Chapter 162 – Three Transformations into Three Paintings—The Righteous Way, the Demonic Way, and the Way of Freedom - Part 3

“Old Zhou, are you really not coming to the Martial Lodge?”

The man with speckled white hair didn’t hesitate. Instead, he carved the words into the ground with his blade, “

Not coming.”

“Then I’ll teach you City Toppler.”

With another deliberate stroke, his blade etched the word, “

Thanks.

”

At Hundred Lotus Manor, Li Yuan was preparing for a long journey. Before leaving, he sought out Zhou Jia, hoping that Zhou Jia would also cultivate his own technique. But Zhou Jia declined.

Li Yuan understood his feelings. His heart was solely devoted to the Fallen Moon School and Spirit-Release Technique.

Zhou Jia’s injuries were already beginning to heal. He was also regaining his confidence and steadily climbing back to the seventh rank. Once he did, he planned to redraw the Fallen Moon School’s life chronicle.

Understanding his friend’s resolve, Li Yuan didn’t press him further.

Instead, he meticulously taught Zhou Jia how to perform City Toppler, a skill that fused elements of Spring Thunder, Spring Awakening, and Leaping Abyss from the Spring-Autumn Blade.

In his instruction, Li Yuan even interwove his own insights of life chronicles to aid Zhou Jia’s understanding.

Strictly speaking, Li Yuan wasn’t merely teaching him City Toppler; he was also imparting a half-form of the Final Blade that lay beyond City Toppler.

However, he refrained from teaching the Final Blade proper—firstly, because Zhou Jia wasn’t ready for it, and secondly, because the Final Blade wasn’t actually a sixth rank skill in the Spirit-Release Technique.

Teaching it might only lead to confusion.

After a long while, Li Yuan slowly sheathed his blade and asked, “Old Zhou, have you grasped it?”

Zhou Jia nodded.

Li Yuan continued, “If you’re still unclear, I’ll teach you again when I return.”

Zhou Jia stepped back, bowed respectfully, and expressed his gratitude.

Meanwhile, Yan Yu led Sheng’er by hand, while Xue Ning cradled little Ping’an. They watched Li Yuan, about to board his carriage, with a hint of reluctance.

The carriage driver was a tall man in a conical hat and mask, which actually happened to be Tang Nian’s puppet. After all, Tang Nian was riding in the carriage as well.

Li Yuan had long worried about this goddaughter of his; Tang Nian had grown increasingly reclusive and had even been caught sneaking drinks. Though she was a big girl now, she was still a child at heart.

So Li Yuan decided to send her to the Martial Lodge. Since she had a penchant for poison arts, he personally entrusted her to a teacher from the Orange Blossom Sect, hoping the teacher would guide her in the ways of poison.

In the Martial Lodge, surrounded by many people, the reclusive girl would have no choice but to interact with others.

Li Yuan arranged for her to study beside Liu Xiaoyu’s cottage, while he himself had to depart on his journey.

Tang Nian didn’t object; she knew her godfather only wanted what was best for her.

At that moment, Yan Yu gently clasped Li Yuan’s hand, not questioning where her husband was headed but simply urging, “Come back soon and travel safely.”

Li Yuan embraced both her and Sheng’er, and then Xue Ning and Ping’an, before boarding the carriage. With a firm tug on the reins, the puppet driver spurred the horses out of the manor.

Sitting in the slightly dim carriage, Li Yuan exchanged a few warm words with Tang Nian before his thoughts drifted to his own concerns.

In recent days, he had attempted once more to fuse the three paths and the three martial skills into a complete whole, but to no avail.

So, Li Yuan decided to take the next step. He divided his life chronicle once again into three parts. The portion containing Young Master Riding the Deer was destined for the Martial Lodge.

Young Master Riding The Deer was a vision of carefree freedom, a painting of ease and unbounded spirit. Cultivators who cultivated a calm, unperturbed nature neither meddled like heroes nor stirred up trouble like rogues. Such individuals made ideal leaders for an open, visible faction.

Yet, Li Yuan still had two more portions of his life chronicle to teach out.

This time, he was headed to Bluepond County, adjacent to Autumnlake.

In truth, both Autumnlake and Bluepond had been ravaged by the chaotic armies led by Zhao Xiantong and his followers. Such counties were home to many unfortunate souls and even more unfortunate children.

By a stroke of luck, one of his blackbirds had identified a particularly promising child. Li Yuan intended to seek out that child and impart the demonic path, the Southern Mountains’ Ghostly Rain, to them.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

A few days later.

At dusk, the sky was filled with dense, iron-gray clouds. The earth, houses, fields, and people alike were weighed down by these heavy black clouds, and everyone hurried home as if fleeing their very souls.

A sudden downpour blurred one’s vision and filled the ears with a cacophony of drumming rain.

In the midst of this torrential rain, a young boy leaned against a cold wall. Clutching a piece of iron without even a handle, its edge worn down through endless grinding into a fine blade, he sat through the twilight until night fell.

He remained there from nightfall into the deep hours of the night. And though the rain had momentarily ceased, it resumed amid clashing thunder and lightning.

Thunder and rain melded together in a relentless symphony.

Then, not far behind him, faint sounds of struggling and helpless cries echoed from the wall.

The boy sprang to his feet, and in the pouring rain, he struggled to climb. He scaled the wall carefully, reached the side of a building, and using the roaring rain and thunder as cover, pushed the door open with caution before slipping inside quickly.

Inside, a stout, big-eared man was pinning down a frail, delicate girl.

The girl’s face was beautiful and plaintive, evoking either a sense of dark desire or a deep urge to protect. But that very face brought disaster upon her.

The young boy clutched the iron shard and lashed out at the man's neck. The man, caught off guard, suffered a cut along his neck. However, it was clear he was a trained fighter, not the type to be felled by a mere surprise attack.

Furious, the man spun around and hurled a punch.

The blow crashed into the boy’s stomach. Yet the boy gritted his teeth and refused to retreat; he endured the hit, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the man's face before quickly slashing the iron shard across the man's eye.

The man’s left eye went dark, and he cried out in agony. But, seething with rage, he immediately retaliated with another savage punch that sent the boy flying.

At that moment, the girl standing behind the man sprang up. She snatched a piece of porcelain from the bedside and smashed it violently onto the man's head.

Bang!

The impact dazed him.

The boy, who had hit the ground, scrambled up at breakneck speed, seizing the iron shard and charging once more. He slashed again, but the man reacted swiftly, rolling to the ground and engaging in a grapple.

“Run!” the boy shouted at the girl.

She grabbed another porcelain shard from nearby, attempting to come to his aid.

“Run!” the boy roared in anger.

Their commotion had attracted a crowd; from a distance, many were rushing over. If they didn’t leave immediately, there would be no escape.

The boy and the man continued their brutal struggle. The boy fought with his life, holding the man down, though it was clear he wouldn’t last much longer.

Time seemed to slow.

Out of the corner of her eye, the girl spotted a piece of exotic fruit on a table—bristling with sharp spikes and clearly of great value, having been gathered from the southern mountains.

Without hesitation, she dashed out. The boy, thinking she was fleeing, relaxed for a moment. But in the very next instant, she returned clutching the spiked fruit and hurled it at the man’s face with all her might.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

One blow, two blows, three... The man flailed his fists wildly while the boy blocked each strike. The girl continued to pummel him as if possessed.

By the time the household guards arrived at the door, they found a scene of devastation. A boy lying face-up on the ground, barely clinging to life; their master, his face battered beyond recognition; and a spiked fruit, smeared with blood.

At the back of the courtyard, a window stood open with water streaming down its sill.

“Master!" some guards shouted, rushing to the aid of the fallen man, while others dashed off to capture the fleeing girl.

She vaulted over the wall and ran desperately through the torrential rain. Once, she had known a happy family. But her parents had been slain by Zhao Xiantong’s marauding troops. When she had fallen into destitution, she was just a child.

In the years since, she had blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Yet that beauty had become her curse; she was kidnapped by a local lord.

And her brother, who had risked everything to save her in the pouring rain, had seemingly died in the attempt.

She seethed with hatred...deep, unyielding hatred for everything in this wretched world.

The sounds of pursuing guards echoed from afar, their footsteps reverberating through the maze-like alleys, a net from which there was no escape. Still, the girl pressed on.

Crash!

She suddenly collided with something and staggered backward. But she did not fall, for a hand caught her.

Startled, she looked up to see a cloaked, masked figure standing in the middle of the road, exuding an aura of mystery and dread that rendered her motionless.

The figure radiated a formidable presence, one that made the girl tremble.

After a moment, the figure spoke softly, “Are you resentful? Hateful of how cruel and unfair this world is?”

For a heartbeat, the girl was stunned. Then, as if breaking free from the paralyzing aura, her eyes flashed with fierce determination, and a palpable aura of anger emanated from her.

“I hate it! I hate it with every fiber of my being! So what? Do you want to seize me and bring me before the authorities? Seize me if you must; if I don’t die, I will eventually bring this entire world to ruin!”

As her words fell silent, she heard a laugh from the cloaked figure—a laugh that grew louder and more derisive, as if it were the sound of a deadly, absurd joke.

The laughter left the girl both surprised and indignant. Yet she sensed that this person might not be here to capture her.

Lowering her voice, she said, “There are many chasing me from behind. If you’re not going to take me in, then step aside and leave. They’re too many, and in Bluepond, they can do whatever they please.”

Just then, footsteps sounded from the back of the alley.

“Here!”

“Got her! She’s here!”

In the midst of the driving rain and flickering torchlight, a figure emerged under an umbrella. With a fierce glare, he shouted at the girl, “How dare you injure Lord Ma?”

“Injure?” the girl gasped in shock. She had struck him so many times, yet he wasn’t dead?

In an instant, she clenched her fists, overwhelmed by a surge of regret and pain.

Then, from behind her, the cloaked figure spoke in a low, calm tone, “Hey.”

She turned to face him.

He said, “He’s still alive. If you strike him again, he’ll probably die.”

Stunned, she stammered, “W-will you help me kill him?”

“No,” he replied with a hint of a smile, “you must do it yourself.”

She lowered her head and murmured, “I can’t do it.”

His voice softened with a slight grin as he continued, “I’ll teach you to kill him, and teach you to destroy this world.”

The unbothered exchange, as if the girl and the man were the only two people in existence, infuriated the guards pursuing them from afar. They surged forward as a mob.

However, the cloaked figure seized the girl, leaped upward, and together they ascended onto the rooftop. In a few agile bounds, the two vanished without a trace.