Night Rain, Departing Person

The secret chamber had no windows, lit only by a charcoal brazier blazing hot, its glow painting the walls crimson.

Chen Ping, bare-chested, gripped iron tongs and dropped the last gold brick stamped with an official seal into the crucible.

As the high heat licked at it, the brick—symbol of mortal power and wealth—slowly collapsed, melting into a pool of scarlet liquid.

With practiced ease, he poured the molten gold into a custom leaf-shaped mold. Once cooled, it became a stack of Gold Leaves, thin as cicada wings and easy to conceal.

Beside him, a rosewood chest lay open, neatly packed with nearly five thousand taels of gold and silver valuables.

This fortune could let him live as a carefree rich man for several lifetimes in any prosperous corner of The Liang Dynasty.

Yet, staring at the chest full of treasure, Chen Ping ran his fingers over the hard surface and felt no peace—only a crushing weight, like a boulder pressing down on his chest.

"Mortal gold and silver can buy silks and fine food, but not a single extra day of life."

He picked up a freshly formed Gold Leaf and clenched it tight, until the edges bit into his palm.

Half an hour ago, Doctor Li of Huichun Hall had just left the back courtyard.

He was the best physician in Qinghe County. Chen Ping had paid him a full fifty taels of silver for a consultation, yet all the old doctor did was shake his head at the sleeping Yun Niang.

"Scholar Chen, your wife overworked herself in her early years. Her heart channels have been knotted for a long time. Though she now lives in comfort, her body is too weak to absorb nourishment. This old man is useless—I can only prescribe some mild tonics to keep her going. But this constitution... I fear she won't make it past forty. Medicine cannot cure this. Medicine cannot cure this..."

The old doctor's sigh still echoed in Chen Ping's ears.

He closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw Yun Niang's face—growing paler by the day, yet always smiling at him with gentle warmth.

She was barely past twenty, in what should have been the prime of her life.

"Medicine cannot cure this..."

Chen Ping's eyes snapped open. A fierce, resolute glint flashed in them.

"If mortal doctors can't save her, then I'll seek an immortal physician! If The Liang Dynasty has none, then I'll go to Taihang Market, to the Cultivation World!"

He tucked the Gold Leaves into a special leather belt compartment, fastened it around his waist, and then extinguished the charcoal fire.

Autumn rain drizzled down. The sky was dark and heavy, as if it might collapse.

Wearing a straw rain cape, Chen Ping arrived at a rundown little courtyard on the west side of town.

This was Tie Niu's newly bought home. Though shabby, the big simpleton had kept it spotless.

"Brother Ping! What brings you out in such heavy rain?"

Tie Niu was patching up the chicken coop in the yard. Seeing Chen Ping enter, he dropped his hammer, wiped the rain off his face, and grinned stupidly, flashing a row of white teeth.

Chen Ping didn't go inside. He stood under the eaves, pulled out an oil-paper bundle and a letter from his bosom, and handed them over.

"Tie Niu, I'm going on a long trip. No telling when I'll be back. This deed is for the two mu of paddy fields next to yours—I bought them and put them in your name. And this letter—if I'm not back in a year, open it then."

Tie Niu froze, the deed clutched in his hand as if it burned.

"Brother Ping, I can't take this! I've got hands and feet..."

"Take it!"

Chen Ping's tone hardened, leaving no room for argument.

"Also, at my family's ancestral graves, on holidays, add a shovel of earth and burn some paper money for me."

"Aw, is that all?"

Tie Niu relaxed, scratching his head with a simple grin.

"You can count on me! Brother Ping, you're a man with big things to do—go ahead and chase 'em. I'll look after things here. Nothing'll go wrong!"

Looking at Tie Niu's guileless smile, Chen Ping felt a sour pang of guilt.

This departure might be a farewell forever.

The path of cultivation was perilous, life and death uncertain. He couldn't—and didn't dare—drag Tie Niu into it.

"I'm off."

Chen Ping said no more. He turned and strode into the rain.

"Brother Ping, come back soon! My ma said she'd make you braised pork when you get home!"

Tie Niu's loud voice rang out behind him.

Chen Ping paused mid-step. He didn't turn back. He just waved a hand and disappeared around the corner of the alley.

Back at the small courtyard south of town, the night had grown deep.

Chen Ping bolted the doors and windows, lit a tiny oil lamp, and sat down before a bronze mirror.

He took out a pile of jars and bottles and began applying something to his face.

A moment later, the handsome young man in the mirror was gone. In his place sat a sallow-faced, droopy-eyed, bitter-looking middle-aged merchant down on his luck.

Then he went to the bedside and gently woke Yun Niang.

"Sister Yun, it's time to go."

Yun Niang groggily opened her eyes. Seeing Chen Ping like this, she was startled at first, then understood without asking a single question. She docilely let him smear her face, transforming her into a wrinkled, sickly old woman.

"No matter what happens, don't make a sound. Stay close to me," Chen Ping murmured.

Yun Niang gripped his hand tightly and nodded firmly, her eyes full of trust.

In the courtyard sat an ordinary-looking Green Canopy Carriage.

Chen Ping helped Yun Niang aboard, then lifted a hidden compartment in the carriage floor.

He had meticulously modified this space—not only hiding the several thousand taels of Gold Leaves inside, but also neatly stacking two fully strung Strong Crossbows, three quivers of Sleeve Darts, and a full five catties of Corpse Dissolving Powder and lime powder.

"Master, I just caught wind of something."

Just then, a series of rhythmic Owl Calls came from outside the courtyard wall.

These were informants Chen Ping had planted back in his yamen days.

Chen Ping walked to the wall and heard a lowered voice through it:

"Those survivors of the Jin Family have reportedly hooked up with Black Wind Stronghold outside the city. They're meeting tonight at Drunken Immortal Pavilion, planning to... to make a move on your travel route."

"Got it."

Chen Ping replied coldly, casually tossing a silver ingot over the wall.

A dull thud of catching the silver and receding footsteps came from the other side.

"Trying to ambush me?" A cold smirk curled at the corner of Chen Ping's mouth. "Too bad—I'm not giving you that chance."

He had planned to set out at dawn tomorrow, but now he had to leave immediately.

It was deep night, with a torrential downpour—perfect weather for murder and plunder, and the best cover for a stealthy escape.

Chen Ping harnessed the carriage, helped Yun Niang sit steady, and took one last look back at the cozy nest he'd lived in for months.

This place had held the most peaceful stretch of time since his transmigration, and it was also his and Yun Niang's new home.

But he knew that lingering was the epitaph of the weak.

He crouched down and buried a Black Iron Sphere in the dirt beneath the threshold.

This was a shoddy "Thunderfire Bead" he'd bought at great cost from the Black Market. Its power couldn't match a cultivator's spells, but it was enough to blow off both legs.

If some clueless thief or vengeful enemy broke in, consider this a farewell "gift."

"Hyah!"

Chen Ping snapped the reins. The carriage wheels rolled over waterlogged flagstones, emitting a heavy, grinding sound as it drove out of the alley.

At the city gate, the rain was even heavier.

The towering gate was shut tight, a few Stormproof Lanterns swaying precariously in the wind and rain.

"Who goes there! Curfew has passed—no leaving the city!"

The garrison soldiers barked, crossing their spears to block the way.

Chen Ping jumped down from the carriage, hunched his back, and squeezed a fawning smile onto his face. He trotted up to the soldiers, a hefty piece of silver already palmed in his hand.

"Officer, do me a favor. I'm a small-time herb merchant from the east side. My old mother's taken ill—I have to rush to a neighboring county to find a relative for treatment. Can't afford any delay."

As he spoke, he slipped the silver into the leading soldier's hand, lifting his head slightly to reveal a vaguely familiar face.

The squad leader, by the lamplight, first weighed the silver in his hand and was about to bark an order, when he suddenly recognized those eyes—even disguised, they were still intimidating.

This squad leader had once followed Chen Ping on a bandit-suppression campaign. He knew who those eyes belonged to.

That ruthless, merciless Chen the Flower Examiner!

The squad leader jolted, about to salute, when he saw Chen Ping give a slight shake of his head, a warning in his gaze.

"Ahem..."

The squad leader caught on at once. He pocketed the silver and waved his hand with a show of authority.

"If it's a life-or-death matter, then get lost! Don't let it happen again!"

"Thank you, officer, thank you!"

Chen Ping bowed and scraped his way back to the carriage, cracked the whip, and urged the horse forward.

The heavy city gate creaked open just a crack. The carriage slipped out silently and soon vanished into the vast curtain of rain.

Outside Qinghe County, the official road was a muddy mess.

The outline of the city behind grew blurrier and blurrier, until it was swallowed by darkness.

Chen Ping shed the fawning, ingratiating smile from his face and straightened his back.

He pulled the crimson "Golden Sun" token from his bosom—taken from that Evil Cultivator Daoist—and rubbed his thumb over its cold, hard engravings.

Rainwater slid off his bamboo hat, striking the token and splashing into tiny droplets.

"Taihang Market..."

Chen Ping muttered to himself, his gaze turning exceptionally sharp.

From this moment on, he was no longer Chen the Flower Examiner of Qinghe County, nor a servant of Lin Manor.

He was a desperado who, for the sake of survival and immortality, was about to step into the meat grinder of the Cultivation World.

The carriage jolted violently, its wheels grinding through deep mud pits and groaning under the strain.

Ahead on the official road, a faint, elusive scent of blood drifted on the damp night wind, mingled with the faint clink of weapons.

Were they highway bandits, or something more dangerous?

Chen Ping did not slow down. Instead, he tightened his grip on the short knife hidden in his sleeve, a bloodthirsty glint flashing in his eyes.

The wheels rolled on, crushing the mud—and crushing any path of retreat—as they drove unflinchingly into the unknown depths of the darkness.