### Chapter 19: Yan Shizong, the Artifact Hoarder
Yan Shizong snapped.
Of course, ever since meeting Lin Yi, this had become a frequent occurrence.
"Who do you think you are, being so unreasonable? The artifacts I have left are all top-tier—stronger than most low-grade spiritual weapons! Do you know how many rare materials went into forging them? Even Foundation Establishment cultivators would struggle to get their hands on one!"
*He's really ticked off,* Lin Yi thought, eyeing Yan's flushed, delicate face.
"Alright, alright! Look at you, so stingy. If we don't use them, we don't use them. Worst case, if we run into that eighth-level guy, we die together. At least I, a measly second-level, get to go out with a fourth-level core disciple of Mengxuan Sect. Not a bad way to go," Lin Yi waved a hand dismissively.
"Stingy? *You're* the stingy one!" Yan fumed. "An eighth-level Qi Refinement cultivator—if we're careful, we won't cross paths. Do you think rogues are like sect disciples? If eighth-level rogues were common, they wouldn't be 'rogues.' We were just unlucky to meet one."
"Hey, kid! I was just joking! Why get so worked up? Young people need to stay calm!" Lin Yi suddenly adopted a patronizing tone, leaving Yan speechless with rage.
It took Yan ages to steady his breathing. "What *are* we going to do? We don't even know where we are."
"You just realized that? We'll play it by ear," Lin Yi shrugged.
"Meaningless drivel!" Yan stared, dumbfounded, before squeezing out the words. If he could, he'd never speak to Lin Yi again. Every minute with him felt like an hour of torture.
"No need to look at me like that. We've got no grudge—past or present. Look, the sun's setting. If we don't find shelter soon, even if raiders don't kill us, monsters will," Lin Yi grumbled, his face drooping.
Yan's cheeks puffed with anger, his eyes practically boring holes into Lin Yi.
...
In a dense part of Yunmeng Marsh, a gaunt old man strolled after a cold, beautiful female cultivator, like an eagle toying with a chick.
"Little beauty, seeing you exhaust yourself—my heart aches," he crooned.
...
"Little beauty, why struggle? Surrender, and you'll live. For cultivators, longevity matters most. Why cling to that pretty face?"
...
"Little beauty, keep running, and you'll reach the marsh's depths. All kinds of monsters lurk there. No one will save you then."
His words only spurred her on. She ran faster, her face resolute. To die by monsters was better than to be defiled by this fiend.
"Hmph! Insisting on death?" The old man scowled. He wasn't short of beautiful women, but if she refused to yield, he'd show no mercy.
He was sixth-level Qi Refinement, but his spells weren't the shoddy kind rogues usually practiced. Even more astonishing—he wielded a mid-grade artifact. Otherwise, the female cultivator, a fifth-level core disciple, would've escaped easily.
A weak water spell shot toward him. He waved his sleeve, dispelling it effortlessly, then tapped his storage bag. A purple gourd appeared, covered in tadpole-like runes.
At the sight of it, the woman's face blanched, her already pale skin draining of all color.
This mid-grade artifact, the Purple Demon Gourd, was why she was cornered. Its black qi was vile, able to corrode any artifact. Her few mid-grade and high-grade artifacts had all been destroyed by it.
Now, she had no defenses left.
The old man smirked, his face twisting cruelly. "Little beauty, regret yet? Once my gourd's demonic qi is unleashed, it'll be too late."
She replied with a cold snort.
"Refuse kindness, ask for cruelty! You're begging to die," the old man's voice turned icy.
He slammed hand seals onto the gourd. Inky black qi gushed forth, painting the sky dark. Trees, grass, and vines withered, melting into pools of sludge.
The woman summoned a spiritual shield, wrapping herself in it—but it was as thin as a cicada's wing, ready to shatter. Her spiritual energy was nearly depleted; death loomed.
The old man watched, savoring her desperation, a perverted pleasure on his face.
Moments later, her shield grew transparent. Her skin was ashen, sweat drenching her brow—a tragic beauty.
In seconds, the shield would break.
She despaired, her face gray with resignation.
The old man prepared to intensify the qi—he'd grown impatient. Delaying might draw Hall Master Wei's wrath.
But a loud, exaggerated voice cut through the air:
"Whoa, old man! Have no shame? Blasting all this black gunk to torment a beauty? Are you even a man?"
A sharply handsome young man stood with one hand on his hip, thumb pointing down, sneering at the old man—arrogance dripping from his posture.
It was Lin Yi.
"Little Shizong, take this geezer out," Lin Yi pointed, his voice crisp.
The old man, seeing a fourth-level and a second-level cultivator daring to challenge him, laughed—a sinister cackle. Killing them would be child's play.
The despairing female cultivator, however, brightened. Her shield, fueled by a spark of hope, solidified slightly.
"Fellow Daoist Zhang, I'm here to help," Yan stepped forward, summoning his fiery fan and flinging it at the old man.
This was Zhang Ziyan, the fifth-level female cultivator from Xuanling Sect, part of their original group.
"Be careful, Daoist Yan!" Zhang Ziyan cried. "His gourd's black qi destroys artifacts! My tools were all ruined by it!"
Lin Yi, with his rogue aura and second-level cultivation, looked so insignificant she ignored him entirely. It wounded his fragile ego—but he brushed it off, thick-skinned as ever.
"No worries. He's got plenty of artifacts. Losing one or two's nothing," Lin Yi chimed in.
Yan nearly spat blood. *Plenty?* He'd grown used to Lin Yi's nonsense, though—annoyance was better than dying of frustration.
Facing the fan, the old man sneered, forming seals. The gourd spewed a stream of black qi, coiling toward the fan. With this treasure, no artifact scared him—*if* it didn't explode.
But he never expected Yan to sacrifice a high-grade fan. Most core disciples of the Four Great Sects used mid-grade artifacts; only a master refiner like Yan treated high-grade tools so casually.
"Burst!" Yan shouted.
The fan detonated prematurely. He'd planned to let fire energy build first, but the black qi was already wrapping around it. Delay would turn it to scrap.
Boom!
A thunderous explosion. Fire erupted from the fan, incinerating the approaching qi. Yan had subtly guided the flames toward the gourd and the old man—they were engulfed in an instant.