Xuanyan stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the body at his feet. It lay sprawled in the damp mist, already losing its warmth, the stillness of it sinking slowly into the air around them. He kept staring, longer than necessary, waiting—perhaps hoping—for something to surface. Hatred, Satisfaction. Even a trace of unease.
But nothing appeared. The silence felt unnervingly empty, yet he didn’t dwell on it. Slowly, he finally moved. He crouched next to the body and started digging through it with practised ease, grabbing a pouch first. Inside were some folded papers—notes, routes, half-finished reports scribbled quickly in a rushed hand. He skimmed through them quickly, then set them aside. Nothing immediately useful.
His attention shifted to the man’s hand, where the Ring was attached.
Xuanyan felt a sudden rush of excitement when he realised it was a genuine spatial ring. He had only ever seen such things in novels—never imagined he would actually hold one in his own hand.... then another thought crossed his mind, wait... I am in the novel (●__●).
He frowned and shook his head lightly. What am I even thinking?
His focus snapped back to the ring. Pouring a thread of qi into it, to his surprise the ring immediately responded, glowing faintly as it resonated with his Qi.
He checked its contents and found a handful of low-grade spirit stones—no more than ten. Not much, but enough. Enough to get him through for now.
He stood up slowly, the ring cool against his finger as he slipped it on, then started walking. He only took a few steps before stopping.
Xuanyan glanced back at the body, considered it for a brief moment, then turned around without hesitation. He bent down and removed the man’s boots, tugging them free with little effort. He felt no shame or embarrassment as he did so.
He admired a remarkably shameless guy he once read about, and it was also his favourite novel from his past life. It was as if he gained some kind of enlightenment from doing something so simple.
Where Lines Vanish
The air hums where silence lives.
Bones unburdened forget their skin.
Hunger is a ghost, a hollow sigh.
Names slip through cracks, undone seams.
Ash settles where memories should pulse.
I walk, weightless, a tenant of ether.
Onward, still.
Xuanyan recited the poem with a gentle smile, a newfound confidence glowing in his eyes as he finally rose. The poem itself was garbage—but he still liked it. Once Xuanyan was on his feet, he turned and left for good.
The exhaustion was sinking deeper into his bones, sapping his strength. His spiritual reserves were dangerously low, and while the system could aid cultivation, it couldn’t restore his spiritual energy even with points unless he cultivates. Buying a spirit stone for replenishment seemed pointless—he refused to spend points on such triviality. Worse still, he couldn’t even enter proper cultivation now, unless he chose to burn through his remaining points or push into a higher realm.
The Iron Butcher Union’s influence weighed heavily on him. A fleeting grimace surfaced on his face as he thought of those relentless bastards—swift, coordinated, and maddeningly persistent—keeping him on edge. At some point during the chase, he had no choice but to activate a concealment technique just to buy a moment of peace.
Xuanyan cast a final glance at the system panel before dismissing it. What he truly needed wasn’t another skill, but a quiet place to rest. With a resigned sigh, he adjusted his pace and sank deeper into the mountain trails, vanishing into the shadows.
...
Elsewhere-
A powerful sword Slash crashed and gouged through the air from the right, swiftly arcing and aiming at him. Ye Qingfeng somehow managed to block the attack, which was executed from a significant height. The force of the strike caused a jarring impact that rattled his arm, shock reverberated through his shoulder, pulsating with pain and numbness in his entire body.
Before Ye Qingfeng could draw in another breath, something struck him hard from the left. The blow hit his ribs and drove the air out of his lungs in a single, brutal rush. His chest tightened as he stumbled half a step, vision dimming as his body struggled to recover. For a brief second, his thoughts scattered, his mind lagging behind his movements as he fought to stay upright.
He hadn’t recovered yet when another attack followed. A Slash shot up from below, swift and uncontrollable, coming in at an angle he hadn’t expected.
The force behind it was crude and overwhelming. Ye Qingfeng’s eyes widened in shock as his body froze, panic tightening in his chest. Instinctively, fear surged through him, sharp and overwhelming, blending with lingering exhaustion that dulled his senses. His muscles refused to obey at the worst possible moment.
A feminine voice exploded inside his mind...
His body finally moved on instinct as he twisted his torso desperately to avoid the attack, but he was still too late. Sword Slash’s still sliced into his thigh, deepening his wound.
"Again...?"
Ye Tuo finally came to a stop, chest rising and falling hard as he dragged in heavy breaths. His spiritual reserves were completely dry. Sweat ran down his face as frustration twisted his expression. Even after Captain Mo joined, this bastard is still keeping up—with all three of us.
His legs buckled and he sank to one knee, supporting himself with one hand. He lifted his head, eyes sharp despite exhaustion, and glanced toward Mo.
"Senior Brother Mo," he said between breaths, glancing briefly at Ye Qingfeng, who had already steadied himself and retaken a fighting stance. "You can handle this from here, right?" Qin Mo turned his gaze to Mo as well, silently, waiting.
Mo closed his eyes for a brief moment, drawing in a slow breath. Mo himself wasn’t in much better condition—his chest still rising heavily, the lingering strain from their earlier clash refusing to fade.
Ye Qingfeng’s reserves must be at the breaking point. There was no way he had anything left after their exchange. In his entire life, he never faced a situation like this when he such an unimaginable advantage in a battle, and yet, here he was, unable to finish off someone clearly below him.
That thought irritated him more than the exhaustion. It was a pity, really. Ye Qingfeng had already been branded a traitor by his clan. Perhaps if they witnessed this level of talent, they might consider taking him back. Mo held onto that hope. Ultimately, strength was what truly mattered in this world. Rules were made to be bent, morality often took a backseat, and even grudges could be discarded if the rewards outweighed the risks.
And the most troublesome part—
The boy hadn’t once used a treasure, not even when death seemed imminent. There was nothing to be gained by killing him now—at least, nothing worth the chaos this battle had already unleashed.