1: Chapter 1 Memory Awakening

Jiang Yan was slapped awake.

No, that's not right. He wasn't slapped awake; he was slapped "to death."

A palm as large as a cattail fan descended, wrapped in a foul wind. Jiang Yan's frail body flew out like a kite with cut strings, his back slamming into the earthen wall, his internal organs churning.

Before he could even cry out in pain, the second blow came crashing down on his head and face.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Wang Gang struck casually, as if swatting a fly.

He squatted down, clamped his large, fan-like hand around Jiang Yan's throat, lifted him from the ground, and slammed him heavily against the wall.

The back of Jiang Yan's head struck the rough adobe, and his vision went black in waves.

"Jiang Yan, I'll ask you one last time: are you going to the Zhou Family or not?" Wang Gang's spittle sprayed onto his face, his yellow teeth bared. "Steward Yuan Zhen has taken a liking to you; it's your good fortune! Don't you fucking dare push your luck!"

A trace of blood spilled from the corner of Jiang Yan's mouth as he weakly lowered his head.

Over the past month, he had heard these words no less than ten times.

Steward Yuan Zhen wanted him to enter the Zhou Residence as a slave to be a plaything for the Zhou Family head, Zhou Mubai.

When he refused, Steward Yuan Zhen cut off his livelihood—his fields were destroyed, his house was burned, and no one in the village dared to help him.

He lived like a stray dog, hungry one meal and full the next, yet he steadfastly refused to give in.

So, Steward Yuan Zhen changed tactics and sent Wang Gang to beat him.

To beat him until he submitted.

"Not talking?" Wang Gang grinned, revealing a mouthful of jagged yellow teeth, the stench of alcohol on his breath making Jiang Yan want to vomit. "Fine, we'll see how many days you can hold out."

He released his grip, and Jiang Yan slid down the wall, collapsing on the ground like a puddle of mud.

Wang Gang looked down at the frail scholar with utter contempt—he had been beating him for nearly half a month, yet this brat had never fought back, never even dared to say a harsh word, and was more docile than a rabbit.

A rabbit will bite when pushed to the limit?

Wang Gang scoffed. Not a chance. This kind of useless bookworm who had read himself stupid—if he was beaten to death, so be it; Steward Yuan Zhen could handle the consequences.

"Remember this: when I come back tomorrow, if you haven't packed your things, I'll break your legs." Wang Gang spat a glob of phlegm and turned to leave.

His footsteps were heavy, making dull thuds on the muddy ground. One step, two steps, three steps.

There was no sound behind him.

Wang Gang's grin widened. See, just like a rabbit; after being beaten, he didn't even dare to let out a peep.

People like this are just a waste of food while alive.

Four steps, five steps.

He was thinking about which lover to go drink with when he got back, completely unaware that the limp figure behind him was slowly opening its eyes.

Those eyes had changed.

They were no longer the cowardly, shrinking, lifeless eyes of a youth.

They were like poisoned blades—cold, sharp, and carrying the indifference of one who had survived a hundred battles.

Jiang Yan's fingers slowly tightened in the mud, feeling for a stone slightly larger than a fist.

His movements were light, as light as a snake slithering through the grass, without making a single sound.

Six steps, seven steps.

When Wang Gang took his seventh step, he heard a sound like wind behind him.

No, it wasn't even the sound of wind—it was too light, so light that even with his years of street-fighting vigilance, he couldn't react in time.

By the time he realized something was wrong, a burst of intense pain had already exploded in the back of his head.

Bang!

The stone smashed into the back of his head, the dull sound like a ripe watermelon being crushed.

Wang Gang's body stiffened. He turned around with difficulty and saw Jiang Yan standing behind him—the scholar, so frail that a gust of wind could blow him over, was gripping a blood-stained stone, his face devoid of any expression.

No anger, no fear, not even killing intent.

That calmness made Wang Gang suddenly think of a word before he died—butcher.

When a butcher slaughters chickens or sheep, their face wears exactly this expression.

"You... you dare..." Wang Gang's eyes widened, his pupils filled with disbelief.

He had bullied Jiang Yan for half a month; this scholar had never said a single harsh word and would only shrink into the corner trembling after being beaten.

How could a person like this... how could he dare...

His body fell to the ground with a thud, kicking up a cloud of dust.

His eyes remained open even in death.

Jiang Yan dropped the stone and looked down at the blood on his hands.

The blood was warm, flowing down between his fingers and dripping onto the parched yellow earth.

The memories of his past life at Golden Core Perfection surged in like a tide; three hundred years of cultivation experience, combat instincts, and secret Cultivation Technique arts completely underwent Fusion in this moment.

He was no longer that youth who allowed himself to be bullied; he was the Demonic Cultivator Jiang Yan, a Golden Core Immortal Master who had fought his way out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

Although this body was now ridiculously weak.

"Fool." Jiang Yan spat out the two words indifferently, as if evaluating an ant.

He turned and walked toward Wang Gang's house, his pace neither fast nor slow, as composed as if he were taking a stroll in his own backyard.

Wang Gang's home was at the east end of the village—three adobe rooms, a crooked courtyard wall, and a skinny dog tied up in the yard.

The dog was about to bark when it saw a stranger, but upon meeting Jiang Yan's gaze, it whimpered, tucked its tail, and retreated into its kennel.

Jiang Yan pushed open the door, and a sour, foul stench hit him in the face.

He walked inside without changing his expression and began to search.

On the stove, there was a bowl of leftover rice and half a dish of pickles; in the cupboard, he found a few pieces of cured meat and a bag of grain.

Jiang Yan packed up everything edible, then dug out two clean sets of clothes and a black-backed wood chopper.

Jiang Yan glanced at it and casually tucked the wood chopper into his waistband.

This kind of mortal iron didn't even count as the lowest-grade Magical Artifact, but for now, having it was better than not having anything.

He went out the door and walked toward the deep mountains behind the village without looking back.

Yuan Family Village backed onto the vast mountain range—high mountains and dense forests where wild beasts roamed; the villagers dared not venture deep easily.

But for Jiang Yan, such an environment was, on the contrary, the best sanctuary.

...

Qingshi Town, Zhou Residence back courtyard.

Steward Yuan Zhen leaned back on a soft couch, toying with a land deed in his hand—it was the land deed for Jiang Yan's home.

The candlelight reflected on his well-maintained face; in his early forties, one could still vaguely see the handsomeness of his youth in his features.

He recalled the way that youth had been beaten by Wang Gang—his frail body curled in the corner, covered in blood, yet those eyes were dark and bright, stubborn like a stone.

Steward Yuan Zhen's lips curled into a smile.

He loved watching people like this slowly crumble.

Back when he had endured humiliation to please Zhou Mubai, he too had once possessed such eyes.

Later, those eyes were gone; he learned to smile while licking Zhou Mubai's toes, and learned to actively spread his own body.

Later still, he became the Steward of the Zhou Residence and began scouting for new people for Zhou Mubai.

Every time he saw those handsome youths go from resistance to numbness, from struggling to submission, he felt like he was watching his past self. This made him suffer, but it also made him happy.

"Soon." He tucked the land deed into his sleeve, closed his eyes to rest, and waited for Wang Gang to bring back good news.

...

An hour later, Steward Yuan Zhen arrived at Yuan Family Village.

He had been summoned by Wang Gang's underling, who had panicked and run to Qingshi Town to report that Wang Gang had been beaten to death.

Steward Yuan Zhen hadn't believed it at first—Wang Gang was a notorious thug in this area, strong and sturdy, someone whom three or five grown men couldn't get close to; who in Yuan Family Village could beat him to death?

When he saw Wang Gang's corpse, he froze.

The back of his head was sunken, the blood had congealed into a dark brown, and his wide eyes were staring fixedly at the sky. The fatal wound was a heavy blow from a blunt object, clean and efficient, killing him in one strike.

"Who did this?" Steward Yuan Zhen's voice tightened.

"Jiang... Jiang Yan." The underling reporting the news turned pale. "Someone saw him take things from Brother Wang's house and run into the mountains."

Steward Yuan Zhen's expression instantly turned grim.

He recalled the appearance of that frail scholar—skin as white as porcelain, seemingly ready to fall over with a gust of wind, speaking softly, refusing to yield even after being beaten to the point of vomiting blood by Wang Gang.

How could a person like that dare to kill?

How could he kill anyone?

Steward Yuan Zhen squatted down to examine Wang Gang's wound, and the more he looked, the more alarmed he became.

The angle, force, and precision of this blow did not look like a desperate, spur-of-the-moment struggle, but rather like a carefully calculated fatal strike.

Wang Gang had been walking with his back to Jiang Yan; Jiang Yan had to get up from the ground, pick up the stone, chase after him, and strike—this series of actions had to be fast enough that Wang Gang couldn't react to cause such an effect.

A layer of cold sweat broke out on Steward Yuan Zhen's back. He felt some regret, realizing he had bullied the wrong person, and now that things had escalated to this point...

Wang Gang was dead, Jiang Yan had run away; if this matter reached the Zhou Family...

Steward Yuan Zhen shuddered violently.

He knew all too well what kind of person Zhou Mubai was; it was true the Family Head liked beautiful men, but he hated trouble the most.

Wang Gang was one of the good dogs raised by the Zhou Family.

If the Family Head found out this matter was caused by him, not only would his position as steward be lost, but whether he could leave the Zhou Residence in one piece would also be a question.

No, he must capture Jiang Yan and bring him back—dead or alive.

Steward Yuan Zhen gritted his teeth and rushed to the county town overnight.