111: Fish Soup (Part II)

The moon hung high in the sky. Looking out toward the lake, the water shimmered with ripples. Having bid farewell to the elderly couple and stepped off the boat, Yi Fan turned back only to see blurred shadows dissolving into the wind.

The lake surface glistened, but where were the boats?

He had long since realized that the old couple were merely ghosts born of obsession, appearing only at a specific time. As for their missing son, it was clear that they were separated by the boundary of life and death, man and ghost traveling different paths, and they could never truly return.

People are divided into good and evil, and not all ghosts are malevolent. Since they had done no harm, why play the villain? Besides, they had treated him to several bowls of fish soup.

Suddenly, his old donkey’s ears twitched; it let out a sneeze and looked toward the distance. Sounds of fighting drifted over. The once-quiet lakeshore suddenly grew bustling as fishing boats moored nearby cast off their ropes and sailed away, fearing they might be caught in the crossfire.

Yi Fan, however, thought differently. He sensed several fluctuations of magical power and inferred that cultivators were involved. He ordered his ghost servant to protect the donkey and hide, while he moved with swift, bat-like agility through the darkness, following the sound.

Crossing a patch of woods, he found bloodstains along the path. A few steps further lay a corpse. He suppressed his aura and leaped onto a tree branch.

Within a hundred meters, there were more than ten bodies, limbs scattered everywhere in a gruesome display. The intense battle had now ceased.

"You cur of an official! If you want to kill, just do it—spare us your hypocritical mercy! Had it not been for those demonic lackeys helping you, I would have had your head by now!"

"Ridiculous. I don't know how many people have tried to kill me, and you lot think you're worthy? Let's see if you're still so stubborn once you've been flayed."

Yi Fan crept closer. He saw over a dozen people divided into two groups. One group, consisting of five or six, had already been subdued. He recognized some of them—they were the group of martial artists he had encountered that night; the one who had spoken was that foolish woman.

The other side was the official they sought revenge against. Though there were only seven or eight of them, each was brawny and radiated a fierce, rugged aura. The leader, in particular, was enveloped in a murderous air; he was surely the general the woman had mentioned.

What caught Yi Fan’s attention were the two robed men standing beside the general. Their magical power surged, and one held a ritual sword, suggesting they had just emerged from a fierce fight.

Suddenly, the general spoke to the two cultivators: "Daoist Zuo, these martial artists are full of vitality. Are you satisfied?"

One of them gave a grim smile. "Naturally satisfied. Of course, if the general were willing to hand over some of his soldiers to us, we would be even more satisfied."

"Daoist Zuo, pray do not joke. I promised you, and I shall deliver. These martial artists possess great strength, and their vitality is richer than that of ordinary soldiers. Besides, this is only the first batch. My scouts report that more are coming to seek revenge soon; by then, won't they be yours for the taking?"

The general finished speaking and gave orders to prepare for departure, but the Daoist blocked his path. "Why go to such trouble? General, are you not curious why we require people with such rich vitality? Let us show you."

As he spoke, he stepped toward one of the captives. He extended his hands like eagle claws, gripping the man’s skull. With a slight exertion, the captive shrieked, his body withering into a desiccated corpse at a visible rate until he quickly fell silent.

The general’s face changed, and he retreated several steps. His soldiers brandished their blades to protect him. The Daoist merely looked back with a smile, then pressed his hand onto the head of the second captive, feeding in turn.

Demonic arts?

Yi Fan was struck with horror. In his travels, he had seen many evil and demonic arts, but this was the first time he had seen living humans treated as "blood food" for cultivation, outside of true monsters.

Who were these two cultivators? To dare practice demonic arts so brazenly—were they not afraid of being discovered and hunted down by righteous cultivators?

Within moments, three had met a tragic end. The remaining three were so terrified they collapsed, their pleas for mercy barely a whisper. The Daoist stopped there, turned, and said, "It is getting late; you may return, General. Leave the rest to us."

The general nodded, his expression wary. He dared not say more, simply waving his hand to lead his men away.

Once they were gone, the lead Daoist let out a deep sigh and staggered back a few steps. The other Daoist hurried over to support him. "Senior Brother Zuo, was this really necessary?"

"Junior Brother Jia, we went through great trouble to descend the mountain; we must bring back some quality materials, or this trip will have been in vain."

Daoist Zuo shook off his brother's hand and said coldly, "These commoners do not understand our supernatural abilities, but if he were to realize we were merely deceiving him—promising him a promotion to general—he might have had thousands of soldiers surround and kill us. Even with our powers, we would have been doomed."

"But by showing him the demonic arts today, aren't you afraid he’ll leak the news? If other sects find out, we’ll be left without a burial ground."

Junior Brother Jia looked worried and wanted to continue, but seeing his senior brother’s face grow increasingly cold, he fell silent.

"Fool. We have used this fellow to gather plenty of fine materials, and the vitality we absorbed has likely reached his limit of tolerance. By frightening him, even if he remains cautious, he won't dare act rashly."

Daoist Zuo glanced at him and sneered. "Besides, we descended the mountain under our Master's orders to hunt down the murderer of Junior Brother Fang Chen. It has been months; it is time we returned to the mountain."

A cultivator from Mount Gezao?

Yi Fan’s heart jolted. He immediately thought of Fang Chen, the Gezao cultivator he had slain. He hadn't expected them to track him here.

"Who is there? Sneaking about and hiding your head—you dare eavesdrop on us? Die!"

Daoist Zuo’s ears moved; his expression changed violently. He flicked a talisman, transforming it into several fireballs that roared toward Yi Fan’s hiding spot.

Yi Fan cursed inwardly. His momentary distraction had caused his aura to leak. He rolled on the ground and sprang away into the distance. He could not stay, for although these two were only at the first stage of the "Divine Connection" realm and he did not fear them, who knew if more of their sect were nearby?

"Want to leave? Let’s see where you can run!"

The two would not let it end there. Junior Brother Jia leaped into the air, pulling a magic pouch from nowhere. He drew four or five talismans and flicked them with his fingertips, turning them into streaks of light that chased Yi Fan.

Feeling the sharp energy behind him, Yi Fan dared not meet it head-on. He paused, channeled his power to deflect the incoming talismans, but this slowed him down, and the two caught up, surrounding him.

"Who are you?"

Daoist Zuo demanded coldly, though he dared not act rashly. In that split-second exchange, he had gauged Yi Fan’s strength—it was not inferior to their own. To possess such cultivation at such a young age meant he was likely a key disciple or even a direct successor of some major sect.

Who am I? The one who killed your junior brother. But do you think I’d tell you that?

Yi Fan knew he could not afford a protracted battle. He had to finish this quickly; if he drew more Gezao disciples, he would truly be trapped.