Phantom Demon Clan

When Cheng Yang stepped into the clinic again, the door curtain had just fallen when he heard sobbing from the sickbed.

"Senior Brother Cheng..." The junior brother with the severed arm leaned half against the headboard, his face pale as paper, his eye sockets swollen red. His voice squeezed out in broken fragments. "My martial path... I'm afraid it ends here..."

Cheng Yang stood by the door, looking at his empty left sleeve. His lips moved a few times, but he could not say anything.

Words like "It'll get better," "Don't lose heart," and "Maybe there'll be a way in the future" rolled across his tongue again and again, only to be swallowed back down in the end.

There was no need to use words he did not even believe himself to deceive someone else.

He walked over and sat on the edge of his junior brother's bed. After a moment of silence, he finally said softly, "Junior Brother... recover well. Don't think about anything else for now."

It was a simple sentence, utterly weightless, but he truly could not find anything more suitable to say.

The other surviving disciple sat at the foot of the bed, head lowered as he gripped the corner of his clothes without a word. His eyes were red as well.

Cheng Yang sat there a little longer. Only after his junior brother's sobs gradually subsided did he rise and nod to the other disciple. "Stay here and look after him. I'll return to the martial hall first and tell Master the news."

"Yes... Senior Brother Cheng."

Cheng Yang lifted the curtain and left the clinic. The daylight outside was somewhat dazzling. He narrowed his eyes and hurried toward the Chen Clan Martial Hall.

Main hall of the Chen Clan Martial Hall.

Chen Feiyi was seated before a desk, leafing through an old boxing manual. Hearing Cheng Yang's footsteps, he looked up. The moment his gaze fell upon Cheng Yang's robe, stained all over with blood, his brows drew together.

"You're back?" He set down the manual. "How did it go?"

Cheng Yang stood in the middle of the hall. After a breath of silence, he said, "Master, ten people from our Chen Clan Martial Hall went to suppress the bandits this time. Only three returned, myself included."

Chen Feiyi's hand froze in midair.

He stared at Cheng Yang for several breaths, his Adam's apple bobbing as his voice sank. "Wasn't Wei He leading them personally? How did this happen?"

"Master, this is what happened..." Cheng Yang recounted the events in concise terms...

In the end, he added, "This disciple suspects that the beast tide was deliberately arranged by someone. The three leaders of the Big-Ears Gang fled beforehand, and the beast tide appeared only after we entered the stronghold. Those two things are unlikely to be a coincidence."

"A beast tide..." Chen Feiyi rose to his feet and paced twice before the desk, his brow furrowing ever tighter. "If it truly was man-made... for them to dare plot against even Wei He, they must have quite a background..."

"This disciple believes that if we find the Big-Ears Gang's three leaders, we may learn who is pulling the strings behind the scenes. But finding those three would be like fishing a needle from the sea..."

Chen Feiyi fell silent for a moment.

"The seven junior brothers who died..." Cheng Yang changed the subject. "How does Master intend to arrange their funerals?"

Chen Feiyi sat back down, rubbing his brow. His voice was weary, but without hesitation. "They went to suppress bandits for my Chen Clan Martial Hall. They are gone, but I will not withhold a single coin of compensation from their families."

Cheng Yang nodded. He said nothing more and turned to leave the main hall.

"Four-Ping Gang, that gang of mysterious origins..."

"Could they be the mastermind behind this?"

Cheng Yang came to a decision.

At the same time, in a secret chamber somewhere west of the city.

An oil lamp sat in a corner by the wall, its flame so weak it seemed as though it could go out at any moment.

The dim yellow light flickered over the damp walls, stretching and shrinking the curled-up figure in the corner.

Huan Xin, leader of the Four-Ping Gang, sat against the wall. His face was so pale it was nearly transparent. Cold sweat slid down from his temples, gathered into a drop at his chin, then fell into his collar.

He kept his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling for quite some time before he slowly exhaled a breath of foul air.

The dark-red gleam in those eyes was slowly fading. Threads of bloodshot red peeled away from the depths of his pupils, restoring them to the clear black and white of an ordinary person.

Yet only the surface had faded. The exhaustion and depletion lurking deep in his eyes were the real thing.

Controlling that tiger mutant beast, one comparable to a Force Tempering Martial Master, was clearly no easy task for him.

"Sure enough... it was still too much of a strain."

His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper dragged across rough wood.

His opened eyes carried a gloom that had yet to disperse, like charcoal ash sunk at the bottom of water for two days—stirred up, yet unable to settle back down.

He lowered his head to look at his palm, slowly clenched it, then released it. The corner of his mouth gradually curled upward.

The process had not been perfect.

That mutant beast had failed to kill Wei He directly, and more than half the City Guard had escaped, but the result was already enough to satisfy him.

Wei He was badly wounded, and more than half his subordinates had been lost. The largest iron plate in Qinglin County had been smashed open with a very real crack.

"As long as Wei He falls... this city will be mine for the taking." He murmured softly, his fingertips lightly pressing the corner of his eye as he felt the dull pain and an indescribable hint of hunger within. "Then... these Phantom Demon Eyes of mine should undergo their transformation as well."

All the abilities of their Phantom Demon Clan came from this pair of Phantom Demon wounds.

And for the Phantom Demon Eyes to evolve, their only nourishment was negative emotions—fear, despair, grief, and bewilderment.

The denser those emotions were, and the wider the area they covered, the faster the Phantom Demon Eyes would transform.

What Huan Xin wanted was a city penned up like livestock, where every person lived beneath a shadow with no road of escape. That way, there would be an endless stream of nourishment for him to draw upon.

"Very soon..."

As his voice fell in the secret chamber, the oil lamp flickered once, casting shifting light and shadow over the face whose smile had yet to fade.

The next day, news of Wei He's severe injury spread like wildfire scattered by the wind, burning through every corner of Qinglin County overnight.

On streets and in alleys, in teahouses and taverns, martial halls and gangs, people were discussing the matter everywhere.

Their tones varied. Some lowered their voices and gloated, some frowned with worry etched across their faces, and others looked utterly bewildered as they asked around about whether the news was true.

"Have you heard? Commander Wei was badly injured while suppressing bandits. They say he can't even get out of bed now."

"Isn't that so? I heard a lot of people died in the bandit suppression this time. Ten from our Chen Clan Martial Hall went, and only three came back. They say one junior brother even lost an arm..."

"If Commander Wei truly falls... Qinglin County may be in for something terrible."

As Cheng Yang passed through the front courtyard, he happened to hear those disciples chattering back and forth.

He did not stop walking, nor did he speak to interrupt them. Yet as he passed behind that row of walls, his steps paused slightly for a beat.

The news had spread too quickly. Abnormally quickly. Like a net woven long ago, waiting only for the sound of Wei He falling before it began tightening layer by layer.

That air of a mountain storm about to descend made Cheng Yang feel stifled in the chest. It was not exactly painful, but it felt as if something were pressed against his heart, neither too heavy nor too light.

Of course, he knew this pressure could become motivation, forcing him to train harder and improve faster.

But if he could choose, he would rather live each day in ease, like some idle afternoon in his previous life—lying in the sun and doing nothing important.

How wonderful it would be to be a salted fish.

Unfortunately, from the day he woke up in this world, he had been pushed onto a slope that never stopped rolling.

The reputation of a genius hung over him, enemies watched him, and the people around him depended on him.

He could not stop. Even slowing down a little would mean being caught by the things chasing from behind and having his heels trampled.

Being a genius was exhausting.

But he no longer had any road of retreat.

Cheng Yang gathered his thoughts and headed along the corridor toward the training grounds.

His steps remained steady, only slightly slower than usual.

If I want to slack off, I'll wait until I possess invincible strength...

(Is anyone reading this?)