Chapter 22 – The Escape and Pursuit
That night, the darkness over Jingning City was suddenly torn apart by a fleeting black shadow.
Xiao Chen leapt across fish-scale green tiles, each step kicking up tiny fragments under the moonlight.
Yao Lao's black mist coiled around his legs like a living thing, leaving spiderweb cracks on the rooftops with every burst of force.
"Swish—"
Three poisoned Soul-Chasing Arrows grazed his ear, embedding themselves in a chimney ahead, the fletching still trembling violently.
Without looking back, Xiao Chen knew that the Xiao family's most elite "Night Owl" shadow guards had locked onto his aura.
"Left turn!" Yao Lao's voice from the ring was sharp. Xiao Chen twisted his body and darted into a narrow alley, flicking three black pellets from his sleeve—"Mind-Bewildering Smoke," refined according to Yao Lao's formula.
"Boom!"
Dense purple smoke instantly filled the alley. The shadow guard leader's shout came through the choking coughs. "Beware the poison smoke! Form the Three Talents Formation!"
Xiao Chen seized the moment to vault onto the city wall. The cold stone parapet scraped his palms until they bled, and the old wound on his left shoulder—struck by Bai Mufeng's sword qi in the Xiao family's council hall—split open again, hot blood trickling down the rusted bricks.
"Good, head east," Yao Lao instructed, his voice tinged with fatigue as he maintained his spiritual sense to track nearby enemies.
Before the words faded, a silver chain tore through the air! Xiao Chen barely tilted his head aside, the chain grazing his cheek and carving a bloody line across his cheekbone. Below the wall, three shadow guards had already formed a sealing hand array, the silver chain lifting like a venomous serpent ready to strike again.
"Jump!" Yao Lao barked. Xiao Chen hurled himself from the five-zhang-high wall, the black mist cushioning his fall—yet the impact still jolted his organs painfully.
Shouts from city guards echoed in the distance, torchlight closing in fast.
Xiao Chen staggered into the reeds along the moat. Cold water soaked through his boots, startling a few waterfowl from their night's rest. In the moonlight, he checked his injuries—his left shoulder's wound was deep enough to show bone, and the silver chain had stripped a large patch of flesh from his right leg.
"Hahaha…" He tore a strip of cloth from his robe to bind the wound, then suddenly laughed aloud.
"You can still laugh at a time like this?" Yao Lao's annoyed voice came from the ring.
"Why wouldn't I…" Xiao Chen splashed water over his face. "For five years… I've never felt so alive! I wonder if that old dog Xiao Yuanshan has already smashed his teacup in rage?"
…
In the Xiao family's main hall, a celadon cup shattered into pieces on the floor.
"Useless! All of you are useless!" Xiao Yuanshan's beard and hair bristled, the peak Returning Origin Realm pressure he released shaking dust from the beams. "Three shadow guards can't catch a cripple with damaged meridians?"
The chief steward knelt on the floor, his right pinky oddly bent. "Patriarch, the young master… seems to have made some progress in cultivation over the past two months…"
"Nonsense!" The third elder slammed the table. "That wretch hasn't improved a bit in five years—how could he suddenly awaken in just two months!?"
Xiao Yuanshan suddenly calmed, a glint flashing in his clouded eyes. "Send word to the Shadow Guards—capture Xiao Chen alive at all costs." He stroked the dragon carving on his chair's armrest. "If he wishes to break with the Xiao family, then bind him and send him to the Tianyun Sect to safeguard our Xiao family's Xuantian Cauldron."
…
Before dawn, in a pine forest, Xiao Chen leaned against an ancient tree to catch his breath.
He tore more cloth to bind his wound, but the blood quickly soaked through the coarse fabric.
"Someone's coming!" Yao Lao warned sharply. Xiao Chen rolled aside just as the tree trunk he had leaned against was cleaved in two by a flash of a blade.
Twelve shadow guards emerged from the mist, all wearing identical black-iron masks. The leader flicked wood chips from his blade. "Young master, the patriarch invites you back."
Xiao Chen sneered, his right hand drifting toward his waist.
There, a thin dagger, sharp as a cicada's wing, was hidden.
"Bang!"
As the first smoke bomb erupted, Xiao Chen's blade had already pierced the throat of the nearest shadow guard. Black mist surged from his ring, forming dozens of fine needles that shot toward the enemies.
"Beware the poison mist!" The leader retreated swiftly, only to see Xiao Chen seize the moment to dash into the dense forest.
The youth ran like a wounded wolf, leaving a long trail of blood behind him.
…
By dusk, Xiao Chen was on his knees, retching at the banks of the Chishui River.
Since fleeing Jingning City the previous night, he hadn't eaten a grain of rice, surviving only by Yao Lao's black mist sustaining him.
The river's surface suddenly rippled unnaturally.
Xiao Chen instinctively lunged to the right, and the spot where he had been standing was pierced through by a jet of water.
"No wonder they once called you Qingzhou's number one genius."
Seven figures rose from the river's surface—it was indeed the Xiao family's shadow guards.
The leading man pointed his sword at Xiao Chen. "The patriarch of the Xiao family has ordered your return—dead or alive!"
Xiao Chen grinned, his mouth full of blood. "Dead or alive? That old dog Xiao Yuanshan isn't afraid that if I die, there'll be no one to keep the ten-year appointment and he'll lose his beloved Xuantian Cauldron?"
"Silence!"
Before the words had fully faded, a sharp whistling tore through the air. Seven flying swords shot toward Xiao Chen like lightning.
With a sweep of his sleeve, a small porcelain bottle flew from his robe. It spun rapidly in the air, spraying a cloud of green medicinal powder from its mouth. The instant the powder touched the sword light, it exploded into a billowing green mist.
"Poison—be careful!" Several shadow guards' expressions changed drastically. They quickly held their breath, not daring the slightest carelessness.
In their moment of panic, Xiao Chen dove into the river like a slippery eel.
His movements were swift and fluid, as if melding with the water, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished from their sight.
The current was strong, and he let the river carry him downstream.
By dawn on the third day, Xiao Chen finally climbed onto a towering cliff.
He was utterly exhausted. Half a broken sword was lodged in his right leg, blood seeping steadily from the wound to stain his robes. His left eye was clotted with blood, barely able to open.
From the cliff's peak, he gazed into the distance. Below, thick clouds swirled like an immortal realm.
Amid the mist, he could faintly see a valley bursting with blossoms, shaded by green trees, alive with birdsong and floral fragrance—a hidden paradise.
"That is… there…" Yao Lao's voice reached his ears in broken fragments, like a candle guttering in the wind, on the verge of going out.
Looking down, Xiao Chen saw fine cracks spreading over Yao Lao's ring. Clearly, protecting him earlier had drained too much of its true essence.
"Boy, the essence I stored these past days… is gone. From here… you're on your own…" Yao Lao's voice grew weaker and softer with each word.
Gritting his teeth, Xiao Chen used his short sword as a crutch, dragging his injured body forward, limping toward the valley.
Each step was painfully slow, but his gaze never wavered from the valley ahead.
Then, from the forest behind, a rustling sound broke the silence.
Xiao Chen's heart tightened—he didn't need to guess. The Xiao family's shadow guards had caught up.
"Seize him!"
"Don't let him enter the valley!"
Arrows hissed through the air, and pain lanced into Xiao Chen's back.
He staggered forward a few steps, then suddenly leapt off the cliff.
The wind roared in his ears as Yao Lao used the last of his strength to form a cushion of black mist.
"Splash!"
Xiao Chen crashed into a sea of flowers.
"Is this… the end…?"
Through his blurred vision, he thought he saw a figure in goose-yellow running toward him.
"Huh? Big brother, are you hurt?"
The tender child's voice was like heavenly music.
Xiao Chen wanted to reply but coughed up a mouthful of blood instead.
The last sensation before losing consciousness was of someone gently cradling his head.
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