Chapter 37: Returning to the Old Trade (Revised)

Ling Chi did not remove the cloth from his captive’s mouth, giving him no chance to speak.

He had prepared in advance a bowl of water mixed with vinegar and medicinal herbs, with added healing elixirs—this would be used to restore the chieftain’s strength, ensuring he would not die prematurely. He selected the narrowest oval blade, its edge gleaming coldly, the tip curved like a crescent moon.

After testing the knife with a few gestures, he began to cut along the marks left by the fishing net digging into flesh.

Lingjia Village had one hundred and forty households, six hundred and seventy-two people.

This was a true test of Ling Chi’s skill; after all, in his previous life he had only practiced this a dozen or so times, and that was with the aid of adrenaline and other drugs. Now, however, he had spiritual energy to support him—there should be no problem.

Returning to an old profession, he cleared a section of the table, keeping it tidy so he could keep count.

The first cut: a coin-sized piece of flesh from the right chest, thrown far outside the door—an offering to the heavens.

The second cut: a coin-sized piece from the left chest, tossed to the ground—an offering to the earth.

With each slice, as thin as a cicada’s wing, he carefully laid the flesh on the table.

Every stroke made the chieftain’s veins bulge on his forehead, his eyes wide open, as if enjoying the pain and begging for more.

“A real tough guy,” Ling Chi murmured in genuine admiration.

The chieftain violently shook his head, unable to speak with his mouth gagged.

After fifty cuts, the chieftain began to tremble uncontrollably.

After a hundred, his trouser legs were soaked, an unknown yellow fluid trickling down to form a puddle; his muscles convulsed, and muffled cries of agony were stifled by the rag.

After two hundred, he lost control of both bowels and bladder; fortunately, Ling Chi dodged swiftly, or he would have been splattered.

After four hundred, the chieftain was barely alive; Ling Chi poured the prepared vinegar over him to prevent his death from coming too soon.

After six hundred, if not for the faint heartbeat, Ling Chi would have thought him dead.

After seven hundred, Ling Chi was forced to revive his heart with a weak electric current.

Nine hundred and forty-one cuts—there was nothing left, nor was there a chieftain anymore.

Five hundred wisps of spiritual energy descended.

Ling Chi let out a long breath. The task was exhausting, even more so than a battle with Hong De.

“I have fulfilled my promise,” Ling Chi whispered softly.

It felt like a ceremony of passage. Ling Chi sensed his soul transcend, fully merging with this body and this land.

The arduous process of refining qi and spirit broke through at that very moment.

He quickly set his breathing to the method of Extreme Yang Spring Thunder, pondering the subtle changes. This extraordinary cultivation technique, inherited from his previous life, was like crossing a river by feeling for stones—he had no experience to rely on, nor dared he experiment recklessly, for one mistake could lead to irreparable consequences.

After several cycles of deep breathing, it felt as if he had gained a god’s-eye view—within dozens of yards, everything was clear to the finest detail; any farther, and he reached his limits.

Was this the legendary divine sense? So this was the essence of refining spirit through qi.

With the formation of divine sense, his soul’s aura soared. Suddenly, a stirring in his heart: the vortex of thunder energy spun, absorbing the newly merged spiritual power, and the vortex swelled rapidly.

As it spun faster and faster, spiritual energy gathered from the heavens and the earth, congealing in his dantian into a vast sea of purple-gold thunder essence.

The thunder pearl shone brilliantly, turning slowly in the deepest part of his qi sea. Perhaps it was a trick of the eye, but Ling Chi felt the pearl had grown larger.

At the center of the sea, a crimson mountain soared into the clouds—a sign that the shape of one’s qi sea matched their core technique.

A mysterious shackle shattered—Qi Sea Realm, breakthrough!

It had taken Ling Chi three years to progress from Body Tempering to Qi Sea Realm, relying entirely on his own hard work; there was no need to mention any golden finger.

He had once listened in as Zhao Qing instructed Senior Brother Xiao Zhan—the Qi Sea Realm was also divided into nine layers, grouped into three stages.

The first stage: the qi sea forms, and with each layer before the third, it expands in volume.

The second stage: the qi sea condenses, and before the sixth layer, each drop of spiritual liquid holds immense power.

The third stage: the qi sea crystallizes, and before the ninth layer, the condensed liquid begins to solidify into crystals.

When all the spirit crystals merge, the practitioner reaches the Spirit Pearl Realm.

Attaining the Qi Sea Realm, Ling Chi now counted as a true master in this remote frontier.

Ling Chi had not interrogated the chieftain, but he did not wish his secrets to remain hidden.

After searching the mountain stronghold, he found correspondence between the chieftain and a certain General Li in the study.

Combined with Li Shunfu’s confession, Ling Chi had every reason to believe this General Li was none other than General Li Changyuan, Assistant Commander of Yingzhou and Li Shunfu’s cousin by marriage.

What came after was no longer his concern. Whoever might be behind Li Changyuan was irrelevant; all he needed was to quietly deliver the evidence to Zhao Qing.

The stronghold held four or five thousand gold coins and several banknotes. Yet if he tried to spend these ill-gotten gains, it would surely draw attention—he’d need to find a way to launder them first.

Ling Chi packed up all the loot and took it with him.

After tying up all the loose ends, he retrieved the half-broken blade lodged in a pillar, then set fire to the entire stronghold, consigning all sins to the flames.

In the woods, he found his great black horse, dug up the hidden treasure, mounted, and rode away. The horse, feeling its burden grow heavier, snorted in protest.

Ling Chi patted the horse’s neck, mulling over whether to silence this last witness.

The black horse felt a chill run down its neck and quickened its pace.

Traveling through the night, he finally returned to Willow Town in the final hour before dawn.

He did not ride directly home, but carried the loot on his back, sneaking into his new residence—he had moved his entire home.

He hid the gold and silver without even counting it; money had become nothing more than a string of cold numbers to him.

Were it not for the need to buy rare spiritual treasures in the future, he would not even bother with wealth.

With the letters found among the bandits’ spoils, Ling Chi set off that very night for Crane County.

The sooner it was done, the sooner he could rest easy; procrastination was not in his nature.

After a hard gallop, the black horse was thoroughly exhausted. Ling Chi soothed it, promising a few days’ rest and nourishment upon their return.

He arrived in Crane County before dawn, around five in the morning. Heading straight for the Jing’an Office, he dropped the package in the main hall and slipped away.

Leaving the city, he rode to Little Ox Mountain near Willow Town, and took refuge in the valley where he had previously trained.

He had to stagger his timing to avoid suspicion. He removed the black horse’s reins and saddle, letting it roam free.

He had built a grass hut here during his secluded cultivation, and after tidying up, it was ready for use.

These past few days had been a whirlwind of travel and killing. In just four or five days, he had slain over three hundred people, driving his cultivation from the seventh layer of Meridian Opening straight to the first layer of Qi Sea. The thought alone was frightening.

Ling Chi lay down on the bamboo bed in the hut and soon drifted into sleep. At some point, the black horse returned and stood guard at the door.

It had once been a horse kept by the martial academy, given to Ling Chi when he took up his post in Willow Town. Zhao Qing had gifted it to him, and it had accompanied him ever since. He often used spiritual energy to clear its meridians and nourish its flesh, and it had begun to develop a rudimentary intelligence.

The black horse lay quietly at the hut’s entrance, its tail swishing from time to time to chase away mosquitoes, exuding an air of tranquil contentment.

Only a day passed before a traveling ascetic monk, having arrived in Feng County, discovered the massacre at the temple. Abbot Hongde and more than a dozen monks had all been slaughtered.

The monk quickly informed the county office and the Jing’an Office; the investigators were stunned by the scene—corpses still lying in their beds, long since cold.