated. If they tried to throw themselves under the heir’s banner now, wouldn’t that just reopen old wounds?

“Everyone here knows the heir’s character.”

“So, are you willing to shed this skin?”

“Of course we are!”

Everyone responded in unison.

Tietou looked at them one by one, these were brothers who had fought life and death together for years.

They were people worth trusting.

He spoke in a low voice: “Good. Then let’s go find a gift worthy of presenting.”

“Come with me.”

(Chapter End)

¹Nightmare Pattern Spirit-Affixing Technique, first seen in c57.