In the latter half of the night, inside Shallow Cave on a secluded cliff of Greenwood Mountain, dampness crept along the stone walls and seeped into the gaps between his bones.
Yi Yang leaned against the cave wall, his eyes closed as he circulated the Wood-Nurturing Longevity Art.
The blood and vital energy in his chest and abdomen flowed through his flesh, like an old millstone grinding away grain husks, round after round, slowly crushing his exhaustion.
The gashes across his back still burned.
But his Muscle Training Realm body was no longer the rickety bundle of old kindling it had once been.
The edges of his wounds itched, the scabs began to tighten, and his bruises faded from purplish black to dark red.
After killing Yang Er, Yi Yang had not rushed back to the village.
An old man running down from Greenwood Mountain in the dead of night, his clothes in tatters and his body covered in mud and blood, just when Wang Yue and the others had gone missing-who would not think twice at the sight?
A man who had lived to sixty could lack every other skill, but playing dead, playing pitiful, and playing dumb had to be cultivated to perfection.
Returning too early would invite suspicion, so he had gone back up the mountain to wait until morning.
After the roosters crowed for the third time, when the horizon brightened and the villagers began stirring to fetch water-that would be the best time to appear.
Yi Yang opened his eyes, and the gray-white light outside the cave spilled in.
He rose and checked his hidden belongings again.
The snake gallbladder, snake shedding, snake scales, silver, Nine-Edge Saber manual, and main piece of purplewood were all secure.
He descended the secluded cliff, circled around to a scree slope at the foot of the mountain, and deliberately took two tumbles.
Sharp stones tore his coat, mud and dust smeared his cuffs, and the slope scraped several shallow marks into his right leg.
It did not hurt. It merely looked wretched.
Yi Yang grabbed a handful of wet mud and smeared it over his face, then held his breath to give his complexion a more ashen cast.
He tried walking a few steps.
His right leg dragged half a beat behind, his waist bent, his shoulders sagged, and his breathing came in rough, short gasps.
Mm.
Convincing enough.
As dawn broke, Yi Yang shuffled along the path behind the village toward the well near its entrance.
The villagers often took this path when fetching water in the morning.
Sure enough, just as he reached the well, Aunt Zhang emerged carrying buckets on a shoulder pole, her son of ten or so trailing behind her.
Aunt Zhang looked up, and the pole nearly flew out of her hands.
"Old Master Yi!"
Her shout put even the rooster at the village entrance to shame.
Half a bucket of water splashed onto the ground, spattering mud up her son's trouser leg.
The boy shrank back in fright, his eyes round and wide.
Yi Yang leaned against a stone pillar by the well, his body listing to one side, his battered woodcutting saber braced against the ground as his chest heaved.
"Water... a little water..."
Aunt Zhang fumbled to scoop up half a dipper of well water and handed it to him.
Several nearby households heard the commotion. Doors opened and shut, and soon seven or eight people had gathered.
"Old Master Yi, how did you get back?"
"What happened up on the mountain?"
"Did you kill the snake?"
"Where's Constable Wang? Where's Yang Dongxi?"
Mouths crowded around him, their questions clamoring like vegetable sellers at a market.
Yi Yang drank two mouthfuls of water, then doubled over coughing. It took him a long while to raise his head.
"Slow down with the questions. This old man hasn't caught his breath yet."
Aunt Zhang slapped her thigh in agitation. "Oh, give him some room! Can't you see the state he's in? Questions, questions, questions—even King Yama doesn't work his mouth as hard as you!"
The villagers backed off a little.
Yi Yang wiped some mud from his face and spoke in broken fragments.
"We went up yesterday, and halfway up the mountain, we really did run into that giant snake."
The crowd leaned forward as one.
Someone swallowed.
Yi Yang continued, "The beast was frightfully thick. One sweep of its tail snapped trees. Constable Wang and the others went up to hack at it, while this old man was told to stay behind."
He stopped to catch his breath, pressing a hand beneath his ribs.
"Then the snake went berserk and charged toward me. I couldn't run fast enough, lost my footing, and rolled down the slope."
Aunt Zhang sucked in a cold breath.
"Rolled down? That slope is steep!"
"Forty or fifty yards, I reckon."
Yi Yang pointed to the back of his head, then lifted a corner of his coat at the back.
Scabbed gashes, broad patches of bruising, grime, and old blood were laid bare before everyone.
Those injuries could not be faked.
Several villagers winced at the sight.
"I hit a crooked tree at the bottom and passed out on the spot. In my dreams, I heard two figures, one black and one white, call my name several times. I feared they were Black and White Impermanence, so I didn't dare answer. When nobody answered, the figures faded away."
"Then I woke up in the morning."
Yi Yang swallowed, his face full of lingering fear.
"I was afraid that snake was still there. How could I dare linger? I felt my way up using roots and vines, climbing and falling all the way, until I finally made it back."
Truth mixed with lies, with a dash of supernatural folklore thrown in-the villagers believed every word.
Nobody suspected a thing.
For an old woodcutter pushing sixty to roll down a mountainside and still return to the village, his ancestral graves must have been blessed indeed.
The villagers around him marveled at Yi Yang's good fortune, surviving the clutches of Black and White Impermanence.
Just then, Village Chief Yang Shuyu hurried over after receiving word.
His long coat was only half-buttoned, his beard stuck out in disarray, and one of his shoes was mismatched.
"Brother Yi!"
Yang Shuyu squeezed through the crowd and first breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Yi Yang alive.
Then that breath caught in his throat. "Where's Constable Wang? Where are the others? What about the snake?"
Yi Yang shook his head, his face all innocence.
"I don't know, Chief. After I fell, I knew nothing. When I woke, the mountain was quiet. I called a few times, but nobody answered."
"Think harder!"
Sweat beaded on Yang Shuyu's forehead. "Constable Wang is from the County Office! Constable Yang sent him!"
Yi Yang pulled a miserable face and said helplessly, "Chief, if I could remember, wouldn't I tell you? I'm an old man. That fall nearly killed me. How could I dare go back to look for anyone?"
At that, Yang Shuyu's hands began to tremble.
Wang Yue was missing.
Three bailiffs were missing.
The hunter Yang Dongxi had not returned either.
A whole party had gone up the mountain, and only a half-dead old man had come back.
Once this reached the county authorities, whether he could keep himself clear of blame as village chief was hard to say.
The chatter at the village entrance grew increasingly chaotic.
Just then, someone came running from the eastern side of the village.
Zhang Xiaoshan.
He had run so hard that his waistband hung askew and one shoe had fallen off. His face was frighteningly pale, and his voice cracked before he even reached them.
"Something terrible's happened! Yang Er is dead!"
Everyone at the village entrance fell silent at his words, as though they had heard earth-shattering news.
A moment later, the crowd boiled into chaos.
"What? Yang Er's dead?"
"How did he die?"
"Who would dare kill him?"
Zhang Xiaoshan braced his hands on his knees, panting so hard his tongue nearly tangled. "I went to his house this morning to collect the food box. The door wasn't shut. When I went in, Yang Er was slumped in his Grand Tutor Chair, his throat slit open and blood smeared over half the chair!"
He gestured with one hand, trembling with fright himself.
"There was a black iron token on the floor too, with a ghost face carved into it. Creepy as hell!"
Yang Shuyu's legs went weak. He caught Aunt Zhang's son by the shoulder to keep from collapsing onto the ground.
The boy grimaced beneath his weight but dared not move away.
Several men who had often suffered at Yang Er's hands exchanged glances.
Someone muttered under his breath.
"Good riddance."
The words were very quiet.
But the satisfaction in the eyes of those nearby could not be hidden.
Some women covered their mouths and drew their children back toward home.
A death in the village was not frightening in itself, but the murder victim was Yang Er. That could spell disaster.
If Yang Da went mad, who could withstand him?
Yang Shuyu had been village chief for decades, after all. Frightened though he was, his wits had not scattered.
He strained his voice and shouted, "Stop panicking!" Then he coughed twice himself.
"First, send word to the county town! Tell Constable Yang that Yang Er is dead, and Constable Wang and the others went up the mountain and haven't returned!"
"Second, fetch Zhou Liang and have him take a few hunters up the mountain to search. If they're alive, I want them found. If they're dead, I still want answers!"
"Third, nobody leaves the village or goes up the mountain today! Anyone who dares run off will have his legs broken when he returns!"
His voice shook badly, but his words finally brought the situation under control.
Several men were singled out and hurried away.
Yang Shuyu led a group toward Yang Er's house.
The crowd at the village entrance flowed after them, all their attention drawn to Yang Er's death.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Yi Yang stooped and dragged his injured leg away from the edge of the crowd.
Nobody stopped him.
An old man who had just escaped the mountain with his life counted for pitifully little beside Yang Er's murder.
Yi Yang walked slowly, but his heart was perfectly steady.
The Nine Evil Sect Command Token, the traces of Li Shun's saber technique, the wounds on Yang Er's body.
Wang Yue's death in the mountains, Li Shun's identity in the cave.
The threads were connected.
If the authorities wanted to investigate, let them follow the trail.
At the end of it, the blame would naturally land on the Nine Evil Sect.
An evil sect that didn't shoulder the blame would hardly deserve the name.
As Yi Yang pushed open his courtyard gate, a thin, small figure rushed out of the house.
Jiang Yuexin's hair hung loose, dried tears marked her face, and her eyes were frighteningly red.
Seeing Yi Yang, she froze for half a heartbeat.
As though someone from a dream had suddenly appeared at the gate, she dared not believe it was him.
The next instant, she threw herself at him, clinging fiercely to his arm and burying her face in the hollow of his shoulder.
Her shoulders trembled violently, yet she made no sound.
That choked-back anguish tugged at the heart harder than any wailing.
Yi Yang, who had been as steady as an old tree root, felt an ache rise in his chest.
He raised a hand and ruffled her tangled hair.
"I'm back. Grandpa told you I'd be fine."
Jiang Yuexin spoke into his shoulder, her voice hoarse beyond recognition.
"You lied... you said you'd be fine, but you didn't come home all night..."
Hearing the commotion, Yang Hui hurried out of the kitchen with a spatula in hand.
She had stayed at the Yi Family home the night before, keeping Jiang Yuexin company well past midnight, and had planned to cook porridge at dawn.
One look at Yi Yang, filthy as a mud monkey, reddened her eyes. Then she slapped her thigh.
"Heaven has eyes! All that matters is that you came back alive!"
Her scolding was fierce. "If you'd really died up there, even tearing every blade of grass off your grave for Yuexin wouldn't have soothed my anger!"
Once she finished scolding, her hands moved briskly.
She fetched water, found a cloth, and rummaged out clean clothes, all while muttering.
"Sit down! Stop trying to act tough! Aren't those old arms and legs of yours falling apart fast enough already?"
Jiang Yuexin crouched beside him, refusing to release his sleeve, gripping it like a lifeline.
Yi Yang sat in the old wicker chair and let Yang Hui wipe his face.
The mud and dust came away, revealing several scratches.
Yang Hui wrinkled her nose at the sight.
Yi Yang took the hot porridge Jiang Yuexin handed him and drank two mouthfuls.
The fragrant rice settled in his belly, its warmth easing the exhaustion throughout his body.
As though making idle conversation, he asked, "On my way back just now, I heard people at the village entrance saying Yang Er was dead?"
At Yi Yang's words, Jiang Yuexin's hand froze around the bowl.
She raised her eyes. There was no fear in them, only hatred she had suppressed for far too long.
"Good riddance."
Yang Hui tossed the cloth into the basin. Seeing that only the three of them were around, she said gleefully, "Heaven finally opened its eyes! That fat worm did nothing but waste grain while he was alive. Yuexin's right-good riddance. He got off too easy!"
Yi Yang lowered his head and drank his porridge without responding.
His face showed only the exhaustion of having narrowly escaped death, with not a hint of anything else.
After finishing his porridge, Yi Yang waved a hand.
"I'll sleep for a while. Yuexin, don't go out today."
Jiang Yuexin nodded at once. "I won't. I'll heat some water for you and change your dressing when you wake up."
Eager for news from outside, Yang Hui gave Jiang Yuexin a few more instructions before heading toward the courtyard gate.
Before leaving, she glanced back at Yi Yang, who was reclining in the rattan chair with his eyes closed, and muttered, "Why does this old man look even more sprightly than yesterday...? No, my eyes must be playing tricks on me."
With that, she bustled off to the village entrance to ask around. Yang Er's death was a major event; the place was bound to be buzzing now.
After being helped into his room, Yi Yang did not sleep.
Jiang Yuexin went to the kitchen to boil water.
The room fell quiet.
Yi Yang lay on the bed, closed his eyes, and practiced his art.
The wound on his back itched as the flesh knitted together.
At the qi-blood second level, the muscle training realm, his powers of recovery were already beginning to show their formidable strength.
At a thought, small words appeared before his eyes.
[Wood-Nurturing Longevity Art, third layer: (360/6000)]
The third layer: Tendon Refining.
Six thousand progress points.
Four rounds of stance training each day, supplemented by medicinal baths, would earn him two hundred and forty points a day. Even then, it would take over twenty days.
The Snake Gallbladder and Snake Shedding were still in Shallow Cave.
If he could trade them for medicinal ingredients, he could increase his pace further.
But the problem was that once Yang Da heard the news, he would certainly return to Three Trees Village.
His younger brother was dead.
His trusted subordinate Wang Yue was dead too.
How many men would this constable captain from the County Office bring?
Yi Yang opened his eyes, thoughts churning beneath their aged, clouded depths.
How much time did he have left?
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