Chapter 7: The Price of Revenge
Baifang stood still in the dense forest, gazing out across the fallen animals that lay at his feet. The animals he had hunted—some large, some small—had given him their Qi, but it wasn't enough. He had absorbed what he could, but the energy from these creatures felt hollow, distant. Even the deer, with its grace and life force, hadn't yielded the same strength as the shadow wolf. The more he fed on their Qi, the more the hunger inside him grew.
A deep unease gnawed at him, gnawed at his very soul. Every time he hunted, every time he absorbed their energy, he felt a shift in himself. It was subtle at first—just a faint desire for more, an emptiness that only seemed to grow. He realized that the more he fed on the life force of others, the more it consumed him, turning his heart into something darker.
The thought of what had happened to the shadow wolf, of the red Qi that had spiraled around him and filled his body, still lingered in his mind. That was no mere cultivation technique—it was something far more sinister, far more dangerous. It wasn't the path of ascension—it was the path to becoming a monster.
He had felt a thrill from the power, but that thrill was fading, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread. It was as though he were becoming addicted to the Qi, something he couldn't control. He wanted to stop. He wanted to let go of this, to leave behind the insatiable hunger.
His decision was made. He would return to the village and put an end to this madness.
With a heavy heart, Baifang began his journey back toward the village, the weight of his decision settling heavily on his shoulders. He moved at a steady pace, the last remnants of his hunts left behind, and the forest around him grew quieter as he neared the village.
His thoughts swirled in turmoil. What if he had gone too far? What if the path he had chosen would only lead him to destruction? Could he even return to the person he once was?
As he entered the outskirts of the village, his heart sank. The once familiar scent of the village—fresh earth, the smell of cooking fires, and the chatter of neighbors—was now replaced by a heavy, choking smoke that filled the air. His pulse quickened, and his stomach twisted into knots as his eyes darted around, searching for signs of life. The smoke rose in thick black plumes from the center of the village, turning the sky an unnatural shade of red and black. It was chaos.
Baifang's feet carried him faster, the sense of dread overwhelming him as he moved toward the center of the destruction. The sound of flames crackling filled the air, and he could hear people shouting, crying out in panic. There was no mistaking it now—the village was burning. The people he had known, the life he had once lived—everything was being consumed.
As he pushed through the crowds of villagers fleeing in every direction, panic on their faces, his eyes searched desperately for any familiar face. He couldn't find them. He called out, his voice hoarse, "Xiaomei! Auntie Zhou!"
But no one answered.
Baifang's heart hammered in his chest as he pushed forward, fighting through the mass of people. His feet hit the dirt with urgency, every step growing heavier as he approached his home. His breath hitched as he finally saw it—his house, the small hut he had shared with his sister and Auntie Zhou, was now a blazing inferno. The fire licked at the walls, consuming everything in its path.
"No... no, no..." Baifang whispered, his voice trembling. He rushed toward the fire, only to be stopped by a group of villagers, their faces filled with terror. "Your sister! They took her!" one of them cried.
"What? What do you mean? Where is she?!" Baifang's voice cracked as he shouted, desperately searching for any sign of Xiaomei.
"They—" The villager choked on his words, his face twisted with fear. "The Zhao debt collectors—they took her. She's gone, Baifang... They've taken her. They took her put her in a cage and left. Your Auntie tried fighting back but she was tortured and killed.."
Baifang's heart seemed to stop. Killed... and his sister—taken. To be sold. His stomach twisted with nausea as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. The Zhao family—again. They had done this. They had taken the people he loved, and now they had taken his sister.
He staggered back, his body feeling weak as he struggled to breathe through the flood of emotions crashing over him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage against the world. But all he could do was stand there, paralyzed by the cruel weight of what had happened.
And then, he heard it. Laughter. Cruel, mocking laughter.
Baifang's head snapped toward the source, his gaze landing on a group of Zhao debt collectors. They stood together near the burning ruins of the village, their arms folded in smug satisfaction, as if they were watching a spectacle. Jin, the man who had been so eager to crush him before, stood at the center of the group. His smile was wide and cruel.
"Pathetic," Jin sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You couldn't even pay your debts, and now look at this mess! Your homes, your lives, all burned to the ground. You've failed. And it's all your fault."
Baifang's fists clenched, his knuckles turning white as his rage boiled up inside him. He had no words for these men. They had taken his sister. They had burned his village. They had killed his Auntie.
But no more. He would end this.
"Jin!" Baifang called out, his voice rough with fury. His body was trembling with the need for vengeance. "What have you done to my sister?"
Jin turned slowly, looking Baifang up and down as if the boy were nothing more than an insect beneath his boot. "Your sister?" Jin chuckled darkly. "Oh, that cutie? She's been sold off like any other commodity. Some merchant will make a good profit from her. That's what happens when you fail to pay your debts. You lose everything."
Baifang's blood ran cold as the words settled in. His sister, sold as if she were an object. His heart raced, a deep, primal pain clawing at him. He couldn't let this happen. He wouldn't.
Before Jin could speak again, Baifang lunged forward with a speed that surprised even him. His fists met Jin's jaw with a sickening crack, and the man was sent sprawling to the ground. The other Zhao collectors moved to intervene, but Baifang didn't stop. He rained blow after blow on Jin's body, each hit a release of the rage that had built up inside him. This wasn't just about revenge. This was about justice—for his sister, for Auntie Zhou, for his village.
Jin barely had time to react before Baifang landed a final, crushing punch to his throat. The man's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Baifang stood over him, chest heaving as his mind raced. His vision swam with the heat of fury, but it was quickly overtaken by a cold emptiness. The fight wasn't over. The others were still here.
The remaining three Zhao collectors stepped forward, their faces twisted with anger. "You've made a grave mistake, boy," one of them growled, but Baifang was beyond caring. His muscles burned with an intensity he couldn't deny, and he met each of the remaining men head-on.
The fight was brief, the Zhao collectors no match for the power surging through Baifang's body. With every strike, his strength felt limitless, overwhelming. His rage fueled him, and his fists struck like thunder, taking down the remaining collectors one by one.
When the final Zhao man lay defeated at his feet, Baifang stood alone in the silent village, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His body was bruised and bloodied, but it didn't matter. He had avenged his family.
But as the adrenaline began to fade, the reality of his actions set in. He was alone now. His village was burning. His family was gone. And all he had was the emptiness left by his violent vengeance.
He turned away from the wreckage, his gaze falling upon the lifeless body of Auntie Zhou, lying in the dirt. Her body was cold, her face twisted in the agony of her final moments.
Baifang knelt beside Auntie Zhou's lifeless body, holding her cold form tightly in his arms. His heart ached with the loss, and a burning fire of rage built up within him. His aunt, the woman who had raised him, was gone—taken by the same people who had destroyed his village. The Zhao debt collectors, those corrupt men who reveled in the suffering of others, had not only killed his aunt in their wrath but had taken Xiaomei away. His sister was gone, dragged into the depths of hell by the same hands that had killed everything he cared about.
Tears blurred his vision, but anger clenched his chest even tighter than grief. It felt like his heart was suffocating beneath the weight of the helplessness, the powerlessness that had consumed him. This was his fault, wasn't it? He had failed to protect her, failed to save his village, failed to save Auntie Zhou. He had gained strength, yes, but only to watch it slip away from his grasp.
He clenched his jaw, fury rising like a tide inside him. His fists tightened around Auntie Zhou's body, the pain of her death mingling with the rage that threatened to swallow him whole.
And then, it came—the red Qi.
Like a silent predator, the energy began to swirl around him, drawn by his anger, by the bitterness and hatred bubbling in his veins. The swirling energy was rich and potent, thick with the life force that had once been his Auntie Zhou's, now coursing toward him as though it could sense his pain, his grief, and his unyielding desire for vengeance.
It started with a single tendril of energy, creeping towards him from her lifeless body. Then two and three, the debt collectors, the dead villagers...At first, Baifang hesitated. His heart screamed that it was wrong to take it, wrong to feed on the Qi of a person and ot was also one he had loved at that. But the hunger inside him, the fury that had ignited his soul, pushed him forward. The power was there—he could feel it, could almost taste it in the air. He didn't want to feel weak anymore. He didn't want to be helpless.
Without thinking, Baifang let go of his Auntie's body and opened himself to the Qi. The energy rushed towards him like a storm, swirling in a crimson whirlwind that bathed him in its power. He could feel the strength surging through his veins, the heat of it burning through his chest and limbs. It wasn't just physical power—it was rage. It was vengeance. It was the very embodiment of everything he had lost.
His fists clenched, and the flames of fury consumed him. He took the Qi in with reckless abandon, feeling it fill him, feeding his anger, his desire for retribution. The more he absorbed, the stronger the hatred inside him grew. The anger burned in his heart, and with each wave of energy, he became more consumed by it.
The red Qi flowed faster, filling him to the brim, and Baifang's breath grew shallow, his chest rising and falling with the intensity of the emotions within him. He could feel his power growing exponentially, but it wasn't strength that was rising—it was rage. His senses were sharpened, his thoughts clouded by the darkness of his emotions.
He had the strength now, the strength to get his sister back, to tear the world apart if he had to. No one would stand in his way. His vision blurred with red as his heart pounded, as though it, too, was on fire. The hatred coursing through him was like a torrent, a river of searing hatred that he could not control.
For a long moment, Baifang lost himself in the rage. His mind was consumed by thoughts of vengeance, of retribution. He could see the faces of the Zhao debt collectors, their mocking laughter, their cruelty. He could see their faces in his mind's eye, see their bodies writhing as he tore through them. Every passing second, the fury inside him only grew stronger, overwhelming his thoughts, his better judgment. His chest burned, not from the Qi itself, but from the fire that had been kindled in his heart. He had to make them pay.
"I will find you," Baifang whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with venom. "I'll find Xiaomei. I'll make them pay for everything."
As the words left his lips, the last of the red Qi was drawn into his body. The swirling energy that had filled the air, the wind-like tendrils of power, vanished in an instant. The world around him fell eerily silent.
But the silence did nothing to ease the fury that roiled inside him. The anger had only grown, fed by the very life force that had once belonged to Auntie Zhou. The power was his now, but it came with a cost.
Baifang felt his pulse racing, his blood pounding in his ears. His heart was still gripped by that insatiable hunger. The Qi had not only filled him—it had taken root in his soul. He could still taste the bloodlust in the air, still feel the energy pulsing through him, like a living, breathing thing.
His mind screamed at him, tried to push back the tide of rage. This wasn't right. This wasn't what he had wanted. He wasn't some mindless monster. He wasn't supposed to become a man who fed on others' pain and suffering.
But as Baifang gazed down at Auntie Zhou's lifeless body once again, something twisted in his chest. He had already lost everything. What did it matter now?
With that thought, the burning hatred inside him swelled, and he turned from the body, from the village, and began walking into the night. He had a purpose now—a purpose that could not be ignored. He would find Xiaomei, no matter the cost. He would tear down the world around him if it meant getting her back. He would make them all pay.
The stars overhead did not shine as brightly as the fire that burned in his heart. The red Qi still throbbed inside him, an ever-present reminder of the path he had chosen, of the vengeance he would exact. He didn't care anymore. He had made his decision.
Baifang didn't know what awaited him, but as he walked away from Auntie Zhou's body, the village, and everything he had known, he knew one thing for certain—there was no turning back now.