Chapter 83: To Stay or to Leave
After speaking, he turned his head to look at Qin Chuan, a cold murderous intent gleaming in his eyes. “Why not let junior brother decide his fate?”
“Utter nonsense!” Unmoved, he raised his voice in rebuke.
“Qin Chuan came here merely to find a disciple for our master, not to stir up trouble. If not for your insistent hospitality, I wouldn’t have stayed the night.”
“Is that truly so?”
“It is!” Qin Chuan’s gaze was unwavering.
At a glance, even Shi Xin sighed inwardly; this man was indeed bold and cautious.
“But!” he continued, “what you say is quite different from what I know…”
He dropped the burlap sack by his side; the person inside struck their forehead against the stone steps, blood seeping out, a sinister sight under the moonlight.
“Junior brother, perhaps you should look at this.”
He withdrew an item, staring at Qin Chuan without blinking.
With a flick of his storage pouch, he produced a palm-sized stone token and tossed it forward. Qin Chuan caught it steadily.
Turning it over, his expression grew grave. He lifted his head, locking eyes with Shi Xin.
On the stone token were engraved two characters—Heaven’s Heart.
Thoughts racing, Qin Chuan refrained from acting rashly, shifting his stance subtly, poised to react at a moment’s notice.
Shi Xin’s cultivation had reached the postnatal stage; it would be hard for him to gain any advantage, especially with the presence of the Masked Man at the fifth level of Qi Refinement.
Thus, the situation was intriguing.
If the goal was merely to expose a lie and kill Qin Chuan, all this elaborate staging would be unnecessary. Why sneak around at night, capture the fat and thin brothers, and hand him the token representing the Heaven’s Heart disciples?
There must be more to come—otherwise, a sneak attack would be far more efficient.
“Speak—where is the Masked Man?”
He sighed inwardly; the situation had become perilous. Now, he needed to gather as much information as possible to increase his chances of survival.
Shi Xin regarded Qin Chuan deeply, marveling at his composure in the face of danger.
Though he saw through Qin Chuan’s intentions, he spoke nonetheless.
“He’s not here, nor will he overhear our conversation.”
Qin Chuan frowned. “Oh? What do you mean?”
“That needn’t concern you. The reason I’m sparing your life is to have you do something for me.”
Shi Xin paused, pointing at the two captives. “Kill them.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself?”
Upon hearing this, Shi Xin scoffed. “Me, do it myself?”
“Do you know why the Masked Man founded this stronghold?”
Qin Chuan watched him coldly, saying nothing.
“The passing villagers, travelers, merchants, and officials—all slaughtered by the stronghold, nearly ten thousand souls. Yet I’ve never seen him personally kill anyone.”
“He has a confidant, a master of internal energy, known as Yu Ce—you should have met him.”
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“For more than ten years, it’s been Yu Ce who does the killing, while the Masked Man only strips off the victims’ faces.”
“As for why he does this, you’ll soon find out.” Shi Xin gave a sinister smile.
Qin Chuan felt deeply uneasy, his scalp tingling, a chilling dread rising within him. Two words leapt to mind—Blood Pill!
This matter was sealed in secrecy, told only as an idle tale among cultivators. He never truly believed such a thing existed, for it defied all natural laws.
Yet the parallels were striking: a Blood Pill required tremendous amounts of human blood and heavy resentment, thus necessitating strange methods to dispel that resentment.
The act of flaying faces must be one such method.
As for why he couldn’t do the killing himself, Qin Chuan didn’t know. He only had fragments of information, half guesses, unsure how much was accurate.
What he didn’t know was that his suspicions were close to the truth. Avoiding direct involvement was indeed a way to evade resentment.
Shi Xin divulged nothing about the Blood Pill; ordinary records would never mention such a heinous thing. So he didn’t realize Qin Chuan had already deduced the gist of it.
“Why not have the villagers deal with it? Surely killing someone wouldn’t be hard for them,” Qin Chuan feigned ignorance, his tone skeptical.
“Do you really think that killing these two will let you leave this place?”
“It’s merely a token of loyalty. Kill them, and you’ll ruin the Masked Man’s plans. Then, the two of us can stand against him together—wouldn’t that be better?”
“The Masked Man is only at the fifth level of Qi Refinement; he’s no match for you at the postnatal stage!”
“There are hidden traps in this stronghold,” Shi Xin said solemnly. He spoke the truth; more than once, his secret arrangements had been sabotaged.
“So, as you see it, if I kill these two and join you to face him, you’ll let me go?”
“Heh, hurting you is easy enough, but truly killing you would be far more difficult.”
Qin Chuan pondered for a moment. “Very well, I agree.”
He sighed inwardly, his sword flashed, turning toward the two captives.
He failed to notice the fleeting cunning in Shi Xin’s gaze.
Had it been any other time, Qin Chuan would have caught it, but in that instant, his mind wandered.
Earlier, when he encountered the stone-winged bat, he had already sentenced the two brothers to death in his heart. Unexpectedly, the situation changed, but the outcome did not.
A sickening sound.
Two large heads fell together, blood spraying like scattered flowers. Drops splashed onto Shi Xin’s lips; he licked them, his eyes growing ever more demonic.
Just as Qin Chuan’s sword struck, and his old technique was used,
Black mist suddenly rose from the headless bodies of the brothers, surging toward Qin Chuan!
He reacted swiftly, cursing inwardly, twisting away in retreat.
But Shi Xin would not let the opportunity slip; his spell, already prepared, was unleashed instantly.
A gourd appeared overhead, its mouth opened, and a stream of crimson flame blocked Qin Chuan’s retreat.
He struck repeatedly with his sword, but to no effect—the black mist could only be dispelled by magic.
The searing heat behind him scorched his robes; another step back would mean certain death.
To choose the lesser evil, he stopped, enduring the black mist.
As it entered his body, his expression suddenly changed.
Shi Xin, seeing this, chuckled softly.
“Junior brother, I have no choice. Your origins are mysterious; I must guard against you, lest you side with the Masked Man.”
“This Black Mist Pill was bestowed upon me years ago by the sect. The mist is nearly impossible to resist. Without the antidote, your cultivation will stagnate forever!”
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Shi Xin’s words were clear.
He didn’t want to harm Qin Chuan’s life, but he needed to guard against him—antidote to be provided afterward.
Qin Chuan’s face was as cold as water, but his mind was oddly calm.
This black mist was merely condensed dust, little different from the black mist of the domain.
As soon as it entered his body, it was instantly absorbed and devoured by the Dust Pill.
It posed no hindrance to his cultivation.
His mind stirred; Shi Xin believed he had succumbed to the poison, and would likely drop his guard, giving Qin Chuan a nine out of ten chance to escape if he tried.
But if he stayed, perhaps he could witness the Blood Pill.
He felt no guilt or remorse.
Apart from the two brothers he’d killed, the rest were irrelevant. The fat and thin brothers had merely been returned to their fate.
If the Blood Pill proved truly effective, he wouldn’t hesitate to claim it for himself.
“Not so fast. If I help you with your scheme, and you break your word, what then?”
Qin Chuan’s expression showed suitable anguish.
“And what then? You want me to swear an oath?” Shi Xin was momentarily surprised, then sneered.
Seeing this, Qin Chuan’s sword flashed, hovering half an inch from Shi Xin’s nose, but it never struck. The moonlight reflected off the blade, sharpening his breath.
“Oh? If you have the guts to raise your sword, why not strike?” Shi Xin looked at Qin Chuan’s cold face, utterly unafraid.
At that instant, even Qin Chuan was tempted. But he let his wrist fall, the tip of the sword trembling as it sank an inch into the ground.
As if resigned, he bowed his head and sighed. “Forget it.”
Shi Xin had no idea he’d just brushed past death, inwardly sneering. “Antidote? What antidote?”
Meanwhile, the blood from the brothers’ necks finally ceased—not stopped, but dried.
On the flagstones, the bright red glistened; a few drops fell on the orchids, their color especially vivid under the moon’s silver glow.
“It’s about time.”
Shi Xin’s face contorted; he took out a silver-white blade the length of a finger from his storage pouch.
He squatted, instructing Qin Chuan to press the heads firmly.
Qin Chuan immediately saw what he intended—to flay their faces. His features paled under the moonlight.
Ignoring him, Qin Chuan cast a water spell to cleanse himself of blood, smoothed his robes, and sat on the flagstones, his sword laid across his knees, watching Shi Xin coldly.
Shi Xin, seeing his indifference, sneered, then steadied the heads and carefully traced a bloody line across the foreheads.
After some time, he removed two nearly transparent face skins, leaving behind two bloody heads, even the eyelids stripped.
He carefully stored the skins, wiped the blood on himself, as if accustomed to such acts, indifferent.
“At this moment, the Masked Man is unaware, but once I invoke the secret method and activate the array, he’ll surely notice.”
“Then, the battle for life and death begins.”
“As long as you stop the Masked Man, the matter is settled. I swear to hand over the antidote!”
He thumped his chest in promise, as if there truly was an antidote.
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