Chapter 001: A Pro at Courting Death (Part 1)
The first month of the year brought biting winds, swirling snowflakes painting the world a bleak, frosty white.
In Lingbo City, Ren Yi huddled in a corner, clad in rags, his arms wrapped tight around himself as he tried to shrink into a ball.
Waves of searing pain washed over him, but utterly defenseless, he could do nothing but clench his teeth and endure.
Half a dozen burly men stood over him, raining down punches and kicks. They pummeled him mercilessly until tears and snot streamed down his face, leaving him wishing he could drop dead on the spot.
"Damn you! Kill me if you've got the guts! I've got nothing but this lousy life to lose—taking you bastards down with me would be a steal!"
"I swear it—if you don't finish me off today, I'll keep stealing from you! Steal until you're flat broke!"
"Come on! Hit me harder!"
He hurled taunts without a care, his words rolling off his tongue as smoothly as if he'd rehearsed them a thousand times.
In truth, every single day of his life was spent taking beatings and hurling insults. He'd long since mastered the art of courting death.
"Bah! You worthless cur! Same old lines every time—easy for you to say! My life's worth a fortune! If I can't kill you, crippling you's good enough!"
"You stubborn piece of trash! You deserve to be broken! I'll teach you to act so high and mighty, you little punk..."
"I'll teach you some manners, you bastard!"
The angrier the men got, the harder they kicked and punched. Even in the bitter winter cold, a thin mist of sweat rose off their brows—they were exerting themselves to the limit.
Ren Yi slumped to the ground like a sack of dead meat. Once the men had their fill of tormenting him, they tossed him into a wall-side crevice and left him for good.
As time ticked by, thick snow began to fall, blanketing the streets and chasing away the last stragglers. No one spared a second thought for whatever lay buried beneath the snowdrifts.
Heaven and earth stretched out in a vast expanse of pristine white, unmarred by a single spot of filth.
Not until the watchman's clapper echoed through the dead of night did Ren Yi finally pry open his snow-crusted eyes. He shook his dizzy head, staring blankly at his surroundings. A frigid gust of wind cut through him, and he couldn't help shivering violently.
It was well past midnight. He prodded his swollen legs and sighed. "After all this, I'm still breathing. The gods up there must be blind."
Trembling, he pulled a chunk of raw meat from his sleeve. Chilled stiff by the cold, it looked about as appetizing as a lump of ice.
But his growling stomach gave him no choice. He stuffed the meat into his mouth without hesitation and began chewing ravenously.
He'd risked life and limb to swipe it from a pork vendor's stall. Years of living on the streets had long since taught him to survive on raw fare.
Memories of his childhood flooded his mind—once, he'd been a young master who never lifted a finger, waited on hand and foot by servants. He'd never known a moment of hardship like this. A bitter pang of sorrow washed over him.
It had all started when he was barely a month old. A wandering Taoist priest had stopped at his family's door, begging for a cup of wine. But when the priest laid eyes on him, he'd dropped his wine cup in shock, shattering it to pieces. He'd stumbled backward and collapsed to the floor, screaming in terror: "A jinx! A jinx is born! Get rid of him! Quick—cast him out at once!"
The priest's frantic outburst had shaken his family to the core.
But Ren Yi was their only son, the sole heir to their family fortune. His young parents couldn't bear to part with him. They'd hidden the Taoist's prophecy away and raised him as their own.
From that day onward, misfortune had dogged the family's every step. First, their business had started to crumble, until they could barely scrape by. Then, the once-thriving clan had found itself plagued by infertility—no more children were born to carry on the line.
By the time he turned seven, a string of respected family elders had died suddenly and inexplicably within the span of three short months.
The rumor that he was a jinx could no longer be contained. Every bit of the family's bad luck was pinned squarely on his shoulders. He'd been stripped of his name and thrown out into the streets like a stray dog.
In the blink of an eye, the young master had fallen from paradise into the abyss, forced to endure the cruellest hardships of life.
Somehow, he'd scraped by until he turned eighteen. That year, the Divine Spirit Sect had announced it was opening its gates to new disciples. He'd begged his way there, going three whole days and nights without a bite to eat. But the test results had crushed him—he was an Aura-Less Body, destined never to cultivate immortality.
With no hope left in this life, death seemed like a mercy.
In his despair, he'd tried every way he could think of to end it all:
Hanging himself? The rope always snapped, or the beam broke, or the tree branch gave way—right when he was on the verge of drawing his last breath.
No matter what else broke, he always survived.
Drowning himself? He was a half-decent dog-paddler. His survival instincts kicked in every time, making it impossible to drown without someone holding him under.
Poison? It was tightly controlled by the authorities—far beyond the reach of a beggar like him. He could only stare longingly at the apothecary's shop, too poor even to step through the door.
Burning himself alive? He was so destitute he couldn't even afford a flint. He wasn't worth a single copper coin, even if he sold every stitch of his rags.
Starving himself to death? He'd hidden away in desolate, uninhabited places, waiting quietly to die—but food always found its way to him somehow.
Traveling merchants, wealthy nobles, kind-hearted young ladies—they always seemed to stumble upon him in some forgotten nook or cranny.
To eat or not to eat? The torment was unbearable. In the end, he always gritted his teeth and gorged himself.
He'd tried almost everything—everything except the most brutal deaths, like being cut to pieces or torn limb from limb. Those, he dared not attempt. With no hope left of dying, he'd resigned himself to this miserable, half-lived existence.
The feeling of a full stomach brought him a moment of fleeting comfort. He sighed deeply, then slowly began to drag his battered body toward a warmer spot to huddle for the night.
"Don't run! Stop right there!"
A roar shattered the night's silence, jolting him awake.
He looked up to see a group of black-cloaked men chasing a slender figure straight toward him. Glinting weapons clutched in their hands marked them as no ordinary thugs.
"Holy mother of mine..."
He gasped, then hobbled forward as fast as his injured legs would carry him.
But his battered body betrayed him. The slender figure quickly caught up, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and hurled him at the approaching men like a tattered sandbag.
"Aaaaaah! Help! Somebody help me!"
The sudden flight terrified him. He let out an ear-splitting scream as he went hurtling through the air.
The slender figure was surprisingly agile. Ren Yi crashed headfirst into two of the black-cloaked men.
He wasn't particularly heavy, but he was tall and lanky. The two men were caught completely off guard—one took the brunt of the impact to his head, sending blood gushing from his nose, while the other was hit square in the gut, knocking two teeth flying from his mouth.
Before the two men could recover and retaliate, two blades suddenly burst forth from their chests in unison. They froze for a heartbeat, then crumpled to the ground, dead before they hit the snow.
In their moment of pause, their own comrades had charged forward—too late to check their attacks, they'd driven their blades straight through their allies' bodies by mistake.
"Son of a bitch!"
Realizing he'd stumbled into a deadly mess, Ren Yi spun around and tried to flee.
He wanted to die, yes—but not like this, in a pool of blood and violence.
The two remaining black-cloaked men turned their rage on him, snarling furiously. "You bastard! Die!"
Even in the darkness, the blades in their hands glinted fiercely in the snowlight, stinging his eyes. He groaned inwardly. This is it, he thought. I'm done for.
But in the blink of an eye, a series of soft whooshing sounds cut through the air—the dull thud of projectiles slicing through the night.
Two sharp thunks rang out. The two men's blades clattered to the ground, sticking diagonally in the snow. Then came a roar of outrage: "Who's there? Who did this?"
"I did."
A figure stepped out from the shadows by the roadside—cloaked in the same slender frame that had thrown him earlier. She had vanished into the night only moments ago, yet now she stood there, having silently circled back.
Her voice was clear and melodious, like the song of an oriole—undoubtedly the voice of a young maiden.