Chapter Seventy-Four: Taking Action

The sun hung low in the west. From his vantage point, Lu Chenyuan watched as the merchant surnamed Zhang slipped out of the rear courtyard and headed straight into the inn’s main hall. A thought stirred in Lu Chenyuan’s mind. Ignoring the searing pain tearing at his wounded chest, he forced himself to follow.

Inside, the hall was chilly and deserted. Only a few scattered patrons remained, drinking in silence.

Lu Chenyuan’s gaze swept across the room and fell upon the inn’s attendant, Wang Ergou, who was slumped against the counter in a deep slumber. His snores rose and fell, a silly grin curling his lips, while he muttered dreamily about “wives” and “warm beds.”

Observing this sight, Lu Chenyuan also noticed Wang Ergou’s slightly rounded belly—a clear sign the man had been living well with no one to supervise him these past days. Lu Chenyuan couldn’t help but find it amusing and mused to himself, “Now that Manager Qian is gone, this fellow’s days have only grown easier. Truly, when one’s stomach is full, one’s thoughts turn to lust—even in his dreams, he yearns for marriage.”

He was lost in thought when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Zhang merchant skulking up to the second floor. Instantly alert, Lu Chenyuan steadied his breath, ignored Wang Ergou, and silently followed. Though the wooden stairs were old and worn, he ascended without making a sound.

On the second floor, he saw that the door to Zhang’s room was slightly ajar. Hugging the wall, Lu Chenyuan pressed himself to the side and peered in.

Inside, the merchant was frantically rummaging through chests and cabinets, tossing clothes and bedding into disarray. Clearly agitated, he was searching desperately for something important.

Lu Chenyuan thought, “This scoundrel has allied himself with that heretical sect. For him to risk returning, whatever he’s seeking must be of great significance.”

He was about to strike and seize the man for questioning, but reconsidered. “If he’s being coerced, there must be resentment in his heart. Better to see what he finds before making a move.”

After a while, Zhang’s frantic searching halted. A look of wild joy spread across his face. From a false bottom in a large wooden trunk, he carefully drew out an object.

It was an egg, about the size of a goose egg, black as ink—neither stone nor jade. The shell was covered in countless twisted, coiling patterns, as if alive, seeming to breathe slowly in the dim light.

Lu Chenyuan frowned, feeling an indescribable sense of evil radiating from the thing.

Zhang, having found his treasure, wasted no time. He quickly produced a clean white cloth, wrapped the black egg layer by layer, and tucked it into his robes. Only then did he let out a long, relieved sigh and turn to leave.

But as he turned, he came face to face with Lu Chenyuan, leaning against the doorframe.

Lu Chenyuan regarded him calmly. “Merchant Zhang, it’s been a while.”

To Zhang’s ears, it sounded like a thunderclap on a clear day.

Zhang instinctively pressed his hand to his chest, guarding the black egg, his eyes full of wariness and suspicion.

He looked closer and recognized the youth as the inn’s helper. “It’s… it’s you?”

His expression softened, but then he noticed the pale face and the bandages faintly visible beneath the youth’s coarse clothes—a sign of serious injury.

Zhang’s eyes flickered, and he adopted a congenial smile. “So it’s young Lu. I… I left something behind at the inn and just came back to retrieve it.”

But Lu Chenyuan replied, “Manager Qian is dead.”

Shock and grief instantly appeared on Zhang’s face as he sighed. “Ah! No wonder… No wonder the inn feels so desolate and strange today.”

“I suppose those wandering cultivators, the ones with the Sea Moon Jade, brought disaster upon themselves and doomed Manager Qian as well. Truly, it is a cause for lament!”

Lu Chenyuan simply looked at him, his voice steady. “Merchant Zhang, why do you refuse to speak the truth?”

“W-what truth?” Zhang’s heart skipped a beat.

“You know everything,” Lu Chenyuan said, his gaze suddenly sharp and piercing, sending a chill through Zhang for reasons he couldn’t explain. “You know the real cause of Manager Qian’s death, and you know where those people who went missing from the inn ended up.”

At these words, Zhang’s affable smile vanished, his face turning so dark it seemed to drip with malice. He sized up Lu Chenyuan—thin, alone, gravely injured—and his fear quickly turned to contempt and cruelty.

“Did your wine-loving beauty of a master never teach you that, in the martial world, one should not meddle in affairs that don’t concern them?”

“I have no desire to meddle,” Lu Chenyuan replied. “Unfortunately, you’re my only lead. I can’t let you escape.”

“Lead?” Zhang sneered, his eyes glinting with murderous intent. “You’re young and reckless, unacquainted with the dangers of the world. Tonight, let me teach you a lesson.”

Before he finished speaking, he darted forward, drawing a gleaming dagger from his robes and thrusting it straight for Lu Chenyuan’s throat.

Lu Chenyuan watched, his eyes narrowing, but did not move.

The merchant saw the youth standing unfazed, as if petrified by his sudden attack. A surge of satisfaction welled up within him, as though all the humiliation he’d suffered from consorting with dark sects could be released through this single stroke.

Though in the world of cultivators he was nothing but a drifting ant, he thought, dealing with this wounded, inexperienced boy should be effortless.

With that thought, he drove the dagger forward, the blade flashing as it shot toward Lu Chenyuan’s throat.

But at that instant, something changed.

Lu Chenyuan remained calm. Unhurriedly, he raised his right hand, index and middle fingers together in a sword gesture, and traced a vertical line before him.

Suddenly, a wisp of ink-black flame flickered into existence at his fingertips. The fire smoldered quietly, not hot, but exuding a sinister, unnatural aura.

“What is this sorcery?” A jolt of fear shot through Zhang—what ordinary man possessed such abilities? He realized, belatedly, that this youth had been concealing his true strength.

The air around Lu Chenyuan seemed to shift, becoming unfathomable and strange.

Zhang cursed inwardly and threw all his strength into his attack, desperate to kill the youth before that dark flame could be unleashed.

But he was already a step too late.

The ink flame at Lu Chenyuan’s fingers suddenly stretched, transforming into a thin, writhing thread. With a deft motion of his wrist, he wielded the black fire like a brush, tracing characters in the empty air before him—slowly, steadily, his hand moved like a dragon’s dance, sketching an arcane talisman.

As soon as the talisman took shape, the light in the room abruptly dimmed.

Zhang felt the air around him thicken into glue. His feet seemed to sink into invisible mire—every movement required a herculean effort.

Panic seized him—what kind of wicked art was this youth using? He could only watch in horror as his blade, which had been darting forward with thunderous speed, now froze in midair, three inches from the youth’s face, unable to move another fraction.

No matter how much strength he poured into his attack, his face flushing with effort, the dagger simply would not advance.