Chapter 72: Root and Branch

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Zhao Qing’s face was set with determination. These years, he had endured too much—tormented by the agony of vengeance on one hand, and the safety of his wife and children on the other. He had borne it all for far too long.

Ling Chi, however, was long accustomed to witnessing human tragedies and living amidst bloodshed and arson. He felt little pressure in his heart. In fact, he didn’t need to wait until his spiritual pearl was fully formed before daring to march into the enemy’s lair—exterminating entire families was, after all, his specialty.

Suddenly, he remembered—Feng Zi was still locked in the dungeon. What a pity that his father had already been cremated; otherwise, presenting him as a gift might have brought Feng Zi some twisted joy.

Turning, Ling Chi headed straight for the dungeon. Feng Zi lay on the straw-covered ground, and hearing footsteps, scrambled upright at once.

“Sir, I’m innocent! Please, let me out!”

“No, you’re not innocent in the least,” Ling Chi replied bluntly.

“Your father is gone now. Congratulations,” he added.

The good news was that Feng Zi had, at last, become the clan head.

The bad news was that he only held the title for the span of two breaths.

With a crisp snap, Ling Chi broke his neck, neat and efficient.

A dozen streams of thunderous spiritual energy flowed back into him.

After the great battle, in which he slew thirty or forty people in succession—cultivators ranging from the Body Tempering Realm to the sixth level of the Qi Sea Realm—Ling Chi had gathered three or four hundred strands of thunder energy. He was, however, not particularly satisfied.

“You lot weren’t even truly evil—just a bunch of useless wretches,” Ling Chi thought, gazing at the ashes that had yet to fully disperse.

But it didn’t matter; there was still the matter of the He family to attend to. The thought filled him with a renewed excitement.

Heading to the records room, he pulled the dossier on the He family and quickly grasped their situation.

According to the files, He Zhunen was the head of the family and the eldest son—He He’s own father. He Quan was the second brother, and there was a third, He Zhihui.

Currently, He Quan and his nephew were still in Jiqing Town; at the county seat, the He family’s main residence should only house the eldest and third brothers with their families.

The He family had operated locally for many years, planting informants at every level of the county office.

To be safe, Ling Chi decided to start with the most formidable in combat—He Quan.

He took his leave of Zhao Qing and Yang Shu, then drove his ox cart straight back to Willow Town.

Heiwa was still practicing his postures. In the chill of early winter morning, steam rose from his body, white vapor curling faintly from his head.

Ling Chi glanced at him from a distance, then let him be—the road ahead was still long.

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Ling Chi went directly to the martial training ground to cultivate. Once he changed into his night-walker’s garb, he vanished from his room.

The winter night’s wind was bitterly cold; the stars glittered brightly, strewn like pearls across the darkness. Under the shroud of night, a lone figure slipped quietly out of Willow Town.

For this sort of clandestine task, he neither rode a horse nor used his thunder-flash technique—just relied on his own physical speed, moving in near silence.

The humiliation He Quan suffered the previous day had left him sleepless, his desire for revenge surging like a tidal wave, relentlessly pounding the rocks of his heart.

So what if his family had raised a few bandits to handle dirty work? Wasn’t that what everyone did? Black gloves came in all sizes.

Ling Chi only dared treat him with such contempt because he relied on Zhao Qing’s reputation—or so He Quan fumed, growing angrier by the moment. Grabbing a wine jar, he drank deeply, gulp after gulp.

What could relieve his bitterness, if not wine?

But even drink failed to quench He Quan’s rage. He decided to vent his fury in another way, ordering his subordinate, Little Banner Officer Zheng, to fetch his two favorite women by carriage—his anger needed an outlet.

Favorite women they might be called, but they’d been courtesans before he sniffed them out and appropriated them for his own use.

Ling Chi watched the carriage depart, waited a while, then extended his spiritual sense like a radar. Inside, He Quan’s figure appeared clearly in his mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

Ling Chi rapped on the door.

“Who is it? Zheng, back so soon?”

He Quan staggered to open the door, thoroughly drunk, and was immediately met by Ling Chi’s bright eyes gleaming in the darkness, and the dazzling smile that revealed eight neat white teeth.

In an instant, He Quan sobered. Before he could cry out, pain lanced his neck—and for the first time in his life, he saw his own back.

Ignoring the thunder-pearl’s feedback of dozens of lightning strands, Ling Chi took out a rope, tucked He Quan under his arm, and casually plundered his valuables. Only the silver notes were worth taking; gold and silver coins were too cumbersome. One day, he must acquire a storage artifact.

He closed the door behind him and went straight to He He’s quarters.

He He, scared witless, was sleeping soundly when a large hand clamped over his mouth. He woke in terror, struggling to pry off Ling Chi’s iron grip, but it was futile.

With a single punch, Ling Chi crushed his windpipe, not bothering to watch his spasms or listen to the guttural death rattle. He hoisted both corpses, slipped out the window, and vanished into the night.

Little Banner Officer Zheng, returning with the courtesans, arrived at He Quan’s door.

“Master He, your guests have arrived,” Zheng reported respectfully—knowing that Master He was in a foul mood lately, he dared not provoke him.

Hearing no answer, Zheng was puzzled. Wasn’t he drinking just now? Even if he’d dozed off, there should be some response.

“Master He, I’m coming in,” Zheng called, pushing open the door and entering.

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The room was empty. Zheng immediately sensed something was wrong—Master He had vanished without a trace.

Summoning his colleagues, they searched everywhere, but to no avail. All they could do was wait for daylight and report the matter to the county authorities.

Ling Chi, carrying both corpses, leapt and bounded through the night, seeking a secluded mountain forest where he burned the uncle and nephew to ash. Black-gray dust scattered on the wind—there would be no trace of them left in this world.

His mood instantly lightened, and he continued on toward Crane County.

Years of operating at night had taught him that darkness brought safety; in his previous life, he was the sort who could not bear the light—most of his time was spent sneaking across borders or lurking in the shadows.

This life was different. In this wondrous world, who knew how many warning artifacts existed? Only the poverty of the northwest borderlands limited their use.

He was beginning to change his methods. In the future, unless absolutely necessary, he would deal with his enemies openly—exterminating them in the bud. Assassination was a minor art; overwhelming force was the true path.

Still, for crimes like murdering one’s colleagues, discretion was essential.

Since breaking through to the Qi Sea Realm, the city walls of the county were no obstacle. Ling Chi vaulted over them and headed straight for the He family’s main residence.

Passed down through generations, the He family compound had grown ever larger, its lands expanding as neighboring households were forced to sell at low prices, unable to resist being encircled. Who knew how many corpses were buried beneath its dozens of acres?

Ling Chi slipped over the wall with silent ease. Flicking his wrist, he sent a three-edged obsidian dart into the skull of the watchdog, which died soundlessly in its sleep.

His Concealment Technique could deceive even Qi Sea cultivators, let alone a mere mutt. He cremated the body on the spot, the ashes scattered to nothing on a single breath of wind.

The He compound was vast, but Ling Chi extended his spiritual sense, pinpointing his targets with unerring precision.

The eldest He and his wife were fast asleep, snoring like thunder.

Without hesitation, Ling Chi clenched his iron fist and struck both on the forehead—killing them instantly.

He absorbed a few strands of thunder energy, surprised by how few lives these local tyrants had taken; their evil was clearly restrained.

A burst of yang energy flicked from his fingertips, reducing both corpses to dust.

He Zhihui, the third brother, had just finished with his concubine and was snoring so loudly that the window paper trembled.

Ling Chi had no patience to wait for him to finish. He entered directly. The maidservant outside was fast asleep; with a flick of his finger to her forehead, she died instantly.

Such close attendants were usually sworn loyalists—better to kill them now than leave them to seek vengeance later.