Speak, boy, who sent you

With that, Su Ji turned around, grabbed a hoe from the corner, and slung it over his shoulder.

The handle of the hoe was thick and long, its iron head gleaming faintly with a pale light in the dim surroundings.

The Fat Steward glanced back at the noise behind him, curling his lips in disdain. "That hoe of yours—are you planning to dig up a mountain with it? Might as well announce to the whole world you're off to do something big?"

Su Ji grinned. "Don’t worry, Senior Brother. I’ve spent two and a half years in this servant quarter. I know every path that can be taken, every dog that’ll bark. I could navigate this place blindfolded. No one will notice a thing."

With that, he strode out of the wooden hut first, the Fat Steward grumbling curses as he followed.

True to Su Ji’s words, his familiarity with the area far exceeded the Fat Steward’s expectations.

Instead of taking the usual mountain path frequented by disciples, he zigzagged through a rarely visited bamboo grove, then hurried along the edge of a ruined courtyard wall.

The entire route flawlessly avoided any chance encounters with other disciples.

The Fat Steward trailed behind, growing more unsettled with every step—and more convinced that Su Ji truly had hidden treasure.

Who else would know such obscure corners of the sect so well unless they had something to hide?

Soon, they arrived before a wooden shack even more dilapidated than the one Su Ji currently lived in.

This had been Su Ji’s "home" during his two and a half years as a servant disciple.

"Here we are."

Su Ji pointed to a patch of overgrown weeds behind the shack.

The Fat Steward, already impatient, snapped, "Quit dawdling! Hurry up! This senior brother still has to deliver ‘special gifts’ to other juniors later!"

Unfazed, Su Ji walked to the spot, raised the hoe without another word, and began digging.

Thud!

Thud!

The heavy hoe struck the earth rhythmically, each impact muffled but deep.

The Fat Steward stood to the side, arms crossed, already nitpicking again. "You sure the technique’s buried here? Couldn’t you have used a smaller tool? That hoe’s so crude—what if you damage the treasure?"

Without looking up, Su Ji replied, "I know what I’m doing, Senior Brother."

Soon, he tossed the hoe aside, crouched, and began scooping away the loosened soil with his hands.

Before long, the corner of a locked wooden box emerged from the dirt.

The Fat Steward’s beady eyes instantly burned with greed.

In a burst of surprising agility for his bulk, he lunged forward, shoving Su Ji aside with enough force to stagger him, then eagerly yanked the box free from the earth.

Clutching it, his fingers trembled faintly.

Just as he was about to use his spiritual energy to break the lock, he abruptly hesitated.

Shooting Su Ji a wary glance, he shoved the box back at him.

"You open it."

Su Ji forced a bitter smile. "Senior Brother, do you really think I’d dare scheme against you?"

"Of course you wouldn’t!" the Fat Steward snorted. "But better safe than sorry. I’ve made plenty of enemies. You might not have the guts, but others might use you to get to me!"

With an exaggerated sigh, Su Ji took the box, pulled a thin wire from his sleeve, and fiddled with the lock. A soft click later, it sprang open.

He lifted the lid slowly, revealing no traps—just an ancient thread-bound manual resting inside.

"Take it out," the Fat Steward commanded.

Su Ji obeyed, retrieving the manual.

"Go ahead, look at it first," the Fat Steward said with false magnanimity, though his eyes never left the book. "After you’re done, it’s mine."

As if afraid he’d change his mind, Su Ji hastily flipped open the cover.

The Fat Steward’s gaze locked onto the five bold, sweeping characters inscribed there:

[Falling Dragon’s Desolate Ruin Art]

The instant those words registered, the Fat Steward’s pupils shrank to pinpricks.

His flabby face twitched violently, every pretense of composure vanishing, replaced by a near-feral hunger.

In Great Xia, the naming of cultivation techniques carried strict weight.

For example, if someone created a move called "Turtle Fist," they couldn’t falsely name it something like "Black Tortoise Seal" to mislead others.

And the [Falling Dragon’s Desolate Ruin Art] in Su Ji’s hands—those five stark characters pulsed with a sinister, soul-devouring aura...

This was no ordinary technique!

"Stop looking! Give it to me!" he snarled, his voice cracking with urgency.

Su Ji feigned shock and indignation. "Senior Brother! You said I could look first! Since when do you go back on your word?"

The Fat Steward inhaled sharply, visibly wrestling down his emotions before forcing a grotesque smile.

"Junior Brother... I’m doing this for your own good. Some things are beyond your station."

He pulled a pouch of spirit stones from his storage bag and tossed it at Su Ji.

"Keep your ten low-grade stones. Here’s thirty more—consider it compensation. Fair enough, right? Now hand it over!"

Su Ji’s face twisted with reluctance, but the greed in his eyes at the sight of the pouch was unmistakable. "Fifty!"

The Fat Steward sneered. "Fine!"

Right now, securing the technique was all that mattered. Even if Su Ji demanded five hundred, he’d agree.

With his uncle’s influence, killing one outer sect disciple wouldn’t be an issue.

"Your senior brother’s generosity knows no bounds."

He produced another pouch and tossed both at Su Ji.

"Sixty. Count them yourself."

Only after greedily verifying the stones did Su Ji finally, grudgingly, hurl the manual at the Fat Steward.

The Fat Steward caught it eagerly, barely sparing Su Ji another glance as he flipped to the first page—

Then froze.

Blank.

Second page.

Still blank.

He frantically thumbed through the rest. Every. Single. Page. Pristine. White.

His head snapped up, his face—once twisted with triumph—now a mask of disbelief and rage.

"You’re playing me?!"

Su Ji stood before him, not a trace of his earlier subservience or greed remaining.

Only an icy, lethal calm.

"Not playing." Su Ji’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "I said I’d send you on your way."

Before the words fully left his mouth, Su Ji moved!

The crude hoe in his hands seemed to come alive, slicing through the air with a shrill whistle as it aimed straight for the Fat Steward’s face!

The strike was vicious, impossibly fast—nothing like an outer sect disciple’s usual skill.

Yet the Fat Steward merely tilted his head slightly, letting the hoe whistle past his ear before it crashed into the ground, gouging a half-foot-deep crater.

Dirt sprayed.

The Fat Steward stared at the hoe in Su Ji’s grip, his fury fading into incredulous amusement.

"Who tricked you into this suicide mission?" He dusted off his robes, voice dripping with scorn. "This is what you bring to kill me? Are your brains as dense as that iron hoe?"

He couldn’t fathom Su Ji daring to murder him—a personnel steward backed by an outer sect elder—within the sect’s grounds.

The only explanation was that this kid was being used as a pawn.

"Was it that bitch Su Jiu?" The Fat Steward narrowed his eyes, muttering to himself, but soon shook his head. "No, I have no grudge against her. She wouldn’t have a reason to do this."

He paced a couple of steps, looking down at Su Ji with a gaze that said everything was under his control.

"Speak, kid. Who sent you? Give me a name, and since I’m in a good mood today, I might just spare your miserable life."

The response he got was Su Ji’s even fiercer second attack!

Su Ji remained silent.

His hands clenched tightly around the hoe’s handle, his waist twisting as he swung it horizontally toward the Fat Steward’s midsection!

This time, the wind howled louder!

"Ungrateful wretch!"

Seeing Su Ji’s stubborn defiance, the last trace of amusement vanished from the Fat Steward’s face, replaced by a scowl dark enough to drip water.

He no longer dodged. Facing the oncoming hoe, he simply raised his thick palm and threw a punch straight at it!

A faint glimmer of spiritual light flickered over his fist.

"Clang—!"

A sharp metallic screech rang out!

The seemingly unbreakable hoe shattered like fragile pottery under the Fat Steward’s fist. The iron blade instantly cracked before exploding into pieces with a loud "Bang!"

The largest fragment spun through the air and embedded itself deep into a nearby tree trunk.

All that remained in Su Ji’s grip was a bare wooden handle.

Yet his expression didn’t change in the slightest. The destruction of the hoe meant nothing to him.

Without even a moment’s pause, he gripped the thick handle and thrust it straight toward the Fat Steward’s throat!

"Again?"

A cruel smirk twisted the Fat Steward’s lips. He would crush Su Ji’s weapon—along with his laughable courage—into dust!

He raised his palm to meet the incoming wooden rod.

Splinters flew!

The sheer force of the impact instantly shattered the thick wood into fragments!

But the moment the splinters exploded outward, the Fat Steward’s pupils constricted violently.

A blinding flash of white pierced through the scattering debris!

That wasn’t wood!

It was a disguise—a sheath!

Or rather, a spear sheath!

A long spear, its body as smooth and white as jade, fully revealed itself as the wooden fragments fell away.

The spear’s lines were sleek, its tip razor-sharp—now less than three inches from the Fat Steward’s throat!

A bone-chilling killing intent surged forth!