Chapter Sixteen: Captured (Part Two)

Kun carried Bai Qi with him, dashing forward at breakneck speed. The world around them—buildings and trees—whipped past in a blur, receding like reflections in retreat. The furious shouts from moments before gradually faded into indistinct murmur, then silence, as the distance grew between them and their pursuers.

But when they were scarcely three or four hundred meters from the docks, Kun, who had been charging ahead, came to an abrupt halt, as if slamming on invisible brakes. Both men instinctively looked up. Barely ten meters ahead stood a solitary figure. Bathed in moonlight, the man was clad head to toe in brown silk that, under the pale glow, shimmered with a dark red hue—like a venomous serpent lurking in sand, poised to strike with lethal precision.

Bai Qi scrutinized the man: a face shrouded in a thick beard the color of his garments, heavy brows, and, curiously, closed eyes. His hands were clasped behind his back, as if awaiting something.

Kun spoke in a cold, low voice, each word laden with icy resentment: “Liang Sui…”

At the faint, hate-filled murmur, the man’s eyes opened slowly. They were the eyes of one who had weathered a thousand untold storms, yet deep within, a savage glint flickered—like fangs bared, waiting to pierce.

He spoke lazily, “Mister Kun, it’s been a long time. I trust you’ve been well?”

Kun’s reply was laced with seething anger, each syllable biting: “Enough, Liang Sui. Spare me your tiresome pleasantries.”

Liang Sui’s tone was measured, almost kind. “After all these years, you’re still the same. Still, I must thank you for your mercy—my daughter is in your debt.” There was a trace of genuine gratitude in his eyes, but Bai Qi scoffed inwardly. Old fox, is this act supposed to fool anyone? If someone didn’t know any better, they’d be taken in by your performance. How could such a man have such a beautiful daughter? But then, beneath her lovely exterior, she’s every bit her father’s child.

Liang Sui caught Bai Qi’s look of scorn but remained unruffled. He said calmly, “You’re an unfamiliar face, young man. Not from Liang Prefecture, I assume—so, which region do you hail from? One of the other provinces, or the Eight Wilds?”

As Liang Sui pressed his questions, Bai Qi’s thoughts drifted to his daughter. How alike they were—father and daughter, both masks hiding their true selves.

Kun’s tone was hostile. “Liang Sui, do you ever stop chattering? Are you here to block our way?”

Liang Sui’s eyes narrowed with a hint of a smile. “Block your way? Not at all. I simply wish to invite you both to my manor for a drink.”

“Bai, looks like the only way out is to fight our way through. Are you ready?” Kun muttered, knowing full well their chances of escape tonight were slim. Their enemy was not alone—there were others, lurking in the shadows.

Bai Qi nodded. He’d been in dire straits before, whether at the hands of men or spirit beasts. In such moments, only resolve mattered—the courage to fight when paths crossed in desperation. Other thoughts were a luxury he’d never indulged.

“Liang Sui, you’re the kind of man who deserves to die a thousand deaths. To be skinned and broken would be leniency. Enough talk. We old acquaintances should have a proper chat.” Kun’s voice was ice. In a blink, he closed the gap to within half a meter of Liang Sui, driving a fist straight for his head—pure, brute force, hatred made manifest.

Liang Sui’s robes billowed as he moved with the wind, a dark red aura coiling about him. Bai Qi, forced to watch from afar, kept his senses sharp. In the alleyway between two houses at his side, a shadow emerged. Bai Qi sensed the presence even as he watched the duel—it was the man who had ambushed them a year ago: Soul Sparrow.

Soul Sparrow was surprised to be noticed so quickly. Raising an eyebrow, he sneered, “Didn’t expect you to grow so perceptive in just a year, brat. I wonder if your skills have improved as much.”

The two eyed each other like old rivals. Bai Qi retorted, “Whether I’ve improved is none of your concern. Just be a good dog for your master and hope you don’t get whipped.”

“Hah! Sharp-tongued as ever—some things never change. Looks like what I left in you last time still hasn’t been digested.” Soul Sparrow grinned maliciously. “In fact, I’m very interested in you. Tonight, I’ll take you alive—and study you thoroughly.”

“You yap too much—just like a mutt who can’t stop barking!” Bai Qi snapped, gathering his spiritual power. Light burst from his body, dispelling the darkness around him.

Soul Sparrow, irked at being belittled, charged. His fingers splayed, channeling a jet-black energy that formed a ghastly skull—eerily lifelike, as if struggling to break free from invisible chains. Its hollow sockets brimmed with malice as it hurtled toward Bai Qi.

Bai Qi responded without hesitation, incanting with his mind as he raised his right hand, spiritual energy coalescing into a palm print. He thrust it at the oncoming skull. The resulting impact sent tremors through nearby buildings, splitting walls with finger-thick cracks. Roof tiles flew, but fortunately, the structures were warehouses—no one lived within.

Soul Sparrow’s eyes narrowed as he watched his attack evaporate under Bai Qi’s counter. His face grew grave. With a shout, he summoned two shadowy figures at his sides—liquid silhouettes bubbling like molten men. He snorted, then commanded, “Go!”

The two figures, puppet-like, raced toward Bai Qi. As they advanced, each conjured a black, curved blade in their right hand—gleaming with murderous intent, devoid of all emotion.

Bai Qi tensed. Soul Sparrow’s methods were indeed many and deadly. If not for a slight difference in strength during their last encounter, Bai Qi and Kun might have died then and there.

He quickly recited the “Destruction” mantra he’d learned from the Guangling Zither. Ripples of energy cascaded from his head to his toes, enveloping him in concentric waves. He pressed his palms together; his index and middle fingers from each hand aligned, the rest interlocked, the gesture emanating a suffocating pressure. As the two figures closed in—mere breaths away—their blades left lingering afterimages, growing ever more solid and deadly.

In a heartbeat, Bai Qi’s eyes snapped open, radiating an awe-inspiring force. Four fingers summoned a column of light, a mere three inches long—compact yet formidable. The power it contained was far beyond what one would expect from a youth, and merely a Yellow-rank cultivator at that. Soul Sparrow could scarcely believe it.

The three-inch pillar of light slipped from Bai Qi’s fingers, moving “slowly,” as if struggling against invisible bonds. But upon contact, the two shadowy figures—Soul Sparrow’s conjured puppets—were corroded like wax in acid. These soulless, emotionless creations suddenly writhed in palpable agony, their faceless forms twisting as if in mortal torment, like dough mangled in a clenched fist.

A spurt of blood sounded from ahead—Soul Sparrow, coughing it up. Once again, he’d been bested. Bai Qi’s attacks were wholly unpredictable. Even though Soul Sparrow’s darkness seemed checked by Bai Qi’s power, the difference in their ranks should have been insurmountable. He couldn’t understand it. The two puppets he’d conjured were forged from his own will and cultivation technique. Though no more than puppets, under his control they were formidable—each wielding sixty percent of his own strength, easily a match for a Profound-rank cultivator, let alone a mere Yellow-rank.

As Soul Sparrow pondered, Bai Qi stood at a distance, gasping for breath, his face pale. The force he’d just unleashed had drained him, his spiritual power down to barely a quarter. He hadn’t expected the “Destruction” mantra to be so fierce—yet it consumed his energy like a bottomless pit. No amount of training could compensate; the true issue was his own insufficient rank, unable to fully command the power this technique demanded.