Chapter 33: Violence Before the Grave

Chapter 33: Bravado Before the Grave

Qin Yuan turned his head and spotted a familiar face. "Pingping."

In front of a grass-covered grave in the distance, a handsome young man sitting on a simple wooden chair was burning paper offerings. His servant stood nearby. Hearing his name, Shao Pingping turned around. Seeing Qin Yuan, a look of genuine joy spread across his face. "Uncle Qin!"

Qin Yuan led Li Shoumin over and introduced him. "His father is Li Guangqian, formerly a compiler at the Left History Office."

"Virtuous brother."
"Virtuous brother."

The two greeted each other warmly. Qin Yuan walked up to the tombstone, unloaded a bottle of thirty-year-old Zhuangyuan Red wine from his donkey, sprinkled it around the grave, and then offered a Quanjude roast duck.

"These were all your favorites. Down there, you won’t gain weight or suffer from gout, so eat to your heart’s content."

Shao Pingping was caught between laughter and tears. Thinking of his father, who had enjoyed good food and drink his entire life, he felt Uncle Qin’s words were actually quite fitting.

On the way back, the three discussed the recent death of Song Yufu, who had been killed by a demon. Shao Pingping sneered, claiming that the demon hadn't killed anyone else but had targeted Song Yufu specifically; he was certain the tyrant Wei Ting was behind it. Li Shoumin, meanwhile, began weaving "tall tales," spinning stories of the mists of Qingcheng and the monkey troops of Mount Emei. His storytelling was so captivating that it left the sheltered Shao Pingping completely enthralled, making him forget what they had been talking about just moments before.

Qin Yuan couldn't help but smile. The two were absolute opposites. He figured it had to do with their upbringings: Shao Pingping had lived a life without much hardship, making him prone to emotional outbursts, while Li Shoumin had grown up amidst adversity and was much more pragmatic—as long as money wasn't involved, he rarely acted on impulse.

"Hmm."

Qin Yuan pulled the reins of his little donkey. The animal turned back and snorted at him in annoyance. *Why are we walking back the way we came?* Qin Yuan was certain they had already passed this spot.

Shao Pingping and Li Shoumin simultaneously pulled on their reins, looking at Qin Yuan in confusion. Why had they stopped so abruptly?

"We've hit a ghost wall," Qin Yuan said.

At his words, the expressions of Shao Pingping and Li Shoumin shifted. If anyone else had said it, they would have dismissed it as a joke, but Uncle Qin was a formidable eighth-rank expert; he wouldn't speak nonsense.

The sky suddenly darkened, as if a curtain had been drawn over the heavens. A ghostly wind began to howl, sounding eerie and sinister. Qin Yuan tapped a rhythm against his thigh and began to hum a little tune.

"The bright moon sheds its light, the ghostly wind blows through the willow lane... Wandering souls tread upon the lonely, quiet path. Seeking a replacement, the ghostly wind chills the moonlight..."

As he sang, the grass and trees along the roadside swayed gently, as if keeping time with his beat.

The three of them felt their hair stand on end, their bodies trembling slightly.

"Uncle Qin, could you please stop singing?" Li Shoumin pleaded.

Qin Yuan nodded. He looked up to see a green-skinned, sharp-toothed, and ferocious spirit crouching in the old locust tree nearby, its eyes filled with malice.

"Oh, if it isn't Wangwang—no, Wang Jixin."

Although the spirit's facial features were blurred, Qin Yuan recognized him instantly. Li Shoumin was so terrified he nearly fell over, and Shao Pingping and his servant were no better. The creature was truly terrifying.

Qin Yuan unleashed his spiritual sense, crushing the spirit with overwhelming force. Times had changed; dealing with a spiritual entity was child's play for him now. The dead ghost of Wang Jixin, lacking true intelligence but still possessing an instinct for danger, turned to flee. It hadn't even moved a foot before Qin Yuan's spiritual sense reduced it to nothingness.

*I could destroy you while you were alive, and I can deal with you just the same in death.*

"The evil spirit was afraid of the vigorous blood energy of a martial artist and fled," Qin Yuan explained. Since Li Shoumin and Shao Pingping couldn't tell the difference, he could say whatever he pleased.

"I suddenly want to learn martial arts," Li Shoumin said, his expression deep in thought. Shao Pingping glanced at his crippled legs and said nothing.

Qin Yuan rode his donkey to Wang Jixin's grave nearby, where a red spider lily—a flower of the afterlife—was swaying in the wind, looking both beautiful and sinister. It was said to be a "death flower," and since Wang Jixin had become a spirit after death, it was likely related. Qin Yuan smashed it with a punch from a distance.

*Hmm, it didn't shatter completely.*

Qin Yuan jumped off the donkey, dug into the soil, and found a green root system. Green represented vitality.

*Could it be?*

With a bold guess, Qin Yuan pulled it out and felt it; it contained a trace of strange, vibrant life force. If his own cultivation didn't grow automatically, he would have refined it himself.

"Huh?"

Thinking of a possibility, Qin Yuan turned to look at Shao Pingping. He reached out, and the latter was pulled toward him uncontrollably.

"Uncle Qin?" Shao Pingping looked at him, puzzled.

Qin Yuan rolled up his pant leg, crushed the root system, and applied it to his skin. A miracle occurred. The legs began to recover at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"I... I think I can move," Shao Pingping stammered, his lips trembling with excitement. After his legs had become paralyzed, he had contemplated suicide several times.

"Try standing up."

Shao Pingping tried, but before he could celebrate, his legs gave way and he sat back down.

"Don't rush, you'll adapt eventually."

"Yes." Shao Pingping nodded vigorously, his face full of excitement. He seemed like a different person.

"Wait a moment."

Qin Yuan returned to Wang Jixin's tombstone, kicked the offerings—left by goodness knows who—into the nearby bushes. Shao Pingping’s mouth twitched; sometimes, there were just no words for Uncle Qin.

Li Shoumin’s admiration for Qin Yuan grew. In his eyes, this Wang Jixin must have offended Uncle Qin, and kicking the offerings after the man was dead was the perfect example of the saying, "A gentleman takes his revenge, even ten years later."

"If I'm going to kick one, I might as well kick two."

Qin Yuan rode to another mountain dozens of miles away and kicked the offerings off the grave of Yu Xian, the Governor of Qingzhou who had slaughtered countless rebels and been killed by Zhu Hongdeng.

*Bang!*

Qin Yuan even smashed Yu Xian’s tombstone.

A month passed in the blink of an eye. The news that Song Yufu had been cruelly murdered by a demon that had appeared from nowhere spread across the thirteen southern provinces, causing an uproar. The gentry unanimously agreed that regardless of whether the demon was real or not, Song Yufu’s death was inextricably linked to the tyrant Wei Ting. While pointing fingers at Wei Ting, they also began to expand their armies and prepare for war. It was clear to anyone with eyes that the civil war was only a matter of time.

On a clear autumn day, a white crane cut through the clouds, soaring upward.

At the Qin residence in the West Third Alley, Qin Yuan, as usual, calmly took out his "Five Animal Frolics" scroll. He immediately sank into a strange scene.

"This time, both of you come at me together."

Qin Yuan pointed unceremoniously at the clawing, snarling Black Tiger and the baring-fanged Demonic Ape. The two terrifying beasts, possessing immense power and lethal fighting ability, let out a roar and charged at him from left and right like bolts of lightning.

*Bang!*

The Black Tiger was sent tumbling, carving a long trench into the ground.

"Your strength is too weak! Use more power!" Qin Yuan roared after swatting away the agile but underpowered Demonic Ape.

Provoked by Qin Yuan, the ape became even more violent, its eyes turning so red they seemed to drip blood. The Black Tiger clawed at the ground frantically until it had dug deep pits, then suddenly leaped forward, carried by a gale. It was true what they said: the dragon brings the clouds, and the tiger brings the wind.

A massive shadow loomed over Qin Yuan, only for him to strike it with a punch so powerful that its bones seemed to pop out. After landing, it let out a few whimpers and dissipated.