The setting sun blazed brilliantly,

casting a bloody crimson over Feng Family Village.

Though called a village, it was a massive fortified stronghold.

Walls over twenty feet high, rammed with yellow earth mixed with glutinous rice,

lofty watchtowers and stern gatehouses interspersed, backed by orderly rows of homes and storehouses.

Before full dark, torches ignited on the wall’s platforms,

adding a touch of grim austerity.

Only with such ironclad defenses could Feng Family Village endure in this perilous land for over a century.

Now, in a dimly lit secret chamber atop a tall building in the inner fortress.

A gaunt, paper-pale old man sat in a wheelchair, gazing quietly at the distant mountains’ twilight through a small window.

The rest of the chamber was draped in black cloth, not a sliver of sunlight leaking in—this elder had suffered a grave illness years ago, leaving him fearful of light and intolerant of dust.

Even last year, when apologizing at Forty-Nine City’s Grand Marshal’s Mansion for his precious granddaughter, he traveled only by night and returned the next.

“A-Fu… is Min’er settled?”

“Replying to the lord, the young miss is in the inner fortress. I’ve arranged maids to attend her day and night—she shouldn’t cause trouble and sneak out this time.”

“This child has been spoiled by me.” The elder chuckled hoarsely, then suddenly asked, “That Li Xiang on the train today—what do you make of him, A-Fu?”

Feng Fu paused, subconsciously touching the fresh shallow scar on his neck, and smiled bitterly. “This lord has fine skills.”

“Coming from Baolin Martial Hall, how could he be mediocre? I mean the man himself.” The wheelchair-bound elder withdrew his gaze, lightly tapping the rattan armrest.

“From today’s display, he’s arrogant and overbearing, but measured in his actions—not like he intends enmity with our Feng Family.” Feng Fu chose his words carefully.

“But… the young miss seems quite enraged with him. I hear she’s already sent people to dig into his background.”

Hearing of the Feng miss, the wheelchair elder frowned.

“Assign more men—don’t let Min’er cause trouble. He’s a Baolin Martial Hall disciple, after all. If things escalate, it’ll be hard to clean up. Last time with the Grand Marshal’s Mansion, I lost all face.”

Feng Fu agreed solemnly.

“At his age, reaching Ninth Grade—his future in martial arts is limitless. No need for our Feng Family to offend him.”

The elder in the wheelchair said softly, “But… A-Fu, if he’s just arrogant, why insist on staying outside the village? Isn’t Nanyuan more comfortable?”

“Moreover, for training, the outskirts of Little Blue Garment Ridge are ideal.”

Feng Fu blinked, venturing cautiously, “Perhaps… he’s pretending today to lull us?”

“Hmph,” the elder snorted. “If so, it’s likely for that missing persons case.”

“Baolin Martial Hall is amusing… just an outer disciple vanishing outside our village, and they won’t let it go.”

Feng Fu’s heart chilled; he smiled placatingly. “Lord, perhaps our Feng Family’s recent closeness with Revival Martial Hall has irked Baolin—it’s natural.”

“Ridiculous… using intimidation on me?” The elder scoffed.

“A-Fu, have Wen’er visit the boy. Sound him out.”

Feng Fu bowed in assent.

Half an hour later, Feng Fu returned.

“Lord, Young Master Wen took two hundred silver dollars—the boy threw them out.”

Another half-hour passed.

“Lord, Young Master Wen took five hundred silver dollars. The boy accepted but didn’t let him in.”

Finally, an hour later—only black night remained on the horizon.

Feng Fu returned sweating profusely, but with a hint of joy:

“Lord, Young Master Wen brought Ninth Grade demon beast meat this time. The boy accepted and spoke with him for the time of one incense stick.”

“In the end… the boy personally saw Young Master Wen out.”

Hearing this, the elder who ruled Feng Family Village from the shadows in his wheelchair curled his lips in faint contempt:

“I thought a deep schemer had come. Turns out he’s just a brute. No wonder Baolin Martial Hall has declined these years—full of such trash.”

“Since he likes demon beast meat, send fifty jin weekly.”

Feng Fu smiled in agreement.

Suddenly, the elder’s fingers paused. “Besides that, have men watch the residence. If any Feng Family members enter or leave, find out exactly what they said to the boy.”

Feng Fu’s heart jolted; he nodded gravely.

—

Outside Feng Family Village, a spacious courtyard.

This place was in the outer village, far from the inner fortress. Though still Feng territory, by Great Shun borders, it fell under Clear Gang’s Nanyuan.

Baolin Martial Hall disciples training here usually preferred it.

First, convenient travel—half a day to Nanyuan station.

Second, close to Little Blue Garment Ridge, easy for hunting demon beasts.

Now, Clear Gang’s Nanyuan Master Liu Futang wore a fawning smile—lord of a region and a Ninth Grade perfection martial artist, yet this middle-aged man’s grin showed caution and deference.

Jianghu wasn’t just fighting; it was about favors and connections—but it all rested on who could kill whom.

Baolin Martial Hall’s fist was bigger than Clear Gang’s.

By heaven’s “three martial chasms,” this lord was only Ninth Grade entry now, but his future would surpass Liu Futang’s.

Thus, a local master fawning over an outer disciple was only proper.

By the roaring bonfire, Xiangzi slathered fresh demon beast meat with cumin and chili, rigging a spit with wooden sticks and roasting slowly.

“Master Xiang is truly skilled… following you today, this Liu Futang has been blessed with good food. I must visit more often.”

Liu Futang smiled obsequiously, pulling a small gold-thread pouch from his robes. “I’m just a poor wretch, unlike that Feng Family’s Second Master Wen.”

“A small token—please accept, Master Xiang.”

Xiangzi took it, shook it, peeked inside, and grinned wider. “Oh, a demon beast bone? Looks Ninth Grade?”

“A trifle, a trifle… as long as Master Xiang likes it.”

Xiangzi tucked it away smilingly. “Young Master Qi and I are like brothers. A local master here, Master Liu, no need to be so formal. No more next time—no more next month.”

Liu Futang’s mouth twitched—he heard it: this lord wanted one demon beast bone monthly!

Heavens… past martial hall disciples weren’t this greedy, were they?

“Come, Master Liu, try. Freshly grilled ribs—the flavor’s best hot.”

“Ah, thank you, Master Xiang—aiyo, your skill is truly extraordinary!”

Liu Futang eyed the charred ribs, forcing a smile.

Tasteless as wax.

—

“Master Xiang, stay… stay. You’ve traveled far—rest early.”

“Nonsense. Thanks to Master Liu’s hospitality, how could I not see you off a bit?”

Xiangzi smiled, but his feet rooted like they’d grown there, refusing to step out.

Liu Futang’s mouth twitched again.

“Master Xiang, I’ll go then… left a few men for you. If they’re not to your liking, tell me.”

“Oh, no trouble— Master Liu is too kind. I’m used to rough living; these few are enough. Oh, but for grooming and such, best send a maid—otherwise it’s a hassle.”

Liu Futang stumbled, then laughed quickly. “Easy, easy—tomorrow I’ll send one.”

Xiangzi waved smilingly.

Turning away, Liu Futang’s eyes flashed faint disdain—what martial hall genius? Just a money-grubbing lecher.

No wonder Baolin Martial Hall declined—shameless disciples like this, still talking martial advancement?

Entering Ninth Grade and comprehending Bright Force?

Heavens are blind!

—

The instant Xiangzi turned,

his smile vanished.

Eyeing the Clear Gang lackeys before him, Xiangzi frowned and waved. “All of you, scram—don’t enter my courtyard.”

“Hurry and store this demon beast meat properly. If even half is missing, I’ll skin you.”

“Clear Gang can’t even handle things right—sending rough brutes.”

Muttering, Xiangzi strolled inside, hands behind his back.

The lackeys exchanged glances—this Ninth Grade lord had a temper?

They hurried to the fire.

—

Inside the courtyard,

once the lackeys cautiously brought the demon beast meat, Xiangzi only rubbed his brow and dismissed them.

Candlelight flickered; a long while passed.

Xiangzi rose, secured doors and windows, then said wearily, “Come out.”

A dusty, freshly wounded skinny youth emerged from the shadows.

“You’re hurt?”

“No matter—just some thugs. I didn’t dare show my skills… took two cuts, nothing serious.”

By candlelight, the youth looked up—a fair face.

Little Ma.

Perhaps from recent hardships, Little Ma was visibly thinner, cheeks sunken.

But now, he showed no fatigue—eyes bright with spirit.

“How did you sneak into Feng Family Village?”

“Easy. The inner village is heavily guarded, but the outer has little defense.”

“Blend with the refugees… Feng Family’s recruiting to haul demon beast meat from Little Blue Garment Ridge.”

Xiangzi frowned: using ordinary folk to transport demon beast meat? The Feng Family was ruthless.

Little Blue Garment Ridge had untapped veins; sturdy commoners could withstand mineral dust briefly, but prolonged exposure clouded the mind, turning them beast-like.

Why not use their own martial artists?

“Eat first… talk while eating.” Xiangzi pointed to the large platter of demon beast meat. “Not too much—this is entry-grade meat. You’ve just passed the Blood Energy Barrier; overeating will burst your blood energy—loss outweighs gain.”

Little Ma’s eyes lit up. His gaunt hand grabbed a rib.

The still-warm meat slid down, and a mysterious energy rose from his dantian’s blood energy.

His first time eating demon beast meat—he hadn’t expected entry-grade beasts to have such effects.

This… is how people should live.

—

Heat flashed in Little Ma’s eyes. With his cleaner hand, he pulled a crumpled note from his robes.

“Master Xiang… as you ordered, these days I’ve inquired about martial artists missing near Feng Family Village in the past half-year—over a dozen.”

“Those with names are here.”

Pausing, Little Ma grew solemn:

“Something’s off with Feng Family Village. None of the missing appeared in the outer village.”

“Logically, martial artists entering Little Blue Garment Ridge would stop in the outer village.”

“I’ve been mixing with beggars—they guard the gates daily. A wealthy stranger wouldn’t escape their notice.”

Xiangzi’s eyes narrowed, gently unfolding the note.

First: three large characters—Jiang Jingyu.

A Ninth Grade minor accomplishment martial artist, Baolin Martial Hall outer disciple.

He was also Jiang Wangshui’s elder brother.

Back in the third-class compound, Jiang Wangshui often spoke of this big brother—talent-wise, he was solid. At twenty-two, Ninth Grade minor accomplishment, foundation firm, one step from major accomplishment.

But Jiang Wangshui didn’t know:

two months ago, his brother had vanished near Little Blue Garment Ridge.

Uncovering this was the Wind Justice Courtyard’s assignment to Xiangzi.

—

Twenty for Blood Energy Barrier, twenty-five for Ninth Grade, forty for Seventh Grade Membrane Condensation Barrier.

These were this world’s three martial chasms.

No matter your talent, pass the age and you could only sigh across the gulf.

Thus, conventions judged talent by age.

Eighteen for Blood Energy Barrier was the first divide; failing by eighteen marked “mediocre talent.” Even passing Ninth Grade later, no time or foundation for Eighth, let alone Seventh Grade Membrane Condensation.

Age was a sword over martial artists’ heads, driving desperate gambles.

No one knew why.

Major martial halls prized youth—failing realm by age meant “potential exhausted.”

Such people left the hall, leveraging origins for good jobs outside—martial path hopeless, but half a life of wealth and ease.

The Senior Brother Chen Fan from Li Family mines was likely such.

Talents like Liu Tang, leaving for gratitude, were rare.

The missing Jiang Jingyu, twenty-two, one step from Ninth Grade major accomplishment—not world-shaking, but core among outer disciples.

Yet such a core, on a routine Four Seas Courtyard task, vanished on Little Blue Garment Ridge’s outskirts?

Rumor said Four Seas Courtyard’s master personally led dozens last month, scouring the outskirts—found nothing.

With the old hall master in Shen City and the matter unsavory, to avoid complications, the hall investigated quietly.

Sending Xiangzi was likely one method.

What puzzled Xiangzi:

Why did the cold-faced Wind Justice Courtyard master suspect Feng Family Village?

Feng and Baolin had been allies for centuries; recent closeness with Revival Martial Hall was just local powers hedging.

From Wind Justice Courtyard’s terms, Courtyard Master Xi seemed certain—Jiang Jingyu’s disappearance tied to Feng Family Village.

Not to mention Little Ma’s intel from shuttling Nanyuan and Feng Family Village—over a dozen martial artists missing in months.

Some Ninth Grade?

Ninth Grade martial artists weren’t cabbages—rare anywhere.

Even dangerous Little Blue Garment Ridge shouldn’t claim so many.

From months as Fourth Master Liu’s free accountant, Xiangzi was data-sensitive.

Before coming, via the deputy director, he’d gotten disappearance figures—rough, but indicative.

Compared to past years, this year’s Little Blue Garment Ridge vanishings had multiplied—especially recently.

Abnormalities breed demons.

The demon was either in Little Blue Garment Ridge… or Feng Family Village!

This explained Xiangzi’s uncharacteristic arrogance today—meticulous or overbearing, which eases the foe? Obvious.

If Feng Family Village was involved, they might target him.

Drawing enmity early was best protection.

Past life wisdom: sensing ill intent, create minor friction publicly—exposing discord made foes hesitate.

Now all knew he’d offended Feng Family.

If they meant harm, they’d have to weigh it—

—

Candlelight danced; Xiangzi’s gaze fell on the dusty youth.

He pulled a stack of silver dollars from his robes, setting them on the table.

“Little Ma… you’ve worked hard. Tasks need payment.”

Little Ma set down the meat, wiped grease with his hand, and took only two.

“Master Xiang… this is enough. More draws eyes. You don’t know—the outer village is mostly refugees working for Feng. Even a copper coin makes them kill.”

Little Ma spoke earnestly; even Xiangzi paused—hardships temper people. In just days, the boy had gained steadiness.

“Master Xiang, I’ve decided—mix with beggars a few days. If no new leads, I’ll disguise as an out-of-town merchant buying demon beast meat.”

“That way I stay legitimately, recruit refugees, open more channels.”

“What do you think?”

Xiangzi smiled, suppressing pride, nodding. He tossed a jade token. “Be patient… safety first. If desperate, show this token, reveal your identity.”

“A true man bends and rises—don’t rush into danger for merit.”

Little Ma caught it—a warm jade plaque, front with Baolin Martial Hall’s gold-thread banner, back carved “Li Xiang.”

Unexpecting such a treasure, Little Ma’s eyes paused, rims reddening.

The youth said nothing, only bowing his head.

“This place is surely watched by Feng—don’t risk coming again. We’ll meet in Nanyuan,” Xiangzi cautioned.

Little Ma nodded firmly, hiding the token, vanishing into shadows.

Moments later, Xiangzi lost appetite, gazing at the crescent moon from bed.

Little Ma coming alone was Xiangzi’s plan.

Back at the hall, Little Ma had begged to join the training.

Xiangzi refused at first, but on the second plea, agreed.

Not softness—

With Wind Justice Courtyard’s task, Xiangzi needed a trusted scout in Feng Family Village.

Little Ma was sharp, young, unassuming—perfect.

If trouble arose, his skills could escape.

Baolin apprentice though mediocre in the compound, outside he was a prodigy.

Past life saying: your chosen path, finish even on knees.

This path was Little Ma’s choice.

Its fortunes or perils—his alone.

—

Days later,

dawn’s fish-belly white hooked the sky.

The courtyard, near Feng Family Village, by Fragrant River, far from main roads—serene with hills and waters.

Leaving Forty-Nine City’s towering chimneys, without perpetual morning fog and smog, the air seemed cleaner.

For a moment, Xiangzi felt refreshed.

First, a set of Mind-Intent Six Harmonies Fist, then Jade Ring Steps—golden Proficiency +1 in his mind, invigorating.

Sweaty, lackeys brought demon beast meat—plus millet porridge, watermelon.

Leftover meat chilled in a deep well preserved days even in summer.

Reseasoned with green-red peppers and Sichuan peppercorns, no gaminess—Xiangzi ate heartily.

Only flaw: this world’s watermelons had thick rinds, pale flesh, juicy but tasteless—disappointing.

How were past life’s huge, red, sweet ones bred?

Large chunks of demon beast meat melted into blood energy strands, coiling around his dantian’s red blood pearl.

Now Xiangzi understood why disciples fought for Four Seas Courtyard training—not just salary; daily demon beast meat would skyrocket blood energy.

He chuckled—others lacked his demon beast physique. Ordinary Ninth Grade entry martial artists couldn’t handle daily entry-grade meat without bursting dantian.

Truthfully, fifty jin weekly from Feng wasn’t little for Ninth Grade entry,

but for Xiangzi, barely a snack.

Honed at the hall, Xiangzi found his path—drugs.

But skin-grinding, bone-forging broths were costly; he lacked wealthy family backing.

Best now: hunt demon beasts for resources—at least meat boosted blood energy tangibly.

He’d need to hunt.

But new to the area, unfamiliar—couldn’t solo into Little Blue Garment Ridge?

—

Besides, one issue—boredom.

As Clear Gang guest, he did nothing,

just train daily, stroll outer village, cockfight, dog race, toss silver at gambling dens—of course, none dared win his dollars.

Spotting bullies on honest folk, Xiangzi hammered them without hesitation—smashed teahouses billed to Feng.

Days blurred; half a month passed.

Life was lonely as snow.

But through this, consensus formed in Feng Family Village—this new Clear Gang guest martial artist was arrogant, ruthless.

Yet this idyllic rural life shattered one noon.

A lackey burst in frantically: “Master Xiang… trouble! Our Clear Gang brothers are surrounded by Feng men—begging you to save the day!”

Xiangzi flicked off tasteless pale watermelon flesh, leaping from the grand chair.