The three surviving conspirators slowly turned from the corpse to face each other. Their expressions were veiled in fresh wariness, and their bodies were coiled, ready to move at any moment. The air, thick with the scents of blood and orchids, now hummed with a new silent calculation.
The swordsman's sharp eyes caught the fleeting, almost imperceptible glance exchanged between Mei Xu and Wudi. It was not just the look of lovers but of tacticians confirming a shared plan.
He realized he was outnumbered as he studied their subtle postures, the slight shift of Wudi's hand toward hand signs and the way Mei Xu's fingers hovered over her array plate.
But a cold calm settled within him. He felt no panic. After all, when the first blow was struck against Mo Li, he quietly crushed a scentless poison pill between his fingers, releasing its invisible vapor into the still cave air.
The time for subtlety ended with Mo Li's last breath. The charade of alliance was ash. He knew the real fight was about to begin, and he had already made the first, invisible move.
"Very well," Jiang Yi said in a low rasp as he unsheathed his other sword from its scabbard on his back. "The herb is mine." He pointed the sword toward the Sevenfold Chalice Orchid herb and challenged the other two with his gaze.
"No," Wudi countered, his tone leaving no room for argument. He also turned his hand into a full hand sign, ready to cast a fire spell. "The herb is for her. You may take the corpse and its belongings."
"What use do I have for a carcass?" Jiang Yi laughed dryly. "Do you take me for a fool who trades treasure for trash?"
Wuid and Mei Xu exchanged a tense glance. They understood their predicament; overpowering him was a risky gamble. The sword force radiating from him was already condensing, hinting at evolving into nascent sword qi.
Making an enemy of such a man was madness. What's more, the last time they scanned him, they felt his cultivation base was advancing to the peak of the late core formation realm.
"Then it's a different trade," Wudi said at last. The tension in his posture eased a fraction, though the oppressive pressure in the cave did not lessen. "I will have my master refine a Blood Revival Pill for you. A Body Refiner's fresh corpse is a high-quality ingredient."
He paused, his eyes narrowing to slits. "As for that pitiful vapor you released... you didn't truly believe it would affect a disciple raised by a master alchemist, did you?"
"He knew." The realization slid down Jiang Yi's spine like ice water. His gaze flicked to the woman. "She must have known as well. What a cunning pair." From the beginning, he had been allowed to act, to scheme, to believe he held a hidden blade.
But he had been outmaneuvered. He stood encircled by her formation, and escaping a laid trap is thrice as difficult as facing the trappers in open combat. Foolish. It was foolish to let them deploy it.
Even if he could break free—and the cost would be ruinous—offending Wudi meant more than a swift death. It was a protracted sentence. He would be hunted like a starved dog by every bootlicker in the Demonic Faction seeking to curry favor with a Peak Golden Core alchemist. And bootlickers, he knew, were too numerous to count.
Yet, the offer was not without value. The Blood Revival Pill was one of the few things Jiang Yi truly needed. He had squandered decades refining sword force, pushing for the elusive leap to sword qi.
Now, barely a century of lifespan remained to him. A few such pills might claw back a precious decade. If he failed the Heavenly Tribulation, there would be no second attempt within his dwindling years. At least the pills would grant him a few more seasons of breath.
Slowly, with the grace of conceded defeat, Jiang Yi lowered his swords. But he did not yield without restating his price.
"A single Core Formation corpse is worthless," Jiang Yi said flatly. "I want a dozen Blood Revival Pills. Tier two. Every single one."
He paused, letting the number sink in. "Deliver them within two months. I don't care how you procure them."
As he finished speaking, he slowly sheathed his swords. The metallic whisper was unnaturally loud in the stillness of the cave.
"If you're considering silencing me," he continued calmly, "know this: there are people whose actions would not be deterred by even your master's reputation." His gaze swept over them once, sharp and dismissive. "We will meet again in two months. For the next mission."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode into the tunnel. His silhouette was quickly swallowed by the darkness, leaving only the faint echo of his footsteps behind.
The moment he vanished, the pressure in the cave dissipated.
Both Wudi and Mei Xu exhaled at once, their bodies sagging as if released from invisible restraints.
"At least he had the sense not to force a catastrophic fight on enemy ground," Wudi thought grimly. "There is no way we leave unscathed from those righteous dogs."
His gaze shifted from the corpse to the glowing herb. Suppressing his lingering unease, he retrieved a jade box and crouched down. Mei Xu moved closer, her eyes bright with anticipation.
Wudi worked slowly and methodically, harvesting the orchid with practiced care and deliberately leaving the root intact. Though he walked the demonic path, he still observed an alchemist's principles. The world's resources were already dwindling, reckless greed today meant starvation tomorrow.
Thuk!
He sealed the jade box shut, rose and turned to Mei Xu. Her gaze lingered on him, heavy with implication. Wudi understood immediately.
After all, tension needed to be released, and the night was far from over.
He placed the jade box into her waiting hands. She stored it in her spatial pouch without a glance, their professional masks crumbling as they fell into each other. A moment later, the cave was filled with the sound of ragged breaths, passionate kisses, and soft, urgent moans.
Outside, Jiang Yi hesitated, his fist clenched at his side. Muffled, unmistakable sounds seeped through the illusion-shrouded rock. He did not turn back, only cast a single, searing glance over his shoulder at what appeared to be an empty, silent cliff face.
Then he vanished into the forest, swallowed by the dappled light of the evening sun. The loss of the Sevenfold Chalice Orchid was a bitter stone in his throat, but the promise of the Blood Revival Pills was a lifeline he could not afford to cut. For now, survival outweighed greed.
Minutes later, Wudi and Mei Xu lay tangled together in the cavern's damp chill, the heat of their passion cooling on their skin. The hulking corpse lay a few feet away, a stark and silent witness.
She traced a idle finger down his chest, her voice a husky murmur. "And now? We just removed a key piece. The backlash…" She glanced at the corpse. "Will it not fall on you, as the leader? What will the higher-ups say?"
"It won't touch me," he said, his gaze following hers to the body. A cold, calculating smile touched his lips. "I didn't kill him. Our valiant brother was discovered and slain by righteous swords. Sigh… what a tragic loss for the cause."
She shifted, a furrow of artful concern on her brow. "And the pills? The swordsman's price. A dozen Tier-Two… where will we find the ingredients?"
He pulled her closer, his whisper a dark promise against her skin. "Do not trouble yourself. The finest ingredients will be delivered down the mountain by dawn. A fresh, large shipment of 'volunteers' is arriving." His thoughts drifted to the sect disciples soon descending to recruit the village seedlings.
Satisfaction melted into a renewed, ruthless hunger. Their questions faded, unanswered, as they lost themselves in another intimate, consuming battle, the corpse their only audience in the deepening dark.
Meanwhile, the village cemetery had become a sea of freshly turned earth under the creeping night. It's overwhelming silence was broken only by the dull, rhythmic thump of tamped-down soil.
Wuji knelt before the last small mound and pressed the earth flat with the back of his shovel. His hollow, sunken eyes burned with feverish exhaustion. His white robes hung stiff with dried mud on his gaunt body.
Black soil ground itself deep under his broken nails and fresh calluses split open on his palms, weeping onto the wooden handle.
A few paces behind him, Wang Da stood as still as the headstones. Pity and fear warred on the young man's face, slowly being buried under a cold, heavy resignation.
He could no longer deny the truth he had resisted for days. His old master had slipped beyond the edge of sanity.
To their left lay the grim testament to Wuji's labor and insanity. The ground was stained a rusty brown and littered with feathers trampled into the dirt.
Over the course of three relentless days, Wuji had emptied the village of every chicken.
Every small, child-sized coffin he owned had been filled. When those ran out, he commissioned more from bewildered carpenters in neighboring villages, prompting dark gossip and open curses.
Villagers crossed the street to avoid him, calling him a walking ill omen.
Just hours ago, the last poultry owner had barred her gate. Her hands trembled as she stared at the gaunt, dirt-caked figure burying the slaughtered birds with the solemnity of a grieving father.
Wuji had only muttered, "You're not the only ones who have them," before turning his hollow and hungry gaze away.
He returned from the next village with a dozen more clucking victims. Now, even those were put to rest. Every chicken had been killed and buried.
Wuji had not spared one, not even for his own hunger. His trembling, starved body was denied even a mouthful of broth.
Exhausted, he collapsed forward, pressing his palms into the cool, packed earth. With each labored breath, the stench of damp soil mixed with stale sweat and the cloying rot of chicken blood filled his lungs.
But he did not care for smell. His fingers trembled, slick with grime, as he fixed his blurred gaze on the panel before him.
A sharp jolt of excitement cut through the exhaustion etched on his face, twisting his expression into something unsettling.
[Stored Lifespan: 40]
Relief washed over him in a slow, heavy wave.
Just days ago, the shadow of his destined death had pressed against his heart with a suffocating weight. Now, he could—at least in theory—live to be one hundred and twenty-seven.
Sudden illness, violent accidents, or a cultivator's whim could still end his life, but time itself was no longer his executioner.
Yet the price of those years was carved deep into his being.
The primal instincts he absorbed from the slaughtered chickens had not faded. They accumulated, layer upon layer, like sediment settling in his mind. It was a rising tide that sometimes threatened to drown him.
During his fragmented sleep, he did not dream as a man but as a bird, pecking mindlessly at the dust with twitching wings and simple, fleeting thoughts.
In those moments, his human memories felt distant, as though this life were the dream and the chicken's instincts were closer to real him.
Waking brought no comfort.
Most mornings, his body felt borrowed. His thoughts were no longer entirely his own. Strange impulses surfaced without warning; urges to peck, mate, and fight for scraps.
Once, when he lifted a chicken to slaughter it, he felt a grotesque attraction so alien and repulsive that he nearly retched.
But he crushed it immediately as the fear of death and the temptation of stolen lifespans were stronger.
"I will become immortal," he whispered hoarsely. "By any means necessary. I will live."
Yet, no matter how many times he repeated it, the words rang hollow.
If he truly believed in "any means necessary," he would have chosen differently. The most efficient targets were obvious: children, with their fragile bodies and long untouched lifespans.
But his hands never moved even an inch toward them, even though the adults were sometimes tempting, he always hesitated. This hesitation, seemingly small and irrational, proved that part of Ye Wuji was still human.
For now.