All of you, come out.

The slightly younger man, barely thirty and in his prime, wore rough homespun clothes and looked like an ordinary coachman. Yet with only one man’s weak strength, no matter how many old men joined in, they could not move the carriage an inch.

When Qin Chuan spoke, the man's eyes brightened.
"Young hero, if you lend us your hand, Wang Lang of Wang Family Fortress will surely reward you handsomely in the future!"

Qin Chuan, speaking in the local rural dialect, was surprised.
"So you’re from Wang Family Fortress? That’s quite a distance."

Wang Family Fortress was far from here. Even for Nightshade, it would take more than two days’ journey on foot. As for a regular carriage, ten days or more was commonplace.
"Yes, my master has urgent business in North City, but the horse has grown old and lost its strength. The carriage wheel has sunk into a pit and won’t budge."

The somewhat younger coachman was drenched in sweat.
"Oh? Is that so?" Qin Chuan raised his brows and spoke in a deep voice.
"Might I ask, old sir, what business do you have at home, how many children, and where are you employed or trading?"

The old man was taken aback, unable to answer for a moment.
The coachman, no longer hiding his expression, revealed a cruel intensity.
Clearly, there was more to this than met the eye.

"Kid, how did you figure it out?"
"It’s simple. Wang Family Fortress is far from here. With this old horse, it would take at least ten days. Moreover, it rained heavily these past days, yet on your carriage, except for a bit of mud on the wheels, the axle and beams are spotless."

"Looking at you both, though you reek of sweat, there’s not a hint of the dust and fatigue of the road. And you, coachman, are remarkable. Your inner strength must have been cultivated for ten years at least!"

Qin Chuan sneered, his eyes sharp as he swept over the two.
"Father, go rest in the back. Today we may have met some tough ones!"

"I am Wang Cheng. Seeing your steps—silent and steady, your breath strong—you are surely a master of inner energy. So I played a little trick, hoping to tire you out by moving the carriage, then we could easily subdue you."

He was, in fact, a bandit in disguise.
Yet it was not like the old tales of, "This mountain is mine, this tree I planted,"—no such crude words appeared.

"I see you’re no ordinary fellow. You must have roamed the martial world for some time. Surely you’ve heard of me—Little Tiger King of Liang Mountain."

"As long as you hand over gold and silver, and Nightshade, I’ll give you the old horse, so you can get out alive, and return home safely."

Little Tiger King glanced at Nightshade behind him, his eyes full of hope.
Qin Chuan had no wish to waste words with him, surprised that this robber was so verbose. If Qin Chuan were a common man, he might well have complied, at least gaining an old horse and avoiding death in the wilds.

Just then, a crooked wind swept through the air, rustling the sparse leaves of the mountain forest.
Qin Chuan’s gaze sharpened, his voice cold.
"Come out, all of you!"

Little Tiger King, caught off guard by Qin Chuan’s insight, sighed and called out in a deep voice,
"Brothers, come out!"

As his words fell, the branches trembled; two figures darted from the trees, landing and walking slowly, blocking Qin Chuan’s path at the bridgehead.

"Alright, I said, all of you, come out!"
Qin Chuan lost patience. Amid the puzzled looks of the three, he approached the carriage. With a simple exertion, spiritual energy surged, pushing the carriage two feet forward!

The three men were shocked, and even the old man beside them paled, his body trembling violently.
Terrified, a large wet patch spread beneath the old man, followed by a foul, fishy stench.

The two behind him, their steel knives and axes trembling in their hands, were about to retreat when two mottled shadows streaked towards them.
As they turned to flee, the shadows pierced their eyes and burrowed inside.
A chilling scream followed. Soon, only two bloodied figures remained on the ground, clutching their faces and writhing, before falling silent.

Blood trickled through their fingers, staining the stone bridge with deep red.

"You too, be on your way!"
With that, Qin Chuan appeared before Little Tiger King, who stared in astonishment, and landed a light, inescapable palm on his chest.

He flew off like a ragged sack filled with sand and stones, landing at the old man’s feet—whether by coincidence or not.

Qin Chuan’s palm did not kill him, but left him as Little Tiger King had hoped for himself—a fighting chance.
If, weakened and wounded, he could avoid wild beasts and bandits and survive, then life would truly depend on fate.

As Qin Chuan turned, he saw two men in black, tight-fitting outfits approaching.
They wore no masks, openly revealing their faces.

"Chirp, chirp!"
At that moment, two strange birds burst from the corpses’ bellies. A glance showed no organs remained within.

These strange birds, unlike anything Qin Chuan had ever seen, had no feathers or wings, only pitch-black skeletons slick and wet, dripping viscous, sickly green and dark red fluid.
Their bodies were suffused with corpse energy, writhing like insects across their bones.

The corpse-tainted fluid dripped onto the stone bridge, instantly corroding a small hole, releasing a burnt stench and white vapor, accompanied by a sizzling sound.

The Azure Mountain Sect dominated the Azure Mountain realm, but that did not prevent other small sects and factions from taking root.
Even temples and Taoist halls—no one knew how many truly existed.

Corpse birds?
The term surfaced in his mind, his expression grave.
Those who came were not friendly.

"Is there any chance you’ll let me go?" Qin Chuan took his stance, his mind alert, ceasing his cultivation and letting his energy spill forth.

A surge of aura exploded—he was at the fifth level of Qi Refining.

"No."
The man on the left, tall and with a pale, grayish face, at first glance might be mistaken for an invalid scholar. The corpse bird perched on his shoulder, and he paid no heed to the fluid seeping from it.
Their suits, made of unknown material, were impervious to corrosion.

The man on the right was short, with monkey-like eyes and cheeks, his features inhuman, back hunched, his voice shrill. He seemed to hold higher rank.

"Second brother, this fellow is formidable. You lack experience in magical combat—be careful."

"Mm."
Second brother nodded lightly, stepping back half a pace behind the monkey-faced man.

Neither concealed their aura; both revealed their fifth-level Qi Refining cultivation.

As they conferred, Qin Chuan knew escape was impossible. He understood the advantage lay in striking first.
He drew his Bright Moon sword and slashed.

The monkey-faced man did not draw any magical weapon. Instead, he faced him bare-handed, his eyes cold and chilling.

He arched his back, lowered his stance, infused his hands with spiritual energy. Blackness spread across his skin like earthworms crawling beneath, weaving a dense net.