29: Chapter 29: A Fierce Battle Among Four

"I have been waiting for a long time."

The Manor Master raised his right hand, palm facing upward, and closed his five fingers.

The ground at the four corners bulged. Corpse Puppets struggled beneath the soil, and black Qi emerged from the cracks in the blue bricks, crawling along the ground like snakes towards the lanterns. The ground at the southeast corner cracked open, and several withered hands broke through the soil.

The Manor Master stared at the Cave Master.

The Master of Yinsui Cave heard this and laughed.

"That is perfect. I was thinking the same thing."

As soon as the words fell, a black shadow swept up behind the Manor Master.

The sound of the wind tightened abruptly. The black shadow cut in from his side and rear, striking his heart with a palm. His five fingers formed a claw, digging into flesh and skin, and then withdrew violently.

Blood splattered out, warm, landing on the back of the Manor Master's neck.

The Manor Master did not have time to turn around. The clothes on his back were torn into five strips, and the flesh was rolled back.

He lunged forward three steps, his knees slamming onto the blue bricks; the sound of bone hitting brick was dull and piercing. He braced himself against the ground and looked back.

Yuwen Shou.

Three steps away, black robes were whipped by the wind. His right hand was still suspended in mid-air, blood dripping from his fingertips, one drop, two drops, falling onto the blue bricks.

The Manor Master opened his mouth, blood surging up his throat, but he swallowed it back down by force. His Adam's apple bobbed. His mouth was full of the taste of rust, fishy and bitter.

"You..."

"Foster Father."

Yuwen Shou lowered his hand and wiped the blood on the corner of his robe. The movement was light, as if he were wiping away tea, "The calming incense you use for your daily Cultivate contains an extra ingredient: 'Meridian-Locking Vine'."

The Manor Master's pupils constricted.

He instinctively tried to circulate his energy. His Dantian sank, but the Qi flow collided and rebounded with a boom. The pain in his Meridians was like needle pricks, stabbing from the Tanzhong acupoint all the way to his limbs. His fingers began to shake, his right hand spasming, nails digging into his palm, drawing blood. The pain was not skin-deep; it drilled into the gaps of his bone marrow, as if someone were hammering a chisel along his blood vessels.

His True Qi was blocked off. His Qi Sea and Dantian were like a dry well.

He tried again. His chest felt heavy, a fishy sweetness rose in his throat, and blood choked out, splattering onto the blue bricks. The blood was dark, almost black, and congealed the moment it hit the ground.

Yuwen Shou said, "Tonight, you won't even be able to circulate half of your True Qi."

The Manor Master lowered his head to look at his own hands, clenching his teeth, his cheeks bulging with hard ridges. The veins on his forehead throbbed. He wanted to say something, but his mouth opened, and blood surged up again, forcing him to keep it shut.

"Cave Master, I have done what I promised you."

Yuwen Shou paused, his black robes swirling as he retreated to the west side. "Farewell."

The Cave Master watched the black shadow vault over the wall without pursuing.

"Sooner or later, you will come back to find me..."

The voice was very soft, dissipating into the night.

He turned around and looked at the Manor Master kneeling on the ground.

A willow-leaf blade slid out from the Cave Master's sleeve, its body as thin as paper.

The Manor Master braced himself against the ground, trying to stand up. His knees had barely left the ground by half an inch when the blockage in his Meridians surged back. His vision went black, and he swayed, nearly collapsing again.

His kneecap knocked against the brick, causing sharp pain; that pain actually helped him clear his head for a moment.

"If you want to kill me, you must first ask this skin."

The Cave Master laughed. He laughed very softly. The willow-leaf blade traced an arc in the moonlight, like a curved eyebrow.

"Skin?"

He stepped forward. The sole of his boot crushed the bloodstain, leaving a dark red mark. The mark slowly expanded outward, like a living thing.

"The Meridians are the residence of blood. If I place a finger on your pulse, a hundred illnesses will arise. No matter how hard your zombie skin is, it cannot block the illness from within."

Before the words had fully fallen, he moved.

The willow-leaf blade slashed upward—it was a strike, like a doctor lancing a sore, heading straight for the Neiguan acupoint on the Manor Master's wrist.

The Manor Master's pupils constricted. He raised his right arm to block, his skin shriveling, flesh shrinking, his entire arm turning the color of withered bone to take the blade head-on.

Clang!

Sparks flew, splattering onto both their faces, burning tiny red dots.

The Cave Master flipped his wrist, and the blade edge slid along the Manor Master's arm towards the Jianjing acupoint. The movement was as slippery as a loach, impossible to catch.

"Meridian Qi flows in cycles, following the meridian clock. Your entire body is filled with dead Meridians, perfect for me to test my blade."

The Manor Master did not reply, blasting out a left fist from under his ribs. The Cave Master dodged sideways, and with a backhanded swipe of the willow-leaf blade, a gash appeared under the Manor Master's ribs.

The skin and flesh rolled back, revealing the grayish-white texture inside. It looked like the roots of an old tree, like air-dried cured meat.

"When a person dies, they become a corpse; if the corpse does not rot, it becomes a zombie."

The Manor Master spoke, his voice hoarse, like sandpaper grinding on rust, "These bones will not rot even if buried underground for thirty years. They are impervious to water and fire, and impenetrable to blades."

The Cave Master narrowed his eyes.

He suddenly withdrew his blade, pressed his index and middle fingers together to form a sword finger, and struck directly at the Manor Master's Tanzhong acupoint. The Manor Master crossed his arms to block. The fingertips landed on his arm with a dull thud. It sounded like tapping a wooden fish.

Black spots spread from the point of contact. Layers of blisters bulged on the skin, bursting and oozing foul-smelling yellow pus. The pus was sticky, stringy, and hissed with white smoke when it dripped onto the ground. The zombie flesh rotted visibly, as if splashed with boiling oil or poured with strong acid.

The Manor Master looked down at his own arm.

Thirty years of the zombie Dao, impervious to blades and guns, water and fire. One touch of a finger, and it rotted.

The Cave Master withdrew his finger and wiped it on the willow-leaf blade, which began to glow with a cyan light. The cyan light was eerie, like a ghost fire.

"Illness enters through weakness. Your Death Qi is perfect for nourishing illness. I use a hundred illnesses as a catalyst, borrowing your Death Qi to take root and sprout—this is called fighting poison with poison. The poison is mine, but the rot is yours."

The Manor Master gritted his teeth. The rot was drilling into his bones. Numbness mixed with sharp pain, like countless insects crawling and gnawing beneath his skin. The sensation was maddening; he wanted to scratch but dared not, for one scratch would tear off a piece of skin.

He took a deep breath, the sound of a bellows wheezing in his chest. He clenched his fists, his bones cracking. His knuckles turned white, nails digging into the flesh of his palms.

Just at this moment—

A mysterious ink-colored figure rushed out from the side.

The person was glowing with a dark luster; his skin, clothing, and hair tips had all turned ink-black, like a moving iron tower.

He held a square ruler in his hand, crafted from bronze with sharp edges. With one measure, he struck straight at the Cave Master's heart. The wind of the ruler whistled, carrying the sound of metal and stone.

"The square ruler measures the world; the Ancestral Master of the Mohist school measured cities and rivers. We unworthy descendants can only measure human lives."

Mr. Xiangli had made his move.

The Cave Master turned around abruptly, holding his willow-leaf blade horizontally across his back. Clang! The square ruler smashed into the willow-leaf blade, forcing the Cave Master to retreat three steps, his boot soles scraping against the bluestone, creating a piercing friction sound. Sparks flew, jumping into the grass with a sizzle, burning out a scorched smell.

"You are courting death!"

A look of anger flashed in the Cave Master's eyes. The anger was real, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"Not necessarily."

Mr. Xiangli landed, his square ruler held horizontally before his chest. He stood there like a lump of iron, motionless, "With me here today, you cannot do whatever you please."

The Cave Master sneered, "The Mohist secret technique, Green-Skin Iron-Bone? You think you can stop me with this?"

"How will you know without trying?"

The two confronted each other. The air seemed to freeze, pressing down until it was hard to breathe.

A person walked out from the shadows nearby, blocking Mr. Xiangli. Black clothes, black boots, a Goose-Quill Saber hung at his waist, the scabbard wrapped in red silk.

"Garrison Commander Xue."

Mr. Xiangli's voice sank, like a stone falling into water, "You are here to join in the fun too. Is this the intention of the Prefect?"

Garrison Commander Xue shook his head, his voice squeezed from deep within his chest, "I am not wearing my official robes; I am here in a private capacity. Helping a friend capture a wanted criminal."

Mr. Xiangli gritted his teeth, holding the square ruler in front of him. The bronze surface reflected the lantern light with a cold hue, "Regardless, I will protect the Manor Master today."

"Then let us rely on our own abilities."

The Garrison Commander moved.

The Goose-Quill Saber slashed an arc, aiming straight for Mr. Xiangli's throat. The blade light was snowy and bright, so bright it was blinding.

The square ruler blocked it; bronze collided with fine steel, and the two became locked in battle, blade light and ruler shadows moving so fast only afterimages remained. Powerful winds spilled out, causing the lanterns to sway wildly and the flames to leap high.

The Cave Master sneered, pointing the willow-leaf blade at the Manor Master, "Now no one can help you."

The Manor Master did not speak.

He looked down at his own hands.

His left hand was still rotting, the rot reaching his wrist, black spots spreading outward in circles like ink dropped into clear water. His right hand was shaking, uncontrollably shaking, his knuckles turning white.

The four were locked in a chaotic battle, waves of energy surging, debris bursting from the gaps in the bluestone, pitting the ground with holes.

Bloodstains were scattered by the powerful winds, splashing onto walls, grass leaves, and lantern paper, like a splashed ink painting.

Wu Xi and Niu Fei were forced to retreat again and again. Wu Xi sat down on the ground with a thud, his face deathly pale, his lips blue.

This level of fighting was not something they could intervene in. Just looking at it made their eyes ache and their Qi Sea churn.

The Manor Master was forced back step by step by the blade light, each step landing in a pool of blood, his feet slipping. With every block, the rot on his arm deepened.

The black spots spread to his shoulder, his entire left arm shaking uncontrollably; the trembling traveled from flesh to bone, and from bone back to flesh, a vicious cycle.

The willow-leaf blade slashed again; the Manor Master dodged sideways, the blade edge grazing the tip of his nose, a trace of coldness, bone-chillingly cold.

The Cave Master took the opportunity to kick him in the lower abdomen; the Manor Master let out a muffled groan, flying backward and slamming into a stone pillar at the edge of the training grounds.

His back hit the pillar. The stone pillar cracked with spiderweb patterns, stone debris falling down rustlingly. The Manor Master slid to the ground, a mouthful of black blood surging from his mouth. The blood was thick and viscous, like paste.

He knelt half-way on the ground, blood seeping from between his fingers, mixing with the black blood on the ground; his internal organs were churning, as if someone had reached in, grabbed them, and twisted them around.

The Cave Master carried the willow-leaf blade and approached again. The tip of the blade dragged on the ground, carving thin white marks, like chalk on a blackboard, squeaking and creaking.

The Manor Master clenched his fists. The rotting left hand and the unrotted right hand clenched together.