Chapter Sixteen: On the Brink of Death

[Classic Desolate Scripture · Words of the Ancient Sage: In this world, there are only two things that cannot be looked at directly—one is the sun, the other is the human heart. Yet both can be dealt with: the first can be shattered with a hammer, the second can be destroyed!]

...

Yang Fan was full of surprises. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that the town chief could be so vicious, nor that Yang Xiang harbored such cunning schemes. Truly, they were father and son. Perhaps it was precisely because of their scheming minds that their courage faltered.

Yang Fan continued to ask many questions. For instance, the Liu family was the county magistrate’s cousin; they had come to expand their territory and seemed to have set their sights on Cloud Mist Mountain as well. Another question: since they had power, why not simply seize the Taifeng Restaurant? The answer he received was unexpected—though the Yang Tian family were mere merchants, they had no fear of the county magistrate who held such authority.

Paying them no further heed, Yang Fan approached Yang Tian and removed the object from his mouth.

"Yang Xiang, curse your ancestor’s grandmother! You actually wanted to kill me!"

No sooner had Yang Tian spoken than Yang Fan slapped him across the face, pressing a dagger to his eye. "I ask, you answer. Say one unnecessary word, and I’ll gouge out your eyeball."

Arrogant and ruthless though he was, at heart this was still just a youth, lacking in resolve. Having already been cowed, he answered whatever was asked.

Why target him? Jealousy—he stood in the way!

The details of the Taifeng Restaurant? His father, Yang Tai, was a ninth-rank martial artist, and there were several robust fighters in their employ. That was why they never considered the town chief a threat.

The Yang family in the county seat were wealthy merchants of considerable standing. Old Master Yang was an eighth-rank martial artist, respected even by the county magistrate.

Yang Tian’s practiced Ox-Might Fist was ruthlessly extracted from him; after several rounds of interrogation, Yang Fan memorized it well. He also inquired thoroughly about the Liu family. The county magistrate’s strength was either peak ninth-rank or eighth-rank.

"Tell me what you know about martial cultivation," Yang Fan pressed further.

"I only know that martial artists cultivate their vital energy. Entry level is ninth rank, above that is eighth, and I’ve heard the strongest is first rank. I don’t know the rest!"

This answer left Yang Fan somewhat disappointed, but he still questioned him carefully several more times.

Martial artists first need a cultivation method, then temper their bodies, nourish vigorous blood and energy, and ultimately condense their strength into a unified force—transforming the intangible into tangible, forging real vital energy, and unlocking human potential. Only then is one considered to have stepped onto the path of martial cultivation.

Yang Tian was already seventeen, had practiced the Ox-Might Fist for years, and lacked nothing in terms of meat or sustenance, yet still had not crossed the threshold to become a true martial artist.

"You all went to such lengths to come after me. Aren’t you afraid someone will find out?" Yang Fan’s eyes flickered as he continued his inquiry.

"No one knows. To avoid being discovered by others, we’ve kept hiding..."

"Enough!" Yang Tian continued to answer, but Yang Xiang interrupted him.

His face had turned ashen, even showing a trace of terror. He had realized something: if no one saw them, there was a high chance they’d be silenced.

"As expected of the town chief’s son—quite shrewd!" Yang Fan smiled, then twisted both their necks.

A rush of wind swept through the trees.

The dappled shadows vanished without a trace. Lifting his head, Yang Fan saw that dark clouds had already swallowed the crescent moon. The night grew even blacker.

From the mountains to the north came the howls of wild beasts.

Yang Fan stood unmoving, mind racing with thoughts on how best to use the two corpses.

"Taifeng Restaurant, the Liu family, the town chief!"

"Yang Xiang’s corpse is of little use—better to have none at all!"

So thinking, Yang Fan looked up once more, then hefted Yang Xiang’s body and, keeping low, hurried northward.

Though he had never cultivated, his physical strength far surpassed that of ordinary people, and his speed was swift.

It was pitch dark. Even with his "earth sense" probing the surroundings, he could not help but feel a creeping dread—especially as he drew near Cloud Mist Mountain, a vast, shadowy expanse like a slumbering primordial beast.

At the foot of the mountain, he flung the corpse away, confident that by morning, nothing would remain but bones.

Just as he was about to leave, Yang Fan froze—his senses picked up a beast nearby. It was a wolf, bearing a single horn.

Then two, three, four...

He turned his head to see dozens of pairs of green eyes beginning to rush toward him.

"Damn, am I really this unlucky?"

Cursing, Yang Fan turned to flee.

He was fast, but the horned wolves were faster.

When they closed to within five meters, ready to pounce, he hurriedly unleashed his "Intimidation" ability.

An invisible wave swept out, causing the foremost horned wolf to freeze and collapse, trembling all over.

Those behind also entered the ten-meter range and one after another dropped low, but as their numbers grew, the murderous aura they emitted began to coalesce, gradually resisting his intimidation.

The wolves began to rise.

Their eyes on Yang Fan were full of fear, yet also glinted with savagery.

"They’re not completely cowed!"

Yang Fan felt a chill.

He retreated slowly.

Once outside the ten-meter range, the horned wolves shook themselves and watched him—fearful, yet hungry.

At last, the leader took a step forward.

The rest followed closely behind.

Thirty-four horned wolves slowly advanced in a fan-shaped formation.

"Damn!"

Yang Fan was alarmed.

His intimidation was failing—no, not failing, exactly. In his senses, the wolves were still very much afraid, but when gathered together, their combined murderous intent emboldened them, increasing their resistance. Perhaps this was the power of the pack.

"This can’t go on!"

Yang Fan halted.

He unleashed his full intimidation, making the horned wolves whimper and dare not advance. When he retreated, they pressed forward again.

After several such exchanges, cold sweat broke out on his forehead. The energy drain was immense.

Yang Fan was on edge, yet also deadly calm. At this moment, what he needed most was to conserve energy and find a way to drive off the pack.

Buzz...

Perhaps spurred by danger, the intimidation force covering his back quickly diminished. He had been training this technique, but never with much success—until now, under the threat of death, he managed to refine it further.

Eventually, the intimidation field shrank to only the space in front of him and could go no smaller.

But this was still not enough.

Suddenly, the intimidation vanished. The horned wolves felt the terror lift from their hearts and prepared to spring forward, but in the next instant, it returned.

Within a ten-meter range, all the wolves froze, quaking with fear.

Yang Fan moved.

Instead of retreating, he advanced like lightning, appearing before the lead wolf and slashing its throat with his short sword.

Blood spurted in a crimson jet.

"It works!"

Swish, swish—

Yang Fan struck again, killing another. Sensing the growing bloodlust in the pack—so strong that even intimidation could barely restrain them—he swiftly retreated.

Ten meters, then farther.

The wolves hesitated.

But still, they followed.

"Still not leaving?"

Yang Fan gritted his teeth, paused, then once more withdrew his aura and launched another shock. This intermittent intimidation was even more terrifying; especially, when it vanished and reappeared, the wolves’ minds went blank, leaving only primal fear and trembling.

He stepped forward, his sword slicing the throats of two more wolves.

Retreating again, ten meters away.

Yang Fan stood coldly watching.

The pack whimpered, and at last, withdrew.

Phew...

Yang Fan let out a heavy breath and wiped the cold sweat from his brow—even his back was drenched.

He turned and hurried away.

Soon, he was back in the woods, resting by Yang Tian’s corpse.

Darkness shrouded the sky as clouds covered the moon.

Once calm, Yang Fan shivered involuntarily, struck by the uncanny sensation of being watched from the shadows.

His scalp tingled.

Yet under "earth sense," there was nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the corpse and vanished swiftly into the night, heading toward the town.