Shen Lang had spoken too quickly and offended Ji Zian. Watching her son's departing back, she didn't reflect; she actually wanted to laugh. But soon, Ji Zian's revenge came, making her regret it deeply.
For the next ten days, whenever Ji Zian saw her, he took a detour. If he heard her voice, he hid. He wouldn't say a single word to her. Shen Lang was dumbfounded, and she didn't even have a chance to offer a proper apology.
Her talent was nowhere near as high as that of the father-son duo. Even if she practiced martial arts, she would never catch up. Ji Zian was already a "Third-rate Expert" with keen senses. His Qinggong technique was stronger than his internal power; his steps were weightless. The moment he sensed Shen Lang approaching, he would fly onto the rooftops and vanish.
Eventually, Shen Lang had to go to Ji Xiu for help. "Are you even my husband?" she complained.
Ji Xiu waved her off. "Just consider us a 'plastic couple.' If I help you, Zian will resent me too. You're on your own."
Despite his words, Ji Xiu eventually took pity on her. He infused his voice with internal energy and called for Ji Zian. The sound traveled throughout the Shen residence. Soon, the boy’s small figure landed before them like a swift swallow.
"The Martial Arts Alliance will pass through Yangzhou in three days," Ji Xiu said. "We’re going to the North. Do you still want to come?"
Ji Zian's cold face showed a flash of panic. "Weren't we already supposed to go?"
Ji Xiu chuckled. "Of course. I’m just reminding you—the trip takes at least two months. Do you really want to have a cold war with your mother for that long? Her heart is breaking."
Under Ji Xiu's mediation, Ji Zian finally forgave Shen Lang, though he still gave her a look that said, Do you think I'm a three-year-old? Shen Lang didn't care; she was just happy to be able to hug her son again.
…
Three days later, the Alliance group arrived. Shen Lang had prepared a magnificent black horse with white hooves—an "Ebony Cloud over Snow"—worth hundreds of taels, along with travel supplies and silver.
The journey was grueling. The Alliance elites rode day and night. Ji Zian, though exhausted, refused to show weakness. Ji Xiu, seeing his son's stubborn pride, pulled him into his lap on the horse. "Sleep. Daddy will protect you. No one will see."
"Don't tell anyone I fell asleep," Ji Zian whispered before passing out instantly. He hadn't slept for three nights, determined to keep up with the adults.
…
As they reached the vast grasslands of the North, Ji Xiu felt a surge of the original owner's memories.
The original Ji Xiu had been a slave at the Ma Fortress. He had grown up in the stables, sleeping under horses for warmth. When he grew older and handsome, the daughter of the fortress leader, Ma Furong, took an interest in him. She had peculiar and violent tastes in the bedroom; her servants were often carried out of her room covered in bruises.
The original owner had escaped during a Demonic Sect raid, eventually saving Master Shen and settling in Yangzhou. Ji Xiu realized that by coming here, he was essentially walking back into the original owner's peach blossom debt. Ma Furong was essentially the ancient version of a "rich lady with a wire ball"—dangerous and predatory.
Unfortunately, the Ma Fortress was one of the families the Alliance was here to rescue.
…
They arrived at the Lan Fortress, where Fu Luoyang’s father, the Alliance Chief, was waiting. The Chief was polite to Ji Xiu but didn't take him seriously. To an observer, Ji Xiu looked like a frail, weak scholar with no martial arts. Even Fu Luoyang shared this misconception, having never seen Ji Xiu’s true power. They assumed Ji Xiu was just a traveler wanting to see the North with his talented nine-year-old son.
Ji Xiu didn't mind. He stayed at the Lan Fortress but kept his ears open. When he heard the Alliance was moving out to the Ma Fortress, he woke Ji Zian and followed them in secret.
"Why follow them?" Ji Zian asked.
"Fu Luoyang helped our family in Yangzhou. We owe him a favor. We pay our debts," Ji Xiu replied.
When they reached the Ma Fortress, it was a scene from hell. The fortress was engulfed in flames. The Demonic Sect had already slaughtered the leaders and left. Fu Luoyang, seeing a survivor—the obese Ma Furong—running toward them, prepared to help. But a Demonic Sect assassin lunged out and cut her down.
Fu Luoyang, young and hot-headed, chased the assassin into the tall grass. Ji Xiu realized this was a trap.
…
In the plains, dozens of assassins surrounded Fu Luoyang. They cut his horse's legs first, forcing him to the ground. Fu Luoyang fought desperately, but he was outnumbered. Just as he was about to give up hope, two figures landed beside him.
"Brother Ji?" Fu Luoyang gasped.
Ji Xiu didn't look back. He struck out with a palm—a strike that looked light as a feather but sent a dozen assassins flying back, their bodies exploding with internal damage.
The remaining assassins froze. Who is this monster? Fu Luoyang was dumbfounded. He thought Ji Xiu was a bookkeeper! Why was he suddenly a god of war?
"It's okay, just minor scratches," Ji Xiu said, checking Fu Luoyang's wounds. "The blades weren't poisoned. You won't die."
Ji Xiu turned to Ji Zian. "Remember what I taught you these past few months? Go. Use them for practice. Show Daddy your progress."
Ji Zian drew a small wooden sword and lunged at the remaining assassins. The assassins, seeing a nine-year-old boy, thought they could take him as a hostage to escape the father. They had no idea they were about to face a future demon lord.
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