Chapter Seven: Hidden Sorrows

“Hold him down! Do your best not to let him thrash about. Hurry up—no more dawdling! If we drag this out any longer, we’re all dead!” Feng Qichuan barked, his eyes flashing with hatred as he stared unflinchingly into the corpse demon’s gaze.

Only four people remained on the field. They exchanged glances, and within each other's eyes, they saw the same unflinching resolve—the kind that faces death without fear.

All four were sturdy martial artists. Two held fast to the corpse demon’s legs, while the other two, one in front and one behind, pinned its arms and body with all their strength.

But their combined might was still not enough. With a single kick, the corpse demon sent two of them flying. The remaining pair met their end at the demon’s fists, each felled in one brutal blow.

Feng Qichuan seized his chance. The monster’s power did not throw him into confusion. The moment the corpse demon lifted its head, his blade darted forward with flawless precision, its arc trailing crimson light.

Blood from his heart splattered into the corpse demon’s eyes, burning like fire.

In an instant, the demon’s body was engulfed in flames, finally collapsing into a heap of ash, vanishing completely from the world.

Yet Feng Qichuan felt not a trace of joy at his victory; instead, his heart grew leaden with sorrow. Suddenly, he fell to his knees and bowed three times, deeply, in the direction of his fallen comrades.

“You knew what was in the box beforehand, didn’t you?” Yi An asked.

Feng Qichuan let out a long sigh, his face lined with desolation, his voice thick with complicated emotion. “What does it matter if I knew or not? Is there any point in speaking of it now?”

“If you have troubles you cannot speak of, why not share them? Perhaps I can help,” Yi An pressed, now almost certain his suspicions were correct.

Feng Qichuan’s voice was hollow, his spirit crushed. “No, you cannot help me. No one can.”

“In the other box—is it also a corpse demon?” Yi An gestured toward it. If so, he could not linger here. He would have to deal with this threat at once.

“I don’t know. Young Master Yi, I urge you to leave this mountain as soon as possible. This is muddy water best left undisturbed.” Feng Qichuan gripped his blade tightly, his brows knit, though his face was expressionless.

Yi An paused, but his instincts told him the man was not lying; Feng Qichuan truly did not know what lay inside the box.

After a moment’s hesitation, he walked toward the second box.

If it was indeed another corpse demon, there was still time to handle it.

Having come upon it, he could not stand by and do nothing.

The innocent people outside—how undeserving of such a fate.

This was no matter of sanctimony, but a person’s baseline decency.

Yet the instant Yi An opened the box, he froze.

Inside lay a middle-aged woman, her face deathly pale, her breath long since stilled.

“Nanny…” Yi An murmured, lost in a daze, his heart unable to find calm.

Though he bore no real affection for her, the memories of the body’s original owner weighed upon him, and he could not help but feel sorrow.

“What, she was your nanny? The dead cannot return; you must accept your grief,” Feng Qichuan was equally stunned—such coincidence was uncanny. But then, as if recalling something, his expression grew somber once more.

“Chief Feng, was it the Morro Cult who hired you for this escort?” Yi An had intended to keep his distance, but now that his nanny was involved, he could not remain uninvolved.

“The Morro Cult… I never truly knew their identities. From the start, I felt they were no good—strange in their dealings. So I refused their business.”

“But that very night, I returned home to find the two of them there, holding my wife and children hostage. If I refused, they threatened to slaughter my entire family. I had no choice but to accept, and everything that followed, you already know.” Speaking of his wife and children left Feng Qichuan feeling suffocated. Now that the mission had failed, their situation was even more perilous.

“Don’t lose hope yet. Your wife and children are still safe for now; you still have a chance,” Yi An tried to console him.

“I cannot defeat them.” Feng Qichuan’s voice was bleak, his face painted with despair.

“What if I help you?”

“You?”

It was not that Feng Qichuan doubted the young man, but it was hard to believe—Yi An was a frail scholar. What could he possibly offer?

“Yes, me. Do you dare to trust me?” Yi An nodded resolutely.

“Why wouldn’t I? There’s no outcome worse than this anyway, is there?” A glimmer of spirit returned to Feng Qichuan’s eyes. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, he sensed that Yi An was no ordinary scholar.

What ordinary scholar would face evil without fear? Who else would know how to restrain such monsters?

“I can teach you a secret art—one that will let you break through to the Postnatal Stage in a short time.”

“The Dragon Blood Divine Art. By burning your own essence, you can greatly strengthen your body. In less than two months, you will achieve your goal.”

“But don’t celebrate too soon. There’s no such thing as a free meal in this world; everything has its price. Each bit of essence you burn shaves years from your life. To reach the Postnatal Stage, you’ll have to sacrifice at least ten years. Will you accept that price?” Yi An asked.

“I accept. Please, teach me! If I can save my wife and children, what are ten years, or even this worthless life, compared to that?” Feng Qichuan replied, trembling with excitement.

To reach the Postnatal Stage in martial arts—such a person was a hegemon no matter where they went.

There were five stages in the martial path, divided into third, second, and first class, with first class being the highest. Beyond that were the Postnatal and Innate martial artists. At the Postnatal Stage, one’s bones were as hard as steel, the body formidable, the senses keen—able to fight dozens at once. Such people were avoided even by malevolent spirits.

At the Innate Stage, one could split stone as easily as picking up a pouch, absorb the energy of the heavens to strengthen the organs, and run swifter than a galloping horse, with endless stamina. Leaping into the air, one could battle hundreds and remain undefeated—this was the Innate Grandmaster!

“Very well. Since you are willing, I will do everything to help you and teach you the Dragon Blood Divine Art.”

Yi An knew that as long as Feng Qichuan was not a callous man, he would surely agree. He was not surprised.

“Thank you for your generosity, Young Master. I am eternally grateful. So long as my family is saved, I am at your disposal,” Feng Qichuan said, deeply moved. Though the price was high, he believed that once this art spread, the martial world would be plunged into chaos.

For those who lived by the sword, strength in the moment was all that mattered.

“No need to be so formal. By helping you, I’m helping myself as well. And you’re paying with ten years of your life, aren’t you?” Yi An, though unconcerned with repayment, was deeply satisfied by the man’s forthrightness.