Killing Man-Ghouls Earns Merit

Deep in the mountains, leaves rustled under a dark moon—the hour for killing.

Halfway up the slope, a few rammed-earth old houses stood in lonely isolation, with only the central main room still lit.

White cloth hung down; the mourning hall was simple and crude.

Liang Yaozu knelt on the ground. The old man lying on the bamboo bed before him had long lost any trace of life, as if merely asleep.

Waking from a dream, he had crossed into this world, rescued by this mountain herb-gathering elder, brought home to recuperate for several months before finally recovering.

Three years had passed in the blink of an eye.

In those three years, to bid farewell to his past life, he named himself "Liang Qisheng," meaning "restarting life."

The herb-gathering elder was not without demands. He struck an agreement with Liang Qisheng: Liang Qisheng would care for him in old age and see to his burial.

This request, Liang Qisheng accepted without hesitation.

In the days that followed, he followed the elder into the mountains to gather herbs.

Walking through the forests, there were fearsome beasts like wolves, tigers, and leopards, so herb gatherers also carried some boxing techniques.

And the herb-gathering elder passed on a Black Tiger Fist to Liang Qisheng.

When the elder demonstrated the Black Tiger Fist, Liang Qisheng was startled by the immense power it displayed.

He never imagined that the seemingly frail old herb gatherer could shatter a tree stump with a single punch.

Only then did he realize this world was no ordinary one—it was a world of transcendent martial artists.

Powerful martial artists could split mountains and crack stone, divert rivers, stand alone against an army, and even live for centuries.

And so, Liang Qisheng trained in the Black Tiger Fist while following the elder into the mountains to gather herbs.

Day after day passed, and in the blink of an eye, three years of peaceful life slipped by.

But man has his sudden misfortunes; gathering herbs in the deep mountains was like treading on the edge of an abyss—life and death separated by a single thread.

While picking Blood Coagulation Grass on a cliff, the herb-gathering elder surnamed Zhao was injured by a Cliff-Guarding Golden Eagle, gravely wounded.

A dragon stranded in shallow water is teased by shrimps; a tiger brought to the plains is bullied by dogs.

The stubborn old herb gatherer had weathered half a lifetime, only to die at the hands of a few petty thugs who robbed his herbs.

For nothing more than a single stalk of Blood Coagulation Grass, the old man lost his life.

On an ordinary day, the herb-gathering elder would have had no fear of these ruffian thugs, but gravely wounded and advanced in years, caught off guard, he was ambushed by them and died on the road.

Someone saw this from afar, dared not speak up, but secretly passed word.

Liang Qisheng searched everywhere and finally found the herb-gathering elder's corpse by the roadside. He said nothing, carried him home directly.

After tidying his appearance, he buried him and kowtowed several times before the grave.

Revenge waits not for the night; repay kindness with kindness, settle grudges with grudges.

That very evening, Liang Qisheng took the herb-gathering knife, sharpened it to an exceptional edge, and at dusk opened the door to step out.

"Under a moon-dark, wind-high night, old man, I'm here to avenge you!"

Knife in hand, Liang Qisheng silently lurked in a patch of shadow, waiting patiently.

Inside the old house, three ruffian thugs were drinking and feasting, laughing and shouting.

"Truly fortune smiles on us brothers—who'd have thought a dead old man could still find that Blood Coagulation Grass."

"That old geezer was lucky to be wounded somehow, otherwise his strength was freakish—hard to deal with."

"I kicked him to death, but he grabbed my ankle—still limping today, left a few finger marks, the bruise won't fade."

Under the lamplight, the three men crowded around a small table, making a ruckus.

The speaker was the rogue sitting at the head, surnamed Sun, named Sun Youzhi, a notorious scoundrel for miles around.

The other two pinched peanuts, washed down with cheap wine, roaring with laughter.

They had no idea that death had already arrived outside.

Hearing their chatter, Liang Qisheng's face was cold as he gripped the knife tightly.

After a while, one of the thugs stood up, a little dazed, and said:

"Boss, I'm gonna go outside to take a leak..."

"Get the hell out, and don't piss your pants!"

Amidst laughter and curses, Skinny Monkey stood up, swaying as he opened the door.

He walked to a corner of the yard, undid his pants, and started relieving himself.

But he didn't notice that behind him, a shadow had silently crept up.

Shing!

A cold gleam swept across his neck. With a shrrrk, it sliced clean through, and blood sprayed out.

Skinny Monkey clutched at the wound, trying desperately to make a sound, but his ruined throat was like torn cloth—only a gurgle, not a single word.

Liang Qisheng held the body that was about to go limp from behind and propped it up against the wall, making it look like it was just leaning there.

Inside the room, there was a moment of waiting, then a few more shouts, and the door was pushed open again.

Another thug came out, looked around, spotted Skinny Monkey leaning against the wall, and immediately started mocking:

"Skinny Monkey, you're really useless, getting drunk and passing out right here. Get back inside with me!"

He staggered over to Skinny Monkey and gave him a light pat, but the other's body slumped down.

He still didn't seem to realize what was happening and jeered further:

"Skinny Monkey, you're about to fall into the muddy puddle of piss..."

But before he could finish, a cold gleam slashed across his throat, and the last few words came out like wind through a crack, completely unintelligible.

"The wind in the underworld is strong—easy to go, hard to return!"

A cold voice sounded in his ear, and then he knew nothing more, dead on the spot.

"Damn it, two people go out and take this long, did they both die out there?"

Just then, the ruffian Sun Youzhi shoved the door open wide, cursing as he spoke.

A flash of cold light streaked before his eyes, a chill rushing toward his face, sobering him up by half on the spot.

"Who wants to kill me?!"

The cleaver arced down toward his head with a cold gleam, and he barely twisted aside to dodge the blow.

But a sharp pain hit his stomach, and a gash was sliced open.

"Spare me, good sir!"

Sun Youzhi had at least practiced a few years of boxing and had some brute strength. In desperation, he clenched his right fist and threw a punch at his attacker's chest.

The fist whistled through the air and slammed in hard.

Liang Qisheng's expression didn't change. He gathered his left hand into a fist and swung it out in the opening stance of the Black Tiger Fist, like a tiger bursting from its cage, meeting the other's punch.

Bam!

Liang Qisheng's body shuddered, while the ruffian let out a pained howl, his form crashing back into the room, overturning the table behind him, and hitting the floor.

Cleaver in hand, Liang Qisheng's face was full of murderous intent as he stepped into the room.

"Spare me, good sir! I have money, don't kill me..."

The ruffian Sun Youzhi was mostly sober now, his face full of terror.

He hadn't expected retribution to come so fast.

He'd been worried after committing the bloodshed today.

But it was just an old herb gatherer, alone and isolated—die in some deep mountain forest and no one would report it.

He'd also heard the old man had a nephew. He'd planned to lie low and deal with that nuisance in a few days, but he never expected the guy to come straight to his door.

Liang Qisheng's face was as cold as iron. He didn't listen to the man's pleas, grabbed him by the hair, and pulled him close.

With a swift motion of the blade, like slaughtering a chicken or a pig, he drove the knife deep into his chest.

Twisting his hand, he used the Black Tiger Fist frame, and with one cut, severed the head. Blood sprayed, and the babble stopped mid-sentence.

"[A thug and ruffian, with blood on his hands—kill him, and gain merit.]"

"...Killed a guilty man. Gained three points of merit!"

A voice suddenly rang out in his mind, leaving Liang Qisheng momentarily stunned.

Then the thick smell of blood in the room snapped him back to reality.

He cut off the heads of the other two, searched the bodies, looted everything, clean and efficient.

Before leaving, he smashed the oil lamp. Not long after he left the yard, the old house was engulfed in flames.

Liang Qisheng didn't return to his lodgings. Instead, carrying the three thugs' heads, he went straight to the old herb gatherer's grave.

He lined up the three heads side by side, knelt down, and performed three kowtows and nine prostrations.

"Old man, I've avenged you this time. I won't be able to look after you anymore..."

That night, Liang Qisheng sat by the grave for a long time, not saying a single word.

It wasn't until the sky began to lighten that he stood up and gazed at the lonely burial mound.

Finally, he turned and left without looking back.

He hadn't slept all night, and though he'd butchered three beasts, Liang Qisheng felt no discomfort—instead, a kind of exhilaration.

After killing, it was as if a wild beast had truly been unleashed inside him.

But what interested him most was the strange voice that had sounded in his mind after he'd finished off the last ruffian.

He slowly closed his eyes, and the bizarre scene appeared in his mind again.

"Name: Liang Qisheng

Lifespan: 65 years.

Technique: Black Tiger Fist 8% (+)

Merit: Three points!"

The information that surfaced in Liang Qisheng's mind made him feel, for the first time, that this world was unfamiliar.

"Five Prisons cultivation, a human evil ghost, this is the Man-Ghoul. Kill it, and gain merit. Merit—what use does it have?..."