"Stop right there!"
The masked leader pointed his sword at the man before him. "Witch God Sect member?"
"Amitabha."
The sharp-faced monk pressed his palms together. "Don't speak nonsense, benefactors. This humble monk is from Golden Bell Temple."
"A monk? Then why are you running like a thief?"
The masked man barked coldly, "Enough talk! With that face, who are you trying to fool? Die!"
No more words were exchanged.
All four masked men attacked at once.
The monk wasn't timid either. At some point, he had slipped on a pair of gloves wrapped with iron wire. He met their sword strikes head-on, sparks bursting with each impact, the sound like hammer striking an anvil.
"This monk and that masked leader—they're both at the tempering bone stage!"
Chen Sanshi could tell at a glance. Their strength and speed were clearly beyond what tempering blood martial artists could achieve—both were skilled tempering bone experts.
The sharp-faced monk, though thin and wiry, fought with explosive ferocity once he moved. His presence was like a tiger roaring down from Second Mountain.
Aside from the masked leader, the other three were no match for him.
After only a few rounds, they were all wounded, forced to retreat with their swords drawn, only daring to provide distant cover.
The masked leader and the monk clashed fiercely in the center, locked in a deadly stalemate.
Just when it seemed neither could gain the upper hand, another figure appeared silently from behind—the sudden glint of a blade flashing out of nowhere.
Another tempering bone expert.
Two against one—the monk finally began to falter.
"Shhk—"
The masked leader seized an opening and slashed down at the monk's shoulder.
The blade didn't slice the arm clean off as expected. Instead, it bit halfway through the bone and stuck there, unable to cut all the way.
'So this is tempering bone?'
'The bones are so hard even steel can't sever them easily?'
'My Two-Stone Bow probably wouldn't be enough to kill someone at this level either.'
'Looks like I really do need to get a Ten-Stone Bow.'
Chen Sanshi continued to watch in silence.
Every battle between experts stronger than him was valuable experience—an opportunity to learn.
On the battlefield, the outcome was becoming clear.
Two fists couldn't fight four hands forever. After taking one deep sword wound, the monk's defense began to crumble. The tempering blood fighters who had been hesitating before now rushed in to stab and slash whenever they found a gap.
"Shhk, shhk, shhk—"
The sound of blades tearing through cloth and flesh rang out again and again.
The false monk looked as if he'd been drenched in red paint. His bones might have been too hard to break, but his flesh had been hacked apart. Chunks hung loosely from his body, some still clinging by thin strips of skin. The sight was ghastly.
Finally, the masked leader found his moment. His sword plunged straight into the monk's neck, piercing the artery.
Blood spurted like a fountain. The man stiffened, eyes wide open in death.
"Search him!"
The masked men immediately began rifling through the corpse, but they found nothing.
"Nothing. The immortal treasure's not on him!"
"Young master, should we go up the mountain?"
"It's probably already in Xiang Tingchun's hands."
"Let's go. We came hoping to pick up the leftovers. If there's nothing to take, forget it. But if Xiang Tingchun catches us here, we're done. Looks like we'll have to spend big to get what we want now."
"Take the body. We're leaving!"
Listening from his hiding spot, Chen Sanshi finally confirmed his suspicion.
The masked men were Liang Zhan and his old servant.
That young master of the Liang family—rumored to spend his days lounging in brothels—hadn't wasted his training after all. At just twenty-five or twenty-six, with ten years of cultivation, reaching the tempering bone stage put him among the top experts in all of Poyang County.
'If I want to kill him, I'll have to get stronger first.'
Chen Sanshi would never forget that the Liang brat had once come after him. If not for Wang Zhi's protection, he might not have died, but he certainly wouldn't have escaped unscathed.
Being at another man's mercy was an unbearable feeling.
He didn't linger. Turning back, he retraced his path toward the main battlefield.
'Did Xiang Tingchun really get the immortal treasure?'
Chen Sanshi couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.
But something didn't add up.
Thinking it through, the Witch God Sect members blending in with the civilians wasn't actually a smart escape plan.
The military was already here. Even if they were real civilians, the soldiers would still interrogate them down to their ancestors' eighteenth generation before letting anyone go.
Compared to escaping, it felt more like the cultists were deliberately drawing attention.
If it weren't for Chen Sanshi—who could still hear the faint snap of a branch dozens of meters away amid that chaos—no one would've discovered the false monk's hiding spot at all.
But the man's body carried nothing.
'Did he hide it somewhere?'
Chen Sanshi recalled the time he'd obtained the exquisite jade box before.
Acting on a hunch, he retraced his steps carefully, scanning the ground. There were no signs of disturbed soil, no marks of digging anywhere.
'Did I overthink it?'
"Wait."
A sharp bird cry above made him look up.
On the trunk of a pine tree nearby, a patch of bark had been freshly scraped off.
Chen Sanshi immediately climbed up. At the very top, he found a small hollow, just about the size of a clenched fist.
"There's a snake!"
He reacted instantly, seizing the creature by its head and yanking it out in one motion.
It was a venomous green snake.
He checked the hole again—nothing else inside.
But the snake's jaw was bloodstained, as if something had been forced inside it. Some of its scales were torn off too.
'Don't tell me…'
Chen Sanshi didn't hesitate. He gripped the snake in both hands, pried open its jaws, and tore it apart.
A glimmer of green flashed before his eyes.
A piece of jade—smooth, flawless, and faintly luminous—rolled free.
It was the jade key described in The Chronicles of the Great Sheng Dynasty!
"Hiding the thing inside a snake's belly... pretty clever."
Chen Sanshi couldn't help but admire the cunning.
Even with a mark on the snake, there'd be no guarantee of finding it later.
It seemed the Witch God Sect would rather throw the treasure away than let it fall into enemy hands.
Still, the method was effective.
Anyone else would've missed such subtle traces entirely.
Unfortunately for them, they'd run into him.
Chen Sanshi tucked the jade safely away, then cut out the snake's gallbladder.
The green snake wasn't worth much, but even scraps had value—better something than nothing.
After finishing, he tossed the snake's carcass back into the hole. Before long, other animals would sniff it out and clean it up completely.
"Looks like Thousand-Household Xiang's trip won't amount to much after all."
When Chen Sanshi returned to the foot of the mountain, the battle was still raging.
The remaining Witch God Sect members were cornered and desperate. A few of them even grabbed civilians as human shields, trying to flee in different directions.
Sure enough, their earlier retreat had only been to cover the false monk's escape.
Once he was gone, the rest had begun fighting purely to survive.
The soldiers had scattered into smaller groups to chase them down, and with everyone spread thin, no one paid attention to Chen Sanshi's movements.
By dusk, the last of the Witch God Sect cultists had been captured, and cleanup began.
Casualty reports came in: three soldiers dead, two wounded.
Among the dead, only one was a martial soldier; the rest were formation grunts.
But they had killed seven Witch God Sect members and captured one alive—all of them tempering blood cultivators.
Truly, there was strength in numbers.
After all, their side had one Sub-Flag Officer and five Flag Officers leading the troops. If not for the chaos and the archers' limited role, they could have achieved even fewer losses.
'I killed one tempering blood at Mastery and one at Minor Achievement. That should be worth a few bowls of Blood-Replenishing Soup,' Chen Sanshi thought.
His own men gradually regrouped. No casualties. Together, they had taken down two cultists.
"Alright, stop clinging to me already!"
Zhu Tong shoved Xu Wencai aside impatiently. "It's over! Look at you, trembling like a damn fool!"
"Chiu—"
The whistle of a signal arrow pierced the air again.
The 300 garrison soldiers were ordered to gather in front of Golden Bell Temple.
From the temple's entrance, Thousand-Household Xiang Tingchun emerged slowly. His robe was torn, soaked with blood. His long blade—once gleaming like a young rice stalk—was snapped in half.
Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
But in his hand, he clutched a severed head.
That alone told everyone who had won.