Why do I have so many masters?

The elder on the bamboo chair let out a faint chuckle but did not answer. Instead, he casually waved his hand, signaling the three martial artists to retreat.

Not daring to delay, the trio rose intelligently to take their leave, cupping their fists and walking backward until they had left the courtyard; only then did each turn and depart.

Unbeknownst to them, their backs were already drenched in cold sweat.

One of the women looked back at the courtyard and exhaled a breath of relief.

Her face was respectful, but her heart was filled with perplexities.

Although the unique medical theories of Pharmacist Valley possessed their strengths, the Immortal Pavilion was also a sect that specialized in medical poison techniques. The sect’s martial arts manuals were the result of the predecessors’ blood and sweat. The Seventh Elder’s cultivation was strong, true, but he was far from having exhausted the traditions of our sect; it was unclear why he was so obsessed with the martial arts manuals of Pharmacist Valley.

Two years had passed without him giving up.

Was this not forsaking the essentials for the trivial?

This thought merely flickered through her mind without deeper contemplation. As a steward martial artist within the Immortal Pavilion, although she possessed Seventh Rank cultivation, presuming to speculate on an elder’s thoughts was a taboo. If the Law Enforcement Hall’s martial artists found out, she would inevitably face severe punishment. She withdrew her gaze, performed her movement technique, and soared into the air.

In just a few breaths’ time, she had vanished from sight.

Inside the courtyard, the fragrance of tea lingered.

The elder laid open the medical book on his lap and rocked leisurely in the bamboo chair, his eyes looking up at the white clouds gathering and dispersing in the sky, squinting slightly.

He curled his right hand and tapped lightly on the armrest of the bamboo chair, muttering to himself,

"Pharmacist Valley..."

Upon uttering these three words, his expression subtly changed.

It seemed to contain a mix of resentment, indignation, but also a gloating pleasure akin to the satisfaction of revenge.

Before his eyes seemed to reemerge the breathtaking scenes from thirty years ago.

He saw that middle-aged doctor in green, saw those still somewhat clear eyes, and witnessed defeat after defeat that filled him with extreme regret and jealousy—the awkwardness of fleeing for his life.

He saw the Sect Leader’s icy gaze.

The torment of a poisonous snake’s bite for three years.

It had been a torrential rain; that refined doctor in green frowned at him, treated his wounds, and departed. Just before leaving, he scolded with a cold sneer,

"A practitioner of crooked ways is unworthy to be my peer!"

"You’re not fit to learn medicine..."

"Be gone!"

The elder’s hanging palm clenched tightly; his usually calm face twisted, and he suddenly scoffed out loud, Experience more on NovelBin.Côm

"Doctor, doctor..."

"Meng Yushu ah Meng Yushu, in the end, it’s you who lost!"

"Thirty years ago, before I departed, I left you a ’gift’. With your intellect, it’s impossible for you not to realize it came from the Four Symbols Pavilion’s ’Hundred Poisons Dissolver’... Now it seems that you ultimately couldn’t get past that block in your heart, falling into the very crooked ways you despised."

"Hahaha..."

"The loser is you!"

........................

In the northern part of the town.

A number of martial artists with swords and sabers on their backs walked slowly, their expressions stern, their faces like stones after snowfall—sharp-featured and exuding an intimidating chill. The ordinary citizens of the town knew better than to provoke them and gave wide berth.

In front of these martial artists, it was as if a ghost town lay ahead.

Yet not far away, one could still hear the tumult of the bustling world.

The leader was a burly man with one damaged eye, with a ring-headed saber slung over his back.

His damaged eye, stubbornly open with a festering, dim, and lifeless eyeball, was fiercely intimidating to onlookers.

He stopped in front of a small courtyard.

Looking up.

According to the information, the last disciple of Pharmacist Valley was inside. Despite its annihilation over the ’Medicine Man’ incident two years prior, to the people of the Jianghu, what did it matter whether it involved ’Medicine Men’ or ’Poison Men’, as long as one wasn’t personally affected?

Who cared?

Not many were concerned, for the world operates on self-interest, and all is fair in the pursuit of gain.

What mattered were the traditions of medical theory and secret martial arts manuals passed down in Pharmacist Valley.

Over the past two years, for some reason, rumors of various secret manuals and treasures surfaced all over Jianghu. Although many turned out to be false, stirring up disputes for nothing, some were real. Taking risks for the chance of inheriting a sect’s legacy was worth it.

The man opened his mouth and let out a breath of white mist.

Raising his right hand, he gripped the handle of the saber, which was wrapped in several layers of coarse cloth to prevent slipping. His good left eye scanned the area next to the courtyard; the people he had brought were already in position, drawing their weapons, and other martial artists had come too, among them an elder who called out to him,

"Isn’t that Hero Zhao?"

"I’ve long admired you; I never expected to see Hero Zhao in such a remote place, hahaha..."

The one-eyed man’s brow furrowed slightly, a sense of wariness and caution rising within him, but he did not act. He simply acknowledged with a few words and then kicked fiercely toward the wooden gate.

His martial arts were not shabby, and at this moment, since he intended to intimidate, that kick of his carried seventy percent of his inner strength, fierce and aggressive.

This wooden door was made of ordinary materials, how could it withstand such force? Only two cracking sounds were heard before it flew directly inward, the one-eyed man snorted coldly, wielding his knife as he entered, followed by the other martial artists who were not to be outdone, some displaying their Qinggong, while others made their way through the doorway. The originally narrow courtyard was suddenly crammed full of seven or eight martial artists.

Upon hearing this noise, a man in the courtyard next door could no longer sit still, standing up abruptly and reaching for the sickle beside him, ready to step out. After just taking two steps, however, several others pressed him down to the ground. His father quickly strode forward, snatched the sickle from his hand, and with a slap across his face, he shouted in a low voice,

"What do you think you’re doing?!"

Struggling, the man couldn’t free himself, saying,

"They’re the bad guys, I have to go save..."

"What saving, you’re just going to get yourself killed..."

The young man stubbornly retorted,

"I have to go... even if I can’t save them."

"That young girl has been here for a month, wasn’t your grandmother’s life saved by her?"

"I know they’re people of the Jianghu, we can’t beat them in a fight, but trading a life for a life would still honor our ancestors."

"We can’t just pretend to be deaf at a time like this!"

"Father, brother, this town already has enough people pretending to be deaf. We have also played deaf before, but this is about saving our savior; we can’t ignore this!"

Meanwhile, in the courtyard.

Without speaking, merely exchanging glances, two martial artists stepped forward. They pulled out dark powerful crossbows from their backs, activated the mechanisms, and loaded five steel crossbow bolts each. This type of special crossbow bolt was powerful enough to instantly penetrate a meter thick of rock; it was something that only a martial artist could use due to its power. With two crossbows and ten bolts, they aimed at the small wooden hut. @@novelbin@@

In the midst of explosive cracking sounds,

ten crossbow bolts pierced through the wooden hut and shot inside.

Dead silence.

The one-eyed martial artist gripped the long knife in his hand tightly as inner Qi circulated within his body. He slowly approached the hut, lifted his left hand gently, and touched the wooden door; the wood creaked as the door of the hut slowly opened.

Looking up at the interior of the hut, seeing no one, the martial artist first sighed in relief, then frowned, scanning left and right. Just as he turned to the right, he suddenly heard the sound of fabric fluttering close to his ears, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Before he could react, a person had already stepped out from his left side.

A sharp pain shot through the intact right eye — even for a martial artist, such intense pain was unbearable, causing him to cry out in agony. A few moments later, he staggered out of the door, lost his balance, and fell on the ground face first, convulsing for a moment before he stopped breathing.

"Hero Zhao?!"

"Hero Zhao, what happened to you?"

A chill went through the hearts of the martial artists outside; they spoke up in succession. A few moments passed before someone stepped forward to turn the man over, only to see several acupoints on his body had been pierced by silver needles. There was blood around his right eye. He put his hand under the man’s nose to find there was no breath left, his expression turning grim.

In just a brief time, an Eighth Rank expert had met his end here. The faces of the people present turned solemn, feeling the urge to retreat, yet reluctant to leave.

Just then, the complexion of the martial artist who had just flipped over the one-eyed man changed dramatically, he swayed twice, then fell silently to the ground, twitching a few times before his breath left him, his palms tinged with a purple hue.

Amidst the clamor, the martial artists who had initially been full of vigor hastily retreated several steps, all turning pale. An elder among them exclaimed,

"It’s that demoness!"

"She’s poisoned us! Fellow martial artists, be extremely careful!"

At this moment, amidst the turmoil in the courtyard, standing on the eaves a good hundred meters from here, a martial artist from the Immortal Pavilion dressed in green clothes took out a section of incense from his bosom. With a pinch, he ignited the incense, which immediately released trails of fragrant smoke that gradually drifted away with the wind.

.....................

Wang Anfeng stepped inside the wooden hut.

A person lay collapsed on the bed, short and stout, his eyes wide open in anger with a sword wound on his chest, and a sharp boning knife in his left hand which was still clutching the drawer of the hut, seemingly searching for something when he was caught off guard and stabbed straight to the heart.

Realizing that the deceased was neither Chuan Lian nor Meng Yuexue, Wang Anfeng heaved a great sigh of relief but then became somewhat thoughtful—

The scenes unfolding before him, whether it be the martial artists ambushed in the courtyard or the man who died searching the hut, undoubtedly showed that Chuan Lian and his companion were currently in grave danger.

These martial artists, it was unknown where they received their information.

Since they were killing each other, they likely weren’t from the Immortal Pavilion... and judging by their martial arts, they weren’t skilled in Medical Poison either.

Could they be martial artists of the Jianghu?

Wang Anfeng frowned slightly, feeling this matter was almost a tangled mess, with confusion everywhere. He quickly left the hut, no longer seeing the young swordsman; he probably had seen the urgency of the situation and fled for his life earlier.

Wang Anfeng opened his mouth but then turned to look again at the two five-foot men embedded in the wall.

In his rage just before, he still had his wits about him, and since the two were also decent martial artists, they were only severely injured and unconscious, not dead. However, waking them from their unconsciousness would require time to apply needles and channel Qi — and the current situation was clearly very urgent, lacking the very thing they were short on: time.

Restlessness overtook Wang Anfeng’s heart.

Since he had come unexpectedly, he lacked sufficient knowledge about the situation. Facing a lack of information, it was difficult to make judgments, almost like groping in the dark. As he was considering whether to resort to rather crude methods, his gaze suddenly fell on the brocaded pouch at his waist, causing a shift in his expression.

He then remembered what Tan Yurou had said to him before he left that day.

"Young hero, if you encounter any difficulties on your journey, you might want to look inside the pouch."

Thinking of the young girl’s clever ways, Wang Anfeng decided, unwrapped the brocaded pouch from his waist, and gently opened it. Inside was a porcelain bottle and a piece of paper. Wang Anfeng unfolded the paper, scanned it, and his expression changed slightly, then quickly settled.

"Just what I needed!"

PS: Second update...