Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Shen Family

Blood from the old woman’s forehead stained the snow-covered ground a vivid red, then slowly faded. Shen Yu’s actions were decisive—too decisive, and so uncanny that even the burliest men nearby stood frozen in shock.

They were no strangers to death. Over the years, they had killed many; death was a familiar sight. The ploy they orchestrated relied on exploiting human sympathy to murder and rob—and the most crucial part of the trick was the old woman, now dead. She had been a ninth-level martial artist in the Initial Insight Realm, a killer who had sent countless heroes and warriors to their graves. Yet such a hardened killer had been struck down by a single punch.

The sight left the onlookers ashen-faced, terrified to the core. For only a cultivator of legend could kill a martial artist of her caliber.

In the next instant, someone bolted toward the rear of the alley. The remaining three quickly came to their senses and scattered in all directions. Shen Yu flicked his fingers casually, sending out four streams of clear energy. Sharp whistles pierced the air; bodies thudded to the ground in the shadowy alley. In the blink of an eye, all were dead.

Thud.

The only man who hadn’t run, a giant of a fellow, collapsed to his knees, trembling. He scrambled backward, desperate to put distance between himself and the man before him, but his legs gave out. Pale yellow droplets fell from his trousers. He had been spared only because terror had rendered him motionless.

Stammering, the man pleaded, “Spare... spare me... the garrison captain of Nanhe City is my uncle... I...”

His voice was abruptly silenced. Shen Yu, noticing there was still one man left, waved a hand dismissively. The fellow’s breath ceased at once.

The alley fell utterly silent.

Shen Yu turned to the distance, where a filthy, disheveled little girl crouched in the corner. He walked over.

The girl lifted her head to look at Shen Yu. She neither screamed nor fled; her cracked face was cold as she watched him. She knew this man might kill her as well.

Shen Yu crouched down. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

She nodded lightly.

With a casual gesture, Shen Yu drew the coin pouch from the old woman’s body and handed it to the girl. “From now on, you won’t go hungry again.”

...

Shen Yu continued deeper into the alley, stopping at last before a dilapidated mansion. The estate was vast—once, no doubt, the home of a great family. A crooked plaque hung above the gate, its letters just discernible through layers of webs.

The Shen Residence.

The Shen family of Nanhe City, whose patriarch, Shen Yuanzhi, was a renowned country squire. In times of famine, he would open his granaries to aid the people, and he often funded the building of roads and bridges. The family was a household of scholars, and the master was known for his kindness—a family even the local bullies dared not provoke.

Yet over a decade ago, the entire household had been wiped out overnight for reasons unknown. More than twenty souls, including the hired martial guards, all perished. The massacre had shocked even the capital of the Great Li Empire.

Rumors abounded: some blamed southern demons, others mysterious cultivators. Years passed, but the case remained unsolved.

Shen Yu stood quietly at the top of the steps, a rare ripple in his otherwise serene gaze. His main purpose in coming down from the mountain was to visit this place—for it was here he had grown up, and Nanhe City was not far from Daoist Sect.

He stepped forward, gently peeling away the rotting seals, and slowly pushed open the doors that had been shut for years. The grating sound shattered the night’s calm as Shen Yu entered.

The courtyard was overrun with weeds, some taller than a man. Gaunt rats occasionally darted from beneath the eaves. Shen Yu wandered through the grounds—the garden, the rockery, the pond, the sleeping chambers—until he reached the main hall.

A plaque hung in the center of the hall, inscribed with “Virtue and Fragrance.”

Shen Yu brushed a spot clean on the steps with his sleeve and sat down carelessly.

“I’ve been gone for years,” he murmured to the empty courtyard. “All this time, I’ve wondered whether I should feel gratitude or hatred toward you. That matter—you truly were in the wrong.”

Bang!

The skewed plaque exploded, shattering into neat blocks of wood that tumbled to the floor. Shen Yu gathered them with a gesture, and a tiny flame rose, soon building into a bonfire that lit the dark courtyard.

His eyes flickered in the firelight—serene, yet sorrowful.

A clear sword cry split the air, and a cold, graceful woman appeared at his side.

Jing Qing glanced around. “Where is this place?”

“Nanhe City, the Shen family estate,” Shen Yu replied.

“It reeks of death, and there’s a dreadful miasma. Across the river, there’s a strong demonic presence. This is an ill-omened place,” she said with a frown. “Far worse than the Daoist Sect’s mountain gate.”

“Naturally,” Shen Yu answered, “but we’ll only stay a day or two.”

“You’re troubled,” Jing Qing observed, their fates bound together; she sensed the heaviness in the young man’s heart.

“Just some trifles,” Shen Yu replied lightly. “A crack in my state of mind—nothing a bit of tempering won’t fix.”

Jing Qing sighed softly. “Sometimes you’re even duller than those old men at the Third Realm.”

Shen Yu considered, then said, “Perhaps. But someone interesting is about to arrive.”

Late at night.

Footsteps sounded beyond the hall. A figure emerged from the darkness—a young man, clad in ancient hempen garb once worn by the earliest people. His skin was bronze, his build robust, and each step seemed to thrum with the power of earth and sky.

He glanced indifferently around the hall, then smiled and spoke. “Hello. I’ve come to kill you.”

...

Shen Yu didn’t look at him. Hands resting lightly before the brazier, he appeared unconcerned. Ever since sparing that little girl in the alley, he had known things would grow more interesting.

Many years ago, he had spared a little boy in this same place.

At that time, the boy had been stopped by certain people. With threats and bribes, they had coaxed from him Shen Yu’s appearance and whereabouts. Today, the little girl had done the same.

Shen Yu had no wish to kill either of them, no matter how much trouble they might bring him.

A human life is precious.

...

Nanhe City border camp, three hours earlier.

A row of corpses lay neatly side by side in a tent—the men who had died in the shadowy alley. Captain Hu Bufeng stood before the body of a young man, his expression grim.

He was the uncle of the dead youth, the garrison captain of Nanhe Town. The Great Li Empire boasted dozens of military provinces, and border towns like Nanhe numbered in the hundreds. Thus, though he bore the title of captain, it was the lowest rank of officer, commanding barely a hundred city guards. In the great inland cities, a man like him would be unremarkable. But in Nanhe City, he was a man whose word was law.

A soldier, watching Hu Bufeng nervously, asked, “Shall I lead the men to kill that man right now, General? The girl has told us everything. That fellow is a cultivator, but killing in the street violates the laws of Great Li.”

“Wait. Don’t be rash,” Hu Bufeng replied, lost in thought. After a moment, he said quietly, “Do you recall the massacre at the Shen family estate?”

“I remember. A major event,” the trusted soldier replied, puzzled by the general’s train of thought.

“Did you notice the wounds on these bodies? Unless I’m mistaken, the killer comes from the Daoist Sect,” said Hu Bufeng.

“From the Daoist Sect!” the soldier gasped.

Hu Bufeng nodded. “The Shen family’s young master was said to be a prodigy—never cried, never fussed, mastered everything he studied, famed for miles around. It was said he loved to read the Daoist classics from an early age...”

The soldier caught the implication, though he thought his general needlessly suspicious. What could the old case have to do with today?

“General, you worry too much. There are many prodigies in the world. Even if the Shen family’s young master survived, he was just a commoner—and the records say the whole family was killed, didn’t they?”

“No. One lived,” Hu Bufeng said, his eyes distant. “There were twenty-seven in the Shen family. Only twenty-six corpses were found.”

The soldier’s eyes widened in confusion. “Twenty-six? The official report said twenty-seven.”

“The case was so strange that the city and provincial authorities entertained a theory too terrifying to make public,” Hu Bufeng said solemnly, looking at the wounds on the young man’s body. “Perhaps it was true after all.”

“What theory?” the soldier pressed.

Hu Bufeng gazed at his confidant, face complicated, and spoke at last. “At that time, a supremely powerful cultivator was present in Nanhe City. That night, there were no other cultivators. Of the twenty-seven Shen family corpses, only the young master was missing.”

“And most crucially, nine of the victims bore wounds identical to those found today.”

“Today... the killer went to the Shen estate.”

At these words, the soldier’s eyes contracted, cold sweat breaking out all over. He cried out, “General, you mean—the killer is the Shen family’s young master, and he... he killed them all with his own hands...”