Chapter Three: This detour is worth taking.

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Their conversation, though whispered softly, seemed as clear as a bell in Lin Chen’s ears. His hearing far surpassed that of ordinary people, making their secret plotting appear magnified many times over.

From their fragmented words, Lin Chen keenly grasped a crucial piece of information—they were scheming to ambush a prominent figure who was about to pass through this place.

“Waiter, the bill…” Lin Chen called out loudly, placing several copper coins on the table before steadily stepping out of the tavern.

He visited several inns in succession, but after a brief glance, he realized none were affordable for him.

Helpless, he wandered the streets for a long time before finally finding a dilapidated little temple.

The temple’s roof tiles were largely missing, many had fallen off, and within stood a wrathful Vajra Buddha statue, surrounded by overgrown weeds that gave off a distinct musty odor.

Though the temple offered little protection against rain, it could at least shield him from the biting wind.

Just as Lin Chen stepped inside, he spotted his fellow traveler, Old Huang.

“Hey! What a coincidence, meeting again!” Old Huang grinned broadly, revealing teeth stained with yellow spots, and was the first to speak.

“Indeed, quite the coincidence,” Lin Chen nodded slightly, a faint smile playing at his lips. He then found a spot to sit and asked, “Elder, you’ve been begging for so long—have you never considered buying a place to live?”

“Young man, that’s far too naive.” Old Huang shook his head with a bitter smile, his face full of helplessness. “In Qinghe Town, land is worth its weight in gold. With only the little money earned from begging, buying a house is nothing but a fool’s dream.”

“In that case, it seems my detour was worth taking,” Lin Chen said softly, leaning against the wall with a quiet laugh.

“Those things you said during the day—your sect destroyed, your nine clans exterminated, your wife taken—are they true?” Old Huang’s expression grew complicated, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes.

“Of course, every word is true. I, Lin Chen, never lie,” Lin Chen replied calmly, unhurried.

“Ah, how pitiful,” Old Huang sighed deeply, his eyes full of sympathy and regret. “Child, no matter what misfortunes you’ve suffered, you must look forward. Don’t dwell in the pain of the past. Life will slowly get better.”

“I understand,” Lin Chen said, sitting cross-legged against the wall. “You should rest early.”

Truth be told, Lin Chen felt some reluctance to keep deceiving the old man, but he feared that if he revealed the truth, the elder would likely look upon him with disdain. So he decisively cut off Old Huang’s curious questions, closed his eyes, and began to cultivate the Serenity Chant.

This chant was best practiced during rest, allowing one to sleep peacefully while steadily strengthening one’s foundation.

Lin Chen pondered silently whether it was just his imagination, but since leaving Peach Blossom Temple, he found the Serenity Chant easier to cultivate than before.

Late at night, the wild wind howled, and chilly drafts seeped through the temple’s cracks, mingling with the annoying chorus of frogs.

With his eyes closed, Lin Chen suddenly caught faint, intermittent cries for help carried by the wind. His brow furrowed slightly, but he did not act immediately.

Moments later, a woman burst hurriedly into the temple.

She wore a disheveled fiery red gown, her long hair loose and wild. Despite her bedraggled state, she could not conceal her innate noble aura.

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Her figure was slender and graceful, and she emitted a unique fragrance.

Her eyes quickly scanned Lin Chen; seeing he was blind, she turned directly to Old Huang and knelt.

Her voice quivered with tears as she pleaded, “Please save me, I beg you, save me!”

Old Huang was momentarily stunned, then regained composure and said, “Hide behind the Buddha statue—but whether you can truly hide is uncertain. Don’t get your hopes up too high.”

The woman nodded repeatedly, casting Old Huang a grateful glance before swiftly running behind the statue.

“Old man, where did that woman run off to?” Three men then entered through the door.

Leading them was a one-eyed man gripping a large blade, his eyes fierce and menacing as he snarled.

Old Huang, having seen more of the world, felt nervous but quickly steadied himself.

He hurriedly adjusted his tone. “What? Woman? Hero, you must be mistaken. There’s no woman in this broken temple.”

“Clang!” The one-eyed man instantly pressed his blade against Old Huang’s neck, cursing fiercely. “Do you take me for a fool? My patience is wearing thin. Speak up!”

A thick aura of killing intent filled the room, and the temperature dropped sharply.

Sweat beaded on Old Huang’s forehead as he hesitated, unsure how to respond.

Just then, Lin Chen, who had been silent, slowly spoke: “Let him go. I’ll tell you.”

The one-eyed man turned to glance at Lin Chen, surprised; he hadn’t paid much attention to him before.

But seeing Lin Chen was blind, he dismissed him with impatience. “You’re blind. How could you know where she ran?”

“I may be blind, but my ears are sharp,” Lin Chen answered calmly.

The one-eyed man thought for a moment, deciding a blind man had no reason to lie to him.

“Oh? Well then, tell me—where did that stinking woman go?” he said, stepping forward with a mocking, curious expression.

Yet Lin Chen believed that if something could be solved by force, there was no need for words. Surprise and a direct strike were the best tactics.

Suddenly, he moved swiftly. In the blink of an eye, his bamboo staff pierced the one-eyed man’s chest like lightning.

The speed was so fast the man couldn’t react. By the time he realized what happened, a bloodied hole had appeared in his chest, crimson flowing freely over his clothes.

His eyes filled with disbelief and unwillingness as his body slowly fell backward.

Lin Chen did not hesitate, leaping toward one of the other men at the door.

The man raised his blade to block; the clash of metal rang out.

Taking advantage of the moment, Lin Chen struck again with his bamboo staff. As the man prepared to block once more, Lin Chen suddenly turned and swiftly attacked the third man, catching him off guard. The man’s eyes widened in shock, clutching his chest in disbelief.

Behind him, the remaining man gritted his teeth, snarling, “Die!”

Before he finished, the blade swung down toward Lin Chen’s back.

Lin Chen dodged sideways with lightning speed and struck the man dead center.

The attacker stared in shock, muttering hoarsely, “No… no… impossible.”

Lin Chen’s speed was so swift that in killing the three men, not a drop of blood stained his staff.

Old Huang seemed frozen, eyes wide in terror and astonishment as he stared at the three bodies. His face was etched with horror, leaving him rooted to the spot, unable to recover for a long time.

Lin Chen appeared unaffected by Old Huang’s shock. His expression unchanged, he did not call out to the woman behind the statue.

He swiftly dragged the three corpses out of the temple, searching them thoroughly. He found over two taels of silver, which secretly delighted him.

After a while, he found a suitable spot and silently buried the bodies.

Then he returned and carefully cleaned the bloodstains from the ground until no trace remained. Only then did he calmly return to his seat, close his eyes, and resume meditation as if nothing had happened.

By then, Old Huang and the woman had recovered from their initial shock, both holding their breath, not daring to make a sound. The temple was silent as death, save for the faint rustle of the wind, lending an eerie atmosphere.

The woman remained silent for a long time, as if struggling with inner turmoil. Finally, she bit her lip, knelt slowly, and bowed deeply toward Lin Chen, murmuring, “Thank you, benefactor, for saving me. I am eternally grateful.”

“It was nothing but a small effort. No thanks necessary. Rest here until dawn before you leave,” Lin Chen said casually, waving his hand with a calm expression.

The woman was momentarily stunned, her mind racing. After a moment’s hesitation, she obediently sat down.

She was Xiao Yunyao, a noble daughter born into a wealthy and prestigious family, living a life of luxury and honor.

But fate was cruel. Overnight, her family was struck by disaster: all 133 relatives were slaughtered without exception.

Her parents fought desperately to give her a chance to escape.

She had thought she could leave danger behind, but her enemies were relentless, chasing her all the way to Qinghe Town.

Those guards hired by her, who had sworn to protect her, abandoned her midway for greed.

Xiao Yunyao was not overly surprised; after all, human hearts are inscrutable, and promises mean little when life and death hang in the balance.

They were merely outsiders drawn by money—who would risk their lives for a few taels of silver?

What saddened and devastated her most was that, to this day, she had no idea who the killers of her entire family were.

“Daoist, there is a matter I wish to ask of you. Might you be willing?” Xiao Yunyao looked at Lin Chen with sincere eyes, full of hope and earnestness.

“Speak freely,” Lin Chen responded briefly, lifting his eyelids.

“I earnestly beg you to escort me to Nanyang City. No matter the price, I will surely pay,” Xiao Yunyao said, her eyes shining with hope.