"What is the rush? You carry no bamboo token, nor do you bear any injuries that I can see."
Su Min's tone was perfectly calm, almost bored, as she looked at the panting, sweat-soaked messenger from her doorstep. The local chieftains ruled their territories like petty, hereditary kings, holding absolute power over the life and death of their subjects, and were even known to claim the so-called "first night rights" of young brides within their domains. But to Su Min, such mortal authority was as meaningful as the buzzing of a fly. It held no sway over her.
"Not for those matters, Milady," the messenger gasped, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the dusty ground. "The three chieftains together, they... they humbly request your presence for urgent discussions. They beg for your insight."
He spoke with deep, genuine respect, bordering on fear. Everyone in the region knew that the bamboo tokens she issued could not be forged or stolen. A visiting, boastful Daoist priest had once tried to replicate one and had failed miserably, later explaining in a trembling voice to anyone who would listen that each token carried a unique, powerful spiritual imprint that was impossible to copy. It was this mix of fear and reverence that kept the messenger's tone so steady and polite, despite his obvious panic.
"All three chieftains? That is... interesting," Su Min mused, pausing in her preparations for tea. Her interest was mildly piqued.
These three men ruled over the hundred-mile radius of mountains and valleys where she had deliberately secluded herself to await the treasure gourd's maturation. They were usually wary of each other, their alliance fragile. For them to jointly summon her, setting aside their pride and rivalries, meant the situation was far from trivial, likely existential. A token of respect for their unified, desperate request was warranted, so she decided to humor them with a visit. It was better to deal with potential problems early.
At that moment, on a large wooden terrace overlooking the main village's central clearing, the three chieftains were gathered. Their faces were grim, etched with a raw, unconcealed fear they rarely showed even to each other, as they stared in horrified silence at what lay on the ground before them.
Though each was a powerful, stubborn man in his own right, used to command and violence, they had managed to stay in a tense alliance out of sheer necessity. Without that fragile unity, their small territories would have long been swallowed up by rival, more powerful chieftains from deeper in the mountains or by the expanding, bureaucratic grasp of the Great Wei empire to the north. Living deep in the mountains offered some protection from imperial taxes and conscription, but not complete isolation. They still felt the constant, subtle pressure of the outside world. Spiritual resources were richer here, yet so were the hidden, ancient dangers. Staying together was their only proven path to survival.
But what lay before them now, on the rough-woven mat, went far beyond any normal territorial squabble, rival attack, or even imperial encroachment.
A corpse lay stretched out, and it was horrifying to behold. The man's arms were spread wide as if he had died reaching for something, his fingers curled into frozen claws, his face frozen in a mask of pure, petrified terror. His eyes bulged from their sockets, staring sightlessly at a sky he could no longer see, and his mouth hung open in a silent, eternal scream, stretched far wider than should have been humanly possible. The strangest, most chilling part was the state of his body. This man had only been in his early twenties, known for his strength and health, a promising hunter.
Now, overnight, his skin was withered, sunken, and deeply lined, like parchment. His thick, black hair was now stark, brittle white. He looked as if he were seventy or eighty years old, a life lived in hardship, not a young man cut down in his prime. The sight alone was enough to make their blood run cold and their stomachs churn. And this was not even the first case. They had stationed extra guards around the village perimeter last night after the third body was found, yet recalling the silent, unnoticed massacre of those very guards—found in the same withered state at their posts—still sent chills down their spines.
With no other choice, their own shamans and healers useless, they had decided to seek help from the "immortal lady" who had appeared mysteriously two years ago, Su Min. The shock of her arrival and subsequent brutal display of power had never faded from local memory. Even these hardened, ruthless chieftains treated her with the utmost caution and respect. It was not only fear that restrained them, but a kind of superstitious awe for her unnatural abilities.
"Gentlemen. What troubles you so?"
A voice, light and cool as drifting snow, cut through the tense silence. Su Min descended gracefully from the sky, her cyan robes fluttering around her like the wings of a mystical crane. She certainly was not going to walk all the way here like a commoner. After the messenger had confirmed the location, she had simply flown over the treetops, a short but impressive display of her cultivation. As for the poor messenger himself, he was left far behind, probably still huffing and puffing somewhere on the winding mountain path.
"Greetings, Master," the three chieftains intoned immediately, bowing as one as her feet touched the wooden planks without a sound.
Their deference was not just because of her overwhelming strength, which could break them without effort, but also her unmatched, almost miraculous healing skills. A person who could kill as easily and indifferently as she could save a life from the brink of death was someone to respect, and to fear profoundly.
One of the chieftains, a burly man named Luo, trembled slightly as she glanced his way. He was the unfortunate soul Su Min had once "used to establish her authority" upon her arrival. Though she possessed a special, otherworldly quality bestowed by her cultivation, her current appearance was largely her own natural features, refined and heightened by the purification of her body. She was not the kind of devastating, classic beauty that was said to shatter kingdoms, but her ethereal grace, piercing clarity of gaze, and the aura of untouchable power that surrounded her left people feeling breathless, insignificant, and deeply wary.
When she had first arrived, her presence had been like a peacock strutting into a flock of plain white chickens, immediately drawing every eye, full of curiosity, lust, and avarice. And as the old saying went, "Trouble brews at a widow's door." Su Min was not a widow, yet the kind of trouble her presence drew—the unwanted advances, the challenges to her authority—was even worse.
To secure a decade of peace for her seclusion, to avoid constant, annoying interruptions, Su Min had decided she needed to make a stark, unforgettable example out of someone. Chieftain Luo had been foolish and arrogant enough to volunteer for the role by storming into her clearing with a mob of his men, loudly and crudely trying to force her into marriage.
Su Min had shattered his thighbone on the spot with a single, precise kick that echoed through the clearing, then proceeded to give his men a collective, thorough beating, leaving every one of them bruised, broken, and thoroughly humiliated, crawling back to their village.
But that was only the beginning of Chieftain Luo's ordeal, a lesson in despair.
After breaking his leg, she had even "kindly" treated him with her own Black Jade Bone Mending Paste, which healed the complex fracture completely in less than three weeks, a miracle by any local medical standards. Yet just as he started to walk again, testing his weight on the healed limb, Su Min appeared before him exactly thirty days later and, with the same casual, terrifying precision, broke the same leg again.
And she did it again. Another thirty days, another broken leg. No matter where he hid or how many guards he hired, she always found him. Once, when he tried conspiring with the other two chieftains to plan a joint attack against her, she caught him right after he left their secret meeting and, crack, another leg broken, right in front of his new allies, who could only watch in stunned silence.
As for how she tracked him down every single time, it was simple. She had marked him with a faint, lingering spiritual seal the first time they met. Normally, any cultivator with a shred of training could sense and erase such a mark with a little effort, but unfortunately, neither he nor anyone in his village or the entire region had the faintest bit of cultivation knowledge or spiritual sensitivity.
Eventually, after nearly a year of this cycle of healing and breaking, the man broke down completely, weeping and begging for mercy at her doorstep, swearing eternal obedience. Only then did Su Min relent, removing the spiritual seal with a wave of her hand. Her brutal, repetitive, and psychologically crushing display of power had been extremely effective. From that day on, no one in the region dared to even look at her the wrong way. Even the other chieftains, who had witnessed the ordeal, treated her with genuine, warily given reverence.
The only side effect was that the poor Chieftain Luo seemed to have developed severe psychological trauma. To him, Su Min's beautiful, composed face now resembled that of a smiling, jade-faced demon from the deepest hells.
"Tsk. The elderly often succumb to time's embrace. My skills cannot reverse the natural flow of— Wait."
Su Min's dismissive wave froze mid-air as she finally looked properly at the corpse, her spiritual senses, which she had only half-engaged out of habit, suddenly flared to life, sharpening on the body. The casual remark died on her lips.
"Spiritual residue? And this aura... This is... Demonic energy?"
"He was not old, Master," Chieftain Luo blurted out, his own deep-seated fear of her momentarily overshadowed by the visceral horror before them. His voice trembled, not from his trauma now, but from shared dread. "He was barely twenty. A strong boy! He aged like this, we think... in a single night! And this... this is already the fourth case we have found in the village this week! We are at our wits' end!"
Even the traumatized chieftain forgot his personal fear. Whatever was happening here, this silent, creeping horror that stole youth and life, was far deadlier and more mysterious than Su Min's targeted, personal punishments.
"They have encountered something deeply unclean," Su Min declared after a moment's closer inspection, kneeling beside the corpse without touching it, her frown deepening. "Their essence blood has been completely drained. There is not a drop left."
Essence blood, or Jing blood, was the vital foundational energy, the primordial life force that every human possessed, whether they cultivated or not. It was the source of vitality, longevity, and the very spark of life.
For cultivators, losing too much could cripple their strength, stunt their cultivation progress permanently, or cause rapid, premature aging, robbing them of their future.
For ordinary people, it was even more critical; their very lifespan and basic health depended on it. Once fully drained, death followed swiftly and inevitably, as the body had nothing left to sustain it.
But draining essence blood was not as simple as spilling ordinary blood from a wound. It required a specific, vile technique. Even Su Min, with her knowledge, could not do it without employing a special, forbidden method.