Pain!
Pain so intense it felt like needles stabbing into him!
The instant Qin Zheng woke up, the agony in his chest nearly made him pass out again.
Cold sweat beaded densely across his pale face.
Only after it continued for a while did the pain slowly fade.
Qin Zheng was finally able to catch his breath and come back to his senses.
He raised his head and looked around.
It was a mud-brick house. There was very little inside: only a stove, a water vat, a wooden bed, and a cupboard.
Other than that,
there was also a Ghost-head Saber around five feet long, its blade flashing with a bitterly cold gleam.
"I transmigrated?"
As scattered fragments of memories surfaced in his mind,
Qin Zheng muttered to himself in disbelief.
But before he could think any further, pain began radiating from his chest again.
Fortunately, it was not as severe as before.
Enduring the pain, Qin Zheng opened his inner shirt and inspected his chest.
On his wheat-colored skin was an incomparably clear black palm print.
The excruciating pain Qin Zheng felt was all thanks to this palm print.
It was also because of this palm print that the previous owner had failed to hold on, allowing Qin Zheng to take over this body after transmigrating.
"What kind of enemy did the previous owner provoke?!"
Qin Zheng's expression darkened.
From the scattered memories in his mind, he learned that he was currently in a dynasty called Great Jin Dynasty.
It was an era similar to the ancient times of his previous life, yet also somewhat different.
Here, martial artists could leap across roofs and walk along walls, split mountains and shatter rocks. Demons could take human form, devouring people and crunching their bones.
In such an era, only martial artists who cultivated martial arts and possessed strength could live with some peace of mind.
Ordinary people, meanwhile, were fish on the chopping block, free for anyone to bully and humiliate.
The previous owner of Qin Zheng's body had been an executioner in Black Goose City, Qing Province, under the rule of Great Jin Dynasty.
He knew no martial arts. He only had brute strength and an ancestral Ghost-head Saber that was still fairly sharp.
He had inherited his ancestors' blessings, which allowed the previous owner to keep such a relatively stable job.
Once the pain subsided, Qin Zheng stood and slowly walked over to the water vat.
He first picked up the dipper and gulped down several mouthfuls of water. Only after easing the dryness in his throat did he lower his head to look at his reflection in the vat.
It was a young man of roughly seventeen or eighteen, with sword-like brows and bright eyes, quite handsome.
Yet his brows were tightly furrowed, his face deathly pale. He looked extremely weak.
After clearly seeing the appearance of this body, Qin Zheng lifted his head again and looked at the medicine pot on the stove.
A faint burnt smell drifted from within the pot.
It should have been medicine the previous owner had brewed to treat the injury in his chest.
But he had failed to endure it, allowing Qin Zheng to transmigrate and occupy his body.
As Qin Zheng inspected everything in the room, he sorted through the memory fragments in his mind.
In the previous owner's memories, he found no trace of how the injury had been sustained.
He only remembered that one day, pain had suddenly struck his heart. After that, the pain flared up every day at dawn.
Moreover, at the beginning, there had been no black palm print on the previous owner's chest.
But as time passed, the pain worsened each day, and the black palm print became increasingly distinct.
The previous owner had not suspected the work of a wandering martial artist.
He had merely believed that, as an executioner, he had chopped off too many heads. After exhausting his virtue in the underworld, the ghosts had come knocking.
After all, the previous owner's ancestors had all been executioners and had all died young. Not one had lived past thirty.
That had made the previous owner latch onto this idea from the start.
And what simmered in the medicine pot was not medicinal soup.
It was talisman water brewed from talisman paper he had purchased at great expense from Qingyang Taoist Temple in Black Goose City.
"No wonder I couldn't smell any medicine."
Qin Zheng shook his head speechlessly.
From the memory fragments, he discovered that although the previous owner's ancestors had all died young,
every one of them had been killed by wandering martial artists. None had died naturally or from paranormal encounters.
After all, executioners stood at the execution ground. One slash of the blade sent heads rolling.
And if those close to the criminals could not defy the authorities and avenge them against the court, could they not kill some insignificant executioner like you instead?
Executioners had no martial arts to protect themselves, and they were merely ordinary people recruited by the authorities.
Like chives, once one crop was cut, another grew back. The authorities felt no heartache over killing them, and those who acted felt no burden.
So the previous owner must have beheaded some criminal, only for someone close to that person to come seeking revenge.
It was not that ghosts had come knocking at all.
Qin Zheng reached that conclusion. Though it was only a guess, it was probably not far from the truth.
And right now, the first thing he needed to do was dispel the palm force lodged in his chest.
Otherwise, the previous owner had failed to survive this time. Next time, it might be Qin Zheng who failed to survive.
But he did not even know who had struck him with that palm.
Nor did he know how to dispel the palm force.
He could only wait until it was lighter, finish today's task, and visit a physician to see what they said.
From his memories, he learned that he still had to go to the execution ground this morning to chop off heads. Fortunately, it would not delay him for long.
It was just that he was not the previous owner. He did not know whether he could adapt to such a scene.
He could only hope nothing went wrong.
Qin Zheng rubbed his brow in distress.
The palm print on his chest had already turned black as ink. If it were an illness, it would likely be at the stage of being terminally ill, beyond cure by any medicine or stone.
Could this palm force still be dissolved and expelled?
If it could not be expelled, what was he supposed to do?
Just as he was thinking,
Bang! Bang! Bang!
There came a knock at the door, followed by a voice calling, "Qin Zheng, time is almost up. Get ready and head to the execution ground."
Qin Zheng hurriedly got dressed and opened the door.
Outside stood a middle-aged constable in black robes, a long saber hanging from his waist.
His surname was Wang. Qin Zheng had some impression of him from the previous owner's memories, though not much.
"Alright, Constable Wang. I'll tidy up and head over right away."
Qin Zheng answered weakly.
The other man was still holding his knocking pose, staring blankly at Qin Zheng in a daze.
Only after several breaths did he snap back to his senses. "Alright, alright. I'll head over first. Hurry and come along."
After saying that, he left before Qin Zheng could respond.
After watching Constable Wang leave, Qin Zheng turned back and shut the door. His expression instantly darkened.
That constable's reaction had clearly been one of surprise that Qin Zheng was still able to answer the door.
That meant he knew Qin Zheng had taken a palm strike and did not have long to live!
Thinking of this, Qin Zheng felt both sorrow and a blaze of anger rising in his heart!
He was working for the authorities, and those whose heads he had cut off were criminals the authorities had sentenced to death.
Yet in the end, he received not the slightest protection from the authorities. Even these constables knew full well and coldly watched him walk toward his death.
This job as an executioner was not worth keeping!
Qin Zheng took two steps forward and gripped the Ghost-head Saber resting against the wall.
Bzzz!!
Suddenly, the Ghost-head Saber trembled lightly.
Qin Zheng felt something violently explode within the sea of his mind.
His consciousness instantly sank.
When he came back to his senses, everything around him was pitch-black, like a starry sky.
Before him, a scroll radiating an ancient aura slowly unfurled.
Qin Zheng Lifespan: 70 (17) Merit: Three coins Item discovered: Ghost-head Saber. Can be refined. Requires one coin of merit. Refine? Note: Refinement grants martial art: Ghost-head Saber Technique
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