CHAPTER 29: MASTER WILL TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING

Wang Chen was still buried in the afterglow of the tower’s gifts — fingers tracing the rune of that transcendent blade-skill in his mind — when the air around the dojo changed. Not gradually, but like someone had pinched the world and held it: sound thinned, the smell of steam and old tea dulled, everything folding into a tight, eerie void.

His gaze snapped to the bodhi tree. Empty. No Lin Huang sprawled in meditation beneath the leaves. No Li Mei humming some anxious tune while sweeping. The small signs of life he’d grown used to were gone.

A cold, animal dread slid down his spine. Trouble. It tasted metallic in his mouth.

His mind raced—Blood Fang, Sharp Tooth, some cowardly thug who’d finally found a nerve. Before he could thread the possibilities together, a wet, sickening sound rang from outside, followed by an explosion that shook the courtyard and sent dust motes spinning like fleeing spirits.

Wang Chen moved before thought finished arguing with itself. He stepped outside and took in the scene in a single breath — and the breath that returned to him carried burning anger, like the spark hitting gasoline.

The outer wall of the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo gaped like cracked earth. Stone fragments lay scattered; a smear of dark crimson stained the threshold. Further down the street, a carriage with blood-red trim had been abandoned, men in tattered banners fleeing or collapsing in the mud. The air itself smelled of iron and urgency.

A dozen ragged silhouettes — Blood Fang men — were still milling about, but their brutality had an edge of too-late panic. One of them spat and spat again; another cursed as he hauled a limp body by the collar. Boots scuffed, metal clanked. The city beyond the immediate chaos looked hollow, as if the whole district had held its breath and then fled.

Wang Chen’s jaw were tightly until a tiny pop threatened his teeth. He understood with a calm that felt worse than panic: the second floor’s clock had been different than the first. Unliek before, the time outside the tower had not stopped.

His absence seemed to have put his disciples, his only hope to break the curse in danger.

Anger rose like lava. It was hot and sharp and immediate: his disciples—his only thread to a future—were being butchered by nameless vermin while he fiddled with godlike toys. He wanted nothing more than to tear the courtyard apart, to summon the Sword Saint avatar-strength, a godmade blade to cleave and burn until every last Blood Fang member was dust.

He felt that pull — a roaring, primordial itch — tempting and terrifying. Use the avatar. End it. Paint the street crimson, how dare these good for nothing bastrd, thinking about laying their hands on his precious disciples.

He swallowed the anger only with his sheer will. The avatar’s power was limited, a leverage he could not squander on a single gang’s cruelty. That strength was a ladder out of the cruel loop, the only sure way to pry free the chains the world had clamped on him across dozens of lives. Waste it now and what then?

So he breathed. A slow, slow inhale that tasted of old smoke and drying blood. The shock of the scene sharpened his mind instead of breaking it. He catalogued like a surgeon: exits, numbers, wounded, the angle of the carriage, the scent of a particular talisman that clung to the men — a Blood Fang ward, cheap and bitter. Not many could plant that signature without leaving more trace. Someone was amateur here; someone else was orchestrating.

Wang Chen flexed his fingers. The rune for Doomclock still burned faintly at the edge of his vision, a cold reminder that choices had costs and that some battles demanded patience rather than fury. He felt the old, predatory pleasure of the stalker — the knowledge that the prey could still be studied, baited, unmasked.

He had to buy time. He had to know. He had to keep his avatar whole for a fight that actually mattered.

....

Li Mei, who had already lost all hope, suddenly froze.

That voice just a moment ago—calm yet colder than winter steel—cut through the chaos like a divine decree. Her heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she thought she had imagined it. But when she turned, her eyes widened, tears welling up uncontrollably.

Wang Chen stood at the shattered entrance of the dojo. The faint breeze stirred his black robes, carrying an aura that made the air itself heavy. The stillness that followed was deafening; even the Blood Fang Gang members, who moments ago laughed like hyenas, now stiffened like statues.

"Master... You finally woke up." Her voice trembled, filled with disbelief and relief in equal measure. "Senior brother, he..."

The rest of her words broke into a sob. Her throat closed up, emotions choking her into silence.

Wang Chen’s gaze softened for the briefest moment as he looked at her. He had seen that expression countless times across centuries — the look of a disciple who had stared into despair and somehow still clung to hope. Without a word, he stepped closer and gently placed his hand on her trembling shoulder.

"Don’t worry, my little disciple," he said softly, each word carrying a quiet, unshakable confidence that seemed to pierce through the surrounding dread. "Now that your Master is here... everything will be fine."

The moment he spoke, the air itself seemed to shift.

Vice Head Zhang and the surrounding gang members instinctively tensed, their instincts screaming danger. None dared to make a move. Even those attempting to enter the dojo faltered mid-step, frozen under the crushing weight of Wang Chen’s spiritual pressure.

It wasn’t visible, yet it felt as though the heavens themselves were watching through his eyes.

"Go," Wang Chen said, still in that calm tone that left no room for refusal. "Take care of your senior brother. He needs you right now. Leave the rest to your Master."

Li Mei stared up at him, her lips trembling. There was something ancient in his gaze — something that carried the quiet confidence of one who had already seen the end of all things.

For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, her fear melted away. The crushing despair in her heart eased, replaced by a fragile, almost childlike sense of security.

She nodded silently. "Yes, Master."

Then she turned and ran toward Lin Huang’s broken form, her steps desperate yet filled with purpose. Each heartbeat echoed like thunder in her chest as she reached the bloodied man who had once stood as her protector.

Wang Chen watched her go, a faint sigh escaping his lips.

Thankfully, his hunch had been right — Li Mei’s regression must have left her with certain healing skills from her past life. If anyone could stabilize Lin Huang’s condition, it was her.

This situation was of a grim reminder of his situation, he needed a heling skill.

His eyes, however, darkened again as he turned back toward the intruders.

The temperature seemed to drop. Even the faintest whisper of wind vanished.

The Blood Fang Gang could not understand what kind of existence they had just provoked.