Clearing Obstacles

A silver ingot struck the blue stone slab with a dull thud.

Chen Ping stared at the silver glinting coldly under the moonlight, his back bending even lower.

He hurriedly crouched down, his hands trembling slightly as he scooped the ingot into his palms, wiping it again and again with his sleeve, a fawning, mercenary smile plastered on his face.

"This lowly one understands, understands. Rest assured, Steward. Tomorrow on the arena, I'll 'accidentally' lose beautifully, without the young master of your esteemed manor lifting a finger."

The Jin Manor steward glanced down at him from on high, snorting a cold breath through his nostrils, his gaze like that of a man watching a mangy dog wagging its tail for scraps.

"At least you know your place. Take the money and scram. If you dare pull any tricks, big as Jinguang City is, there'll be no hole for a rat like you to hide in."

The steward flicked his sleeves, turned, and left with his two attendants, their mocking voices drifting back on the wind:

"...Just a spineless cur. Toss him a bone and he'll yelp..."

Chen Ping kept his pose, hands cupped around the silver in a bow, until those figures vanished around the corner of the alley.

The night wind swept dead leaves across the ground, scraping against Chen Ping's thin clothes.

He straightened up, his once-hunched frame growing a few inches taller.

"Take the money, take the loss. Lose, and I don't make the top ten. Don't make the top ten, and there's no official post to shield me."

Chen Ping's thumb gently traced the rough surface of the silver ingot, his mind as clear as a mirror.

A behemoth like the Jin Family always threw its weight around.

This silver today wasn't so much a bribe as it was blood money.

Once the Imperial Military Examination was over, to cover up the scandal of rigged matches, the only fate for a "spineless cur" like me, who knows too much, is to end up as a bloated corpse floating in the moat.

Only the dead have the tightest lips.

"Since I'm dead either way, I might as well send you on your way first."

Chen Ping tucked the silver into his bosom, turned, and stepped into the shadows, his footsteps light.

At the third quarter of the midnight hour, the moon was dark and the wind high.

In a dilapidated shack on West City Rat Alley, the candle had long been extinguished.

Chen Ping skillfully pulled a cloth bundle from a hidden compartment under the bed.

Unwrapped, it revealed a tight-fitting black night suit and the Evil Ghost mask that had once tasted Lai San's blood on that rainy night.

Change clothes, tie up hair, put on mask.

The motions were fluid, without a wasted beat.

He pushed open the window, slid down the wall like a gecko, and executed the Light Body Movement Technique. With a light tap of his toes on the tiles, he had already vaulted several zhang away, landing without a sound.

That Jin Manor steward hadn't gone straight back to the manor.

Having mingled in the market for years, Chen Ping knew the habits of these big-family stewards well.

Finished with the job, with silver passing through his hands, he'd most likely head to a Pleasure House for a round of wine and a chance to flaunt his authority.

Sure enough, in a secluded alley not far from the Drunken Spring Pavilion, Chen Ping caught that familiar scent of rouge and alcohol.

The steward was humming lewd ditties, staggering ahead. His two attendants had already been sent away—seems he wanted to pocket the leftover perks himself.

"This world... hic... as long as you latch onto the right master, even a dog can eat meat and drink wine..."

The steward belched, propped himself against the wall, and was about to undo his belt to relieve himself.

Just then, a chill wind blew from behind without warning.

Having practiced some crude martial arts for a few years, the steward instinctively sensed something wrong. Every hair on his body stood on end. He whirled around and barked:

"Who?!"

His answer was a hand hurtling toward him out of the darkness, growing larger by the second.

The hand was an eerie bluish-gray, knuckles thick, carrying a wind that could split stone and shatter tablets. It was so fast he couldn't even get out a second shout.

Crack!

A crisp sound, especially jarring in the silent alley.

The sound of throat bones shattering.

The steward's eyes bulged wide. Both hands clutched his crushed throat, a gurgling wheeze escaping his lips as blood and foam seeped through his fingers.

Terrified, he stared at the Black-Clad Man in the Evil Ghost mask before him, his eyes full of horror.

That build... why did it look familiar?

Chen Ping gave him no time to think. His left hand followed up with a push to the steward's chest, a penetrating force driving straight into his heart, severing his life force.

The corpse crumpled limply. Chen Ping caught it, gently laid it on the ground, without a sound.

From the sudden kill to the silent lowering of the body—the whole sequence took but a blink.

Chen Ping crouched down and began to search the "dead man."

First, he retrieved the hundred taels of silver. That was his capital.

Next, he found several large silver notes, totaling about three or four hundred taels—likely the steward's usual skimmed profits.

Chen Ping felt a small booklet tucked into the steward's inner lining.

Flipping it open by the faint moonlight, Chen Ping's pupils contracted.

Crammed onto the pages were the Jin Family's list of bribed examinees, along with each student's weaknesses and leverage.

"A hot potato."

Chen Ping immediately closed the booklet and tucked it into his chest.

If this got out, it would cripple the Jin Family. But if anyone knew he had it, he wouldn't have ten lives to spare.

Done with the spoils, Chen Ping pulled a porcelain bottle from his waist.

It was an inheritance from Wang Meng—Corpse Dissolving Powder.

He expertly sprinkled the yellow powder over the corpse's face, fingerprints, and wounds.

"Sssss..."

A teeth-grinding corrosive sound rose, accompanied by pungent yellow smoke.

The face rapidly decayed, dissolving into a stinking pool of yellow liquid.

Chen Ping hoisted the mangled corpse, walked to the gutter at the alley's end, and kicked it in.

"Splash."

Filthy black water splashed up, swallowing the once-arrogant Jin Manor steward.

After that, Chen Ping carefully checked the surroundings, ensuring no footprints or traces remained, then melted back into the night and vanished.

Back in the Rat Alley shack, Chen Ping didn't rest.

He lit a brazier, tore the ledger—enough to stir the whole city into chaos—page by page, and tossed them into the fire.

Flames flickered, casting light on his expressionless face.

He had no desire to be a hero exposing corruption, nor to get caught in the power struggles of noble clans.

He just wanted to live, take Yun Niang, and seek immortality in peace.

Keeping that booklet was a curse; burning it was clean.

Watching the last scraps of paper turn to ash, Chen Ping let out a long breath, sat cross-legged on the bed, and assumed the posture of Longevity of Pine and Crane.

He'd killed tonight, seen blood—his mind was inevitably unsettled.

But that wasn't necessarily bad.

The sheer terror between life and death had sharpened his focus.

With each breath, a warm current flowed slowly through his meridians, washing away the agitation.

On the panel, proficiency ticked up a notch.

After who knows how long, the sky outside the window began to pale.

Chen Ping opened his eyes, a glint flashing through them before returning to his usual dullness.

He pulled an iron blade—his usual self-defense weapon—from under the bed, took out a clean cloth, and carefully wiped the edge.

The blade wasn't precious, with a few nicks, but under his polishing, it still gleamed with a cold light.

That light reflected his face, calm as a dry well.

The Jin Manor steward's disappearance would surely make Jin Shijie suspicious, then furious.

Tomorrow's showdown would be a true storm.

But so what?

Chen Ping sheathed the blade, tapping his fingers lightly on the table with a soft click.

Anyone who blocks my path to immortality—can be killed.