Chapter 167: Uninvited Guest

Physician Zhang sat across the counter, chattering on about the past. A warm, unstoppable enthusiasm colored his tone whenever he reached a part he was proud of, his eyes brimming with deep gratification.

Mid-story, he glanced down at the jade pendant resting on his chest and smiled. It was as if he had held these words inside for a very long time, and tonight, someone was finally here to listen.

Jiuyou sat across from him, listening in silence.

His face remained mostly expressionless, his gaze as calm as ever, though his eyes paused for a fraction of a second—caught by some sudden memory. He neither interrupted nor chimed in, simply lifting his teacup for a sip. He thought of Canfeng. Over a hundred years had passed; who knew how that little brat was faring now...

"Hey, what are you two chatting about so happily?" a voice laced with amusement called out from the door.

Boss Wang of the grocery store had arrived at some point. He smoothed his robes, straightened his collar, and deliberately puffed out his chest, as if terrified his clothes might hide the jade pendant resting there.

He strolled over, his gaze sweeping between the two of them before pausing on the old physician's pendant.

"Old Zhang," he chuckled, "your jade pendant isn't as shiny as mine."

Physician Zhang stroked his beard, completely unbothered.

"So what?" he replied slowly. "My granddaughter bought this for me."

"Yours isn't as expensive as mine," Boss Wang shot back.

"My granddaughter bought it for me," Physician Zhang said, turning his head with a touch of pride.

"Fine, fine, I can't win with you," Boss Wang said, waving a hand in exasperation, though the corners of his mouth were clearly tipped upward.

Jiuyou took it all in without pointing out the obvious. He could easily tell that Boss Wang had simply been worried about the old physician's sprained ankle and had trailed after him just to make sure he got home safe. As for their bickering, it was clearly a routine they had honed over a long time.

"Since you're here, Boss Wang, have a seat," Jiuyou said, pointing to an empty chair beside him.

Boss Wang smoothly dragged the stool closer and sat down. Helping himself to the teapot, he poured a cup and downed a large gulp.

"Good tea," he praised, smacking his lips.

He set the teacup down and patted his slightly bulging belly. Leaning in, he lowered his voice with a look of deep secrecy.

"Right, there's something else. I heard that in a month, the immortal masters from the city will be coming down to test for spiritual roots. I've always said your girl Ling'er has been sharp since she was a baby. Who knows? She might actually have a spiritual root. If an immortal master takes a liking to her, that would be absolutely incredible."

"Then I'll accept your good wishes, Brother Wang," Physician Zhang chuckled, lifting his own cup for a sip.

Jiuyou sat quietly to the side, offering only a slight nod. He had noticed long ago that the little girl did indeed possess a spiritual root, but it wasn't his place to volunteer that information. Speaking up would only invite unnecessary trouble.

Suddenly, Jiuyou's gaze flickered. He had sensed something. Yet he recovered just as quickly, lifting his cup for another sip as though absolutely nothing had happened.

A little while later, the old physician and Boss Wang rose to leave. Right before stepping out, Physician Zhang clasped Jiuyou's hand, offering a few deeply sincere words of thanks.

Jiuyou murmured a polite reply and walked them to the door. He watched them walk off down the street, one after the other, before gently pulling the shop doors shut. Extinguishing the lamps on the ground floor, he climbed the wooden stairs to his room and lay down on the bed. He didn't meditate, nor did he crack open a book; he simply lay there as if he had fallen asleep.

The night wind brushed against the window lattice, making a very faint sound. A dog barked somewhere deep in the alley before quickly falling quiet again. The entire town seemed to sink into the night, and he lay there, exactly like a true mortal waiting for the dawn.

Moonlight draped over Haoyang Alley like a sheer veil. The lane was deathly quiet, save for the occasional bark of a dog that quickly gave way to the heavy silence.

Over ten miles outside the alley, an incredibly dim streak of spiritual light flickered across the night sky. It sputtered like a flickering candle in the wind, threatening to snuff out at any second.

Finally, the light abruptly sank, and a figure plummeted from the heights. The wind howled past his ears. Just as he was about to smash into the hard ground, he managed to squeeze out a final surge of magic at the very last second. It barely caught his weight, shedding the bulk of his momentum as he crashed into a patch of overgrown weeds on the outskirts of Haoyang Alley.

"Cough—cough, cough!"

The man struggled to prop himself up. He was a middle-aged man, wearing a jade crown and a white robe now heavily soiled with dirt and ash. The hair at his temples was a tangled mess. Whatever black hair he had left had turned completely white, as if his very life had been leached away, leaving his face terribly aged to match.

Leaning heavily on his flying sword artifact, he managed to drag himself to his feet. He staggered, glancing over his shoulder to confirm he hadn't been followed.

"Damn it..." he cursed under his breath. "At least I still have the Dustfall Pill."

He lifted a hand to wipe the blood from his mouth, then looked down at the pill in his hand, wrapped in a layer of spiritual energy. A savage glint flashed in his eyes.

"Once I break through to Core Formation, I'll make you pay for today's grievance in blood."

Stowing the pill away, he leaned on his sword and clamped down on his aura. He dragged his feet, stumbling step by agonizing step toward the depths of Haoyang Alley. He coughed up bloody froth every few paces, his steps so weak he looked ready to collapse at any second.

"I can't die yet... I haven't reached Core Formation. I haven't taken my revenge. I haven't even seen this world..."

Whether he was talking to himself or just trying to keep his spirits up, he forced himself onward, inching around the corner. His bleary gaze swept past tightly shut doors until it fell on an old signboard hanging outside a shop not far away. It vaguely resembled an apothecary; the wooden doors were old, but they still bore faint traces of habitation.

Gritting his teeth, he leaned on his sword and hurried forward a few steps, raising a hand to knock on the door. The raps were weak, but they had drained the very last of his strength.

Shortly after the knocks faded, he slumped against the doorframe and slowly slid to the ground. The flying sword tumbled from his grip, clattering against the ground by his feet.

At that exact moment, several miles away, three black-clad figures sped to the spot where Yang Yi had crash-landed. They touched down without a sound. The leader crouched, swiping a finger through a smear of dark red blood on the ground, and immediately looked up in the direction of Haoyang Alley.

"Just ahead," the voice said. It was low and cold—unmistakably a woman's.

She stood and signaled to the two behind her.

"Follow me."

A few breaths later, the three figures materialized silently at the mouth of the alley.

The woman stood at the entrance, her eyes sweeping over the sleeping alley. She tilted her head back to whisper to the two behind her.

"This is the foot of Hundred Declarations City, so we shouldn't cause a major commotion. Remember: if any mortals notice us, leave no survivors."

"Understood," the two behind her replied in unison.

The three figures instantly fanned out. Like wisps of light smoke melting into the dark, they slipped silently into the alley.

The night wind blew through Haoyang Alley, gently rocking the dried vegetables hanging under the eaves, as if nothing had happened at all.

The moonlight continued to shine quietly over the sleeping town, falling against the wooden door of the shop that had just been knocked. An inch below that, a shallow streak of blood remained on the wood, already half-dried by the night wind.