Bookstore

Daybreak arrived. Wang Xuan emerged from his hiding spot, but as soon as he reached the street, he paused, his brows arching slightly.

Could this place even be called Jingzhou City anymore?

The main thoroughfare, usually packed so tight not even water could pass through, was now so empty he could hear his own footsteps. The shop doors on both sides were bolted shut, thin layers of dust coating the copper rings. A faded tavern banner creaked and swayed in the wind, hanging limp and lifeless—it looked less like a sign and more like a rag someone had tossed onto a pole.

Corpses lay scattered in every direction, skin deathly pale, blood flowing from their seven orifices. These were clearly the players who had died suddenly last night. With no one to manage the bodies and no one daring to touch them, the common folk likely assumed it was some kind of plague and were terrified of getting too close.

It was quite ironic, really. Just yesterday, martial artists had been shoulder-to-shoulder on these streets, their eyes gleaming with greed as they schemed over how to seize the Secret of the Linked Cities. Today, they had all vanished.

Wang Xuan stepped over a curled-up corpse, his soles scraping against the bloodstains on the stone slabs with a faint, dry sound as he walked toward the other side of the street.

Behind the windows and door cracks on both sides, countless eyes were watching.

Those gazes pricked at his back—filled with terror, dread, and a deep-seated curiosity. They were like a pack of frightened rats, daring only to peek out, breathing with extreme caution, yet not a single soul dared to step outside.

Wang Xuan had no interest in these commoners. He didn't stop, walking straight ahead.

For the side quest at Tianning Temple, he was missing one final item. He already had the Secret of the Linked Cities; he only lacked a copy of the Selected Tang Poetry. Only by possessing these two key "items" could the treasure be unlocked.

As for the Selected Tang Poetry, it was, frankly, common reading material that could be found in any bookstore. But in the current state of Jingzhou City, it had become a rare treasure.

He walked for two blocks, and aside from the closed bookstores, he hadn't encountered a single living soul.

Wang Xuan rubbed the Blood Blade at his waist, pondering. If it came to it, he would just find a bookstore, kick the door in, and take the book. After all, no one in this city dared to come out and stop him.

Just then, a dragging sound echoed from the street corner ahead.

He halted his steps and lifted his eyes to look.

About thirty paces away, two middle-aged men in coarse cloth tunics—one with a square face and sharp jawline, the other lean with a long face and high cheekbones—were squatting on the ground, moving corpses. They were efficient; one grabbed the arms, the other the legs, dragging them toward the roadside to pile them up, as if they were clearing trash from their own doorstep.

And in the empty space they had cleared, there happened to be a bookstore.

The bookstore door was open.

A man of medium-sturdy build and dark skin stood in the doorway, his expression gloomy. He gripped a grey rag, slowly wiping the door panel with a look of leisure.

Wang Xuan stared at them for a few seconds, a cold sneer curling his lips.

The entire Jingzhou City was like a graveyard; every household was bolted shut, not a soul daring to breathe loudly, all shivering in their homes.

But here? Three grown men, a bookstore open for "business" in broad daylight, and they were even meticulously clearing the corpses from their entrance like they were shoveling snow, as if afraid of blocking someone's path.

If this wasn't an invitation for him to come knocking, what was it?

Wang Xuan leaned against the wall at the street corner, not rushing forward. What kind of trick were these three playing? A sneak attack? An ambush? With his current martial arts and ruthlessness, who would dare?

"Interesting," Wang Xuan scoffed under his breath, his fingertips resting lightly on the hilt of the Blood Blade. "Knowing I need this Selected Tang Poetry and waiting here for me? Do they take me for a fool?"

Over there, the two men were still busy. One bent over to drag a body, his back curved like a shrimp, while the other piled them up with crude movements, looking no different from common porters.

But Wang Xuan saw clearly: though their hands were rough, their knuckles were unusually thick. They were clearly martial artists, merely hiding their true strength.

He looked at the man wiping the door. He had been at it for a while, yet the door wasn't getting cleaner; it was getting smudged. As he wiped, he suddenly looked up toward the street corner, his eyes locking with Wang Xuan's.

The man's gaze flickered violently, as if scalded. He lowered his head instantly, nearly dropping his rag, and pretended to continue wiping the frame, but his shoulders were rigid, and he even held his breath.

Wang Xuan couldn't help but laugh, his voice low but laced with mockery: "The acting is decent, but what a pity—I'm not buying it."

As soon as he finished speaking, he flicked his finger.

The Blood Blade slid half an inch from its scabbard. A thin, blood-red blade aura shot out from the steel, skimming the ground. It was as fast as lightning, covering the thirty-pace distance in the blink of an eye, without even stirring the wind.

Using the Blood Blade Scripture to unleash a blade aura so effortlessly—if the Blood Blade Ancestor were here, his eyes would likely pop out of his head.

The two men moving the corpses hadn't even reacted, still locked in their dragging posture.

Two soft, wet thuds sounded almost simultaneously.

Two heads flew into the air, blood spraying high and splashing against the wall like two eerie red flowers blooming. The two headless corpses swayed before collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud, their hands still clutching the hem of a corpse's clothing in a grotesque display.

At the bookstore entrance, the long-faced man turned as pale as paper, drained of all color. The rag in his hand dropped with a plop. His eyes bulged, his mouth hung open, and for a long time, he couldn't speak, only a rattling sound emerging from his throat.

"This... how is this possible?!" he finally squeezed out, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "Killing from a distance?! What kind of monster are you?!"

Wang Xuan didn't answer. He remained where he stood, spinning the Blood Blade in his hand, the blood-red patterns on the blade glowing with a faint light.

Qi Changfa stared at Wang Xuan, completely stunned, frozen in place as if turned to ice.

In his understanding, the ninth stage of the Post-Heaven Realm was the absolute pinnacle of the martial world. There were barely a handful of people in the entire world who could reach that level.

Even his master back in the day hadn't possessed such skill—to decapitate someone with a blade aura from over a zhang away.

Yet, the scene before him completely shattered his lifelong understanding. He was over forty, had practiced martial arts his entire life, and had clawed his way to his current level, considering himself a master. But in front of this man, he couldn't even withstand a casual flick of blade aura?

As Qi Changfa regained his senses, his first thought was to run.

As long as the green hills remain, there's no need to worry about firewood!

His senior brother Wan Zhenshan and third junior brother Yan Daping were already dead; this scheme had long since collapsed. Staying here meant certain death!

His life was what mattered. As for the treasure, he could find another way later!

He turned and bolted into the bookstore, stumbling and nearly tripping over the threshold, not daring to look back.

But just as he took two steps, a faint whistling sound of something piercing the air came from behind him.

Another streak of blood-red blade energy caught up, faster and sharper than the last.

Qi Changfa felt a chill at his waist, as if he had been grazed by a shard of ice. He instinctively looked down, his eyes widening in horror; his upper and lower body had been completely severed. Blood gushed out like a fountain, staining the bluestone slabs before him red, and his intestines spilled onto the ground as an agonizing pain surged into his heart.

Anyone familiar with being cut in half knows that death is not instantaneous; victims usually die from the agony or blood loss, and Qi Changfa was no exception.

He lay in a pool of blood, propping himself up with both hands, dragging his severed torso forward. His fingernails dug into the gaps between the bluestone slabs, leaving deep gouges. A long, sticky, and ghastly trail of blood was dragged across the ground.

"Ah!" he shrieked, his voice distorted and his expression twisted like a vengeful ghost. "Wang Xuan! You will die a horrible death! Even as a ghost, I won't let you go!"

Wang Xuan stood five zhang away, watching him quietly. He did not move a step, his eyes devoid of any ripples, as if he were watching an ant struggling in its final moments.

Qi Changfa crawled a few more steps before his strength gradually faded. His arms went limp, and he collapsed to the ground, gasping for air as blood poured from the corners of his mouth, forming a small puddle.

"You... just you wait..." He lifted his head, his eyes filled with venom, bloodshot veins covering his eyeballs. "I... I will wait for you in the underworld... sooner or later... you will come down to join me..."

Wang Xuan still did not move. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke slowly, his voice devoid of any warmth: "Rest assured, you won't have to wait."

Qi Changfa opened his mouth, wanting to say more, but only blood gushed out, making it impossible to utter a coherent sound. His gaze gradually grew unfocused, and the venom slowly faded away.

Finally, his head lolled to the side, and he stopped moving entirely. His eyes remained wide open, staring fixedly in Wang Xuan's direction, dead without closure.

Wang Xuan glanced at Qi Changfa's corpse, thinking to himself that the three people he had encountered were quite cunning. They knew what he lacked, calculated where he would go, and even laid out the books in advance; this trap had indeed been set with great care.

Unfortunately, it was too much care.

In the world of Secret of the Linked Cities, human hearts were like those of demons, requiring constant vigilance. The level of danger here was perhaps only surpassed by the martial arts worlds penned by Gu Long.

Wang Xuan turned and left. Even though he knew the opponent's move was an open trap, he would not let his status as a practitioner of the Three-Unity Great Xiantian lead him to be careless. He turned and walked in the opposite direction.

After walking two streets, he found another bookstore.

The door was closed, so he kicked it open. He went inside, rummaged through the shelves, and found an old copy of Selected Tang Poetry on the innermost shelf. After flipping through a page or two, he tucked the book into his robes.

The sun climbed higher and higher, illuminating all of Jingzhou City like a giant graveyard.

If you can't find the book title, try searching for the author; perhaps the name has just been changed!