Chapter 143: Chapter 143
CLANG!
The long sword slid home into its sheath. Shen Xiuhan turned and retraced his steps.
CRACK-CLICK…
He’d taken only a few strides when a series of bone-shifting sounds made him pause. He looked down, brow creasing with mild surprise.
“This is…”
On the ground, Tian Ping’an’s unremarkable face was beginning to twist and reshape.
Cheekbones rose. The jaw lengthened. The nose-bridge climbed. His frame, too, stretched and realigned with a chorus of soft pops, gaining half a head in height.
In moments, the forgettable face had transformed into one that bore a clear resemblance to Tian Erhu — only younger, sharper, and edged with a harder cruelty.
“A bone-shrinking disguise art?”
Shen Xiuhan blinked, then understanding broke through.
‘No wonder Senior Brother Wang Lin and Senior Sister Ding Ning have been hunting him all this time without success!’
‘He’s mastered some kind of bone-shifting, face-changing secret art…’
‘Treasure armor and a treasure weapon on top of that, plus a Hidden Strength cultivation…’
‘If I hadn’t known his details in advance — and if he hadn’t come to my door on his own — even I might have had my hands tied.’
With that sorted, the turbulence in Shen Xiuhan’s mind gradually settled.
This had been his first real fight since breaking through to Hidden Strength.
He’d used barely half his true strength and killed a Hidden Strength fighter with ease. A touch of pride was only natural.
But on second thought — a mere Tian Ping’an had carried this many tricks.
How formidable, then, were the true-line disciples of the great sects and ancient houses — raised on spirit medicines from the cradle, their foundations laid with supreme arts?
“The martial path is an abyss in depth and an ocean in breadth. One must never look down on the people under heaven.”
Shen Xiuhan murmured to himself and let out a long breath.
No more delay. He crouched and swiftly searched the three bodies.
Then, without the slightest squeamishness, he stripped the treasure armor from Tian Ping’an’s corpse.
The short blade that had fallen nearby was collected as well.
Everything accounted for, Shen Xiuhan tapped off a wall-top, vaulted clear, and vanished in a few leaping bounds.
The night wind moaned, stirring dust and the scent of blood through the alley.
Three corpses lay sprawled on the cold ground, blood seeping into the grey brick.
Then —
A figure drifted down from above, as silent as an autumn leaf carried by the breeze.
The newcomer was pale-faced, with long brows, greying temples, and a clean-shaven jaw. His bearing carried a faint air of the effeminate.
His toe-tips hovered a finger’s width above the ground — neither touching down nor drawing on any support — as though his body possessed no weight at all.
Just then, a chunk of brick — loosened by the battle’s shockwaves — broke free from the wall above and tumbled straight toward his shoulder.
SHUNK!
Before it could make contact, the brick froze in midair.
An invisible force radiated from his person, and the brick disintegrated — reduced to a puff of fine powder that the night wind scattered and dispersed.
The man hadn’t so much as blinked. Hands clasped behind his back, eyes narrowed, he gazed in the direction Shen Xiuhan had gone. A smile touched the corner of his mouth.
“Interesting…”
…
Day one since Tian Ping’an was no longer at peace.
A few rooster-crows drifted in. The eastern sky lightened to the color of a fish’s belly.
Shen Xiuhan stood in the courtyard, moving through his stance-work at an unhurried pace.
Fists like mountains pushed, palms like clouds brushed — each motion measured and deliberate.
Shoulder, elbow, wrist, fingertip — linked in an unbroken chain, Hidden Strength flowing within, every form as smooth as running water.
When the warmth had permeated every limb, Shen Xiuhan wound down and stopped.
He rinsed the sweat away with well-water, changed into a plain robe, and stepped into the side-room.
On the wooden desk.
Neatly arrayed: the spoils stripped from Tian Ping’an and his two men.
Three fat coin-pouches.
Two small porcelain vials — their glaze a smooth celadon, a faint medicinal fragrance leaking through.
A short blade, black from end to end, radiating a sinister chill.
A set of treasure armor, folded into a neat square, cool and supple to the touch.
And in the center, three bound volumes — covers aged, corners slightly curled.
The coin-pouches Shen Xiuhan had already checked. Broken silver mixed with a few coppers — roughly ten taels in total. Better than nothing.
The two vials both contained pills. He uncorked one and tipped out a single pellet — lotus-seed-sized, glossy black, pungently aromatic. He couldn’t place its origin.
Not daring to swallow it blind, he set it aside for Jiang Qinghong to identify.
The short blade bore three small characters on the hilt:
Bone-Eroding Edge.
A lower-tier treasure weapon. Nothing remarkable.
The armor, though, surprised him.
It was ash-white, of unknown material — smooth to the touch, feather-light. On the inside, three characters were inscribed: Lion-Lock Armor.
Shen Xiuhan examined it closely, turning it over and over, and confirmed it was a mid-tier treasure armor. He couldn’t help but smile.
“Not bad…”
A top-grade suit of armor could mean the difference between life and death for a fighter. For that reason, treasure armor had always commanded prices far above treasure weapons of equal tier. Everyone in the rivers and lakes knew this.
A piece like this Lion-Lock Armor, with its quality, would fetch well over a hundred taels on the black market.
Shen Xiuhan flipped the armor and scanned the edge of a scale-plate. One brow rose.
He picked up the Bone-Eroding Edge and brought the hilt close.
Sure enough.
On both the blade’s hilt and the armor’s underside, a line of even smaller characters had been stamped:
‘Pathfinder Camp Colonel Zhang!’
These had belonged to the Pathfinder Camp’s colonel.
Most likely… they were among the items Tian Ping’an had stolen when he deserted.
He set the two treasures down.
His gaze fell on the three technique manuals.
He picked up the first. Bold characters on the cover:
Roaming Dragon Step.
Inside, the key passages and diagrams were complete — clearly a hand-copied edition.
Shen Xiuhan read it through, word by word. His brow rose. After a moment he closed the booklet, set it back, and shook his head with a murmur.
“Just as I thought…”
Last night, when Tian Ping’an had dodged the thrown stones with that footwork, Shen Xiuhan had felt a prickle of recognition.
The steps looked ordinary enough, but certain pivots, certain shifts of force and angle, bore a distinct kinship with his own Startled Swan, Roaming Dragon.
The feeling only intensified during the fight itself.
And now, seeing the manual —
This so-called Roaming Dragon Step was nothing more than a simplified version of his Startled Swan, Roaming Dragon.
Same lineage, same philosophy — but lacking the grace and fluidity.
Startled Swan, Roaming Dragon was a hawk seizing the sky — infinite variation. Roaming Dragon Step was a snake threading through grass — nimble, yes, but a world short of the former’s ambition.
And Startled Swan, Roaming Dragon had been comprehended when Shen Xiuhan Deduced the Iron Bone Art all the way back to its root: the Dragon-Elephant Penetrating-Light Prison-Suppressing Body Method.
Now it was clear.
Whether Iron Bone Art, Roaming Dragon Step, or Startled Swan, Roaming Dragon — all were subordinate methods branching from the Dragon-Elephant Penetrating-Light Prison-Suppressing Body Method.
“That Dragon-Elephant Penetrating-Light Prison-Suppressing Body Method… nine chances out of ten, it’s a divine power.”
Shen Xiuhan tapped his knee lightly, his gaze solemn.
In his experience, only a divine-power method could spawn so many subordinate arts while remaining all-encompassing — a self-contained system.
Like the Void-Gazing Eye and its escalating comma-jewels — each added layer an entirely new world.
Or like the Stream-Side Elder and its three ascending tiers: Thousand Lakes Fishing, Dragon Gate Pulling, Stream-Side Elder — each with its own distinct profundity.