32: Master's Gift

Li Qinghe's steps were swift, but instead of heading straight towards Black Wind Ridge outside the village, he took a turn and rushed straight to Li Shouxin's solitary small courtyard at the West End of the Village.

Pushing open the creaking Brushwood Gate, Li Shouxin was sitting on a small stool under the eaves, leisurely carving a hardwood arrow shaft.

Sunlight fell upon his graying hair and deeply lined Face, his lame foot casually stretched out.

"Master."

Qinghe called out, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

Li Shouxin didn't lift his head, the small knife in his hand, thin as a willow leaf, skillfully danced across the wooden shaft:

"Oh, a rare guest. Is your new house uncomfortable, making you run to my dilapidated place? Look at your gear—your bowstring is tight enough to snap a mosquito's leg, your quiver is stuffed full, and you have a Pig-Slaughtering Knife tucked into your waist... What, planning to hunt a tiger in the mountains?"

Qinghe's heart sank. Before he even spoke, the Old Hunter had seen through his intentions at a glance, even guessing the target was something big with near certainty.

The excuse he had prepared—going deep into the mountains to gather herbs and see if he could find anything rare—immediately seemed incredibly clumsy.

"I can't hide anything from you, old man."

Qinghe simply stopped concealing it, his voice dropping low.

"I am going deep into the mountains, and the target... is not small. I feel uncertain, so I wanted to see if you have any useful tools I could borrow for self-defense."

Li Shouxin finally stopped his work.

He raised his eyes—muddy yet sharp as a hawk's—and scrutinized Qinghe from head to toe, his gaze seeming to pierce the flesh and look into his bones.

After a moment, he let out a heavy sigh and tossed the wooden arrow shaft and small knife aside.

"Alas..."

He braced his knees and stood up with some difficulty; his lame leg gave out, and his body swayed.

Qinghe instinctively wanted to step forward to help, but Li Shouxin waved him off.

"I'm old, useless now."

Li Shouxin gave a self-mocking smile, tinged with deep melancholy.

"If I were ten years younger and my legs were still nimble, I might be able to go with you and back you up. Now... heh, I'd just be a burden, dragging you down."

He limped slowly toward the low inner room in the backyard, signaling Qinghe to follow.

Pushing open the creaking, broken wooden door, the room was dimly lit and filled with a mingled scent of old wood and pest-repelling herbs.

In the corner stood a waist-high cabinet made of black lacquered wood, its door secured by a heavy, old brass lock.

Li Shouxin fumbled for an equally ancient key from his waist, inserted it into the keyhole, and twisted hard.

"Click," the lock opened.

He pulled open the heavy cabinet door, and a stronger scent—mixed with rust and leather—wafted out.

There weren't many things inside the cabinet, but they were neatly stacked.

Li Shouxin reached in and carefully lifted an object from the very bottom.

It was an Inner Vest.

It was entirely made of dark brown, lustrous, cured old cowhide, lined with thick cotton and hemp.

The vital areas—the chest, back, and shoulder blades—were densely inlaid with smooth, dark gray iron plates, roughly the size of copper coins!

The edges of the iron plates were polished smooth and firmly stitched onto the leather armor with tough sinew thread, layered like fish scales.

The entire Inner Vest was heavy, exuding a weighty resilience forged by the passage of time.

Li Shouxin's rough fingers traced the cold iron plates, his eyes becoming distant and complex, as if piercing through time.

"Back then... I served as a scout in the Border Army, living life with my head dangling by my belt."

His voice was hoarse, with a rust-like roughness:

"My father, your great-grandfather, spent half his life's savings and begged everyone he knew just to get hold of this good Leather-and-Iron Inner Vest... Heh, if it hadn't blocked two fatal sneak attacks and taken a blow from a barbarian's spiked club for me, this old body of mine would have long rotted in the sands outside the pass, fed to the wild dogs."

He rubbed a clear dent and several deep scratches on the vest—marks left by the times it had saved him from certain death.

"Take it!"

Li Shouxin abruptly shoved the Inner Vest into Li Qinghe's arms. It felt cold and heavy to the touch, possessing the unique toughness of leather and the hardness of metal. "Wear it underneath to protect your vital heart area! Don't complain about the weight; it's a life-saving item!"

Before Qinghe could react, Li Shouxin fumbled for a small, palm-sized cloth bag from the cabinet and thrust it into Qinghe's hand.

The cloth bag felt slightly heavy and emitted an extremely pungent, spicy, and faintly fishy, strange odor.

"This is 'Demon-Confusing Powder,' a formula passed down by the old generations in the mountains. It's made from a mix of poisonous herbs and the glands of rutting female beasts, and it smells very strong.

"If you encounter something truly fierce and unbeatable, seize the opportunity and throw it in its Face! Whether it's a tiger, a bear, or whatever else, if it gets a whiff, I guarantee it'll become dizzy, its nose will fail, and it will buy you a window to escape!"

"Remember, don't get any on yourself!"

Finally, he took out a long, carefully wrapped object covered in Oilcloth from the depths of the cabinet.

Untying the Oilcloth revealed ten arrows! The shafts were made of excellent hardwood, polished extremely smooth, and the fletching was neat.

What was most astonishing were the arrowheads—crafted entirely from fine iron, they were longer, sharper, and more angular than the steel arrowheads in Qinghe's quiver, gleaming with a cold, pure metallic light!

The base of the arrowhead also featured blood grooves for bleeding, clearly designed as a potent weapon against thick-skinned, tough beasts!

"Here, ten 'armor-piercing spikes'! They're the old man's hidden stash, made from good iron I brought back from the army years ago. Use them sparingly; they are what you rely on to deal with tough opponents!"

Li Shouxin thrust all the items into Li Qinghe's hands, then looked straight into his eyes.

In his cloudy old eyes, there was none of the usual jesting or muddiness, only a heavy sense of seriousness and worry.

"Kid,"

Li Shouxin's voice was deep and powerful, every word hammered out from his chest:

"I know I can't stop you. All you boys from the Old Li Family are stubborn as oxen! Third Brother went to the Immortal Sect, and you... you have your own path."

He paused, then his large, rough hand pressed hard on Qinghe's shoulder, the force causing Qinghe a slight pain.

"But you listen to me! The first rule when messing around in the mountains is—stay alive! It's not shameful to lose a fight! If things look bad, if you know you can't win, turn tail and run! Don't play the hero! Forget about Face or no Face! Your father, your mother, your elder brothers, and your newly wed sister-in-law are all waiting for you at home! Waiting for you to come back safely for dinner! Do you hear me?!"

Qinghe held the heavy Inner Vest, the cold armor-piercing spikes, and the pungent packet of Demon-Confusing Powder, feeling the strength transmitted through the rough, powerful hand on his shoulder.

A surge of burning heat rushed to his eyes, but he fiercely suppressed it.

He nodded hard, his throat tight: "I hear you, Master! I've remembered!"

"Scram!"

Li Shouxin abruptly withdrew his hand, turned around, picked up the half-carved arrow shaft from the stool, and waved his hand impatiently, his back to Qinghe, as if the heavy instructions and precious gifts had never happened.

"Go quickly and come back soon! Don't die out there and ruin my good gear!"

Qinghe said nothing more, carefully tucking the Demon-Confusing Powder into his chest, meticulously placing the ten heavy armor-piercing spikes into his quiver, separate from the regular arrows, and finally clutching the weighty Leather-and-Iron Inner Vest, steeped in the memory of gunpowder and blood, tightly to his chest.

He bowed deeply toward Li Shouxin's slightly hunched back.

Then, he turned around and strode quickly out of the small courtyard, never looking back.

Outside the village, the small path leading to Black Wind Ridge stretched out under the midday sun, flanked by dense farmland.

Qinghe did not pause for a moment. Clutching his Master's "family inheritance," his figure quickly merged with the dirt road leading to the vast mountains, his steps firm and urgent.

In his mind, the crimson countdown was ticking silently and ruthlessly:

Time until the Fierce Tiger transforms into a Demon: 70 hours and 58 minutes...