Chapter Eighteen: Escape from Death (Part Two)

Tonight, once again, was a moonless night. Without the moon’s radiant veil, every star shone with all its might.

Across the earth, a thin boy with a face smeared in blood walked alone, like an old wounded wolf. His left arm hung useless at his side, too injured to even lift, swinging limply with each step.

He gazed up at the star-strewn sky, intending to mock himself, but found he was too weak from hunger to even speak.

After surveying his surroundings, Su Bai slumped wearily against the trunk of a towering tree. With great effort, he retrieved a makeshift water pouch from his side. He opened it and tried to pour water into his mouth, but not a single drop fell. He had fled so hastily he hadn't even prepared enough water.

Feeling the dryness scraping his hoarse throat, Su Bai gave up resisting. These past days, he had not so much as glimpsed a wild rabbit or pheasant, nor even a berry. Even had he found some, he wouldn’t have recognized them—swallowing something unknown and possibly poisonous would be foolish.

Since arriving in this world, Su Bai had fancied himself the protagonist of a novel, destined for a life of grand power and beauty—wielding authority by day, reclining on a beauty’s knee by night. Yet, ironically, his best days had been the nine years spent in the bamboo hut.

As he listened to the silence of the night, he seemed to resign himself to fate, slowly closing his eyes.

“To think, after all my efforts to escape, I’ll end up starving to death. At least there are no wild beasts nearby, or even my corpse would be forfeit,” Su Bai thought bitterly.

No sooner had he shut his eyes than a crystal-clear fruit dropped from the tree above, striking his head. If not for the fact it didn’t hurt much, he might have mistaken it for a crystal.

Staring at its gleaming surface, Su Bai managed a wry smile. “I’m not Newton—no need to feed me in such a dramatic way.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he slowly picked up the fruit. Over the years, he had never tasted any rare delicacies, and his scant collection of books offered no guidance. Yet, at this point, the urge to survive overpowered caution.

Fixing his gaze on the fruit, Su Bai’s face relaxed into a faint, relieved smile. “Since fate won’t let me die, I suppose I’ll shamelessly keep on living.” With that, he bit into the fruit.

There was nothing remarkable about the taste. If anything, it was tinged with a hint of herbal bitterness, and a trace of sweet-scented osmanthus. Normally, Su Bai’s wolfish gulping would have left him oblivious to flavor, yet these faint tastes lingered on his tongue.

Devouring it quickly, he was left with only a dark red pit the size of a pomelo.

Afterward, Su Bai frowned, waiting for some dreadful side effect. Yet even after the time it takes a stick of incense to burn, he felt no change whatsoever.

“So I was just scaring myself,” he laughed.

But just as he thought all was well, a surge of energy roared through his blood. His veins burned like molten lava, igniting his entire body.

“Am I about to explode from within? I was just hoping to leave a whole corpse, and now even that seems impossible.”

Unbeknownst to him, the fruit he had swallowed was a Blood Vitality Fruit—extinct for centuries. The tree bore fruit only once every eighty years, dying thereafter, and such fruits had not appeared on the continent for generations.

Even if one was found, no one would consume it whole, for its medicinal power was too fierce—enough to burst the body of a martial artist who had trained for decades.

It could, in small quantities, enhance one’s innate talent and cleanse the body, but the aftermath of its energy surge was extremely dangerous.

Yet Su Bai did not die; instead, he merely fainted from the rush of energy. First, because his body was already on the verge of collapse, his strength utterly depleted; and second, because the jade ring on his hand had glowed with blood-red light the moment he absorbed the fruit’s power. The reason for its miraculous effect was known only to one person—Su Qing.

At dawn, a familiar ray of sunlight woke Su Bai. He opened his eyes to see the tree canopy above and was startled. “I’m still alive? Wait—I'm not as weak as before. Was that a legendary elixir to increase inner strength with a single bite?”

He tried to channel his energy, but felt no trace of inner power—only that his hunger was not as severe.

“What?!” Su Bai stared in astonishment at his left arm—the flesh, once nearly rotting, was now completely healed, not even a scar from the blade remaining.

Suddenly recalling something, Su Bai hurried to a nearby pool, following the sound of water.

But the reflection in the water was not what he’d hoped—his facial wounds had not fully healed. There was some improvement, but the deep scars were not something ordinary medicine could fix, and the Blood Vitality Fruit was not meant for healing, so the results were limited.

Collecting himself, Su Bai began to plan his next steps. “Given my escape route, there’s no way I’ll make it to the Canglan Sect’s recruitment ceremony. I’m deep among mountains, and Canglan Sect is thousands of miles away—getting there would take at least half a year.”

“Besides, if I run into bandits on the way, I’ll never survive. I need to find a nearby faction to join. I should be about two hundred li northeast of the bamboo hut. Since I was sent to the hut as a newborn, it couldn’t have been more than a hundred li from the royal palace—say, sixty li. The closest place should be the Grand Yan Sect…”

He remembered something Su Qing had told him. “If I recall, my so-called father once mentioned that my birth mother in this world was from the Grand Yan Sect—a sect specializing in formations. But I have no choice now; the immediate need is shelter.”

He took out a steel orb the size of an apple from his belt, stroked it thoughtfully, and spoke to it with sincerity: “Personal weapon of the Grand Yan Witch—if you’re as miraculous as they say, grant me safe passage into the Grand Yan Sect. I’m counting on you.”

He tucked it away again and gazed northeast. “My injuries are healed, but without a mount, I’ll have to walk for a month. The only worry is being pursued.”

He glanced at his reflection once more, grumbling, “You fruit! If you were going to heal me, do it all the way! Now my face is only half scarred—at a distance, it might pass, but a sharp eye will see right through me.”

After some thought, Su Bai set off again, face to the blazing sun, heading northeast. Whether he would be recognized, he could only do his best to conceal himself. The disfigurement had been a temporary measure—now, with time, he could better disguise himself, which should be enough to fool a guard.

Jinyiwei Headquarters: Xuan Ye Division

On the surface, the Xuan Ye Division consisted of three main halls: Hall of Profound Mystery, Hall of Hidden Realms, and Hall of Mourning Splendor. Each hall spanned hundreds of acres, but this was only the outermost layer. The true core lay deep underground, nearly a hundred zhang below, housing countless mechanisms and critical facilities.

The entrances were hidden passageways beneath the three grand halls.

Entry required a personal token of the Jinyiwei, and a password to unlock the doors, changed every half month.

The passwords were composed by randomly mixing the languages of six nations. If you failed to say the correct password three times, you would immediately be deemed a spy, and the entire Jinyiwei would hunt you relentlessly.

Some might wonder how, in such a vast country, the updated passwords could be transmitted in time, even by carrier pigeon.

The Jinyiwei addressed this by establishing four to five branches in each province, each authorized to change passwords independently. Most branch leaders were Thousand Households, though occasionally the post was held by a Jinyiwei Suppression Officer.

To be precise, even these passwords were prepared a year in advance by headquarters and distributed to branch chiefs, who then handed them to their subordinates.

If a local Jinyiwei returned to headquarters, they had to present documents issued by their branch. The staff would then find the correct password for their branch and period, preventing any mismatch between headquarters and branches.

Deep underground lay the various offices of the Jinyiwei.

This place had another resounding name: North Suppression Commandery.

Its archives encompassed everything from court affairs to common gossip, secrets of five foreign nations, and the myriad matters of the Great Ming.

If the Jinyiwei were famed for their astonishing efficiency, then their information network was unrivaled in the world.

At the deepest part of the commandery was the Commander's Hall—the Hall of Quiet Shadows.

Inside, all was silent. Even the drop of a needle would ring clearly. Ten massive pillars, each entwined by a black-glowing qilin, supported the hall. The floor was unadorned, forged from solid steel—cold and unyielding.

Bookcases lined either side, stacked high with books and dossiers, stretching dozens of meters. In the center stood a four-foot-high bronze cauldron, still trailing ash from burnt papers.

At the end of the shelves, a dark-golden chair stood out. Behind it, a great gear spun ceaselessly, the hiss of metal on metal chilling the soul.

Seated there was an impossibly handsome man, his long blue-black hair draped casually over his chest. Yet now his brow was furrowed, deep in troubled thought.

“How did Su Qing find out about this?”

As Hua Wenkai pondered, a subordinate announced at the door, “Reporting to the Commander: Qian Qianhu has sent word.”

Placing his left hand on the dragon-head armrest, he pressed down, and the heavy iron doors slowly opened.

Without a word, Hua Wenkai extended his right hand; the intelligence report flew into his grasp. As he read, fury surged within him.

Casting aside his usual calm, he growled, “Useless fools! Chased in circles by a nine-year-old—how shameful! You’ve lost face for us all, even the Demon Moon Sect mocks us!”

“Spread my orders—immediately reinforce our ranks, scatter across the martial world, and dig him out, even if it means searching every inch of earth! Alive or dead, I want to see him!”

As if sensing his wrath, the report burst into flames and was gone.

Three days later.

Jinyiwei branch at Shengzhou—Liu Yu and the others knelt, faces ashen. Everyone knew that once you entered the Jinyiwei’s prison, you’d be lucky to get out alive, and more likely tortured to death.

The man on the dais spoke, “The Commander is furious. Even I, your superior, am implicated. But more than that, we Jinyiwei are the emperor’s personal guards, his ears and eyes, representing the royal family’s honor.”

“And yet, through your own cleverness, you’ve handed our dignity to the Demon Moon Sect. How will the world see us now? Even the emperor is displeased with the Commander. You swine! Death is too easy a punishment!”

“Please, my lord! Give us one more chance! We swear we’ll bring him back!” one of them pleaded, crawling to Qian Qianhu’s feet and clutching at his robe in desperation.

But there was no reply—only a palm crashing down, shattering his skull, leaving him dead, eyes wide open.

Qian Yu kicked the corpse aside, calmly drew a handkerchief from his breast to wipe the blood from his hands, and said, “For the rest of you, I’ll grant you the chance to take your own lives, out of old comradeship. Otherwise, tomorrow will bring the lingering death of dismemberment.”

“The one embedded in the Su family failed and was executed—the grisly scene you all remember. I trust you’re wise enough to know what to choose.”

With that, Qian Yu reclined in his chair, watching the others. If they did not act, he would not hesitate to send them on their way himself.

The Jinyiwei always placed the mission above all else—failure meant forfeiting your life. Especially after such disgrace, suicide was the best fate they could hope for.

Liu Yu stood, bowed to Qian Yu, and drew his blade. “Thank you, Commander.”

Qian Yu waved his right hand, giving permission.

Liu Yu paced to the eaves, glanced one last time at the sky, and murmured, “To think I’d fall to a mere boy. It’s my failure. I accept my fate.”

With that, he ended his life. The others followed suit, drawing their blades…

Even in death, Liu Yu’s eyes remained open, as if staring at the blood pooling on the floor.

Qian Yu, in truth, felt some regret—for under his command, Liu Yu had always been thorough and reliable. But before orders from above, even the worthiest subordinate was powerless.

After surveying the corpses, Qian Yu stood and said to those below, “The Commander has ordered: no matter the cost, Su Bai must be captured, dead or alive. If he slips through your fingers again, their fate will be your warning.”

He signaled for the bodies to be carried away.

As the corpses were removed one by one, those who remained shivered, but forced themselves to reply, “We obey, sir.”