Chapter Eight: Massacre (2)

Che Ye-ming watched the movements of the crowd and let out a cold sneer. Without waiting for them to make a move, he stopped holding back his strength. Gripping his blade tightly in both hands, he suddenly swung backward, then brought the weapon down with all his might in a powerful slash aimed straight at Miao Zongbao.

Miao Zongbao had already exhausted much of his strength and never expected Che Ye-ming to be so cunning, to have saved reserves even while dueling him. Only now, at this critical moment, did Che Ye-ming unleash his full power. Miao Zongbao, unable to gauge the full force of Che Ye-ming’s strike in time, found himself driven back several steps, both man and sword, under the heavy blow.

Che Ye-ming pursued relentlessly, giving him not a moment's respite. Before Miao Zongbao could steady himself, Che Ye-ming gripped his blade once more, this time slashing upward in a fierce diagonal strike. This blow was even more vicious, even trickier, and more difficult to fend off.

Yet Miao Zongbao was worthy of his reputation as a distinguished figure among the immortal cultivators of Jizhou. Seeing that Che Ye-ming’s attack was nearly impossible to evade, he hurriedly swung his longsword in a hasty block, borrowing the force to shoot himself skyward. Even so, the instant blade and sword met, he felt a violent force surge through his sword, striking his chest like a thunderbolt. A metallic taste filled his throat, and he spewed a mouthful of blood.

Still airborne, not yet landing, Miao Zongbao heard Che Ye-ming shout, “Try taking another of my strikes!”

Che Ye-ming summoned the full power of his cultivation at the peak of the Purple Mansion Realm, as if a tempest of true energy was raging within his core. As his true energy circulated ever faster, he sensed a powerful suction force within his Purple Mansion, drawing all his true energy towards its center in a gathering tide.

Feeling these changes within, Che Ye-ming’s heart stirred, and he spurred his true energy even more furiously. The suction grew stronger, drawing everything inexorably toward the center of his core. As the gathered energy increased, it began to compress and devour itself, ultimately triggering a chain reaction that formed a tiny, crystalline droplet of liquid.

With his momentum surging ever higher, the natural energies around him churned wildly. Leaves in the surrounding forest danced in a frenzied tempest. At the peak of his power, Che Ye-ming let out a mighty roar and unleashed a dazzling slash. Though all this takes time to describe, it happened in a flash. Miao Zongbao had barely landed when Che Ye-ming’s blade came slashing toward him once more.

“Return-to-Origin Realm—this is bad!” someone in the crowd suddenly shouted. Two Miao family cultivators rushed forward to shield Miao Zongbao. The blade flashed like lightning, striking all three with crushing force. The two cultivators and Miao Zongbao were sent flying like kites with severed strings, crashing heavily to the ground, where they lay still and silent.

The Miao family cultivators were thunderstruck; none had expected things to turn out this way. Ignoring Che Ye-ming, they rushed to check on Miao Zongbao’s injuries. Should anything happen to him, none of them would be spared.

A purple-robed elder hurried to Miao Zongbao’s side, knelt down, and gently supported his head. He checked Miao Zongbao’s breathing with a finger and, finding a faint breath, was somewhat relieved.

Stirred by the elder’s movement, Miao Zongbao slowly opened his eyes, blood trickling from his pale lips. In a voice as thin as gossamer, he whispered, “Return… to… origin.” Another mouthful of blood burst from his lips.

After a brief rest, he gasped a few times, as if wanting to speak, but before he could utter a word, blood welled from the corner of his mouth.

Scanning the crowd, his eyes filled with longing. He tried to lift his hand, but it fell limply before it reached halfway, and he closed his eyes for the last time.

The purple-robed elder was startled. He quickly checked Miao Zongbao’s pulse and eyes, and realized he had truly left this world. The elder’s face darkened. Looking urgently at his fellow disciples, he slowly shook his head and said, “The young master is gone.”

Gone? Everyone was stunned, and the core disciples of the Miao clan turned ashen.

Che Ye-ming, hearing the elder’s words, frowned unconsciously. So Miao Zongbao was dead, just like that. A twinge of regret crept into his heart. Killing a few ordinary Miao cultivators was nothing, but the one who had died was the clan master’s only son. If word of this reached the Miao patriarch, the whole clan would go mad. If an ant goes berserk, one can simply crush it—but the Miao family was no ant in Jizhou.

After a moment’s thought, he made a decision: this must not be allowed to get out. A murderous gleam flashed in his eyes, his face taking on a chilling, bloodthirsty look.

Though the remaining Miao cultivators were still numerous and formidable, faced with a Return-to-Origin expert, and with their morale shattered by Miao Zongbao’s death, they were cowed. As Che Ye-ming charged at them like a devil with blade in hand, they could mount no real resistance. The battle was over as soon as it began—a one-sided massacre.

Che Ye-ming seemed a demonic overlord, his blade dancing and striking with ghostly swiftness. None could withstand even a single exchange. Drunk on slaughter, he threw his head back and howled at the sky. All were cowed by his presence; no one dared meet him head-on. Wherever he passed, men fell, horses died…

The hellish carnage and nauseating stench of blood shattered the survivors’ nerves and reason. Staring at Che Ye-ming, who seemed the very incarnation of the God of Slaughter, they could stand it no longer. In terror, they fled for their horses, not even daring to retrieve Miao Zongbao’s body. They wanted only to escape this butcher.

What use was the Miao Estate, what use was the young master? Better to find a safe place to hide. But Che Ye-ming, having begun his massacre, would never let them escape.

Like a cat toying with its prey, Che Ye-ming watched the frenzied, fleeing crowd, his icy face lit with savage glee. He drew a gleaming throwing knife from his robe, his boyish features twisted with unprecedented bloodlust.

Long after, Che Ye-ming reappeared on the path outside Balizhen. Though he had just ascended to the Return-to-Origin Realm and his body brimmed with true energy, he felt an inexplicable weariness. Not a single Miao clansman had escaped—he had hesitated not at all. But what of Balizhen…

He looked toward the town and sighed. None could be left alive, or disaster would follow. Shaking his head, his face grew cold, and he strode toward Balizhen.

Cries and groans soon shattered the short-lived silence of this earthly purgatory. The scent of blood hung even thicker in the air. It was another one-sided massacre, but this time the victims were not cultivators, but the generations of farmers who had lived in Balizhen. They had no power to resist, not even the chance to flee. Like lambs awaiting slaughter, they could only await their fate. Che Ye-ming, like the god who holds the threads of life, now decided their destinies, their lives and deaths.

“Only one household left,” Che Ye-ming muttered, eyes bloodshot.

He pushed open the tightly locked door of Bao’er’s home with ease. Seeing the old grandfather shielding Bao’er, with the girl peeking out now and then, her eyes full of terror and hatred, Che Ye-ming frowned deeply. For a moment, he hesitated, and a memory drifted into his mind:

“Grandpa, what is a cultivator? Are cultivators the wandering heroes who travel the land with swords? Isn’t Ah Niu next door a hero? With his sword, he can easily handle three or five men.”

“Cultivators are like immortals, child. They are compassionate, caring for all under heaven. Their true energy is unmatched, their magic profound—how can ordinary heroes compare?”

“Grandpa, I want to become a cultivator too.”

Che Ye-ming looked at the five-year-old girl before him, and for some reason, he recalled the five-year-old Wuyou. Perhaps this girl was even cleverer than Wuyou, he thought.

Suddenly, he shook his head irritably and said coldly to Bao’er, “Everyone else is dead. Do you want to live or die?”

Both the old man and Bao’er froze, shocked that this demon would even ask. Bao’er was terrified by the murderous air about him, but realizing this might be her only chance, she gathered her courage and replied, “I want to live.”

The demon snorted, growing even more impatient. Slowly raising his blade, he looked at them as if they were already dead, his voice icy as ancient frost: “Everyone wants to live, yet they’re all dead—so why should you be any different?”

Bao’er hesitated, then, as if struck by inspiration, hatred flashed in her dark eyes. Her pale face twisted with bitter resentment. “I want revenge.”

The demon seemed surprised by her answer. He laughed coldly, half to himself, half in mockery: “How will you get your revenge? How could you possibly avenge them?”

Perhaps her reply struck a chord in him, or for some other reason, Che Ye-ming slowly lowered his blade. In a deep voice, he said, “Go. Go somewhere no one will ever find you, and never come back.”

Bao’er and her grandfather left Balizhen. Halfway down the road, they saw smoke and flame rising from the direction of the town. Tears streaming down his face, the old man said, “Bao’er, promise me: never seek revenge, and never return to Balizhen.”

Bao’er looked up at her grandfather, her dark eyes filled with steely resolve. “Grandpa, I’m going to become a cultivator.”

On the path outside Balizhen, Che Ye-ming glanced at the burning town, thinking that if any villagers had escaped, they’d surely perish in the flames. He looked once more at his handiwork, sighed bitterly, and turned to leave—only to find, standing in the center of the road, a middle-aged man with a furious expression, staring straight at him.

Startled, Che Ye-ming cried out, “Uncle Hu!” He recognized the man as his father’s sworn brother, his father’s closest friend. Shock ran through him. He knew Uncle Hu was a righteous man, intolerant of evil, but why was he here? Had he come for him?