Wang Yùbǎo glared down at the silhouetted figure that loomed below. As he waited atop the roof of a nearby building, the air slowly getting more crisp and cool with each bated breath, he simply observed a masked man in black robes walking down a dead street. The only thing filling the silence was the click of footsteps, which only seemed to intensify the eerie atmosphere. As Wang Yùbǎo watched, his masked target stopped and not a second later, a dagger was flung in his direction. He only barely being able to dodge it as the dagger whizzed past his ear.
Crap
Wang Yùbǎo thought, pulling his sword from its sheath, the blade dazzling in the moonlight like a shining beacon in the surrounding darkness. He was ready to jump down from the rooftop, but his foe came at him first, sword drawn, their blades clashed against each other.
His enemy stepped back a few paces and charged forward, aiming for a downward strike. Wang Yùbǎo parries it, sending his opponent flying off the roof with a kick to the waist. They land on the empty street below, looking back at Wang Yùbǎo before making a run for it.
Wang Yùbǎo jumps down and gives chase, "Hey! Get back here you coward!"
They run through the lifeless streets for a time, jumping onto roofs, and through narrow alleyways. Finally, they hit a dead end, the walls of the narrow space too high to jump over, and Wang Yùbǎo blocked the only exit of escape. "Finally stopped running?" he asked in panting breaths. Sure he was a relatively strong cultivator, but that didn't mean stamina was his strong suit. But, suppose all the running was worth it. His target had finally backed themselves into a corner.
"You're pretty hard to track down y'know, took me months to find you," He started, he might as well make some small before finishing the job.
He had heard that demonic cultivators from the Blood Moon sect were extremely strong, but what he didn't expect was the trickiest part would be tracking them down. Although, it wasn't like this cultivator was that powerful in terms of strength, so perhaps the rumors were just unreliable.
Suddenly, Wang Yùbǎo paused sensing a strong aura of resentful energy nearby. A malevolent spirit!? In that split second, his target charged at him, knocking his sword out of his hand as hes flung out of the alley and into the open street. He was pinned down to the cold ground, a hand tightly gripping his neck and another holding down one of his one of his arms, the other person straddling him. Wang Yùbǎo's gaze fell on his fallen sword that was just a few feet away from him.
As the grip on his neck got tighter, he managed to choke out a word, "Bastard!"
He thrashed around, a guttering punch landing square on the other's face, the plain mask crumbling over his chest.
What was revealed was a stunning young man, with clear jade white skin, soulless eyes that were darker than the sky that loomed over the two, and a mole that rested under his right eye. A strand of black hair fell upon his face as he stared emotionless into Wang Yùbǎo's eyes. Wang Yùbǎo sucked in a breath as he stared back at the hauntingly beautiful face in front of him. But the cold fingers grasping his neck slapped him back to reality. He struggled against the firm grasp on himself again, flailing his free arm around, landing a few good punches on the other person's face. The grip on his neck grew tighter, Wang Yùbǎofelt that at this rate his neck would break in half. So he struggled harder, if he was going to die then so be it, but he would at least put up a struggle before he met his end.
After another few punches, his opponent bashes their head against Wang Yùbǎo's forehead, leaving a stinging pain, and him momentarily dazed.
He saw as the other person's brows furrowed as they opened their mouth to say something, "I'd rather not have to deal with someone like you today, so please die swiftly," they said, letting go of Wang Yùbǎo, before pulling out a dagger and sliced a jagged gash across his neck.
Wang Yùbǎo gasped, pain jointing up to his head as hot blood gushed out. He coughed, unable to muster up a curse as more blood seeped out of his mouth and wound. He tried to raise his arm again, but it only lay there limply on the ground. The dagger must've been laced with poison. His gaze fell back on the man on top of him, resentment filling his eyes. But the other person didn't bat an eye and got up, leaving him on the ground to die. Wang Yùbǎo attempted to will his body to move, but the effort was in vain. As his vision started to blur, the last this he saw was that person picking up his fallen sword with a sealed jar in the other hand. He could feel the same malovent spirit he sensed before in the jar. So he was played after all. Suddenly, he saw the man walk towards him and grabbed Wang Yùbǎo by the hair. He struggled, attempting to channel his spiritual power, but it seemed to have been blocked somehow. He struggled some more, not willing to back down, but then a swift kick had landed on the side of his head. Then everything faded to black.
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Wang Yùbǎo opened his eyes, only to find himself staring at a wooden ceiling. He felt some feeling in his arms, placing a hand on his neck where it was cut. He felt fresh bandages wrapped around it, feeling a slight pain as he breathed. He sat up, looking around the room; the room was small and simple, only having an empty table next to the bed, a bronze mirror in the corner of the room, and a single window on the far left wall.
Where was he? Wang Yùbǎo threw off the covers, wandering over to the bronze mirror, and stared at himself in a daze. His hair and inner robes were completely in disarray, his right sleeve sliding off his shoulder. He eyed his bandaged neck, seeming to be freshly changed.
Suddenly, the door to the room opened. A dark-haired young woman in peachy-colored robes with a wooden tray, looked to Wang Yùbǎo with a smile, "Oh good, you're awake, does anything hurt anywhere?"
He stared at the girl, still in a daze, he asked aloud, his voice hoarse, "Who are you?"
The girl's smile didn't falter as she placed the tray on the table, "My name is Li Huā," she answered, "When I found you in the forest, my Mother had warned me to prepare for the worst. I'm glad that didn't happen," she explained, worry evident on her face.
Wang Yùbǎo's brain slowly caught up with reality, his face contorting into an expression of anger. The image of a black-haired man with an expressionless gaze flashes across his mind.
That bastard!
"Did you see a man with black robes nearby?" Wang Yùbǎo suddenly questioned, his fists clenched into balls of rage. He would definitely find that demonic cultivator and pay him back for this humiliation!
Li Hua flinched at his sudden question and replied with a bit of hesitation, "No, when I found you, you were alone and injured. I had to carry you on my back." She fidgeted with the hems of her sleeves, a bit nervous under Wang Yùbǎo's rageful glare.
Wang Yùbǎo's gaze softened. He didn't mean to scare her, sometimes he wished he'd taken after his father's features rather than his mother's. He lowered his voice, calming himself before saying, "I see, thank you for your kindness, I promise to repay you in the future." He bowed in gratitude, a smile spread on his face.
The corners of Li Huā's mouth curled up, showing a sweet but determined grin. "There's no need, I simply wanted to help someone in need," she explained, going over to the bed and tidying up the sheets.
She turned to Wang Yùbǎo, "If there's anything you need, feel free to ask. You're still recovering, please stay a few days before leaving," she advised, before leaving the room.
Wang Yùbǎo watched her leave, his smile disappearing once he was alone. He placed a hand on his neck, the bandages that wrapped around his wound very evident. The scenes of that night flashed through his mind. That person, and those eyes. At first, he felt he was gazing into a starless night when he locked eyes with that cultivator, but now all he could remember was that cold indifference, devoid of any remorse or mercy. That person could have easily killed him, but instead, he chose to let him die slowly in a forest where no one would find him. Before he realized, Wang Yùbǎo's hands were shaking, he felt as if he just escaped the grasp of death. If it weren't for Li Huā, it wouldn't be sure that he would've survived. He attempted to circulate his qi again, but again, he felt something blocking it for some reason. What followed was a seething pain that spread throughout his body, causing him to yelp in pain. He turned to the mirror and saw a faint red glow in the shape of a scar underneath the bandages that wrapped around his neck. The moment he saw it, he went into a coughing fit, blood spurting out onto the floor from his mouth. After a painful breath, the pain slowly dissipated, followed by wary stinging breaths. Wang Yùbǎo stared at his crimson-covered hand with an absent-minded shock.
Could he no longer circulate qi through his body anymore? How could this happen? How could he let this happen to him?
The memory of that face flashed in Wang Yùbǎo's mind, now becoming more of a haunting nightmare. But instead of being fearful, resentment and anger bubbles up in his heart. Clenching his fist, he swore that he would find that person and enact his revenge tenfold!
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It took many days for Wang Yùbǎo to fully recover, though he was still unable to gather qi within his body, he was sure he would be able to find a cure once he returned to the sect.
Wang Yùbǎo turned back to wave Li Huā farewell with a smile etched on his face. Once he returns, he would repay her for her kindness. He turned his heel, starting on his journey back to the Divine Sun sect with revenge in mind and the will to become stronger.
"You are hereby excommunicated from the sect."
Wang Yùbǎo had just arrived at the sect until he was stopped at the gate by the first elder. He stared at Elder Zhao, in a complete daze. He was kicked out?
He sucked in a breath, asking a question he already knew the answer to. "May this disciple ask why?"
Elder Zhao's stern expression turned into a mocking gaze, "That injury you sustained blocks you from circulating or gathering spiritual energy, do you think you can cultivate in your condition?"
Wang Yùbǎo lowered his head. He had gone to Cao Jìngchǎng, a physician he knew before returning to the sect, they told him that what he experiencing was most likely a type of curse.
"Since you can no longer cultivate, there's no reason to waste resources on you, so there's no point for you to stay," Elder Zhao sneered, waving his hand for Wang Yùbǎo to leave.
Wang Yùbǎo sighed inwardly, "This disciple understands, I will take my leave this afternoon," he said, cupping his hands in a salute before turning his heel and leaving for the dormitory. Once he was alone, his fists clenched, anger bubbling up his heart.
He continued on his way, passing by fellow disciples.
"Isn't that Wang Shixiong?"
"I heard he's been kicked out of the sect."
"Really? But isn't Wang Shidi a genius of the generation?"
"I heard that a demonic cultivator had crippled his cultivation not too long ago."
"I say it serves him right. Wang Shixiong has always been favored by the other elders, it was about time he learned his place."
As Wang Yùbǎo walked past them, fists clenched. He silently muttered various curses at them, wishing them a life full of hardship and misery. He did this until he reached his dorm room. He opened the door, staring at the messy room in front of him.
The room was spacious, much bigger than the room he stayed in with Li Huā. It had a single bed against the far left corner with a big window beside it. A large mat was laid in the middle of the room for meditation and exercise with various books scattered about the floor or piled up in or near the bookshelf. A few blankets and pillows were strewn about, making comfortable napping spots, not that Wang Yùbǎo ever used them much.
He walked over to a long table in front of the window, gazing at the open manuals with small annotations on the pages and messily written notes on loose pieces of paper. He stared at them for a while, before a melancholic sigh left his mouth. He started tidying up, stuffing his books and notes into his Qiankun bag, along with his other belongings. Manuals, books, brushes, inks, and any saved-up spirit stones he could find. He may not be able to cultivate past his level, but spirit stones could still be used as currency in Jianghu. He placed all the spirit stones he had left on his bed, counting them before stuffing them in his Qiankun pouch. Right now, he only has 76 lower ones; It was enough to last a few weeks at a cheap inn in Qīngpù city. Though, until he thought of a source of income, he would probably need to go to the mortal realms.
Wang Yùbǎo let out an exasperated sigh. He was tired. So tired.
Throughout his life, he was born and raised in the sect. He was talented, making it to the foundation realm at thirteen years old, and now in the mid stages at sixteen. He had worked hard to make his late parents proud. But now… how would he face them when they meet in the underworld?
He glanced around the room he'd been living in for all his life. He eyed the overflowing bookshelf as a wash of nostalgia came over him.
His mother was not a cultivator, but she did used to collect various books when he was a child and probably even before that. She had collected so many that his father had created an entire wing of their home just to fit them all. He used to run around and get lost on that side of the house with his mother, listening to her mythical tales of heroes who rose from misfortune, and the tragedy of the forgotten. Though, after that day, those books were long turned to ash. Since then, Wang Yùbǎo had been slowly rebuilding her collection. Every town, village, or city he went to, he'd collect as many books as he could.
As for his father, he did not have many memories of him, but most were good. His father had a kind heart and now that he thought about it, was a little bit of a pushover. But he was a strong cultivator who fought many demons and ghosts before his end. Wang Yùbǎo had strived to be like him, a person who fought against the evils of the world and served the sect well.
He let out another sigh as he stared at the bookshelves, then at his Qiankun pouch, and back at the bookshelf. He stuffed his pouch in his breast pocket, grabbed one of the sacks lying around, and started placing his collection inside. After he was done, he glanced around the room once more, now feeling a lot more empty. He threw the sack next to the bed and flopped onto the mat, a sigh leaving his mouth. Closing his eyes, the anger he felt before seemed distant, like a sea of resignation has wedged itself between them.
It was going to be a long day tomorrow, it's best to get some rest before then.