My Journey to Immortality Begins with Hunting-Chapter 119 - Those Bearing the Surname Yan Spared, Move West to a New Home - Part 1

Chapter 119 - Those Bearing the Surname Yan Spared, Move West to a New Home - Part 1

A thin layer of snow still blanketed the black market beneath the moonlight. Two night watchmen huddled beneath the eaves at the market’s entrance, grumbling at the cold.

“Having to stand guard in the dead of winter, what’s the point? Who’s going to show up now?”

“Hey, cut it out,” the other man said with a chuckle. From inside his coat, he pulled a small flask and pried out its stopper. “Care for a drink?”

“Smells good... What is it?”

“It’s Snowbrew Wine from the Ginger Tavern. Only brewed in the deep winter.”

“Ah, perfect. Pour me some.”

They each took a cup, and one of the watchmen tossed his drink back in a single gulp.

“Damn, that warms you right up!” He was about to say more when he realized the other watchman was staring past him, eyes bulging in silent terror. A chill crawled over him.

“H-hey, why aren’t you drinking?” he asked.

Before he could finish, a pale, blood-soaked hand slipped out from under his coat, its fingers curling around his throat.

The other watchman shrieked, “Gh-ghost!”

Dropping his cup, he broke into a panicked run, stumbling blindly in the snow. A few steps later, he tripped and sprawled face-first on the ground.

Though half-frozen, fear spurred him to scramble upright until he realized something had clamped onto his ankle. Heart hammering, he twisted around to look.

A ghastly woman—swollen, chalk-white skin dripping with blood, long black hair matted around her face—was crawling over the snow, gripping his leg with a deathly hand.

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A short distance away in the east market checkpoint, a Blood Blade Sect associate disciple named Ding Cunfu was roused by the commotion.

“God dammit! It’s the middle of the night! Stop causing such a racket!” Ding Cunfu cursed before he pulled the covers higher around himself and the maidservant in his arms.

She stirred. “Master...shouldn’t you...?”

“What? No. Just go back to sleep.”

But sleep wouldn’t come. The screams outside were too loud. Suddenly, Ding Cunfu felt a shove. He glowered at the maid.

“Stop squirming!”

“I-I’m not moving...” she whispered in alarm.

Before he could retort, he noticed movement beneath the covers between them—an ominous hump that certainly didn’t line up with the maidservant’s position.

Horror rose in Ding Cunfu’s throat as he watched the maid’s head twist—slowly at first, then faster. The bones in her neck cracked hideously as it spun around to face the wrong direction, her eyes bulging and lifeless.

Something was emerging from beneath the covers; a woman’s face, pallid and contorted, with no whites in her eyes and hair hanging wildly about her.

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Though it was nearly midnight, the black market was in chaos. Terrified shrieks rang out; people fled in every direction, snow crunching underfoot. Danger lurked around every corner.

Meanwhile, Senior Li—fast asleep in another part of town—sat bolt upright from his nightmares. The pitch-dark room felt suffocating. Instinctively, he grabbed a long blade from beside the bed. Its cold, familiar weight steadied him somewhat.

This blade had been passed down for generations in the Fallen Moon School he once belonged to. The founder had used it back in the school’s glory days. Senior Li could only imagine that distant splendor and sigh.

He’d once despaired that the school’s heritage would fade, hoping only to find a single worthy successor to pass down its core legacy, the Spirit-Release Technique. Yet when he did take a personal disciple, that student turned out to be a rare genius—Li Yuan.

Senior Li was overjoyed, yet also unsettled. Such talent would have flourished had it been nurtured in earlier times, back when Fallen Moon was powerful—or at least in Senior Li’s own youth. Perhaps Li Yuan could have fully reconstructed the life chronicle from the Spirit-Release Technique manual, accomplishing what Senior Li himself never could.

Still, it gave Senior Li hope. Maybe his disciple would be the one to grant a soul to that empty life chronicle, ensuring the school’s survival. Disappointment had weighed on him for years, but the mere possibility of Li Yuan’s success rekindled his spirits.

No matter what, Senior Li found satisfaction in having such a disciple—and closure for his own junior brother’s legacy. Right now, his first thought was that they were under attack. Pulling on his robe, blade in hand, he jumped out the window and into the courtyard. There, he activated a sentinel puppet.

The puppet began patrolling the yard immediately. Any intruder would be attacked on sight. Senior Li himself knew exactly where the puppet’s few safe zones were, so he could move freely around it.

With his fallback set, Senior Li prepared to investigate the disturbance. But before he could, the red lantern behind him suddenly went out. Pale moonlight lit the courtyard as the puppet’s shadow glided across the ground. From behind a wooden pillar came an eerie clicking sound, like bones scraping together.

Senior Li whirled around, only to see a white figure slowly emerging from behind the beam...

Senior Li barked, “Who’s there?!”

A seasoned martial artist, he released several plum-blossom darts hidden in his sleeve the instant he spoke. The darts whistled through the air in a quick, gleaming arc, striking the pale figure—

—only to pass right through it and clatter against the stone floor. The razor-sharp points dug deep into the slabs.

Then the figure vanished.

“This... That wasn’t just some movement skill... It really disappeared!” Senior Li’s pupils narrowed. An intense chill crawled across his skin, pricking him with dread. His blood surged up to form a protective blood veil, swirling with the shadow blood technique unique to the Fallen Moon School. Gripping his inherited blade with both hands, he braced for what came next.

And then it happened. A piercing cold seized his neck. A hand clamped down, squeezing hard.

But Senior Li was ready. The blood veil around his neck flared as he whirled his blade behind him in a vicious, sweeping slash. He hit nothing, like cutting through empty air.

A sound of cracking came from his neck as the blood veil began to shatter under an invisible force.

In a flash of realization, Senior Li recalled a secret passed down through generations of the Fallen Moon School’s leadership. Never enter a ghost domain. If you do, let blood upon your blade—only then might you carve a path out.

Drawing on the last of his strength, Senior Li spat a mouthful of blood onto the blade’s steel.

At once, the blade emitted a grim, arcane glow—twisting runes emerged, faint and sinister, like a spirit sigil drawn by a daoist’s hand. They flickered for a heartbeat before the blade itself began to crack.

With a final snap, the old blade—already pushed well beyond its limits—shattered like glass, shards clattering to the ground.

At that moment, Senior Li’s blood veil also tore apart. A wave of agony surged through his body. The last thing he saw was a row of white shapes crawling along the snow-covered rooftops under the moonlight...

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By now, all of Silver Creek was in an uproar.

Families with children stayed indoors, mothers hushing and soothing them while the fathers carefully bundled themselves up to see what was happening. Many people ventured outside, gathering in the streets or heading to the riverside, peering anxiously at the island in the middle of the lake.

That island had become a veritable hell. Wails and screams filled the cold air, carrying across the water.

Before long, Blood Blade Sect disciples arrived on the shore. Even from there, they could feel something chilling; this wasn’t a normal attack. The eerie, bone-deep cold radiated across the lake. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

“You all stay here,” one of the disciples ordered the menial workers around him. “And don’t let anyone get near. I’m going to report this to the higher-ups.” He spurred his horse toward the inner district gates, hammering on the doors until he was let in.

Soon, the inner district was wide awake as well.

In the darkest hours of that freezing winter night, Tie Sha called upon Ah Da and two other inner disciples, then rallied a large group of outer disciples, plus a host of hired hands. They hurried outside the inner district.

Because this disturbance originated in the black market, Tie Sha had someone send word to Elder Li, offering only a brief summary of the crisis.

Whatever Li Yuan chose to do next was up to him; Tie Sha neither could nor dared to interfere.

When Li Yuan got the news, however, he didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he woke Yan Yu and Xue Ning, urging them to get dressed. He also summoned Auntie Wang and the four maids, Mei, Lan, Zhu, and Ju, telling them all to be ready. They might need to depart at a moment’s notice, without pause.

Auntie Wang didn’t pry. She woke the two children, hurriedly gathering up essentials and packing what they could. The four maids busied themselves as well—some prepared a carriage, others helped Auntie Wang pack.

Meanwhile, Li Yuan returned to his room and summoned the white finch that had been patrolling near Gemhill County. The bird took flight, heading swiftly toward the black market district.

Yan Yu glanced at him, uneasy. “Husband, what’s going on?”

Xue Ning, also alarmed by the tense atmosphere, looked at him anxiously.

Li Yuan slipped an arm around each of them, his hands resting gently over their bellies.

Just two days ago, a physician in the inner district had confirmed the news. Both were pregnant. A double blessing.

He had no desire to leave his wives behind in a moment like this.

Seeing their worried expressions, Li Yuan spoke soothingly, “There’s nothing to fret about, just that we might need to move house. Soon.”

“Move?” Xue Ning asked, startled. “What happened?”

Li Yuan said gently, “Your only tasks right now are to keep yourselves safe and healthy so our children can be born without issue. Let me handle everything else. Just know that whatever storms blow outside, I’ll shield you from them. Don’t worry yourselves about what those storms might be. I don’t want you frightened.”

“All right. We’ll do as you say,” Yan Yu said, yawning and leaning against him. Lately, with the pregnancy, she’d been drowsy all the time.

Xue Ning nodded and pressed her face to Li Yuan’s thigh, arms slipping around his waist.

Li Yuan reached out and gripped the Dragon-Fanged Spear he kept beneath his pillow.

At the moment, it was retracted into a short, metallic tube, cold and weighty to the touch.

“You two, keep your clothes on and just lay down. I’ll sit right beside you. If something feels wrong, I’ll take you away immediately.”

The two women, half-asleep with worry, agreed softly. Wearing their outer robes, they slipped back under the blankets.

Li Yuan settled on the edge of the bed in the dark, half-closing his eyes.

From afar, he opened the finch’s eyes far away.

The white finch soared down onto a bare branch by the lake.