Present—

The information they received from that trickster of a demon was useful—thank the Gods. Qian Meng might’ve stormed into the creature’s shop and ripped its head from its body if he’d humiliated himself for nothing. Apparently, the most recent buyer was also a demon, and one of epic power. There was no name written in the purchase log, however, the moment the dark cultivator brushed his fingertips along the paper that same demon had touched, he scented the qi signature from the clearing.

Rotting lotus.

He was surprised by this development. While the four cardinal elements could manifest in any being, spiritual magic deriving from the Divine Emperor was different. It was the control of living qi and demons had no way of grasping such integral parts of human existence. They dwelled in another dimension running parallel to this one, using their version of ward portals to travel between the folds of time and space. Their inherent demonic magic came from absorbing external sources of qi, filtering it through their blood, and then using it as an energy source.

Humans are born with what’s called a cultivation base. Either they’re equipped with enough inherent ability to hone a core, or they are not. One born with enough aptitude is trained to pull qi from living things—other than fellow humans—in order to awaken their dormant dantian. This begins the process of core formation and meridian strengthening. The moral of the story is while both species seek power in the same way, once human cultivators have formed their core, they draw power from within, not externally. So, demons having no such cultivation base means they cannot use spiritual qi.

This line of thinking only led the dark cultivator back to his original puzzlement, making him realize that after finishing up here, he had to pay the shop keep another visit. He needed answers only a demon could provide. But that was future Qian Meng’s problem. Right now, he was adhering to the damning principles forced upon him by the black book burning a hole in his pocket.

Despite feeling bone tired, he’d left Lao Su’s home just after Lei Gong fell asleep, his breathing evening out. There was no other time to do this, and he had to. If he waited any longer, Qian Meng was well aware of the indiscriminate bloodshed that would follow. Finger’s scraping along the stone, the dark cultivator slowly leaning his body out past the edge. In the center of the street stood a tall, immaculately dressed man surrounded by servants on all sides. He spoke with his hands, silver mustache twitching with every word spit from his mouth. His eyes were beady and the color of muck, darting from side to side as he tore into his poor subordinates.

No one else was around. All establishments were closed, few lanterns glowed along the cobble path, and thus it was the perfect time to commit illegal deeds. With a huff, the man dismissed his workers. The lot of them scampered away, fleeing into the night. Qian Meng readied himself to follow the merchant wherever the man went next, only to be surprised when he spoke.

“Come out. You may be the most subtle assassin I’ve encountered, but you still cannot fool me.”

Shock flared as Qian Meng did so, left hand clenched around the hilt of Yu Chang. The merchant’s gaze narrowed, flitting up and down the dark cultivator’s robes. He was still wearing the tan robes Lei Gong lent him while his own dried from being washed, so he didn’t appear as sinister as usual. Not by much, though, as most of his terrifying aura stemmed from what he was, not what he wore. It seemed to fool the idiot before him, regardless as the man grinned at him.

“Who sent you? I can guarantee an amount twice as high if you just walk away.”

Qian Meng felt his lips ache to twitch into a snarl at the smug tone to the man’s voice. As if he honestly believed money was the answer to all of life’s troubles.

“How did you sense my presence?” He countered.

The merchant shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many people have tried to kill me.”

“No, I don’t think I would, actually.”

The quip left his mouth quick and full of sarcasm. It didn’t seem to bother the man as he laughed, lips hitching up on one side. It made the horrid mustache on his face twitch.

“As much as I find your blunt humor charming, I don’t have time for this. Name your price.”

Qian Meng walked over to the merchant with slow, lazied steps. With every Chi eaten up by his long strides, a part of him grew more restless. It ached and screeched to be let free, to devour this man whole until there wasn’t a drop of blood left. His target fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot and licking his cracked lips. The dark cultivator held back a smug smile of his own, noting the reaction with a sick sense of satisfaction. All vile men were the same. The thought was both comforting and depressing. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“What makes you think I can be bought?”

The merchant’s expression twitched, aching to shift into one of annoyance. “Surely, as someone who makes a living through murder, you would not fault me for trying to shift your allegiances. This world runs on magic and the greed of man, nothing more, nothing less.”

Qian Meng couldn’t agree more. When a command from his notebook aligned with a bounty, he’d shamelessly claim it to fill his coffers. If he was making the effort, why not be properly compensated for it beyond Divine justice? You couldn’t fill an empty stomach with satisfaction. In fact, he planned to go to the city center with this man’s head for that very reason. His money pouch was dismally empty after giving Lao Su his last gold piece. To put his target at ease, Qian Meng nodded and unwound his arms.

“You’re right. No one in the world is free from corruption.”

The merchant grinned, thinking he’d hooked the dark cultivator as he stepped forward, arms spread wide. All the while, shadows had curled around corners, lying in wait for their master to call on them. Lanterns that had once been blazing were blown out, shrouding the entire street in utter darkness.

Qian Meng surged forward, eyes engulfed by blackness as his large hands wrapped around the man’s head. The merchant didn’t have a chance to struggle before Qian Meng tore his skull from his neck with one powerful jerk of his arms. Blood tried to spray across the cobble, but the dark cultivator’s power exploded throughout the street, stopping time and space.

Shadows that’d been waiting came calling, twining around Qian Meng’s legs and shoulders as he stepped back. Droplets of blood hung suspended, the body standing at attention despite having been separated from its owner. With one soft click of Qian Meng’s tongue, the dark magic struck out, absorbing the blood first and then climbing along the flesh. It ate away at the man’s ornate clothes, then his skin, then his muscles and bones until it was nothing more than a writhing mass. He forced himself to watch as he always did; the head dropping to hang limply at his side.

With his free hand, he reached into his robes and took out the leather-bound notebook. It was burning to the touch, near vibrating in excitement. He flicked it open, and the pages flipped on their own to land on the correct name. Yao Chao. The curving scrawl glowed crimson, lifting off the page to float through the air. The characters blurred, coming apart to swirl around and around the writhing darkness. Coaxing it to contract smaller and smaller until it was no more than a tight ball of shadow. Red bands of magic held it together as he lifted the open book and clicked his tongue once more, calling it. Like a docile pup obeying its master, the energy drifted over to be absorbed back into the page, flaring brightly and then going blank.

Time resumed, the lanterns flared to life again, and a gull cawed loudly overhead. For all intents and purposes, there was nothing amiss as Qian Meng turned away, dark eyes fathomless and unfeeling, a severed head swinging by his side.