Beyond the Timescape

Chapter 61: Graceful Figure Under the Umbrella

Xu Qing swept his gaze over the alleyway, confirming it was clear. He crouched, snatching the blood-stained leather pouch from the middle-aged cultivator’s waist, and sprinkled a handful of Corpse Destroying Powder over the remains. The torrential rain did the rest. Mangled flesh and shattered bone dissolved into a foul, bloody slurry, washing away into the flooded cobblestones.

Back inside the cramped cabin of his Dharma Boat, Xu Qing sat cross-legged and upended the pouch. His brows furrowed. A pile of useless sundries tumbled out. No Spirit Stones. No cultivation resources.

The dead man’s identity token lay dull and lifeless; without the owner’s active consent, any contribution points stored within were locked forever.

His real wealth must be stashed elsewhere, Xu Qing noted coldly. His ingrained habit of aiming for an instant, lethal strike had cost him a payout.

Next time, I should cripple them first. He pondered the thought for a moment before discarding it as too risky. Survival always trumped profit. He picked up the blood-colored jade slip he had looted. Sweeping his senses over it, a sharp glint pierced his eyes.

A bounty ledger?

This wasn’t a standard Homicide Department warrant. It was a private, black-market ledger. A list of Seven Blood Eyes disciples scrolled past, each name stamped with a price. Halfway down, his own name glared back at him, complete with his old moniker from the Scavenger Camp.

The payout: fifty Spirit Stones.

The Vajra Sect Patriarch. Xu Qing’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Only the Patriarch would offer fifty Spirit Stones for his head. The old monster had clearly tracked him from Lujiao City, leveraging his local connections to bypass the Seven Blood Eyes’ jurisdiction.

But bound by the syndicate’s ruthless laws, the Patriarch didn’t dare strike personally. Hence, the bounty.

With a few deft adjustments to the jade slip, Xu Qing casually accepted the assassination contract on his own life.

I need to accelerate my cultivation. Then, I’ll kill him.

***

Several days bled away.

The rain battered the port for four relentless days, escalating into a howling maelstrom by the third. Monstrous waves reared up, threatening to swallow the harbor whole. Yet, beneath the crushing weight of the main city’s Formation, the port remained an immovable fortress. By the dawn of the fifth day, the storm finally broke, retreating into a sullen, gray drizzle.

Xu Qing organized his pill bottles and stepped out of his Dharma Boat. The biting wind carried the heavy stench of the Endless Sea—and beneath it, the unmistakable, coppery tang of fresh blood.

For the Homicide Department, the weather was irrelevant. But the storm had grounded the rest of the sect’s operations, plunging the harbor into a lawless frenzy of exploitation and murder. In just four days, the Seventh Peak’s Homicide Department recorded over eighty dead disciples in the port district alone. Seven of those were their own.

The death toll in the other six districts was undoubtedly just as grim.

No one launched an investigation. In the hyper-capitalist meat-grinder of the Seven Blood Eyes, death was just a cost of doing business. Even the loss of a veteran from Team Six barely warranted a second glance.

During the chaos, Xu Qing had cornered his captain to ask about the old man running the inn on Banquan Road. The answer was simple: the old man wasn’t human. He paid his rent to the First Peak, earning the right to reside in the main city. As long as his illicit dealings didn’t cross the syndicate’s bottom line, the Homicide Department turned a blind eye.

It was Xu Qing’s first confirmation that humanity was not alone in this world, though he filed the information away for later.

After clocking in at the Homicide Department, Xu Qing walked the damp streets under a black umbrella. He was heading to the apothecary to liquidate his recent batches of White Pills. His hand rested casually near his iron spikes; carrying this much product made him a walking target.

The apothecary was mostly empty, save for a familiar silhouette—Zhou Qingpeng, a Novice who had joined the sect in the same batch as him. Zhou Qingpeng glanced over, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He didn’t immediately recognize the clean, uniformed youth as the feral scavenger from the entrance exam.

Xu Qing ignored him.

The elderly shopkeeper’s eyes lit up when he saw Xu Qing. “Perfect timing. I’ve got something special today.” He pulled a sealed leather pouch from beneath the counter, revealing five desiccated, blue-carapaced insects.

They were grotesque things. Palm-sized and bristling with venomous spines, they possessed long, needle-like mouthparts and four pairs of jagged legs. Their backs bore natural, terrifying patterns resembling twisted human faces—some weeping, some laughing, some contorted in fury. Most disturbing of all, their barbed tails ended in a secondary maw lined with microscopic, razor-sharp teeth. Even dried and dead, they radiated a predatory malice.

“Ghost Desire Horseshoe Crab,” Xu Qing said, his eyes locking onto the specimens. He remembered Master Bai’s teachings. These were abyssal parasites, incredibly rare and highly venomous. Their blue blood, if synthesized correctly, was a miraculous healing agent.

Zhou Qingpeng, who had been browsing nearby, glanced over in surprise.

“Good eye,” the shopkeeper chuckled, his respect for the youth deepening. Even Second Peak disciples rarely recognized such obscure deep-sea venom. “But they aren’t for sale. My employer went to great lengths to procure these. I’m just letting you admire them before she arrives.”

Xu Qing withdrew his gaze. He waited in silence until Zhou Qingpeng finalized his purchase and left the shop. Only then did Xu Qing place his own heavy leather sack on the counter.

“Not buying today. Selling.”

The shopkeeper opened the sack and inhaled sharply. “This many?” He immediately stepped back, meticulously washed his hands, and donned a pair of pristine white gloves. Only then did he carefully extract the contents.

Over five hundred White Pills spilled across the velvet display mat. Each one was perfectly spherical, gleaming like mutton-fat jade and exuding a rich, unblemished medicinal fragrance that instantly overpowered the shop’s earthy scents.

Several customers turned their heads, drawn by the potent aroma.

Xu Qing’s eyes chilled. His right hand drifted seamlessly to the leather pouch at his waist, his fingers brushing the cold iron of his spikes. He mapped out the vital points of every person in the room.

Oblivious to the sudden drop in temperature, the shopkeeper examined the pills with mounting shock. There were no scorch marks, no signs of secondary refinement. Every single pill was a flawless, first-try success.

“Ten Spirit Stones for the lot,” the shopkeeper offered, his tone turning deferential.

Xu Qing ran the numbers. A standard White Pill retailed for thirty contribution points. A single Spirit Stone was worth a thousand. Ten Spirit Stones was a solid wholesale rate. He gave a curt nod.

The shopkeeper quickly counted out the Spirit Stones. Xu Qing swept them into his robes, cast one final, warning glare at the lingering customers, and turned for the door.

As he reached the threshold, a young woman stepped out of the rain. Before she even entered, a wave of crisp, refined medicinal fragrance preceded her.

She looked no older than eighteen, sheltered beneath a white paper umbrella. But it was her attire that demanded absolute silence: a light orange Daoist robe. In the Seven Blood Eyes, outer disciples wore uniform gray. Only core disciples earned the right to wear their peak’s pure colors.

Xu Qing’s pupils contracted. He immediately stepped aside, his posture neutral but his muscles coiled.

Beneath the umbrella, her raven hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders, a slanted fringe framing eyes that rippled like clear autumn water. The tailored orange robe clung to a slender, willow-like waist. As a gust of damp wind blew past, it caught two strands of hair, brushing them against skin as luminous and flawless as warm jade.

She noticed Xu Qing. Her gaze swept over his face, but instead of the haughty disdain typical of a core disciple, she offered a polite, elegant smile and gestured for him to pass first.

Xu Qing gave a brief nod, averted his eyes, and slipped out into the rain.

As she stepped into the apothecary, her fresh fragrance washed over the room, easing the tension Xu Qing had left behind.

“Boss! You didn’t need to come personally. I could have delivered them to the mountain,” the shopkeeper fawned, rushing out from behind the counter.

“It’s fine, Uncle Peng. I was tired of refining pills and needed a walk,” she replied with a gentle smile.

The shopkeeper hurriedly presented the leather pouch containing the Ghost Desire Horseshoe Crabs. She took it with a helpless shake of her head. As she turned to leave, her gaze snagged on the velvet mat still laden with Xu Qing’s White Pills.

She let out a soft gasp.

Pinching a single pill between her slender fingers, she brought it to eye level. A flicker of genuine astonishment broke through her calm demeanor.

“Is there a problem with the batch, Boss?” Uncle Peng asked nervously.

“No,” she murmured, bringing the pill to her nose. “The purity is exceptionally high. Pills of this caliber are exceedingly rare.”

Uncle Peng blinked. “Boss, you’re a core disciple of the Second Peak. A prodigy of the Dao of Alchemy. Even if the purity is high, it’s still just a basic White Pill.”

She chuckled softly. “You’re right, Uncle Peng. Efficacy-wise, a patient could just swallow a few extra standard pills to achieve the same result. But purity isn’t about the medicine. It’s about the technique. That is what interests me.”

She ordered him to lay out the entire batch. As she inspected them one by one, the shock in her eyes deepened.

“Every single one is identical. Judging by the residual heat, they were refined in massive batches, the earliest being yesterday. To achieve this level of consistency, the alchemist must have maintained absolute, flawless control over the medicinal liquid stage. Not a single deviation.”

“Pack them all up. I’m taking them back to study,” she commanded softly. Pausing at the door, she glanced back. “Uncle Peng, who sold these?”

“An outer disciple. I’m not sure from which peak. He just left—you probably passed him at the door,” the shopkeeper replied, gesturing toward the empty street.

The image of the cold, handsome youth with the chilling gaze flashed in her mind. She nodded.

“If he returns to sell more, do not put them on the market. Keep every single pill for me.”

Uncle Peng bowed deeply, his mind reeling with newfound awe for the mysterious youth who had just walked out his door.