Chapter 39: Mud Melts, Cold Bones, Solitary Soul

The sun was slowly obscured once more by a thin veil of mist, turning the once bright sky gray and oppressive; Dead Ridge City regained its suffocating atmosphere.

Within the arena, Su Mu advanced toward Chai Hong, step by measured step, his breath steady and untroubled. Each stride was resolute and powerful, the great sword dragging behind him, ready to strike at any moment.

Chai Hong possessed an unwavering will. Despite being confounded by the situation, he was never one to passively accept fate. Before Su Mu could close the distance, he sprang up, swiftly grabbing two single blades from the edge of the arena.

One chased, one fled—their roles now completely reversed. Whenever Chai Hong saw an opening, he would leave a wound on Su Mu's body before swiftly retreating, never lingering. Su Mu, heedless of his injuries, pursued Chai Hong with relentless force.

He understood that Su Mu must have taken some medicine or employed some method to temporarily suppress pain. To confront him head-on would be folly. Fortunately, this youth had not mastered any advanced combat skills, relying instead on brute force and wild swings—a tremendous advantage for Chai Hong.

In moments, Su Mu's body was covered in crisscrossing wounds, yet his movements remained unaffected. Su Mu grew increasingly frustrated; Chai Hong was like a cunning fox, always biting and fleeing, tiresome to no end.

Thankfully, Su Mu repeatedly risked further injury, battering Chai Hong with his great sword. Though Chai Hong managed to block each blow, the crushing impact was real. Each strike sent Chai Hong flying, causing him to cough up blood and slowing his movements.

A strange scene unfolded in the arena: one, bloodied and battered yet unwavering, wielded a great sword in pursuit; the other, unscathed but breathless, grew slower and was forced to dodge relentlessly.

Comparatively, Chai Hong expended more energy. As fragments of broken blades littered the ground, his speed diminished, sustained only by a stubborn unwillingness to yield. Su Mu, robust in body, saw his wounds quickly coagulate and suffered no real harm. He could not help but marvel again at the power of the Thousand Venoms Rebirth bath.

“Master Ji, I thought someone of your stature would disdain such witchcraft. I see now I was wrong. But is it really appropriate to use it on this boy?” Baishi’s spirits rose as Su Mu grew more wounded yet more vigorous, realizing Su Mu must have suppressed his pain—otherwise, such injuries would have incapacitated him.

It was said that deep in the southwestern mountains lived practitioners of witchcraft, among whom existed methods to numb pain. The side effects, however, were severe—sometimes even damaging the mind, reducing the victim to a mindless puppet, obeying only simple commands. Baishi had only heard of such things in passing, never expecting Master Ji to allow a child to learn such secret arts.

“Though my learning is broad, I have never studied such cruel methods,” Master Ji replied absently, his gaze fixed on the arena, offering a brief retort to Baishi but saying no more, leaving Baishi rather dissatisfied.

With a loud crash, Chai Hong was sent flying by Su Mu once again. The weapon he had just grabbed broke into two, and his body, like a puddle of mud, lay motionless. He was utterly drained, his energy spent, even his Star Source ceasing to flow, profoundly exhausted. Only his eyes, filled with fierce resentment, remained locked on Su Mu approaching step by step.

“Heh... I never thought... never thought I’d die at the hands of someone like you, cough cough,” Chai Hong could not finish his words, his head lolling as he spat out blood.

“You’ve paid a heavy price for this sinister method, haha, I doubt you’ll live long. That’s a comfort to me, a comfort!” Chai Hong laughed ever more wildly, his body immobile but his laughter exaggerated and unrestrained.

Su Mu drew near, letting the great sword fall from his grasp, thrusting it toward Chai Hong’s head. Empowered by his energy, the sword descended with unstoppable force. Chai Hong did not blink, only watching as the sword grew larger before his eyes.

“You lost! I won.”

After hurling the great sword, Su Mu uttered this inexplicable statement, then turned away without another glance, heading toward the arena’s edge.

“Victory and defeat are not yet decided, life and death unresolved. Whoever leaves the arena before the outcome is clear shall be executed on the spot. Return!”

At that moment, the figure in yellow on the platform spoke just as Su Mu was about to step out. The spectators had been murmuring, Baishi had already slammed his wine cup aside in frustration, all believing Chai Hong was dead. But reminded by the yellow-robed man, everyone looked closely—the great sword had merely grazed Chai Hong’s cheek, embedded in the ground, but not pierced him.

A chorus of jeers arose. While they admired the youth’s skill, failing to kill in this blood-flagged arena made him seem weak.

From outside, Black Crow shouted, “Su Mu, what are you waiting for? Strike!”

The yellow-robed man descended gracefully, followed by several others in identical garb. They watched Su Mu coldly, ready to act if he dared step out of bounds.

Master Ji suddenly stood, his voice soft yet resonant throughout the arena: “This is your own decision. I will not force you.”

With that, Master Ji turned and left. Baishi watched, bewildered—what was the relationship between these two?

Black Crow left a parting remark: “You’d best look after yourself!” Then he hurried off with the other Night Army, following Master Ji. Su Mu watched helplessly as they grew distant, a profound emptiness settling in his heart.

Like an abandoned pet, like a child forsaken by parents, Su Mu felt utterly alone in the world. He kept asking himself: “Did I do something wrong? Was it a mistake? Am I truly supposed to kill him?”

Baishi approached the dazed Su Mu and asked in confusion, “Why didn’t you kill Chai Hong?”

Su Mu, startled by the question, replied instinctively, “He has no strength left. I couldn’t go through with it.”

Baishi was taken aback, then burst out laughing, shaking his head in lament: “Such tender-hearted children should be sent to the righteous sects and cherished like delicate flowers, not brought to this man-devouring Dead Ridge City. Isn’t this just asking for trouble?”

With that, Baishi led his men out, never looking back. The crowd dispersed as well, leaving only Su Mu, the watchful yellow-robed men, and the collapsed Chai Hong.

“Hey! You, boy—cough cough,” Chai Hong suddenly broke the awkward silence, calling hoarsely, “Come here, I have something to tell you.”

Su Mu, caught in the turmoil of his own thoughts, heard Chai Hong’s call and walked over, puzzled.

By now, Chai Hong was barely breathing, his voice weak. Su Mu had to crouch down to listen.

“Hmph, you’re the strangest person I’ve ever met. You weren’t my match, but since I’ve lost to you, I have no regrets. With your temperament, you won’t live long. Remember—no one in this world deserves your mercy, understand? Enough, today I’ll help you.”

With those words, Chai Hong suddenly summoned strength from nowhere, gripping his broken blade and stabbing toward Su Mu’s throat. Yet, with his energy spent, his movements were sluggish. Su Mu, startled, instinctively struck the blade aside.

Chai Hong’s hand was knocked away, and the broken blade sliced his own throat. Blood spurted from his pale neck, running down to the ground. Chai Hong opened his mouth, revealing blood-stained teeth in a final attempt at a smile, then lay still, unmoving.

The yellow-robed men, seeing Chai Hong’s death, lost all interest in the arena and vanished without a trace, leaving Su Mu utterly alone. He cradled Chai Hong’s corpse in bewilderment, never having felt so helpless, longing for someone to confide in.

The sun shifted westward. On the main road of Dead Ridge City, people suddenly retreated to the sides, for a short, blood-soaked figure walked slowly down the center. The stench of blood radiated from him, and those nearby passed by, noses pinched in disgust.

Like a lost soul, Su Mu trudged toward where Master Ji and his group had settled in Dead Ridge City. He knew nowhere else to go, had no idea what to do next. He had never killed anyone with his own hands before; though he’d witnessed death and harbored murderous intent, he had never succeeded. Chai Hong’s death was a blow unlike any he had ever felt.

As he wandered in a haze, a commotion erupted ahead—voices raised in argument.

“What reason does that woman have? My jade flute is a sect treasure, an essential tool for my spells. How can it be a toy for her? Don’t be unreasonable!”

“If Lady Yue takes a liking to your item, it’s your fortune. I advise you to hand it over, or you may bring disaster upon yourself.”

“I’ve long heard of Lord Zhou Chan’s great skill, managing Dead Ridge City so well. There are rules against violence here—is that all a lie?”

“Ridiculous! Lord Zhou is not someone you can criticize. The rules do exist, but they’re made for people like you. Lady Yue is exempt!”

Curious, Su Mu hastened forward several paces. From a distance, he saw a white-robed girl perched atop a tall stone lion, her pale ankles peeking from beneath her skirt, her small feet swinging playfully.

Nearby, several cultivators blocked a group of five—four men and one woman. Their leader, slightly older, held a translucent green flute and argued heatedly with the guards.

All five wore matching attire, clearly from the same sect, and each had a bulging pouch at their waist, its purpose unknown.

“What nonsense! Why doesn’t this little girl have to follow the rules? Is she Lord Zhou’s daughter? Even so, she can’t just seize our belongings. Otherwise, Dead Ridge City is no different from a bandit’s den!”

The leader’s voice was loud, quickly attracting a crowd. He hoped to rally support, but the onlookers only sneered, no one siding with him, most simply eager for entertainment.

Among the guards, one scoffed, bowing to the white-robed girl.

“Our Lady Yue is a close friend of Lord Zhou. Do not speak carelessly—the consequences are yours to bear! If you don’t want to implicate your companions, I kindly advise you again: let Lady Yue play with your jade flute for a while. Perhaps she’ll tire of it soon and return it. Don’t be foolish.”

Only now did Su Mu realize that the white-robed girl was the infamous Lady Yue, whose name struck fear throughout Dead Ridge City. He couldn’t help but stare, and when he saw her clearly, he swallowed hard, astonished by her beauty—especially those blue eyes, capable of ensnaring souls.