Beneath the velvet shroud of night, a Crimson Wyrm unfurled its majestic coils, spiraling through the void with a resonant hum. Its scales, aglow with embered light, cast a radiant cascade across the heavens, piercing the darkness. In the heart of Guanyi City, the Chen Emperor's trusted vassals stood transfixed, their faces pallid as bone under the flickering flames, as though carved from lifeless stone.
The wyrm's scarlet scales drifted downward, like autumn leaves kissed by a dying sun, trailing fire through the sky.
Yue Qingfeng clapped Li Yongyi on the head, his laughter booming like thunder.
"Behold, the art of leaving no trace!" he declared. "The strategist,Zhuge Yinggong's favored craft: slay, plunder, and burn to ash. The jianghu is rife with false-death elixirs—stab the heart, and still they rise. Fire alone ensures oblivion."
He unhooked a leather pouch from his belt and tossed it to Li Yongyi.
Li opened it, revealing orbs of gold and silver, gleaming with an otherworldly sheen.
Yue Qingfeng grinned, his voice laced with pride. "Nightrider cavalry carry no coin, but their sword hilts hide a tael of gold, and their scabbards are adorned with pure silver. This is your share, partner in crime."
Li Yongyi frowned. "But I did nothing."
Yue Qingfeng's grin widened, sharp and sly. "It's not about deeds, lad—it's about shared peril. We bear the same risks; we split the spoils. Wouldn't be fair for me to pocket it all, would it?" He chuckled. "Mind you, this gold's laced with crimson essence, worth more than common coin. The silver's too pure for casual spending. With the Nightriders' fall tonight, best bury it deep and wait a few years. Dig it up when the storm's passed."
"That bracer? One shot only. Toss it, lest it bring trouble."
With a wave, Yue Qingfeng vanished into the night, his form swallowed by shadow.
The clamor faded to silence. Li gazed at the pouch. Five taels of gold, forged into a single orb by inner force, shimmered faintly. Gold's value fluctuated—one tael could fetch eight to twenty taels of silver, averaging ten to thirteen. Add thirty taels of silver, heavy in hand, worth over sixty strings of cash. Six years of labor, earned in a single night.
His eyes burned with ambition, tempered by a pang of regret.
"Wealth in a night, yet unusable!"
He rolled the orbs in muddy water, disguising them as earthen beads, and cast them into a dry well by the Mountain God Temple, indistinguishable from the stones. The site's aura was cleansed, safe for now. In time, he'd retrieve them—enough for a fine house, meat thrice a week.
The rain ceased, and a silver moon hung high, its light casting the earth in ghostly white. Clouds drifted like spectral threads across its face. Li shed his mud-caked shoes, retraced his steps with a branch, erasing footprints until they blended with the earth. Only on the main road did his heart ease.
Through shadowed alleys he darted, turning corners until a faint yellow glow flickered in the distance. His rented courtyard, its wooden gate ajar, glowed softly. The sight of that lone light in the dark steadied his racing heart.
He slipped inside. His auntie's room still glowed with lamplight, but he made no sound, only stepping heavily to signal his return. In his small room, a black iron pot steamed with ginger broth, and clean clothes lay folded on the bed. He grinned, stripped off his bloodied, mud-soaked garb, washed with basin water, and donned the fresh clothes. Lifting the pot, he drained the warm broth in one go. Heat surged through him, banishing the tension of a night of slaughter.
"Bliss!"
He balled the soiled clothes and fed them to the hearth, watching flames consume them, warmth rising. "Good thing it was my oldest rags," he muttered. "No loss there."
His hand brushed the Bronze Cauldron at his chest, its red glow pulsing, as if something stirred within. Closing his eyes, he reviewed the night: Eight Blades of Breaking Armies, Song of Breaking Formations, two Nightriders slain by his hand, the cauldron's awakening… all dreamlike.
Circulating his qi, he felt a sluggish warmth. His poor foundation was undeniable—unlike noble scions nurtured with elixirs, his body, ravaged by childhood poison, lagged far behind.
Yet, the Bronze Cauldron stirred.
His consciousness sank into it, and the cauldron tilted, pouring forth crimson jade liquid, molten as magma. Pain seared, but years of enduring poison had steeled his will. Holding clarity, he saw a Crimson Wyrm coil within his cramped room, its jade-like scales gleaming, horns piercing the air, its presence radiant.
"Is this… Yue Qingfeng's dragon?"
The wyrm roared silently, plunging into Li's body. A torrent of energy flooded him. Visions of a battlefield unfolded—swords clashing, lives staked on steel. A warrior in black armor, reining a draconic steed, wielded a long-handled blade, sweeping through foes with the Eight Blades. Li Yongyi felt himself become that warrior, his qi surging through <
The jade liquid ebbed, the wyrm faded. Dawn's light crept in, and Li opened his eyes. <
A supreme martial art, achievable in three years by prodigies, eight by the gifted.
Li Yongyi, Achieve success overnight!
**(Chapter End)**