Chapter Thirty-Four: My Brother's Name Is Qi Xiu

Steam billowed from his entire body, his pupils trembling from a battle fiercer than any he had ever experienced. Qi Xiu gasped for breath, his chest heaving. The weight of so many long-suppressed emotions—anxiety, avoidance, apprehension, sleepless nights—had at last found release in today’s bout.

In the aftermath, a profound sense of satisfaction flooded his body and mind, triggering a rush of endorphins in his brain. The euphoria was so intense that it felt as if something within him had shifted, as though, pausing halfway up a mountain, he suddenly glimpsed the summit overhead. A moment of sudden clarity dawned in his heart.

Qi Xiu summoned his proficiency panel with a thought, and joy flickered in his eyes. The insight that had just struck him was not unfounded. Apart from his alchemy skill, which remained unchanged, all his other abilities had advanced to varying degrees—some, like the Black Sand Palm, had leapt by as much as ten percent in proficiency; even the skill of Striking Acupoints from Afar had increased by three percent. Adding it all up, the gains equaled at least ten days of diligent practice.

Such is the way of stored potential finally unleashed.

Gazing at the surging numbers, an inkling of understanding crept into Qi Xiu’s heart. Since beginning his martial cultivation, he had only fought two real battles; the rest of his time was spent in tireless training. The insights he’d accumulated with each increase in proficiency had settled deep into his limbs and bones, his very soul and mind, like soybeans packed tight in a millstone. Now, after this fierce battle, it was as if the millstone had finally begun to turn, grinding and fusing what had been stored, digesting it completely. Stillness and motion in concert—the insights of the past now came together in perfect harmony, resulting in today’s explosive progress.

After all, true combat is itself a form of cultivation, and cultivation always yields its rewards.

Quelling the joy in his heart, Qi Xiu strode toward the main hall.

Seeing Qi Xiu enter, seemingly to finish the job, Jin Tai pressed his wounded shoulder and glared at his stunned comrades, barking, “What are you standing around for? Keep fighting!”

“Oh—right!” At that, the portly Daoist and the Taibao Sect disciples resumed their melee. But after witnessing their abbot blasted into the hall by Qi Xiu’s palm, his fate uncertain, the Daoists were shaken to their core. Their fighting spirit vanished, and many began plotting their escape.

...

Inside the hall, Wu Changqing, drenched in blood, lay sprawled upon the rubble. Exhausted beyond measure, he could no longer suppress the Black Sand Palm’s venom. His legs had already dissolved into bloody water, pooling beneath him, and the toxin continued its relentless advance, soon to consume him entirely.

Knowing his defeat was certain, Wu Changqing raised his eyes with difficulty as Qi Xiu entered. His breath was faint, his voice frail.

“Never did I think, after all my careful scheming and effort, that I’d be undone by you. May I ask, as a dying man, where you truly hail from?”

“Tell me the incantation to refine this artifact, and I shall satisfy your curiosity,” Qi Xiu replied, pointing to the bamboo staff still clutched in Wu Changqing’s hand.

This bamboo staff was a fine thing indeed—capable of launching sword auras from afar, swift and powerful, imbued with a strange, otherworldly force. Even a master like Jin Tai had been caught off guard and struck. The martial talismans it required were costly and couldn’t be used as a regular method; but if Qi Xiu could claim this artifact, it would furnish him with another means of attack.

Yet Wu Changqing was no greenhorn. The odds of him carrying a refining manual were slim; the only way to learn the refining incantation was to coax it from his lips.

“That’s simple—take it.” Wu Changqing produced two parchment booklets from his robe and tossed them at Qi Xiu’s feet.

“So straightforward?” Qi Xiu was taken aback by Wu Changqing’s lack of hesitation. Had the old sorcerer been struck senseless?

Sensing Qi Xiu’s surprise, Wu Changqing laughed coldly to himself. To wield a demonic artifact was to court disaster. By gifting this method, he sowed the seeds of retribution. If Qi Xiu wished for it, so be it—Wu Changqing would wait for his vengeance from the underworld.

“I’ve given you everything. Now answer my question,” Wu Changqing demanded, his gaze burning with urgency. He truly wished to know which clan or sect had bested him, and whence came this domineering, almost brutal suppression technique.

Qi Xiu bent to pick up the books. The strange, writhing script that could warp flesh marked them as genuine. Satisfied, Qi Xiu moved closer, squatted before Wu Changqing, and with a twist of his fingers, peeled away half of his Hundred Faces mask.

“Hundred Faces? So you were the one who killed Xuantong and the others...” Wu Changqing was not surprised; he had suspected his two disciples had died at the hands of the expert who suppressed the Jade Bodhisattva.

“My surname is Qi, given name Xiu. From Baohe County—no sect, no school.”

“No sect or school?!” Wu Changqing’s dim eyes suddenly regained some light, incredulous.

“Not a word of falsehood.”

“No sect, no school...” Wu Changqing suddenly laughed, gazing at the young man before him, barely in his twenties. Regret flickered in his eyes for having given away the refining method. A lone cultivator, unbound by clan or sect, with such talent and a wide path ahead—perhaps one day, he might even outshine the disciples of the great families.

With this thought, Wu Changqing’s lips moved: “Remember this—whoever wields a demonic artifact will surely—” But before he could finish, the last spark of life faded from his eyes. The warning, “whoever wields a demonic artifact will surely suffer for it,” died with him, never to reach Qi Xiu’s ears.

...

Bamboo staff in hand, Qi Xiu left the hall. The battle outside had nearly ended. The portly Daoist, seeing Qi Xiu—who had just killed his master—emerge, lost the will to fight and fled, abandoning his opponent.

“Master Ye, it’s settled?” Jin Tai approached with a smile, striding like a tiger, the wound on his shoulder already scabbed and dusted with a faint red powder—clearly some rare healing medicine.

Qi Xiu gave a brief nod and said little more, preparing to depart. Compared to Wu Changqing’s deadly schemes, these Taibao Sect disciples had higher morals, but none could be called truly good men. Qi Xiu had no wish to become entangled with them.

Seeing Qi Xiu’s aloofness, Jin Tai didn’t press. Today’s victory was thanks to this man’s help; he would remember the debt and perhaps, in time, their paths would cross again.

Halfway out of the courtyard, Qi Xiu, about to leave, suddenly paused and changed direction, stopping before a dazed figure.

“You’re Qian Yuchuan?” Qi Xiu looked calmly at the nervous young man before him, then suddenly smiled and clapped him twice on the shoulder, releasing a trace of Black Sand Palm force as he did so.

Pain shot through Qian Yuchuan, as though his body was splitting in two, but he dared not flinch. This was the man who had single-handedly slain the sorcerer—trying to dodge might well earn him a fatal palm strike.

“That’s me, Master Ye. What are your orders?” Qian Yuchuan replied, forcing a smile through the pain.

“Nothing much. I have a younger brother—he told me you had some disagreements. His name is Qi Xiu, a scholar with no martial skills.”

As Qi Xiu spoke, his hand pressed firmly on Qian Yuchuan’s shoulder, his tone mild. Yet to Qian Yuchuan, the words felt like knives against his spine.

What? This was Qi Xiu’s elder brother?!

The man was a living legend. If you had such a formidable brother, why hadn’t you ever said a word?

“It was all a misunderstanding! Just a misunderstanding!” Qian Yuchuan stammered, terrified Qi Xiu would strike him down.

“A misunderstanding? Then why did I hear you placed a thousand taels bounty on him in Ghost Market—alive or dead?”

Qi Xiu’s eyes narrowed, a cold killing intent making Qian Yuchuan’s face go numb.

“I’ll cancel it immediately! And offer ten thousand taels in apology!” Facing death, Qian Yuchuan snapped to attention, responding instantly.

“And he helped you with some translation work, didn’t he? The writing fee—”

“Another ten thousand taels!”

At last, Qi Xiu looked satisfied. He patted Qian Yuchuan’s cheek lightly. “You have a bright future ahead. But this is your last chance—if I hear anything more about you bothering Qi Xiu, even the Taibao Sect won’t be able to save you. My word on it.”

With that, Qi Xiu leapt away, leaving Qian Yuchuan drenched in sweat, frozen in place. Only after a long moment did he recover, nodding frantically.

“I understand, I understand. It won’t happen again. Never again...”

...