Chapter Eighteen: Ten Pounds of Prime Meat, Diced for Minced Filling

Behind Yuhua Monastery stretched a bamboo grove.

Daoist Wu moved quickly along the narrow path, his expression dark and stormy. All around him, the bamboo leaves rustled with the hidden chorus of insects, and countless pairs of red-glowing compound eyes peered out from the shadows. On recognizing Daoist Wu, they silently withdrew.

He arrived at a thatched hut deep within the grove. The small room was packed with pottery jars of all sizes. Striding over to two jars labeled “Xuan Tong” and “Xuan Zhuang,” Wu struck the seals with his hand, shattering them. When he glanced inside, he found that the two mother insects, which should have been lively and wriggling, were already belly-up and long dead.

“Useless!” he snarled.

With a furious sweep, he overturned the jars. Gone was his usual air of otherworldly detachment; his face was now twisted with rage. His once-clear, bright eyes had narrowed into vertical pupils. Beneath his skin, countless black lines writhed. Black miasma seeped from his body, giving him a terrifying, sinister aspect.

Those two worthless disciples were no great loss.

But his magical instruments—those were truly lost.

Those were genuine enchanted artifacts! In one hundred and thirty years, Yuhua Monastery had only managed to accumulate three such treasures. And in just one month, two were gone.

How could he not be furious?

Pacing the cramped hut, Wu’s thick brows furrowed into a single knot.

“It seems there really is an expert in Baohua County. At first, I thought it was only a coincidence that my Jade Bodhisattva was sealed. But now Xuan Tong and Xuan Zhuang are both dead. With their pace, they wouldn’t have reached Baohua County in two days. They must have been intercepted outside the city! Even with the Hundred Faces Mask, they couldn’t escape. Could the enemy be a True Intent cultivator?”

He recited the names of the renowned True Intent masters in Huangtan Prefecture: Xie Changhe of the Dian Cang Alliance, Daoist Mihua of Mount Fuyun, Ye Jiaolong of the Black River Eighteen Strongholds, Jin Siji of the Taibao Sect…

Wait—Taibao Sect!

Suddenly, his brows shot up and the black miasma around him trembled.

Qian Yuchuan, the second son of the Qian family, was from Taibao Sect, wasn’t he?

“Is the Taibao Sect targeting me?”

He sat and pondered. The more he thought, the more plausible it seemed.

The Qian family’s ancestors had been magnates, though in decline for several generations. Still, their inherited wealth made them a force to be reckoned with, even if they were now confined to Baohua County. According to what Qian Yuze had let slip, the family still possessed nearly a hundred thousand taels of silver, not counting gold, jewelry, antiques, and calligraphy.

“If Taibao Sect wishes to compete with me for spoils, then I will have no qualms about breaking monastic precepts.”

Gazing at the jars crowding the hut, Wu Daoist gently stroked his long beard. Cold light glinted in his vertical pupils, as sharp and chilling as knife-edges.

...

Baohua County.

Outside Liu’s Butcher Shop.

A burly man stood by the entrance, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with a face like a jujube, tawny-red brows, and arms as stout as pillars—like a bear spirit come to life. He exuded an intimidating air.

Inside, the shop assistants eyed the fierce, beast-like stranger at the door, exchanging nervous glances without daring a word.

“Hey, hey, hey! What are you all standing around for? Are we not doing business today?”

With a squinting grin, Liu the Butcher emerged from the back, clutching a red bellyband. Seeing his assistants loafing instead of working, he stuffed the bellyband into his shirt and barked a command.

Shoving aside the dazed assistants, Liu was about to speak, but when he saw the brutish customer, he involuntarily faltered.

“What can I get for you, sir?” he asked, forcing a smile and hunching his shoulders slightly.

The big man shook his head, took two steps forward, and pointed at the meat counter.

“Ten pounds of lean pork, chopped fine for mince. Not a speck of fat in it.”

“Right away! Hurry and prepare the order for the gentleman!” Liu shouted to his assistants.

“Wait. I don’t want them to do it. I want you to chop it,” the big man said gruffly.

Liu’s brow creased at the unreasonable demand, but he swallowed his discontent and smiled.

“Of course. I’ll do it myself.”

He selected ten pounds of lean pork and, with careful precision, began to mince it. It took him nearly half an hour to finish. Setting down the knife, he exhaled in relief.

“Shall I wrap it up for you, sir?”

“Not so fast,” the big man interrupted, waving his hand and pointing again. “Now give me ten pounds of pure fat, no lean, chopped fine as well.”

Liu’s smile vanished. He pressed his lips together.

“What, you’re not going to chop it?” the big man raised his voice.

“I’ll do it. Right away,” Liu replied, taking a deep breath.

He picked out ten pounds of solid fat and again minced it with care. Another half hour passed, sweat dripping from his brow. He put down the knife, forced a smile, and ground his molars.

“Shall I wrap it up for you now?”

“Not yet. Now I want ten pounds of soft pork cartilage—chop it fine, and not a shred of meat with it.”

“Damn it! You’re just looking for trouble, aren’t you?” Liu erupted, leaping to his feet and gripping his cleaver, ready to call his assistants to teach this man a lesson.

“That’s right! I’m here to cause trouble!” the big man laughed instead of growing angry and snatched the cleaver from Liu’s hand. With a squeeze of his massive hands, he bent the steel blade into a twisted hoop.

Then, with a pair of solid blows, he struck Liu the Butcher.

Liu fell to the floor, clutching his blackened eyes and wailing in agony.

“Help! Murder! Someone call the authorities!”

“Those two blows pay back your insult to me! If you want to report me, go ahead. I change neither my name nor my surname.”

“My name is Lu Da!”

Leaving his name behind, the big man laughed uproariously and walked off. The onlookers dared not intervene.

“What are you all standing there for? After him!” Liu shouted, spurring his assistants to pursue the big man’s receding figure. But they dared not get too close, only trailing from afar.

Striding through streets and alleys, the big man’s pace was like a meteor, and in the blink of an eye, he disappeared into a side street.

When the assistants caught up, all they saw was a refined, middle-aged scholar with graying temples emerging from the alley.

“Excuse me, sir—did you see a burly, black-faced man come this way?”

“I’m afraid not,” the scholar replied, shaking his head gently, and walked away with calm composure.

The assistants looked at each other in confusion. How could such a giant of a man vanish into thin air?

...

Springtime Restaurant.

Room Number Three, Upper Floor.

The middle-aged scholar entered, turned, and bolted the door. Then he raised a hand to his jaw, pinched a strip of skin, and peeled it upward.

With a ripping sound, the mask was removed, revealing a youthful scholar with a clear, handsome face and bright eyes.

“Phew... This Hundred Faces Mask really is marvelous. At least among ordinary people, no one could possibly recognize me.”

Rubbing his cheeks with a smile, Qi Xiu examined the mask in his hand. After two sleepless nights of study, he had finally figured out how to use this magical artifact.

By feeding the mask enough blood, he could recite a spell to suppress the malice within. The sign of a successful suppression was the disappearance of the cracks on its surface. If cracks reappeared, it meant the internal malice was reviving, and he had to remove the mask quickly to avoid mental contamination.

To disguise himself as an ordinary person and change his appearance and posture, half a side of pork or two live chickens could sustain the mask’s effect for about six hours. Clearly, fresh blood and flesh worked best.

“But if feeding it blood is just to suppress the malice inside, I have another way. After all, when it comes to suppression, I’m rather adept.”

Placing the Hundred Faces Mask on the table, Qi Xiu’s eyes gleamed. He turned, picked up a brush, dipped it in ink, and approached the mask with a bright, confident smile.

...