Chapter 502: Wine Does Not Bolster Courage, It Is Truly a Killing Sword

The Dongyu Region, also known as Jianshen Tian.

Within Jianshen Tian, there are one hundred and eight realms.

Each realm encompasses varying numbers of upper, middle, and lower prefectures.

Dongtian Jie is one of the more renowned realms among the one hundred and eight in Dongyu.

At its central area lies Dongtian Wangcheng.

Though named as a city, its vast expanse is nearly equivalent to an entire prefecture.

Dongtian Wangcheng houses all the lingzhen teleportation arrays leading to the thirty-six upper prefectures of Dongtian Jie.

However, there are no direct teleportation arrays to middle- or lower-level prefectures like Tiansang Jun.

Thus, anyone from the central regions wishing to reach Baiku must use teleportation arrays across various realms until arriving at Dongtian Wangcheng.

From there, they take a teleportation array to Qinglong Jun, the nearest upper prefecture to Baiku in Dongtian Jie.

Afterward, they proceed by manual flight.

Only then can they arrive.

Qinglong Jun.

Qinglong Cheng.

In a tavern tucked deep within a narrow alley.

A withered old man wearing a straw hat sat alone at a square table.

Cup after cup.

The waiter's speed in warming the wine couldn't keep up with how quickly he drank it.

"Customer, that's already the thirteenth pot. Don't you need a break?"

As the last pot finished warming, the waiter couldn't help but remind him.

He set down the wine pot, stood up, stretched his waist, and tilted his neck, causing his neck bones to crack loudly.

Who knew how long he'd been holding that position to warm the wine?

Even sitting was starting to feel uncomfortable for him.

Yet this straw-hatted old man just kept drinking, right up to now!

"That stuff is the most famous strong liquor in Qinglong Jun, 'Qinglong Yin'!"

The waiter was speechless.

Most people who came for drinks would order just a small half-pot.

Even those with a high tolerance would start to feel the effects after two or three cups.

But this old man...

Thirteen pots!

"Customer?"

Seeing the elder still silent, the waiter called out again.

"More wine."

The straw-hatted old man tapped his fingers on the table, slightly raised his eyes, and glanced at him.

The waiter quickly lowered his gaze.

Those dark circles under his eyes...

That creepy appearance...

If he didn't seem so dangerous, the waiter might have already thrown him out.

"Who knows if he even has the money for this."

"'Qinglong Yin' is ridiculously expensive!"

Bending down again to sit and warm the wine, the waiter sighed inwardly, feeling utterly helpless.

Today was a major festival in Qinglong Jun...

Well, not really a festival.

It was just that news had spread early: a group of white-robed figures from the central regions, heading toward Baiku, were expected to arrive in the afternoon.

Rumor had it that one of the Seven Jianxian, Wuyue Jianxian, was leading the group.

A Jianxian!

In Jianshen Tian of Dongyu, they were like supreme gods.

Ever since the news leaked two days ago, the teleportation array sites had been packed beyond capacity.

Even with the Qinglong Cheng guards trying to disperse the crowds, it was no use.

A Jianxian!

One of the living Seven Jianxian!

Who among the sword cultivators and spirit refiners of Dongyu wouldn't want a glimpse?

Even the tavern owner had left two days ago to catch a sight of it.

Leaving the poor waiter alone to mind this usually deserted tavern, essentially selling air.

But today was strange.

This rundown tavern in a backstreet alley, which hardly ever saw customers besides regulars, had a bizarre guest show up right at noon.

"Thirteen pots of Qinglong Yin..."

The waiter sighed.

If this customer couldn't pay, he might lose his job for good.

Worse yet, if the owner found out he'd wasted thirteen pots of fine wine, his life could be on the line.

Tap tap.

The tapping on the table urged him on.

The waiter snapped out of his thoughts, not daring to dwell.

"Ah, customer, don't rush—it's almost ready."

"This 'Qinglong Yin' has to be fully boiled to bring out the flavor. Warming it just won't do it justice!"

The waiter replied, though inwardly he cursed.

"Drink yourself to death!"

"Once 'Qinglong Yin' is fully boiled, its kick hits hard."

"Even guys who pass out after three cups would be on their knees after half a cup of this."

Tap tap tap.

Another round of urging.

This time, the waiter realized the sound wasn't coming from the old man's table.

He turned and saw that in the rundown tavern, which had only one customer before, another person had appeared out of nowhere.

The new arrival sat at the table next to the old man, pulling out a chair and settling across from him with a narrow aisle in between.

"Another customer?"

The waiter was baffled.

On a day like this, someone chose to visit this nameless, shabby tavern instead of seeing the Seven Jianxian?

"What can I get for you, sir?"

The waiter didn't dare slack off. Looking at the disheveled man, he asked loudly.

"Wine, and a few plates of braised beef."

A hoarse voice, like the sound of a saw grating, rang out.

The waiter's skin crawled with goosebumps.

This voice...

This person...

Damn!

What kind of weirdos were showing up today?

He wanted to get a better look at the man's face, but the unkempt hair, as if it hadn't been washed in years, hung down and clung to his scalp, blocking everything.

Glancing down, the waiter spotted a large sack at the shabby man's feet.

"What's in that thing?"

"Such a big sack, and he came in without making a sound..."

The waiter wondered absently.

After a moment, he came to his senses and asked, "Uh, customer, you haven't ordered the wine yet. How should I serve it?"

"I'm not saying to serve mine—his."

The shabby man turned, pointing at the straw-hatted old man.

The waiter froze.

Four fingers?

He noticed sharply that the man's thumb was completely severed at the base.

When he pointed with his index finger, it was hard not to stare.

Quickly averting his eyes, the waiter knew that Qinglong Jun was full of formidable people.

Folks with physical disabilities like this might have been unstoppable in their youth.

Staring rudely at someone's flaws could get him killed, and even his boss might pretend nothing happened.

"His wine?"

The waiter stammered, "That doesn't seem right..."

"What's not right about it? He's had too much."

The shabby man chuckled, brushing his hair aside to reveal a strong jawline.

The waiter zoned out again.

"What a huge scar..."

A ugly scar wrapped around nearly half of the man's neck.

Just looking at it, you could tell how tenacious his will to live was.

To survive a wound that could have severed his neck entirely, and end up with just a scar...

"This is for the wine."

The shabby man tossed over a bag of lingbi coins, snapping the waiter out of his thoughts. "Watch your eyes."

"Ah... yes, yes."

The waiter fumbled to catch the bag and immediately bowed his head. "Right away."

Damn.

He'd been caught staring.

Such sharp senses...

These two must be spirit refiners—maybe even innate experts...

The waiter was lost in thought, not even noticing when the wine pot boiled over.

"The wine's boiling—turn it off."

"Then bring the beef."

A voice from behind jolted him awake. He quickly extinguished the flame and rushed to the back kitchen to prepare the beef.

Damn it.

What was wrong with him today, spacing out like this?

If the boss found out, he'd be fired for sure.

The Seven Jianxian...

Yeah, it must be because the Seven Jianxian are coming—it's distracting me from work!

"Who are you?"

Sang Lao lifted his head, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, his deep-set eyes narrowed as he stared at this uninvited guest.

The severed finger...

The scar...

And that raspy voice to the extreme...

If he didn't recognize the face, he might have mistaken him for someone else.

Clearly, this shabby man had come specifically for him.

"Who I am doesn't matter."

The shabby man smiled. "What matters is that you're drunk and might do something foolish."

Sang Lao chuckled. "Foolish?"

"Yes."

"For example?"

"For example..." The shabby man drew out his words, "you might try to assassinate Gou Wuyue."

Crash—

A porcelain bowl shattered in the back kitchen.

Followed by the waiter's panicked voice.

"Oh, this rundown tavern has great soundproofing—pull the curtain, and you can't hear a thing!"

Squeak squeak—

The old curtain got stuck midway, revealing the waiter's backside.

He was still inside, tugging hard.

Suddenly, with a rip, the curtain tore.

Tap tap tap...

The curtain rings hit the floor, and the waiter's foolish face poked out.

Sang Lao and the shabby man turned to look, their six eyes meeting.

The room fell into dead silence.

"Heh."

"Uh, customers..."

"Customers, please wait a moment—I'll fix the curtain..."

The waiter's heart pounded like it was about to burst.

His right eyelid twitched wildly, syncing with his racing heartbeat.

He wiped his face, pressing down his eyelid.

Then he bent down to pick up the curtain, trying to rehang it.

But he wasn't tall enough, so he stood on tiptoe and managed to get it up.

But wait!

The rings were gone.

Without them, the curtain would fall again if he let go.

And if he held it like this, he'd still hear their conversation!

The waiter wanted to cry out loud.

What the hell kind of people are these?

Why do you spirit refiners have to talk out loud instead of using telepathy? I'm just an ordinary guy!

Gou Wuyue...

Gou Wuyue—that's the Wuyue Jianxian, right?

Do you think I'm deaf?

Talking about "assassinating Wuyue Jianxian" like that.

Can't you block it from outsiders?

Damn it all!!

With ten thousand mythical beasts stampeding through his mind, the waiter was on the verge of collapse.

But if he dropped the curtain and faced those two terrifying faces outside...

"I can't do it—"

"Wahhh, boss, help me..."

"You should leave soon!"

Sang Lao calmly shifted his gaze from the shadow of the curtain and glanced at the shabby man.

"You're quite humorous."

"Oh?" The man raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Thanks."

"What kind of person is Gou Wuyue Jianxian? What makes me qualified to assassinate him?" Sang Lao picked up his wine cup.

"Yes, you're not qualified."

The shabby man agreed. "That's why I think you're drunk."

Sang Lao had the cup at his lips, but upon hearing that, his face darkened instantly.

"You look a lot like a friend of mine."

He gently set down the cup.

Thud—the sound echoed, shaking the dust off the tables and floor in the tavern.

It floated up and settled back.

Whoosh!

An unnamed wind blew, lifting the curtain and revealing the waiter's tiptoeing feet.

Then, they saw him frantically lift his foot, as if stomping on a cockroach, to hold the curtain in place.

The air seemed to heat up.

Sweat—both hot and cold—beaded on the waiter's forehead.

He heard a bubbling sound.

That was the "Qinglong Yin" boiling again.

"Huh? No way!"

He panicked. "I clearly put out the fire—did I remember wrong?"

Wiping away sweat, tears, and snot, the waiter wished he could cover his ears, but his hands were already occupied.

"Mom, why did you leave me with just two hands..."

"Not enough at all!"

He cried for real.

Silently sobbing behind the curtain.

"A friend?"

The shabby man glanced at the suddenly boiling wine pot, his eyes darkening as the boiling stopped instantly.

"Perhaps you mistook me. I'm not like anyone—in this world, I am who I am."

He waved his hand and clenched his fist.

The wine cup on Sang Lao's table flew into his hand.

Only then did he look up, tilting his head at the elder.

His turbid eyes flashed with a domineering light.

"You're not that old, yet your words are bold."

Sang Lao snorted. "I suggest you get some plastic surgery and maybe an amputation. Otherwise..."

He calmly withdrew his gaze and looked at the man's face with a mocking tone, "with that face, you'll get killed walking down the street."

"Thanks for your concern, senior."

The shabby man nodded in gratitude, examining the wine cup in his hands. "There's something I don't understand. Could you enlighten me, senior?"

Knowing the other wouldn't respond, he pressed on without waiting.

"Why do people choose to get drunk sometimes?"

"It's just a way to numb yourself—burns the throat, harms the body, makes you dream, and you can't even hold a sword steady..."

"Does something like wine even belong in this world?"

"Give it back." Sang Lao tapped the table.

"Oh, right..."

The shabby man seemed to recall something and said thoughtfully, "There's another saying: wine gives courage to the cowardly!"

"Is that why the strong in this world drink before deciding whether to kill?"

He smiled and lifted his head.

Sang Lao's fingers froze on the table.

Suddenly, he slammed it down.

Bang—the chopstick holder on the table shot up.

Hmph.

With just a disdainful snort, a chopstick flew out of the holder and shot toward the shabby man.

"Impressive."

The shabby man praised, furrowing his brows in response.

The flying chopstick suddenly erupted with endless sword qi, twisting in the air and reflecting back at Sang Lao.

"Pathetic sword intent."

Sang Lao pressed his straw hat down, and the air temperature soared.

In the next second, the chopstick holder that had just landed back on the table exploded, sending all the chopsticks flying.

A dozen ghostly shadows ignited with white flames and shot out.

Bang!

The single chopstick couldn't withstand the assault and was pierced through the center in mid-air, not even leaving ashes—it was incinerated on the spot.

Sizzle sizzle sizzle...

Blood sprayed.

The shabby man winced and lowered the wine cup in his hand.

He looked down at the white flames burning on his chest, where a dozen wooden chopsticks were already half-embedded.

He waved his hand, wrapping up the white flames.

With a sword finger swipe, he dispersed the scorching energy into the void.

Then, gritting his teeth, he pulled out the chopsticks one by one. "Senior, you're formidable. You've just taught me the lesson of not fighting when outnumbered."

Sang Lao fell silent, watching him.

Not fighting when outnumbered...

What was this guy's real intention?

"What's your name?"

He asked again.

"I told you, the name doesn't matter. What matters is that you're drunk."

The shabby man carefully inserted the bloodied chopsticks back into the holder, stood up, thought for a moment, and placed a lingbi coin on the table. "I've paid your tab. Leave now—there's no need to throw away your life."

"Interesting. You're quite interesting."

Sang Lao laughed. "You know not to fight when outnumbered, and you have tools at your feet, so why not use them?"

He glanced meaningfully at the sack beside the man.

"It's not that I won't—it's just not necessary."

The shabby man picked up the sack, and it clinked with the sound of metal inside.

He stopped in front of Sang Lao's table and sighed. "If I can't win, I can't win. I know my limits, so there's no point in trying."

"How do you know you can't win without trying?"

Sang Lao sneered. "Where's your youthful spirit? It's gone? In this, you're not even half as good as my disciple."

"Youthful..."

The shabby man murmured, then held up his four fingers. "Some people look young, but their bodies are already broken."

"Similarly..."

He paused, staring deeply at the elder. "Some people look whole, but I don't know if they're just strong on the outside."

"Hahaha!"

Sang Lao burst out laughing. "Weak prey hesitate before hunting, full of fear; true beasts charge straight ahead!"

"Charging to your death?"

The shabby man asked, puzzled. "Isn't that what fools do?"

"You're overthinking it."

Sang Lao slapped the table and stood up, about to speak, when he suddenly stopped and turned to the sky outside the window.

In the heavens above, a beam of lingzhen light shot into the sky.

In an instant, the air currents parted the clouds, like a celestial being descending.

Buzz—

For ten li along the street, swords hummed in unison.

The tavern curtain fluttered violently.

Even the waiter knew at that moment.

The legendary Gou Wuyue, one of the Seven Jianxian, had arrived in Qinglong Cheng.

"I should go."

Sang Lao patted the shabby man's shoulder. "You're talented—do something meaningful with your life. As for this getup..."

He eyed the man's appearance and shook his head with a smile. "No matter how similar, it won't make you 'him'!"

"I said, I'm not 'similar'—I am 'him'!"

The shabby man's eyes turned cold, as if angered.

"Fine."

"You're 'him,' keep being 'him.' I won't argue. Farewell."

Sang Lao stepped past him toward the door.

The shabby man clenched his fist. "You can't go out!"

"The world is vast, and this tavern is no prison. Why can't I leave?"

Sang Lao laughed heartily.

With each step, his aura surged.

By the time he reached the door, the rundown tavern was shaking as if about to collapse.

The waiter behind the curtain was already stiff with fear.

He'd heard the whole conversation.

Even if he didn't understand parts of it, the shabby man's words were clear.

Now, with Gou Wuyue Jianxian here, this old man was leaving.

For what purpose? Obvious!

"Oh my god, boss, do you know what kind of people are in your tavern?"

"They... no, he, he's going to kill Wuyue Jianxian?"

"This is insane! I just want a job to make a living—do I deserve this? They won't silence me, will they?"

Swoosh!

As he thought, the curtain was suddenly sliced.

The waiter froze.

He watched the curtain fall completely, realizing his attempt to hide was futile.

Hesitantly lowering it, he witnessed a scene he'd never forget.

In the shabby tavern, tables and chairs floated, bowls and chopsticks scattered, all suspended in the air and bursting with endless white sword qi.

And all of it was aimed at the straw-hatted old man at the door.

"Seal!"

The shabby man slashed with his fingers, and the floating pots, bowls, and utensils hurtled toward the old man's back.

"Watch out!"

The waiter screamed inwardly.

If someone died in the tavern, forget him—the boss might not escape the Qinglong Cheng guards' punishment.

He wanted to help but was powerless.

The waiter slumped to the ground.

"Your so-called strength in numbers is still too late..."

Sang Lao turned silently. In the dim tavern, he slowly lifted his straw hat.

From his deep eye sockets, a cold light bloomed, followed by scorching white flames.

Puff puff.

Soft sounds rose amid the sword qi.

As soon as they did, the suspended objects crashed down.

And on the shabby man's chest, where his clothes were stained with blood, the white flames reignited, instantly enveloping his entire body.

"This is..."

The man was shocked.

He had clearly dispelled the white flames earlier.

How could they burn again?

He hadn't used any lingyuan at all!

"Sword intent?"

Soon, he realized with shrinking pupils.

The white flames were burning his sword intent!

"Don't get it?"

Sang Lao shook his head with a chuckle. "If you're here to stop me, why didn't you investigate my abilities fully?"

"Jin Zhao Tian Yan—nothing it can't burn!"

As he spoke, he pressed his straw hat down, covering most of his face.

The white flames roaring over the shabby man's body retracted with the motion, seeping into his body and permeating his organs.

Ugh!

The man grunted, blood flowing from his seven orifices.

Even with his guard up against the flames, he was still hit.

Not only that, the flames that could incinerate everything only blocked his lingyuan, heavenly dao, and control over sword intent.

They didn't harm his body at all!

"This guy has mastered flames to such an exquisite level..."

The shabby man struggled desperately.

He tried to move, but any twitch burned and mended his tendons and veins.

His sword intent stirred, and the flames latched on, incinerating it to nothing.

His heavenly dao energy stirred...

Not a trace of heavenly dao could approach the flames!

Though the flames were inside him, within a radius of several zhang, the shabby man found he couldn't sense any heavenly dao energy.

"Just the heat has evaporated everything?"

"Damn it..."

Sang Lao withdrew his gaze and stepped over the threshold.

The afternoon sun cast a long shadow on the broken wall.

Hic.

Burping from the wine, Sang Lao seemed to remember something.

He turned back to the man, now curled on the ground and twitching. "Oh, right, I haven't answered your question about 'wine'..."

He paused and sighed softly.

"Wine isn't for courage—it's for the killing sword."

"On this, you haven't even captured half of his essence."

"After all, he's started drinking."