1: Chapter 1 The Eaves of Blackrock Town

The rain poured down as if from a giant hole ripped open in the sky, bone-chillingly cold.

Lin Chen's chest felt stifled and pained; every breath he took carried a metallic tang of blood.

The pale golden light barrier shattered before his eyes, turning into specks of light that dissolved into the torrential rain.

The protective talisman that had shielded him the entire way had ultimately failed to withstand the full-force strike of a Qi Refining Stage 5 Cultivator.

"Damn scum!" came the pursuer's furious curse from behind.

The aftermath of the Spiritual Qi impact shook Lin Chen's internal organs out of place, and the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth was instantly washed away by the rain, leaving no trace.

Yet, he did not retreat an inch.

Just as the opponent revealed a moment of astonishment at the shattering of the protective talisman, Lin Chen advanced instead of retreating, his body lunging forward like a taut bow.

The short blade in his hand did not strike for his opponent's vitals; instead, at a tricky angle, it slashed like lightning toward the wrist holding the short blade.

He knew very well that with his meager Qi Refining Stage 3 cultivation, a head-on confrontation was no different from throwing an egg against a rock.

What he wanted was not to wound, but to force a retreat for that fleeting moment—a gap to catch his breath.

The pursuer, as expected, instinctively dodged backward, twisting his wrist to avoid the blade.

Now!

Lin Chen violently grabbed Su Qingyao's cold wrist with his left hand and, using all his strength, slammed them both into the long-rotted wooden wall at the back of the dilapidated temple.

"Boom—"

Wood chips flew everywhere.

The two of them rolled clumsily into the pitch-black forest outside the temple, instantly swallowed by the violent curtain of rain.

Behind them, the pursuer's roar inside the temple and the muffled thuds of Spiritual Qi explosions were muffled by the increasing distance and the deafening sound of the rain.

The mountain path was muddy and slippery; Lin Chen pulled Su Qingyao along, stumbling through the darkness.

He dared not look back, nor even dare to use the little Spiritual Qi remaining within him, fearing that the faint glow of spiritual energy would become a beacon for his enemies in the dark night.

He did not know how long they had been running when the wrist he was pulling suddenly went limp.

Su Qingyao could no longer hold on and collapsed forward from exhaustion.

Lin Chen was quick to catch her; his hands were met with scorching skin and rapid, ragged breathing.

Under the lightning that occasionally tore through the night sky, her complexion was as pale as paper.

He could not stop.

Lin Chen gritted his teeth, hoisted her onto his back, and locked his hands firmly beneath her knees.

The sudden increase in weight caused his already tottering body to sink, his knees nearly buckling into the mud.

He lifted his head and wiped the rain from his face; the darkness, in which he could not distinguish any direction, made his heart run cold.

In his desperation, he subconsciously rubbed the rough stone ring on his right thumb.

Just then, a faint, extremely subtle warmth emanated from the stone ring, and a vague direction flashed through his mind.

That was it—this ring had been given to him by his Senior Sister, and it could roughly point the way to a town of Mortals.

With this glimmer of hope, Lin Chen, like a drowning man grasping at a straw, regained his strength.

He adjusted Su Qingyao's position on his back and, following that faint sensation, moved step by step, struggling toward the edge of the forest.

The rainy night felt endless.

When the eastern horizon finally began to pale with the first light of dawn, the ragged, mud-covered Lin Chen finally stumbled to the edge of Black Stone Town, carrying the unconscious Su Qingyao.

At the eastern end of Black Stone Town, at the end of the most remote alley, stood a small adobe courtyard with half its wall collapsed and sparse tiles on the roof.

The wrinkled old landlord, leaning on a polished wooden cane, impatiently tapped the mossy, slippery threshold with the tip of his cane.

His cloudy eyes first swept over the mud covering Lin Chen, then landed on the unconscious Su Qingyao on his back; there was no pity in his gaze, only calculation.

"One month, three taels of silver," the old landlord said, holding up three fingers as withered as chicken claws, his voice raspy. "No firewood, no water. If someone dies, drag them out and bury them yourself; don't dirty my land."

Three taels of silver would be enough for an ordinary family in town to live on for two or three months.

Lin Chen remained silent and carefully leaned Su Qingyao against the wall.

He searched all his pockets and untied the rain-soaked bundle he had looted from Zhao Daniu, the Qi Refining Stage 2 pursuer he had killed in self-defense, dumping all the copper coins and silver fragments into his palm.

After a clinking sound, a pile of silver fragments of various sizes and shapes lay in his palm.

In total, three taels and seven mace.

This was all he possessed.

Lin Chen was silent for three breaths, then looked up at the landlord's numb face without bargaining.

He counted out exactly three taels of silver and gently placed them on the landlord's outstretched, liver-spotted palm.

The remaining seven mace were tightly clenched back into his palm.

"We'll manage the firewood and water ourselves," he said, his voice calm and devoid of emotion.

The old landlord weighed the silver in his other hand and bit it to confirm it was pure, his expression of cold indifference softening slightly.

He unhooked a rusty brass key from his waist and, without looking, tossed it onto the ground.

With a clatter, the key landed in the mud at Lin Chen's feet.

Leaning on his cane, the old landlord turned and walked away without looking back, his stumbling silhouette quickly disappearing at the end of the alley.

Lin Chen bent down, picked up the cold key from the mud, inserted it into the lock, and turned it.

Accompanied by a teeth-grinding creak, the old wooden door was pushed open, and a scent of mold and dust rushed out to meet him.

He walked back to the wall, hoisted Su Qingyao onto his back once more, and stepped into the shelter they had traded almost all their belongings for.

The room was dimly lit, containing only a bare earthen bed, covered with a quilt that had hardened like a stone slab and whose original color was unrecognizable.

Lin Chen gently laid Su Qingyao on the bed; as soon as her body touched the bedding, she curled up unconsciously, as if warding off a bone-chilling cold.

Her complexion was ashen, her lips dry and cracked, and the bruising from the Spiritual Qi injury on her left shoulder had spread to her collarbone—a shocking sight.

Lin Chen extended the back of his hand to check her forehead.

It was frighteningly hot.

His heart tightened as he looked around; this destitute room did not even have a washbasin.

He went outside and found a chipped clay pot under the leaking eaves, which contained half a pot of murky rainwater.

He tore off the hem of his relatively clean undershirt, soaked it in the cold rain, wrung it out, then returned to the bedside and carefully placed it on Su Qingyao's burning forehead.

The rain gradually stopped.

Daylight brightened, and in the beams of light piercing through the damaged window lattice, countless tiny dust motes danced up and down.

Su Qingyao let out a faint moan in her unconscious state, her brows tightly furrowed, as if enduring immense pain.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the straw mat beneath her so tightly that her nails dug deep into the gaps, turning ghastly white from the pressure.

Lin Chen sat by the bed, watching her in silence, his right hand subconsciously rubbing the stone ring on his thumb over and over again.

That ring was something she had polished for him by hand back when they were at the Qingmu Sect.

Now, however, he could only rely on its faint guidance to bring her to such a precarious place.

By evening, the hole in the roof began to leak with a drizzling rain again.

Lin Chen found a few broken bricks in the courtyard, mixed them with mud, climbed onto the roof, and clumsily patched the corner that was leaking the worst.

Just as he was focused on struggling with the mud, a head tied with two crooked little buns peeked in from outside the collapsed gap in the courtyard wall.

It was a skinny little girl of about ten, her face dirty, but her eyes were large, bright, and filled with a shy curiosity.

She stared at Lin Chen repairing the roof for a good while, then stretched her neck to peek into the pitch-black room; seemingly hearing the faint moans from within, she quickly pulled her head back, startled.

Lin Chen noticed the gaze but paid it no mind, assuming it was just some naughty child from the neighborhood.

But a quarter of an hour later, a fresh, crisp-looking Chinese cabbage covered in dirt rolled through the gap in the wall and stopped right at his feet.

Lin Chen was stunned.

He put down the brick in his hand and walked to the gap to look outside.

The alley was empty; only at the end of the alley, a small figure wearing patched clothes was running away quickly, disappearing in a flash.

He picked up the cabbage; it felt heavy in his hand, carrying the fresh scent of earth.

In this desperate situation, this sudden act of kindness brought a warmth to his heart more than any Spirit Pill could.

The next morning, Lin Chen used five of his last seven mace of silver to buy half a bag of brown rice, enough to last ten to fifteen days, and a small jar of coarse salt that could last until it went moldy, from the only morning market in Black Stone Town.

After doing all this, only two blackened copper coins remained in his palm.

He clenched those two copper coins, his palm aching from the pressure.

He took a deep breath, passed through the bustling crowd, and walked into the shop at the street corner that bore the dilapidated wooden sign "Baicao Hall".

A thick, strange odor, a mixture of mold and various medicinal herbs, instantly enveloped him.

Behind the counter sat a thin, gaunt man of about fifty on a low stool.

His left pant leg was rolled up, empty—he was clearly a cripple.

At that moment, he was looking down, holding a small guillotine in his right hand, "clack, clack" cutting some kind of dried herb root.

Hearing footsteps, Crippled Sun lifted his drooping eyelids, his cloudy gaze sweeping over Lin Chen.

When he saw his old, washed-out blue robes stained with mud, his gaze paused for a moment before finally landing on his tightly clenched right hand, his mouth curling slightly in an imperceptible sneer.

"What do you want?" Crippled Sun's voice was as shriveled as he was. "Let's get this straight first: I don't have any Spiritual Plants here, and for ordinary medicine, it's cash only—no credit."

Lin Chen walked to the counter and slowly opened his palm; two lonely copper coins lay there, as if a silent mockery of his current plight.

"For treating external injuries and fever, something to remove blood stasis and detoxify. The cheapest prescription will do."

Seeing those two copper coins, Crippled Sun showed an undisguised sneer on his face.

He turned around lazily, grabbed a few handfuls of dry, unrecognizable leaves from the herb shelf behind him, wrapped them haphazardly in a piece of yellowed paper, and threw them onto the counter.

"Three mace," he said, holding up three fingers with a hint of mockery in his tone.

Lin Chen's brows furrowed slightly.

He only had two mace left, but he had no heart to argue at the moment.

His gaze was drawn to an open sack in the corner of the counter.

The sack seemed to be filled with weeds that the herb shop assistants had gathered while picking herbs on the mountain but had not had time to process, intended to be used as firewood.

Inside were mixed all sorts of withered, muddy roots and leaves.

Just a moment ago, when his gaze inadvertently swept over that pile of weeds, the stone ring on his right thumb suddenly emitted an extremely faint, yet incredibly distinct, sense of warmth.

Almost at the same time, two lines of information, composed of tiny, pale golden characters that only he could see, flashed across the edge of his vision and vanished.

[Low-level Spiritual Plant residue 'Green Whisker Root' detected (weak Spiritual Qi, can alleviate stagnation and heat in Meridians)...]

['Snake Saliva Herb' detected (Ordinary grade, has some analgesic effect)...]

Lin Chen's heart skipped a beat in that instant, as if gripped by an invisible hand.

He remained calm on the surface, even maintaining a hint of unease born from poverty.

His fingers clutching the copper coins pointed to the sack, his voice laced with a tentative, cautious tone: "Boss, those... those unwanted weeds... are they for sale?"