Chapter 819: Fair Enough?

“Since it’s a senior who speaks, naturally everything is negotiable. I’ll relay your words to the Sect Master.” The man’s expression remained mild, though after a slight hesitation he ventured, “Might the senior provide a name? After all, you must understand the Sect Master’s caution.”

Chu Xingchen lifted his gaze slightly, his expression as if lost in memory. Finally, a hint of a smile curled at his lips:

“I don’t know whether the current generation still remembers me, but back then I was called—Blood Butcher True Lord.”

“As for whether you can find me, that depends on how capable you really are.”

“The next meeting won’t be here. The Eighteen Immortal Sects have already sent people.”

Chu Xingchen casually tossed down a jade token with an ancient, unadorned finish:

“The address is inside. I’ll allow you some time to consider, but best not to take too long.”

The man bent with a humble expression to pick up the jade token, gave another slow bow, then turned and walked out, closing the door behind him on the way.

Bai Xuanling gently stroked her teacup. After sensing the man’s departure, she spoke softly using spiritual energy:

“If you’re hoping the Running Sect Master shows his real face, I’m afraid you might be waiting a long time. Over the years, more than a few people have tried to catch him and set all manner of traps. But aside from running fast, his other specialty is pulling his head back into his shell like a turtle.”

“There hasn’t been a word about him in a century. Even the Evil Spirit Sect rarely has contact with him. The title of Sect Master is probably just nominal at this point.”

“Pushing him like this—I think he’s more likely to give up than come out.”

Chu Xingchen shrugged lightly: “If the Eighteen Immortal Sects truly wanted the Running Sect Master dead, he’d have been scattered to the winds long ago. It’s simply a question of whether he’s worth the effort and whether he’s useful.”

“The Evil Spirit Sect doesn’t just operate among evil cultivators. Intelligence shows plenty of orthodox sects also need the Evil Spirit Sect to handle things that can’t see daylight.”

“A rag that anyone can use. Dirty, but effective.”

Chu Xingchen finished speaking and rose leisurely to his feet: “Now that the person we’ve been waiting for has actually shown up, let’s sweep up all these small fry at once and give this place some peace.”

“They love making a scene so much? Then let’s send them all down together to enjoy a real one.”

Bai Xuanling’s gaze drifted again toward the old man standing on the street corner, grinning foolishly as he sold candied hawthorns.

The old man standing on the street with a smile suddenly, as if struck by a flash of inspiration, turned his head to the right. He looked up toward the open window—but there was no one there. Only an upside-down teacup sat on the table.

The old man quickly withdrew his gaze and looked no further.

Yet somehow, despite it being nothing more than a perfectly ordinary upside-down teacup, he felt an inexplicable flutter of panic in his chest.

He realized he couldn’t stay here any longer. The place had become a den of dragons and serpents, and after several days he’d gained nothing—hadn’t observed a single piece of useful information.

If he wanted a share of the pie, he’d have to find another way. His illusions of concealment might be peerless, but what had truly kept him alive all these years was the caution buried deep in his bones.

The old man stood on trembling legs, preparing to leave.

“Old Zhang, why are you running off so fast today? You haven’t even sold many sticks.”

The old man turned. A dark-skinned young man squatted by the roadside, waiting for work. According to intelligence, this was an old acquaintance. He mimicked the old man’s manner of speaking:

“Someone told me yesterday not to set up my stall here… said it wasn’t safe…”

The young man glanced at the many unfamiliar faces and sighed inwardly. He walked up to the old man, took a few copper coins from his pocket, and pressed them into the old man’s hand:

“It’s not safe. Usually you wouldn’t leave even if the street was empty. I know it’s because your wife needs medicine regularly. I remember the favor of that candied hawthorn stick. Come by less often these next few days, and whatever you’re short, I’ll try to make up.” 𝚏𝗋ℯⅇ

The old man looked at the offered coins, his expression appropriately brightening with surprise. He reached out to take them, then said with affected emotion:

“I thank you for your great kindness on behalf of the old woman. Once I have some spare money, I’ll certainly pay you back…”

The young man scratched the back of his head and answered with simple honesty:

“Get home early.”

The old man nodded repeatedly, then limped out toward the alley. The moment his figure rounded the corner, the foot that had been afflicted with some ailment seemed to heal instantly, his steps becoming light as air.

He walked briskly through several familiar turns, then casually tossed the carefully tended basket of candied hawthorns into a filthy corner filled with mud.

The glistening candied fruits were smeared with mud and water, with only a tiny untouched spot still reflecting the old man’s unhesitating retreating figure.

The old man still needed to go back to “home”—because inside it there was a Soul-Refining Pearl, used to preserve corpses and prevent decay and stiffening, enabling their control. This thing was extraordinarily troublesome to craft and expensive, but as long as you knew how to use it, it was a supreme treasure of the highest order in a certain sense.

Having gained nothing, the old man naturally wasn’t willing to just leave behind a Soul-Refining Pearl for free.

He naturally intended to retrieve the Soul-Refining Pearl from his so-called wife.

His steps were quick, the few copper coins in his wide pocket jingling with each stride.

The old man walked up to a dilapidated old house. Sensing no watchful eyes, he fished out the coins that had clinked all the way and tossed them aside in disgust, then pushed open the door.

The door swung open. The next instant, he froze on the spot.

There sat a woman in white robes, her expression languid, in the living room. On a crooked, lopsided table before her rested a long sword.

The “wife” he controlled via the Soul-Refining Pearl sat on the bed nearby, still coughing from time to time.

The old man’s scalp went numb. The Soul-Refining Pearl could be maintained remotely through divine sense. For this white-robed woman to sit here so brazenly without him detecting a thing, her cultivation must be absurdly, explosively high.

He didn’t hesitate. He made his decision instantly—spinning around to run while simultaneously pulling out every life-saving talisman he possessed.

But a thread of light moved faster than all his actions.

He felt something press against his chest, and then his cultivation suddenly refused to obey him. Spiritual energy began flowing chaotically in all directions.

The old man looked up in terror. The sword that had been on the table just moments ago was gone.

Only then did he realize a gaping hole had been blasted through his chest.

A sword intent silently began to devour the divine soul he’d tried to send fleeing.

The old man understood instantly. All his tricks were useless now.

“You killed him because he was weak.” The woman stood, her tone frigid. “I’m killing you because you’re weak.”

The white-robed woman’s gaze was calm and still:

“Fair enough?”

The old man didn’t lower his head. He tried to touch his chest, but his entire hand passed through—there was nothing left to touch. He gave a vacant smile:

“Fair enough. But… who are you?”

The white-robed woman’s tone was level:

“Bai Xuanling.”

The old man was first shocked, then a measure of resignation flickered in his eyes:

“Then I suppose I’m not dying too pathetically.”