The Masked Cultivator 02

The rabbit was served on the table. Fang Zhiyi took one bite and refused to eat more. "This trash isn’t flavorful enough!"

But Mei Ruoxue and the gatekeeper, Old Lan, ate with great enthusiasm. Old Lan was Fang Zhiyi’s longtime servant—skilled in martial arts, taciturn, and always following Fang Zhiyi around.

Mei Ruoxue had never tasted such a dish before. Between bites, she exclaimed, "It’s so spicy, but so delicious! The meat is so tender!"

Suddenly, she remembered something. "Father, where’s that injured rabbit?"

Old Lan stiffened at the question, glancing at Fang Zhiyi. He knew full well this was rabbit meat.

"Where is it?" Mei Ruoxue asked cheerfully, surprised at how quickly the wound had been treated today.

Fang Zhiyi looked at her. "It ran away."

Mei Ruoxue pouted unhappily. "What an ungrateful thing! We healed it, and it just ran off."

Fang Zhiyi repeated, "Yeah, what an ungrateful thing."

Old Lan kept his head down, eating silently, though he couldn’t help but think his master seemed a little different today.

Before afternoon, visitors arrived at their door. "Is this Fang Zhiyi’s home?"

Old Lan remained silent.

The newcomers were three young men and women, dressed in martial attire, each carrying swords or sabers.

"Tell that demon Fang Zhiyi to come out!"

To Old Lan’s surprise, Fang Zhiyi actually stepped out. He opened his mouth but said nothing. Usually, he’d be the one to shoo away these reckless youngsters—why was the Left Enforcer bothering with them today?

Fang Zhiyi glanced at him and patted his shoulder, leaving Old Lan even more bewildered.

"So you’re Fang Zhiyi? The Ghost-Faced Asura?" one of the youths asked boldly, pointing his saber directly at Fang Zhiyi.

Fang Zhiyi frowned. "I don’t like being pointed at with blades." In the next instant, his fingers clamped around the saber’s edge. With a slight flex of his fingertips, the blade shattered into pieces.

The saber-wielding youth gasped. "You—you!"

"Me what? Weren’t you here to vanquish evil and uphold justice?"

The three young warriors exchanged glances before assuming combat stances. But Fang Zhiyi suddenly raised a hand in a stopping gesture.

"Here’s the thing. As a retired master, I get challengers all the time. I can’t entertain every single one, can I?"

"Enough of your nonsense, demon!" A delicate-looking girl shouted, thrusting her sword forward. Fang Zhiyi sidestepped and caught the blade between two fingers. The girl’s face paled—her sword wouldn’t budge an inch!

"Impatient. Naughty," Fang Zhiyi chuckled. "I’ve decided to change the rules. From now on, challengers must pay silver."

"Silver?" The trio was stunned.

"Yes, silver. Ten taels per person. Think about it—you’re here to kill me, right?"

The only one still holding a weapon nodded.

"If I’m truly a demon, what if I strike too hard and you end up dead? That ten taels is buying your lives."

"Arrogant!" The young man swung his saber. Fang Zhiyi sighed, catching the blade mid-swing and halting its momentum effortlessly.

"Ten taels is a fair deal."

"You—!"

"Your saber technique is terrible. Who starts with a downward slash? Your intent is all wrong." Fang Zhiyi released the weapon, handing it back.

"Again," he said with a grin.

The two youths exchanged another glance before attacking once more.

"No, no. That sword thrust should’ve been an upward flick. What kind of master taught you?"

"Who shouts their moves during a sneak attack? Are you stupid?"

After several exchanges, Fang Zhiyi remained untouched, while the two young warriors were left panting. Under his relentless nitpicking, their movements grew hesitant, their eyes flickering to his expression like students sparring with a teacher.

The disarmed youth watched intently, gradually picking up on some techniques.

"Wrong!" Fang Zhiyi dodged another strike, closing the distance in a flash. The girl gasped, but he merely glanced at the sky. "Time’s up for today." He held out his hand. "That’ll be twenty taels." He eyed the unarmed one and shook his head.

"You—!" The saber-wielder fumed, but the girl stopped him. She stared at Fang Zhiyi. "We’re outmatched. We admit it." She emptied her purse, but it held only scattered coins—far from enough.

The three pooled their money, barely scraping together ten taels. Warily eyeing Fang Zhiyi and relieved he wasn’t stopping them, they turned and fled.

Fang Zhiyi watched them go, tossing the silver in his palm. "Carrying half a pound of silver around—must be nice having nothing better to do." He tossed it to Old Lan, who stood dumbfounded. "Buy some spices." He listed off what he needed, and Old Lan nodded repeatedly.

"I don’t think he’s as ruthless as the legends say," the unarmed youth muttered.

His saber-wielding companion was still fuming. "He humiliated us!"

"Zhao Yang, watch my sword!" A crisp voice called from behind. Zhao Yang instinctively turned to block, but Jiang Rou’s blade suddenly shifted, sliding along his saber and stopping at his throat from an odd angle.

"Jiang Rou, what are you doing?!" Zhao Yang cried, terrified she’d been bewitched by the demon’s dark arts.

Jiang Rou withdrew her sword, deep in thought.

Jin Yidao, now weaponless, brightened. "That’s what the demon meant by adapting to the situation?"

Though he hadn’t fought, he’d observed everything.

Jiang Rou nodded.

Zhao Yang scowled. "Adapting what? You’re actually listening to a demon?"

Jiang Rou said, "Think back. He had countless chances to kill us."

Zhao Yang’s voice wavered. "He just wanted money..."

Jiang Rou shook her head. "If he killed us, the money would still be his."

Zhao Yang fell silent, finally murmuring, "Then what does he want?"

Jiang Rou shrugged. "No idea. But I’ve learned something. Let’s gather more silver and come back in a few days!"

"Come back?!"

The two young men let her drag them away at a jog.

Meanwhile, Fang Zhiyi put Old Lan’s newly bought spices to good use. He marveled at Mei Ruoxue’s uncanny ability to stumble upon all sorts of animals—it certainly saved on grocery expenses.

At mealtime, Old Lan kept his head low, listening to Fang Zhiyi spin tales about deer prancing away or wild boars somersaulting out of the yard. He bit his lip to keep from laughing.

But the young mistress ate with relish.

When the three youths returned, they found two other groups already at the gate—three cloaked figures in straw raincoats and two staff-wielding lads. Before they could ask, Old Lan stepped out, holding a wooden sign:

"Challenge the former Demon Sect Left Enforcer—10 taels per person. Time limit: half an hour."