In this world, aside from the near-mythical ‘shen’, there is no unkillable man. No matter how good one is with martial arts, they would inevitably run out of qi, and exhaust their strength. However, a cultivator is inevitably far stronger than an ordinary person, and those in the higher stages would require countless common soldiers to break.

But no matter what, they are still mortal. They are not as immovable as the Zijin Mountain (紫金 - Purple Gold), or East Sea.

Even the tale ‘The Foolish Old Man Moves a Mountain’ had ordinary men move the two great mountains Taihang and Wangwu. If even mountains could be moved, then it was only natural cultivators could be killed by those of a lower state or even none at all.

Within the cast iron wok, the boiling porridge was reverberating against the black pot like the waves of the East Sea smashing against a thousand feet high cliff, creating a similar vibration. This sound made Hong Fu somewhat cautious, as if it continued to boil any further, the porridge would soon be ruined.

This urgency made Hong Fu’s palms a little damp.

This was slightly worrying, since this would mean the pebbles in his hand would be more challenging to control due to the dampness. However, Hong Fu did not worry; Jing Wen was a blind man after all. Even if those countless small sounds disappeared on Jing Wen’s body, how could he shoot the arrow without his eyesight?

Without worry, he pushed against that wrecked door. As it opened, a surge of warm air rushed against Hong Fu’s face, comforting him greatly.

Right at this moment, the cloth covering Jing Wen madly fluttered.

He lifted the bowstring and gently pulled the bowstring. The shape of the ox-horned bow slightly changed as the string dug deeply into his fingers.

The vibration produced by the bowstring was deep and low, like the growl of a wolfs’ howl towards the moon after a long period of dormancy. Yet the sound did not travel far, for it was concealed instantly by the harsh blizzard.

Although dawn had long arrived, the sunlight struggled to shine through the deep and heavy clouds, making the world seem dark.

The world in Jing Wen’s eyes was always dark.

The miserable cry created as the door was pushed open was akin to a sliver of sunlight shining through the sole window of a jail cell, or a tree finally growing tall enough to reach the canopy and experience sunlight for the first time.

It was as though a chrysanthemum had bloomed in the dead of winter; it’s vibrant surface enticing bees tired after a long search.

The dull and heavy arrow moved swiftly beneath the falling snow to find its target.

Then it stopped, its keen edge pointing at the heart of the chrysanthemum.

“You have grown complacent.”

Upon saying that, Jing Wen loosened his fingers.

The dense arrow disappeared from the string and shot into the darkness infront of Jing Wen and the bow.

---

Hong Fu was complacent, because he had not been in the jianghu world for many years, and because he thought Jing Wen would be unable to locate him with his eyesight gone.

But he had forgotten to oil the hinges of his door, and forgotten that in battle, one must never neglect a certain matter.

In one moment, the heavy arrow disappeared from the walls of the old manor.

In the next moment, it appeared in front of Hong Fu.

Hong Fu quickly felt its presence and reached out with his hand, clutching the arrow’s shalf.

Yet the arrow slipped through effortlessly.

With a soft ‘thud’, the arrow pierced through the coarse hemp shirt he was wearing and penetrated his chest, the cold arrow-head extruding out of his back.

It was at this point that Hong Fu realises his palms were a little damp.

He instinctively tried to move his hand towards his filthy pants to wipe off the sweat.

Yet the old and wrinkly hands of Hong Fu was stiff, and he found that no matter how much energy he put into it, it did not move.

The next moment, Hong Fu’s legs collapsed, and he fell before the half-opened door. It sunk slightly into the pile of snow that had gathered, but its head was still fully visible, as it was inside his residency.

The blood on Jing Wen’s body continued to flow, but he dragged his injured body moved the street. Step by step, he walked through the snow-covered street, toward that broken-down building.

The 360 chi that was too close for his bow was now too far and painful for Jing Wen to travel.

By the time Jing Wen arrived by Hong Fu’s side, he had to pull out his sword scabbard to support his legs, which was about to give out at any moment. He then realised it was rather inapprioate since it was most polite to talk to others at eye level.

Returning the scabbard to his side, he sat down next to Hong Fu’s body.

Hong Fu looked with amusement at Jing Wen, who was struggling with his actions, likely because he had lost too much blood, and his mind was much faint. He wanted to laugh, but instead, he gurgled painfully, and two mouthfuls of blood were coughed out. He said weakly, “What a fool. You will seriously bleed out like this.”

Jing Wen wiped the pedals of snow that had gathered upon his face. Looking at the old man, he said, “I was at one point a Qi Manifestation cultivator. Although the state has gone, my body is still pretty strong. Even though it’s slightly difficult to move my arms and legs, I will not die.”

Hong Fu's old, weak eyes were filled with bewilderment, and he whispered, “Why tell me this now? At least let me die thinking I had brought a former expert to the brink of death.”

Jing Wen thought over it and said, “That makes sense. My apologies.”

Taking off the jade thumb ring, Jing Wen calculated the time once more and realised there was still a long time till noon. Looking at Hong Fu calmly, he said, “I do not wish for you to die with discontent. I will truly look after your daughter after you have departed.”

Upon hearing his daughter mentioned, Hong Fu’s turbid eyes suddenly became bright and his face gradually became relieved as his trembling hands subconsciously gesticulated towards the broken-down residency. He said with a trembling voice, staring at Jing Wen’s youthful face, “Over these years… I have no regretted leaving Tianmen Sect… even the death of my wife, I did not anguish. My only qualm was the matters regarding my daughter… I know young master Jing would not take her as a concubine, so… I only wish for her to live a good life as a maid. Young master Jing… thank you… you are a good person, so I can rest in peace.”

“I am not a good person.” Jing Wen shooked his head, and the snow that had gathered on his dark and smooth hair was shaken off. He whispered, “I had been an unfilial child, and killed those whose action is undeserving of death. Even my recent actions against the Seventh Prince will likely result in the suffering of many. How can I be good?”

Hong Fu had already died after saying his last words. Jing Wen was well aware of this, yet had said it regardless. Perhaps it was because he knew Hong Fu would not hear this dialogue, so had released his unspoken feelings towards the corpse or that he simply was simply arguing against the statement.

Jing Wen lifted his head, allowing the pedals to fall upon his expressionless face as he said, “I can only act virtuously to give myself some respite. Of course, it would be far easier to kill you without facing you directly, but I do not think you deserve such a miserable death. Likewise, other may think that it would be better to ignore those servants girls of Mister Wang, those imprisoned by Mo Xi, or your daughter, but I had to do it. It was to heal my conscience.”

“When I had joined the Imperial Guard, I hoped to use my martial arts to aid the vulnerable and serve the masses. Yet after I learned being an Imperial Guard is such a dirty thing, I had chosen to put down the butcher's knife and pursue a life of seclusion. Yet I was told that by doing a selfish deed, I could be praised by thousands to be a virtuous hero that preserved the Empire. To take advantage of that situation, how can I be good?”

Jing Wen’s optimism had long been crushed under the heels of reality. He had killed many people, including strong and violent men; chaste and tender virgins; charming and plump whores; old and thin elders; young and lovely children. Those lost to his swift and methodical bow seemed as numerous as the specks of sands upon a beach. Perhaps at first, he did resist against those acts, but eventually, he held no hesitation.

Jing Wen took out a handkerchief and wiped away the blood that had come out as a result of pulling the bowstring so forcefully. With a somewhat pale face, he said, “When I think about how it had become easier for me to kill those people than to drink water, I truly become frightened. At the time, I wondered if I continued down that path, that I would eventually find would find no resistance against killing my parents. Since I had become such a butcher, how can I be good?”

“What I mean is that I am still such a wicked person who kills without blinking (殺人不眨眼). In truth, your actions to go against my father was reasonable; you held no loyalty towards you, and those men offered you a greater reward. You didn’t even actively hurt my parents. I had only killed you to ensure the events of that day would be buried in the sands of time.”

Jing Wen stared at the long-dead man, but find nothing but darkness before his eyes. He added, “But rest assured, I truly meant it when I said I would look after your daughter. No matter what, I would at least try to remain virtuous in my smaller actions as long as it does not touch my bottom long. Please die in peace.”

He then moved his hands to close Hong Fu’s eyelids, but found they were already closed.