On the Path to the Great Dao

"Pregnant livestock ready to give birth?"

The teahouse proprietor looked somewhat stunned, but Chen Shi had given him far too much silver. He tucked the banknote under the teapot and whispered, "When does the guest want them? Preparing over a dozen won't be easy."

Chen Shi thought for a moment. "The morning after tomorrow work?"

The teahouse proprietor pondered briefly. "Morning after tomorrow, in the shop's backyard."

"The guest can just come and lead them away."

Chen Shi drank tea to sober up. He was indeed a bit tipsy—this lifetime, he hadn't drunk much alcohol at all, let alone so much in one go.

"Yan Jingsi is a man of unfathomable depths. He didn't probe me at all during the banquet. Yan Mo has the same scheming nature as him. Those two won't make a move on me, but what about the others?"

Chen Shi sipped his tea while gazing at the street outside, murmuring to himself inwardly, "Will the others pass up such a golden opportunity?"

People come in a hundred varieties, flowers bloom in a thousand shades.

If everyone were as cool-headed as Yan Jingsi, what fun would the world hold? With so many in the Yan family, surely some couldn't hold back from striking at him.

Chen Shi withdrew his gaze. Only after the wine did he truly taste the tea—refreshing as it slid down his throat. Moments later, the alcoholic haze in his mouth vanished, leaving only the tea's clean fragrance and lingering sweetness.

"Drinking tea isn't bad. It sobers you right up."

After drinking his fill, Chen Shi's mind cleared considerably. He paid the bill and staggered downstairs. His thoughts were sharp again, but his body was still drunk—his limbs not quite obeying him.

He rather liked the sensation. He called for Blackie Pot and swayed off, one step at a time.

Passersby on the street couldn't help furrowing their brows.

"Whose kid is this? How'd he drink so much booze? Don't his parents care?!"

"Drinking like this so young—what'll he be like grown up? Probably a hopeless drunk, lost in a perpetual haze."

Chen Shi paid them no mind and pressed on. Before he knew it, he'd reached the bustling market district. A hawker's cry rang out: "Grinding scissors, sharpening knives—"

All sorts of calls flooded his ears at once. Pedestrians thickened into crowds, rubbing shoulders and bumping elbows, swallowing Chen Shi up.

"Youtiao and spicy soup—"

"Fresh-out-of-the-steam buns, piping hot baozi—"

"Talismans for sale! Premium black dog blood talismans! Peach Blossom Talisman for romance luck, Soul-Summoning Talisman to call back your old dad! No talisman, no dice!"

"Southbound, northbound travelers—stop and see! Chest-smashing big rocks! Little Liang, come on! Put on a show for 'em!"

The street was alive that afternoon. Gold diggers flush with cash came to buy goods and treats. The sturdy porters who'd trekked a hundred li into town with their loads had sold their mountain wares and were picking up city novelties to take home—rare delights that'd keep wives and kids happy for days.

Just after lunch, this was the peak bustle, though it would quiet down after an hour.

Chen Shi plunged into the market, still woozy but bursting for a piss. He wandered the streets with Blackie Pot in tow. A few drunks had ducked into a side alley to relieve themselves against the wall. He'd never done it in the city before, so he held it and kept walking.

Every manner of vendor lined the street: fishmongers, turtle sellers, butchers. Kids mobbed the kite stall; others chased a peddler. Cloth shops unfurled bolts of silk, shouting to the crowds. Lantern sellers shouldered their wares, flaunting vivid colors and hand-painted patterns.

Some carried baskets full of chicks for sale.

Chen Shi spotted ducks and geese vendors too. He stopped to stare at the birds for a moment, confirming they weren't people, then moved on.

Every trade imaginable filled the street. A few gold diggers ogled a woman in the corner. Unfazed, she snapped, "Lechers, what're you staring at? No money? Go dig gold! Got cash? Then work it on me!"

Chen Shi walked past, his bladder swelling tighter.

Two or three people back, a gold digger in a short jacket grinned, hefting a small pouch of gold sand as he eyed the woman. But he quietly urged his Divine Shrine to life. A Divine Embryo surfaced, and a thread-thin sword qi wriggled free—like a swimming fish.

The sword qi darted through the throng. Dense with people, yet it veered and paused, rose and dipped, brushing no one as it reached Chen Shi's back. It poised to pierce his occiput when suddenly his red hair ribbon fluttered up like wind-tossed, slapping the fish-like qi.

"Pa!"

The sword qi burst with a crisp pop, its true qi scattering harmlessly. No damage to Chen Shi.

The short-jacket man's face twitched. Ignoring the whore's come-on, he plunged into the crowd, hunting Chen Shi's trail.

Too many people everywhere—he couldn't spot him right away.

Then Chen Shi appeared, coming straight at him. The man lit up with glee and reached for a spell, but Chen Shi's step wobbled, closing the gap in an instant. No time to cast!

Chen Shi's right fist clenched—pinky and ring finger only, index and middle half-curled. Midway, power surged. Lightning-fast, he struck the man's chest pit.

It felt like no force landed. Yet the short jacket on his back exploded with a "pa," ripping a bowl-sized hole.

The front-heart punch snapped his back ribs, which punched through the bronze skin behind.

He staggered toward the whore but collapsed before reaching her.

"Such fast moves!" His eyes bulged as he sprawled on the ground.

His heart lay shattered.

The whore's face shifted. Without a word, she shoved the gawkers aside and melted into the crowd, eyes locked on Chen Shi ahead.

At the same moment, the crowd seemed to thicken. Several figures drifted closer to Chen Shi, purposeful or not.

"Kite! Watch out for my kite!"

Kids barreled over in a frolic, towing kites they meant to launch right in the market.

Simultaneously, threads nearly invisible to the eye slithered like thin snakes through the masses—another spell.

Beyond that, three-to-four-inch wooden puppets lurched stiffly but swiftly underfoot, brandishing tiny swords and blades, faces twisted vicious. They closed on Chen Shi.

Blackie Pot bolted, weaving through legs.

An invisible blade qi slashed at Chen Shi's back heart. He bowed at the waist, dodging precisely. A little girl dashed past; he snatched her half-eaten tanghulu and popped the last haw.

The whore saw her blade qi miss, halting it lest it cleave bystanders. She targeted the hunched Chen Shi—until the bamboo skewer plunged into her chest.

Chen Shi yanked it free, drove it in her left temple and out the right, then flashed into the crowd.

The whore's eyes widened, vision blurring amid the surging people. Her body swayed, toppling.

The ground puppets stabbed at Chen Shi's feet, striking air again and again, doggedly pursuing with jabs.

"Wah—" The robbed girl wailed, jabbing a finger at Chen Shi's retreating back for her mother.

"Big brother stole my tanghulu!"

At a street-corner stall, an old man chuckled through a puppet show, hands gripping boards wound with threads. Kids squatted rapt before the twitching figures.

Spotting Chen Shi approach, the old man's face paled. Fingers flew—ten threads whipped up, hauling the stall puppets. They wheeled, faces snarling, weapons drawn. Leaping off kids' heads, they lunged at Chen Shi.

The little puppets chased hot from behind, ferocious.

Chen Shi strode on. Right thumb pinned pinky and ring finger; index and middle stood rigid in sword mudra. A light shake—and a tiny temple flickered behind his head. Hair-thin sword qi shot out.

The qi sheared threads. Puppets tumbled. It pierced the old man's brow.

His body pitched back against the wall.

The wall quivered. The far side "pa"-ed open in a gaping hole, blood gushing forth.

The puppets collapsed, inert.

"Fancy footwork. Put this effort into sword forging and control—you'd have killed me ages ago." Chen Shi murmured.

The old man heard nothing.

Chen Shi elbowed through the throng, flicked a finger. Invisible sword qi sliced a running kid's kite string. The kite careened skyward uncontrolled. But Chen Shi's true qi gripped the line—it whooshed through a pursuing man's chest.

The man beamed like a father chasing his child, now beside Chen Shi. The string impaled his heart; his sleeve-hidden sword qi crumbled. Stunned, he gasped, "Piercing Sword Style... used like that?"

Chen Shi's hand stayed behind his back, sword mudra swaying gently. The string danced like needle-led thread, darting and weaving around the man's heart, soon caging it in a lattice.

"Control your heartbeat. One hard thump, and the strings shred it."

Chen Shi's mudra pointed aft. The string whipped forward. The boy ahead sensed his lost kite, whirled—and the line coiled round his neck, lap after lap.

"Noon-Midnight Evil-Slaying Sword... Cloud Sword Form?"

The boy froze. Invisible threads snaked to Chen Shi's feet—sword qi too, razor-edged.

A thick adult voice boomed from the boy, gravelly. He sneered, "You've flowered up your Noon-Midnight Evil-Slaying Sword, but it's still bottom-tier magic! Let's see whose blade strikes first!"

He drove his sword-threads. His neck cinched—head soared.

"No!"

The man had just spoken when his heart burst in five. Blood spewed as he crumpled.

"Murder!"

Panic ripped through the crowd. The whore's corpse slumped, sparking greater chaos. People stampeded every which way, shoving and crushing in terror.

Chen Shi wove onward, body angling to evade. Suddenly, fist cocked—thumb speared a left-flank man's temple. A few steps, he dropped low, hammered a front woman's crotch. He twisted aside from a rear dagger, spun—left hand knifed down, cracking the attacker's neck bones clean through!

Ahead loomed a golden giant, over ten feet tall, stomping thunderously, roaring as it charged—gaining speed, swelling huger!

Yellow Turban Warrior Talismans detonated one after another across its form, golden light shielding it, power peaking. Mountain-moving might!

Boom!

It slammed into Chen Shi. The giant rocketed back over thirty feet, crashing a house's ridgeline. Crack—the waist snapped; it dangled lifeless from the eaves.

Chen Shi emerged from the long street. At the mouth, a tanghulu vendor peered inward in fright, clueless to the carnage.

"How much for tanghulu?"

"Five wen a string."

The vendor craned and whispered, "Murder! Murder! Young fella, killings inside?"

"Murder. Gimme one string."

Chen Shi paid five wen.

The vendor plucked a string from the straw pole and handed it over, still gawking and muttering, "Murder in broad daylight—so brutal. County magistrate's bully boys at it again?... Kid, why ain't you running? Cool as ice."

Chen Shi took it and passed it to a fleeing woman beside him.

She clutched a little girl; she snatched the treat, tears turning to grins. "Mommy! Big brother gave me another string—he's a good guy!"

Chen Shi fished out half a tael of silver and tossed it to the vendor. "I'm buying all your tanghulu. That straw pole too."

The vendor gaped, overjoyed, thanking him profusely.

Chen Shi shouldered the pole, snatched a string, and chomped away as he caught the woman.

Her little girl munched happily—until she spied the pole bristling with strings. Her face fell, lips pursed to hang an oil jar.

Chen Shi teased her mercilessly till she teetered on tears, then plucked off a few different flavors for her. He roared with laughter and left the city with Blackie Pot.

"The Yan family lacks guts after all. Won't strike personally, just hire third-rate killers. How could trash like that probe my true strength?"

Not far off, Yan Qing and Yan Shuo glowered darkly, watching Chen Shi exit without lifting a finger.

Their aim: stage a peril. If Chen Shi's grandpa lived, he'd rush to save him. If not, simply slaughter the boy in the market.

They hadn't foreseen every killer ambushed on the street dying by Chen Shi's hand—not one spared!

Worse, not a single bystander scratched!

Such pinpoint ferocity and precision—no eleven- or twelve-year-old child!

These battle-hardened killers were Xinxiang Province's finest. Low realms, true—but they'd felled high-realm cultivators aplenty. Yet one street, one clash, all slain by Chen Shi.

"Dead all these years... honing his killer craft in the underworld?" Yan Qing touched his swollen cheek, grinding his teeth.