Chapter 16: The Tables Have Turned

Zhang Quan fled for his life, his body dissolving into a streak of blood-light as he pushed his speed to its absolute limit.

Every breath carried the taste of blood — the price of burning his life-force essence — yet the blue-clad figure trailing him like a shadow refused him even a moment's rest.

Si Chen rode the wind in pursuit, watching that panicked streak of blood-light ahead, feeling a faint twinge of regret.

Had he known it would come to this, he should have taken the time back at the clan to learn a faster movement technique. Otherwise he wouldn't be in this situation now — clearly far stronger than his quarry, yet unable to close the distance because of the difference in speed.

He made a mental note: once this was settled, he would have to go through the contents of his Storage Ring properly.

The two of them — one chasing, one fleeing — covered vast stretches of mountains and rivers in the blink of an eye, and before long half a day had passed.

Si Chen's Spiritual Energy recovered at a remarkable pace, and the clan had prepared for him a mountain of restorative Pills, more than enough to sustain a chase to the ends of the earth.

Zhang Quan, by contrast, was at the end of his rope. His face had gone white as paper. Even as he fled, he kept pulling Pills from his robes and stuffing them into his mouth, letting the medicinal power dissolve just enough to keep his rapidly depleting Vital Energy from giving out entirely.

He cursed his luck inwardly. That blue-robed youth behind him was a monster — after half a day of pursuit, the boy's aura hadn't weakened in the slightest!

Just as Zhang Quan was on the verge of despair, his Divine Sense swept across the space ahead, and a wild surge of joy flooded his face!

There, among the clouds ahead, a group of Cultivators were traveling leisurely on streaks of sword-light — seven or eight of them, all dressed alike in moon-white Daoist robes, their sleeves embroidered with a silver crescent moon insignia.

Sect disciples!

At their head was a young man in his early twenties — sword-sharp brows, bright eyes, a bearing full of dignity — with a longsword strapped across his back. He stood out among the group like the moon surrounded by stars, clearly the senior brother leading the party.

Zhang Quan, like a drowning man seizing the last straw, violently pushed the last of his Magic Power and squeezed out another burst of speed from his blood-light, hurtling straight toward the group of Cultivators. He let out a shrill, desperate cry:

"Fellow Daoists! Help! Help me——!"

He stumbled to a halt before the young man at the front, and with a thud, nearly collapsed to his knees. Tears streamed down his aged face. Combined with his seemingly respectable Daoist robes and his drained, paper-white complexion, the sight was enough to move anyone to pity.

"Fellow Daoist, what has you in such a panic?" The Senior Brother frowned slightly and reached out a hand to steady him.

The younger disciples behind him immediately went on guard, watching Zhang Quan with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

"It's him! The fiend behind me!"

Zhang Quan thrust a finger at Si Chen, who was closing in from behind, and wailed with tears and fury, "He — he slaughtered three of my companions, and now he wants to silence me too! If I hadn't burned my life force to use a secret technique, I would already be… already be…"

The young man at the front was the Senior Brother of the current generation of the nearby Liuyun Sword Sect — his name was Zhao Qinghe.

Seeing Zhang Quan's wretched state and hearing his sorrowful words, Zhao Qinghe found himself believing a portion of it. He furrowed his brow and said in a measured tone, "Fellow Daoist, calm yourself. Tell me slowly — what exactly happened?"

Zhang Quan saw that the other man had taken the bait, and his heart leapt with secret delight. He threw himself even further into the performance.

He beat his chest and stamped his feet, weeping as he spoke: "And that's not all! A hundred li ahead lies Qingsang Town. Several children there have inexplicably been tainted by a baleful aura, their vitality draining away — and it is all that villain's doing! He must be cultivating some wicked art that devours the life force of the young and innocent! If you don't believe me, send someone to investigate at once — one look will tell you everything! Those poor children…"

His voice broke into a sob as he spoke, the very picture of grief and righteous indignation.

These words were a masterful blend of truth and fabrication — they absolved Zhang Quan of all wrongdoing while dumping a bucket of filth squarely onto Si Chen's head.

By now, Si Chen had ridden the wind close enough to stop thirty meters away. His clean blue-grey cloth robes were indeed stained with traces of blood, and against his strikingly young and handsome face, under the weight of Zhang Quan's accusations, the sight looked undeniably sinister.

The Sect disciples immediately tensed as if facing a great enemy, drawing their Artifacts and fixing wary gazes on Si Chen.

The youngest among them — a pretty Junior Sister — shrank behind Zhao Qinghe in fright, her eyes filled with fear as she stared at Si Chen.

"Senior Brother, look at him… covered in blood, it's terrifying!" The Junior Sister's voice trembled.

Zhao Qinghe's brow was deeply furrowed now. His gaze moved back and forth between the bedraggled, masterfully performing Zhang Quan and the blood-stained, utterly calm Si Chen.

He had not fully accepted Zhang Quan's one-sided account. He turned to Si Chen and asked in a stern voice, "Fellow Daoist, is what he says true?"

Si Chen looked up and answered plainly: "He tried to kill me and take my treasures, so I killed his companions. The matter of the children in the town has nothing to do with me."

He paused, then looked past Zhao Qinghe at Zhang Quan, who was quietly gloating behind him, and added in a flat tone, "Now, I intend to finish the job."

The moment those words left his mouth, the faces of everyone from the Liuyun Sword Sect changed!

This was not the manner of a righteous cultivator!

A square-faced disciple immediately called out, "Senior Brother, this one's killing intent is this heavy — he is no good person!"

The Junior Sister tugged at Zhao Qinghe's sleeve and whispered, "Senior Brother, he's so young, yet his cultivation is already this strong. Could it be… could it be that he really is using some kind of wicked art…?"

Those words seemed to strike a chord with Zhao Qinghe.

Indeed — a boy of twelve or thirteen, already at the Mid Foundation Establishment Stage. That was extraordinarily rare in the outside world.

Demonic cultivation techniques were often shortcuts, forcing growth unnaturally, and were precisely the kind of thing that produced these so-called "young geniuses" — typically with cruel natures and a casual disregard for human life.

The scales in Zhao Qinghe's mind began to tip. Zhang Quan's performance was flawless, and Si Chen's blunt candor now read less like honesty and more like the arrogance of someone who felt untouchable.

"Fellow Daoist, you are so young — why is your killing intent so heavy?" Zhao Qinghe's tone sharpened.

"Even if there was a dispute, one should seek to understand the cause. How can you speak so lightly of finishing someone off?"

Si Chen tilted his head slightly, looking genuinely puzzled. He had told the truth — why did the other man not believe him?

The puzzlement faded just as quickly as it had come.

His mother had told him: when you encounter something you can't figure out that has nothing to do with you, don't dwell on it.

His Third Uncle had also told him: when someone wants to kill you, beat them to death.

He stopped paying attention to Zhao Qinghe, looked past him at Zhang Quan — who was quietly congratulating himself — and stepped forward.

"Stop right there!"

Zhao Qinghe barked the order, sweeping his longsword horizontally with its tip pointed at Si Chen. "Until this matter is cleared up, you will not lay another hand on anyone!"

Si Chen's footsteps did not slow. He walked as though the sword weren't there.

Zhao Qinghe's face darkened. As the Senior Brother of the Liuyun Sword Sect, to be ignored so completely in front of his own disciples — where would he put his face? Watching Si Chen about to walk right past him, he steeled himself and finally made his move.

Hmmm——

The sword rang out with a clear, resonant tone. A sharp, concentrated beam of sword-light slashed toward Si Chen's shoulder like a bolt of silk.

He had held back — the intent was to repel, not to kill.

Yet Si Chen neither dodged nor retreated. In the very instant the sword-light reached him, he simply raised his right hand.

Before the stunned eyes of everyone present, he reached out with that pale, slender hand — and caught the blade.

Clang!

The ring of metal on metal filled the air.

The blade was locked firmly in his palm, unable to advance a single inch.

The expected scene of torn flesh and blood never came. That hand was harder than tempered steel.

Zhao Qinghe felt an immovable force transmitted through the sword. He poured his full Spiritual Energy into it, his face flushing red with the effort — yet the longsword remained locked in the other's grip, utterly motionless.

Every disciple of the Liuyun Sword Sect stared wide-eyed, as though they had seen a ghost.

Senior Brother's Liuyun Sword Art had been passed down in its true form. That strike, though not at full power, was enough to split stone and crack monuments — and it had been caught… bare-handed?

The smug satisfaction on Zhang Quan's face froze in an instant, replaced by a deeper, more primal terror. His body instinctively shrank back.

Si Chen held the blade and slowly turned his head. Those clear, fathomless eyes met Zhao Qinghe's gaze for the first time.

He looked at Zhao Qinghe's face, flushed red from the strain, and felt the force transmitted through the sword — the force that was trying to harm him. He spoke each word with deliberate weight:

"Are you also trying… to kill me and take my treasures?"