Chapter 54: The Beautiful, Strong, and Tragic Cannon Fodder Villain—My Father Is a King (7)

The disciples of Falcon Fort were momentarily stirred at the mention of a legendary weapon, but soon regained their composure. Legendary weapons—unless one was fortunate enough to be chosen by such a weapon—were not something to meddle with. Not even Falcon Fort itself would dare to involve itself in such matters without a rightful owner.

“Kill!”

The woman was clearly alerted by the disciples who had gone ahead to scout and had come to silence them. There was no choice but to fight for their lives.

“Hmph, a flock of useless fools trying to stop a carriage with their bare arms,” she sneered, flinging a handful of hidden weapons before turning to leave.

She leapt into the air, invoking her lightness skill, but something felt amiss. Why was there no sound—no screams of agony?

Glancing back, she found the disciples of Falcon Fort standing unharmed, watching her with strange expressions. The disciple who had been struck by her poisoned needle was being tended to by an elderly doctor with a long beard.

From the disciples’ perspective, the woman had appeared suddenly, full of confidence, intent on silencing them. She raised her hand, unleashed her attack, then took off lightly, only to pause mid-flight and look back, bewildered that none had fallen.

Falcon Fort disciples: …

They had long heard of the dangers of the martial world, but was everyone truly this mad? Their fury and desperation over their injured comrade and the attempt on their lives abruptly dissipated.

Never mind, they thought. There's no point in arguing with lunatics.

The woman, however, frowned. “Why are you all fine?”

Falcon Fort disciples: …

They avoided speaking to her, worried that madness might be contagious.

Furious, the woman raised her hand again, but this time she felt it clearly—a powerful presence locked onto her. One wrong move would bring about a thunderous blow that would end her life. There was no way to defend against it.

She froze. She dared neither to move nor to flee, her face shifting through a palette of emotions.

A soul-lock from a thousand miles away—this was the mark of a grandmaster.

She was on the verge of tears, wanting to beg for mercy, but any movement brought a needle-sharp pain to her brow.

She had kicked an iron wall.

Stiff and unmoving, she was ignored by the Falcon Fort disciples, who, reassured by Qin Ye that their wounded comrade would recover, quickly mounted their horses and left with their wagon.

As for any talk of legendary weapons, they knew nothing, heard nothing.

Qin Ye, who had just frightened the woman off, was quietly pleased. He was nothing but an ordinary doctor, after all—martial world feuds had nothing to do with him.

Upon reaching Misty City, the disciples bade farewell and set off for Falcon Fort. Qin Ye, carrying his medicine chest, headed home in high spirits.

“Children, I’m back,” he called, pushing open the door.

Inside, Qin Bing and Xiao Jiang, who had been scuffling, immediately broke apart. Standing beside them was a youth dressed like a village hunter.

Qin Ye’s expression froze.

“It seems I’ve come at the wrong time,” he said. But something felt off about his own words.

Qin Bing quickly grabbed his hand. “No, Father, you’re here at just the right time.”

This felt even more suspicious.

“Father, this is our new friend. His name is Bai Yujing, a hunter from the mountains.”

Later, after encountering evildoers, his village was massacred. He alone survived by sheer luck and wants to learn martial arts to avenge his fellow villagers. But he has no money, can’t even afford food. I ran into him with Xiao Bing, and Xiao Bing brought him home.”

It was Xiao Jiang, ever steady and reliable, who explained everything succinctly.

Qin Ye smiled in satisfaction and patted Xiao Jiang on the shoulder, making him wince in pain.

For someone who claimed to be just an ordinary doctor, Qin Ye’s strength was more like that of a wild ox. Xiao Jiang often feared he might be flattened by such a smack—even though he himself was far from weak.

Qin Ye always claimed to be ordinary, yet would turn around and produce rare treasures that martial artists would fight tooth and nail for, concoct miraculous pills, and prepare medicinal baths to temper their foundations.

Xiao Jiang, unfamiliar with the disciples of great sects, lacked a frame of reference, but even so, he never believed Qin Ye’s claim of being ordinary.

He was a skeptic, but Qin Bing was a true believer.

Qin Bing knew that young Bai Yujing must have been swept into the vendettas of the martial world, and although his father could train prodigies like himself and Xiao Jiang, he was still just a healer and should never be drawn into such affairs.

He hadn’t planned to tell Qin Ye, but Xiao Jiang disagreed, and so they fought over it as usual.

They had sparred since childhood, settling disagreements with their fists—the winner’s voice prevailed.

Just as their fight reached its height, Qin Ye returned.

These days, the clinic had taken on several apprentices; some had already completed their training and ran the place most of the time. Qin Ye had moved to a quieter residence nearby.

Their new home was right next to the private school—just a hop over the wall and they could attend classes with the teacher. Xiao Jiang never needed urging, but Qin Bing, more interested in martial arts than study, now had no excuse to skip lessons.

Qin Ye sat in his grand armchair, holding the teacup Qin Bing had eagerly handed him, but not drinking.

Qin Bing put on a flattering smile. “Father, I didn’t mean to cause trouble. It’s just that little brother Bai Yujing looked so pitiful.”

Qin Bing always seemed gentle and easy to bully, though that was just a surface impression. He was indeed kind, but not as easily bullied as people thought.

If something moved him, he would help if he could, and Qin Ye generally allowed it—provided the person being helped wasn’t approaching with hidden motives.

But Bai Yujing…

Bai Yujing was different; he felt special somehow.

At present, Bai Yujing was just an ordinary village youth, lucky enough to acquire a hatchet that turned out to be a legendary weapon, which, astonishingly, accepted him as its master.

Unbeknownst to him, martial artists seeking the whereabouts of Reaper’s Cleaver found the village. To prevent news of the weapon from leaking, they slaughtered everyone. Yet they still failed to find the weapon, and Bai Yujing, as the sole survivor, was destined to be hounded by trouble.

On the run, Bai Yujing would soon reveal the weapon’s power, drawing the attention of every major faction, who would send their own disciples to approach him.

Yet, truth be told, this generation’s “chosen one” had little of the brilliance of the last; Bai Yujing’s protagonist’s aura was rather weak.

Just as the dazzling talents of Qiao Mingyue and Qi Shushu seemed unremarkable to the older generation, so too did the current era pale before the last.

To Qin Ye, the martial world of today was little more than a beginner’s village.

It was just as well—the children were grown and ought to go out and temper themselves, seek their fortunes, and perhaps even find a spouse. It was also time to tell Qin Bing about the old grievances of the previous generation.

Otherwise, if someone discovered his origins, it would be too easy to use that against him.

Resolve it? No, such grievances could not be resolved so simply. The resentments of the previous generation should be left to them; the younger ones just needed to know of their existence.

Having made up his mind, Qin Ye shed his doting-parent demeanor.

He set down his cup, stood, and clasped his hands behind his back. “Very well. You two are grown. I can’t keep you by my side forever. Go, then—venture out into the world. And if you ever grow weary, remember, someone will always be here waiting for your return.”

Qin Bing, moved by this, stepped forward, trying to snuggle into Qin Ye’s arms as he had when he was young. But he had grown tall—taller even than Qin Ye—and besides, he was no longer a delicate little darling, but a strapping youth. Qin Ye pushed him away in mock disgust. “Enough of that. Do you still think you’re as cute as you were as a child?”

Qin Bing pouted. “Father, just because I’ve grown up, am I no longer your baby?”

Qin Ye: …

Damn it, weren’t children supposed to feel embarrassed when their parents used childhood nicknames after growing up? Yet this boy declared himself “baby” so brazenly, with not a shred of shame.

Qin Bing’s face showed only pride.

What, your fathers never called you their baby? How sad—you must have never known true fatherly love.

That smug expression, and the unspoken message behind it, was frankly infuriating.

Qin Ye ruffled his hair and began preparing for the children’s journey.

Money—they’d need plenty. And a token—his influence spanned the martial world; with his token, the children would have all the support they could need.

Finally, he would have to send greeting cards to the great factions, to let them know that the two young adventurers had someone backing them, so they shouldn’t try any underhanded tricks.

And, above all, no one was to target his children—especially those from the Watermoon Nunnery.

Realizing all this, Qin Ye foresaw a busy time ahead.

As for traveling the martial world, Qin Bing showed a flicker of interest, but nothing more. Xiao Jiang had no interest at all.

If even the less mature Qin Bing didn’t buy into the ideal of martial chivalry, how could the precocious Xiao Jiang?

Noticing Xiao Jiang’s lack of enthusiasm, Qin Ye said, “If you don't want to go, you can stay and keep me company.”

“Father, Xiao Jiang definitely has to come with me. He can’t possibly rest easy if I’m on my own,” Qin Bing interjected.

Xiao Jiang gave him a sidelong look. “Not really. I’m quite at ease—you’re pretty capable now.”

“No, you’re not at ease,” Qin Bing insisted, fixing him with a stare.

They locked eyes for a few seconds until Xiao Jiang gave in. “Fine, I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to look after him forever—he’s grown,” Qin Ye said, feeling Xiao Jiang was a bit too indulgent.

“I do have some interest in the martial world, and besides, I might find news of my real parents,” Xiao Jiang replied.

Now it was Qin Ye’s turn to fall silent.

Right—neither of these two was his own by blood; one he’d raised as his own, the other he’d taken in along the way.

A shadow of sorrow crossed Qin Ye’s face as he turned away.

Xiao Jiang, alarmed, quickly added, “I’m not looking for my birth parents to go back to them. I just want to know whether they abandoned me on purpose, or if there was some other reason. I will always have only one father, and that’s you…”

Qin Ye, who had been secretly dabbing at his eyes to fake tears, was caught out as Xiao Jiang spun him around, anxious to reassure him.