The Fury of an Ant

The old physician stopped short at those words.

He turned back with a sigh and explained, "Ever since that incident, Li Xiang was traumatized and lost his mind. He's been muddleheaded ever since, receiving treatment here and taking herbal medicine."

"And haven't there been more patients lately? So I had him help tend the medicine furnace. Sigh, he's a pitiful man too."

Han Zhong nodded, his doubts dispelled. He neither confirmed nor denied it.

"Come to think of it, didn't you help him kill the strange entity that harmed his family? Perhaps you could talk to him and help untie the knot in his heart."

The old physician suddenly remembered and spoke with a healer's compassionate heart.

"What would I know about that..."

Han Zhong had barely gotten halfway through his sentence when a string of thunderous booms rang out in the distance. His expression changed sharply, and he immediately urged, "Hurry and prepare my medicine! Something may have happened at the ancestral hall! I need to go back and take a look!"

He had to run. If he didn't, it would be too late.

"Alright, alright, alright!"

The old physician immediately went into the inner room, inspected the herbs in the medicine pots one by one, then nodded and put the lids back on. "They're nearly done brewing. Take this medicine to him. I'll prepare a few more doses to stop the bleeding."

Li Xiang stood there dazed for a long while before finally nodding.

Without minding the heat, he directly lifted the reddened medicine pot from the stove. His fingers blistered from the scalding heat, yet his body did not tremble in the slightest.

The old physician furrowed his brows, then ultimately could not help but sigh.

Once the old physician entered the rear courtyard, Li Xiang woodenly carried the medicine pot over to Han Zhong. Only the two of them remained in the guest room.

Han Zhong looked at the dejected man with lifeless eyes with interest.

Come to think of it, he had been the one to suggest using statues to lure the strange entities to Li Fang. He had also delivered the statues and incense to Li Xiang's home. Looking at it now, he bore some responsibility for Li Xiang's wife's death as well.

Heh, so what?

"My hands are broken. Can you feed me the medicine?"

Han Zhong demonstratively raised his broken hands.

Li Xiang froze for a long while before bringing the brewed medicine pot to Han Zhong's lips. Han Zhong turned his head aside to avoid it, his face full of disgust.

"I meant pour it into a bowl and feed me with a spoon, not pour it straight from the pot." Seeing that Li Xiang had no reaction, Han Zhong frowned. "You can't even understand that? Can't understand human speech? Are you really crazy?"

At that moment, the dull-eyed Li Xiang suddenly moved.

The medicine pot he held high came crashing down. Scalding medicinal broth instantly drenched Han Zhong from head to toe, seeping into his eyes.

"Ah!"

Han Zhong screamed from the burns, about to fly into a rage.

But the figure before him shoved him to the ground and straddled his waist.

Bang!

Something heavy struck his head with a dull blow, and stars burst before his eyes.

Han Zhong was horrified. He hurriedly wiped the thick medicinal dregs from his eyes with his upper arm. His blurred vision abruptly cleared, and the blackened, scorching bottom of a pot rapidly filled his vision before smashing his nose bridge apart.

Li Xiang's eyes were red, his breath ragged. Like a beast that had lost all reason, he swung the medicine pot madly, smashing it down on Han Zhong again and again.

"You were laughing... You're still laughing..."

He muttered under his breath, as though those words were what had driven him mad.

In just a few breaths, Han Zhong's face had been smashed into a bloody pulp. As his life hung by a thread, murderous intent flashed through his swollen eyes. At last, he seized a sliver of opportunity and viciously swung his broken hand toward Li Xiang's head.

But the next moment...

Swoosh—

A sharp whistle tore through the air. A small stone ripped through the air like a bullet, piercing Han Zhong's arm and instantly crippling half his body.

Han Zhong was terrified out of his wits, fear rising in his heart. His throat bobbed, but before he could say a single word, a medicine pot smashed down and left him unable to speak.

His legs twisted and kicked desperately against the ground. Gradually, the strength behind his struggles weakened, until they finally stiffened and stopped moving.

Han Zhong had exhausted his qi and blood. Without the protection of the Golden Bell Shield, his body was only several times stronger than an ordinary person's; it was far from indestructible.

And the only part of him tempered to resemble steel, his Red Line Fist, had been severed by Chu He's blade. That was why Han Zhong died so miserably in the end.

The earthenware pot in his hands had been smashed to pieces. His hands had long been sliced open by ceramic shards, wounds crisscrossing them deeply enough to expose bone. Yet even so, Li Xiang continued to pound Han Zhong's corpse with all his strength, again and again.

Tears the size of beans slid from his eyes, his heart brimming with unspeakable grief.

Li Xiang remembered everything. He saw everything.

He was not mad. He had only been protecting himself...

On the eaves of the inner courtyard, the cool breeze rustled. Chu He withdrew the right hand that had flicked out the stone and watched as Li Xiang beat the corpse one last time while breaking down in sobs.

He looked away and exhaled a breath of stale air.

It seemed Li Xiang was no fool.

At the same time, Han Zhong's miserable fate sounded an alarm for Chu He.

It further cemented his earlier thought: he had to find a body-tempering martial art focused on the flesh. The Golden Bell Shield alone had far too great a weakness.

Once one's qi and blood were depleted, it was no different from paper pasted together.

Thinking of qi and blood, he lowered his head and glanced at the unconscious old physician.

"Perfect. He'll come in handy."

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh...

The mournful cold wind raged and swirled.

Wu Feng's face was pale, his dry lips pressed tight. He hid in the corner of a collapsed stone wall, staring intently at the place where Hong Shou and Li Fang were fighting.

Roars, furious howls, explosions, and thunderous crashes rang out there without end.

The battle had reached its white-hot climax!

Such a tremendous disturbance had unknowingly drawn the attention of the entire village. Some of the bolder villagers had even climbed onto their roofs to peek.

Wu Feng swept a resentful gaze over his mangled right leg, hating only that he lacked the ability to help his master and had instead become a burden.

His master was already advanced in years. Could he still hold on?

Remembering how Chu He had left without even looking back, Wu Feng gave a helpless, self-mocking smile. "Even Junior Brother Chu doesn't think Master can win, does he?"

"How could that be? I think Master can win!"

A rich, clear voice sounded behind Wu Feng.

Wu Feng froze, then abruptly turned around.

Chu He stood atop the wall, carrying a figure in one hand as he gazed into the distance. He nodded seriously. "And the odds are quite favorable."

"Junior Brother Chu, you... you..."

Wu Feng stammered, pointing at Chu He.

"What? You didn't think I ran away just now, did you?"

Chu He lowered his head, narrowing his eyes.

"I..." Shame crossed Wu Feng's face, and he could not say a word.

That truly was what he had thought. But Chu He's return was enough to prove that his guess had been wrong—disastrously wrong.

"Enough. I can't be bothered listening to your explanation."

Chu He withdrew his gaze and slapped the old physician across the face.

"Ow!"

The old physician's left cheek swiftly swelled red, the imprint of a palm stark and clear.

He cried out miserably and instantly awoke from his unconsciousness.

"Old Zhang, there's work to do."

Chu He tossed the old physician in front of Wu Feng and pointed at his mangled leg. "Stabilize his injury. Don't let him die."

"Understand?"

Chu He stared at the old physician, his gaze threatening.

"Understood, understood."

The old physician knew the situation at a glance. He did not dare act rashly in the slightest and nodded frantically, so eager to agree that he was nearly thumping his chest in assurance.

"Alright, now it's my turn to take the stage."

Chu He pulled out a mountain ginseng root from his pocket and took a vicious bite.

The old physician had sharp eyes. He recognized that the ginseng in Chu He's hand was precisely the century-old wild mountain ginseng he had hidden by his bedside. His heart bled, yet he dared not voice his anger.

"Where are you going?"

Wu Feng asked anxiously without thinking.

Chu He gave Wu Feng a strange look and calmly said, "Of course I'm going to help Master. Two against one—naturally the odds of winning will be much greater."