The moon cast its glow upon the streets of Three-Legged Crow City. As Zhihui departed from the inn, the sun had already dipped below the horizon. Squinting, he navigated through the less affluent sections of the city, cradling the young girl in his arms.
In contrast to the opulence found in the wealthier districts, where the lanes were meticulously paved with stone and buildings showcased ornate wooden panels and gracefully curved rooftops, this part of the city exhibited a stark difference.
It was empty, and the palette was subdued, almost grayscale, as if the vibrant hues of the wood had been washed away by the river of time.
Everything seemed faded and weathered, with missing tiles on the roofs, allowing the wind to weave through the cracks in a subtle dance. Each one-to-two-story building looked dead.
Here was where the poor remained.
And here was where Zhihui felt most at home.
"..hm?" Mei Lin groaned, rubbing her eyes wearily. Upon seeing Zhihui, a warm smile drew across her face. "Thank you.." She whispered shyly, the delicious taste of the luxurious meals still lingering on her tongue.
However, Zhihui did not respond and instead, seeing that she had woken up, placed her down on her feet.
"I'm going to meet a 'friend' now; you find somewhere to stay in the meantime," he whispered, glancing around. His sharp black brows were drawn together, and his focus seemed to be elsewhere.
Mei Lin stood motionlessly; her eyes became watery, and the smile on her face slowly disappeared. She had grown fond of the warm touch and presence of the strange beggar and didn't want to let go.
Looking down at the head of Mei Lin, which barely reached his stomach, Zhihui rubbed it with his knuckles.
"Ow!" Mei Lin mumbled, grasping the top of her scalp with both hands as she pouted.
"I'll look for you after." He said, smiling faintly. "I promise."
Staring into his ocean eyes for a moment, the young girl wrapped her small hands around Zhihui's waist. "You promised.." She whispered, then slowly released her grasp before turning around.
Watching her receding figure, Zhihui sighed lightly.
His voice deep, brimming with fighting intent spoke up: "Will you come out...?"
His eyes began to swirl like a vortex.
"...Or do I need to drag you out?"
From beneath the shadows, a figure cloaked in an elegant black robe emerged. A slight chuckle followed his arrival.
He had short black hair with hints of purple, gentle contours, a yellowish complexion, and his eyes were sharp, like a fox's.
"Hey, don't make that face! I'm here to propose a deal, one I think you'll be very interested In!" The newcomer said while sweating, raising his open hands.
Zhihui turned to look at him, expressionless, eyes calculating, offering no response.
"Look, you are interested in the Bloodlust Sect, right? So am I." He made arm gestures, eyes glinting as if seeing money. "I have information and an opportunity that you don't want to pass up."
"I've booked a table at a nice inn where we can sit, eat, and talk about it." The young man continued with a smile, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.
Through his dark violet eyes, he watched the beggar's lengthy raven hair start to sway slightly and his thin palms glow gray.
"T-t-there's also going to be beauties there; Chen Wei, a worker there, has the biggest breasts I have ever seen!" He expressed while wearing a flustered, rosy expression, almost like an unsuccessful car salesman.
Zhihui remained silent, motionless. It had taken him just a single glance to know that the young man was similar to himself—a scheming bastard. Although he may look friendly, once you turned your back, he would sink his teeth in without hesitation.
He was aware his words might be the truth and there may be benefits in the opportunity he spoke of, but Zhihui was far too ignorant of the cultivation world to agree to any deals.
And there was an easier, more simple way to get both the opportunity and information about the cultivation world.
That was,
to kill him.
Wisps of gray began to swirl around him, scattering his tattered robe in the air.
The young man watched on with apprehension, saying, "I'm not here to fight, I think we would make good friends–"
His eyes widened as Zhihui's figure became a blur, shooting through the air like a bullet.
'Fast!' The salesman thought. He leapt to the side swiftly, narrowly avoiding the fist crashing towards him.
"My name is Silas! A pacifist, no fighter." A cold sweat ran down his face. Silas tried using the momentary gap to increase the distance, but suddenly felt his heart pumping—his instincts screaming danger.
Zhihui held out his Qi-imbued palm and directed it towards Silas. A beefy, ghostly palm shot forth, tearing through the air as it reached out for him.
'This?!'
Without hesitation, Silas retrieved a talisman and imbued it with spiritual energy. A water sphere the size of two adults materialized, enveloping his figure.
The ominous ghostly palm collided with the water barrier, and a thunderous boom sent a shockwave out. The barrier began to tremble but appeared to remain stable.
'What was tha–' Silas's thought was interrupted as the sphere burst into thousands of droplets. His heart beat furiously. 'Impossible, that was a foundation establishment defensive talisman!'
He wasn't the only one surprised; Zhihui squinted and zoomed through the air. His hand tensed into a fist, the wind rippling as he poured Qi into it.
Silas clicked his tongue before releasing Qi, coating his fist in a layer of dim purple.
In the dark, moonlight-covered surroundings, two bright glows illuminated the area, rocketing towards each other. The gray and purple streaks of light met—their fists collided with a bang as loud as thunder.
Silas gritted his teeth as pain coursed through his veins.
Wrist bones stabbed through skin, arm reduced to a bloody mush.
Meanwhile, Zhihui stood, flicking his wrists before cracking his knuckles. "What did you say your name was?" He asked, smiling faintly, a long wooden staff appearing in his hand.
'Bastard.' Silas frowned but spoke in a light tone. "Silas, Silas Severus." He then reached into his robes and brought out a mysterious red pill, tossing it into his mouth.
His arm began squirming, wounds healing at a fast rate, cracks in his bones snapped as his muscles repaired themselves.
A long black-bladed sword emerged in his right hand, grasping it tightly. "Yours?"
The beggar spun the staff over his head. "Zhihui," he replied.
With those words, silence reigned, and the two figures locked eyes.