Chapter Five: Triumph in the First Battle

Hei Yu walked through the narrow alleys of the city’s old village, eyes fixed on his phone. The faint glow from the screen lit up a smile on his face, making his expression appear eerily strange. Occasionally, a few food delivery riders on electric bikes passed by. At the sight of Hei Yu’s unsettling grin, they nearly lost control of their bikes, stumbling awkwardly before cursing at him as they rode off.

Hei Yu paid them no mind. In his hand was a folding-screen phone, a gift from Zhong Kui. Moments ago, while fiddling with the device, he’d discovered an app called "Storage Ring." The legendary manual, "Technique of Thousand-Mile Transposition," had been absorbed into the phone, transformed into an e-book. What delighted him even more was that the app also contained a collection of jewels and swords. With a tap, a sword would materialize in his grip; with another tap, it vanished back into the phone. It was like magic, and it left the man quietly tailing him utterly transfixed.

Lost in his joy, Hei Yu was oblivious to the malicious intent brewing behind him. He continued until he found himself at the end of a dead-end alley. As he turned to leave, the man behind him suddenly drew near. In a flash, a cold blade slipped from its sheath, and in the next silent instant, the razor-sharp weapon plunged into Hei Yu’s heart. At the same time, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth, stifling any cry. The movements were clean, fluid, and merciless.

A smile crept onto the assailant’s face as he reached for the folding phone in Hei Yu’s hand—when suddenly, a cold hand landed softly on his shoulder.

With a thud, his body went limp, and he dropped to his knees.

“Name.” The command came with a voice as severe as a judge’s gavel—so powerful and domineering that the man found it hard to breathe. But he was no ordinary person; he had endured unimaginable hardship in his training and would not surrender so easily. He steadied himself, his will unwavering.

“Failure of the mission is nothing to fear. You are one of our elite. Even in death, the Blood Demon Clan has ways to resurrect you. But if you betray our secrets, your fate will be far worse than death.” The voice belonged to a well-known actress—sweet and coquettish, a jarring contrast to the cruelty of her words.

He glanced up and found himself looking at a long-haired beauty with wide eyes, dressed in a girl group’s stage costume, gazing at him with pitiable innocence. She was none other than Baisa Chi, the most beloved song-and-dance idol in Yamato. Like a rare orchid blooming in a secluded valley, she exuded an aloof, ethereal aura that clashed starkly with the derelict factory, littered with rusted machines, in which they stood.

Baisa Chi’s dancing and singing skills were unrivaled—a unique presence in her country. From the moment she debuted, she had effortlessly stolen the hearts of young and old alike. No one knew how she managed it; their devotion to her was unanimous and feverish.

Standing before him now, Baisa Chi was even more beautiful than on television, stirring an ache of longing within him. He never imagined this memory would be dredged up—the final test at the Blood Demon Clan’s training camp, the ceremony of induction, reserved for only the most ruthless. To pass, he had even pushed two of his closest friends into the fiery depths of the Earth Inferno.

“Name,” Baisa Chi repeated, her voice honeyed and coy.

This was a memory—one he could not alter or resist, unable to stop his past self.

“Ren Shuzhi,” he answered.

The scene vanished as soon as the words left his lips.

He was back on his knees in the alley of the city’s old village, feeling a shadowy, claw-like hand press upon his head. A hollow unease gnawed at his heart.

The hand withdrew. His vision blurred, and the next moment, Ren Shuzhi found himself sitting in the back of a taxi, utterly bewildered.

“Awake?” the driver asked in a low voice—familiar, yet he couldn’t recall from where.

Outside, a brook meandered through a sunlit landscape. People walked by, smiling and greeting each other. Among them, Ren Shuzhi recognized someone—Azuki Taro, the very friend he had once condemned to the inferno.

Azuki Taro met his gaze.

“Shuzhi!” Taro called out warmly.

“Taro,” he replied.

Taro opened the car door and helped Ren Shuzhi out. “Shuzhi, you’re only coming home now? Is it because you heard our village is about to be demolished and wanted to see it one last time?”

He nodded, uncertain what to say. Much of his past felt hazy, but he still remembered pushing Taro and another village friend into the flames. He looked around—the scenery was unmistakably his hometown.

Impossible.

This place had been razed to the ground a decade ago, replaced by a sprawling commercial center. He glanced at Taro, whose face seemed a little unnatural.

Ren Shuzhi didn’t dwell on it. It must be a dream—he’d had lucid dreams before, and he’d dreamed of Taro more than once. It was a symptom of his psychological trauma, though he felt little shame in admitting it. After all, he had betrayed his friends and paid the price in guilt.

The two stood together on a small bridge, leaning on the railing, watching the fish swim below. For a moment, he felt peace.

“Taro, I’m sorry,” Ren Shuzhi blurted out, his eyes brimming with remorse.

“Fool,” Taro replied with a chuckle, gently patting his shoulder.

Suddenly, Ren Shuzhi felt something tugging at his shoulder. After a brief struggle, it snapped.

He had no idea what was happening. Taro still stood by his side, smiling gently, and the two of them watched the fish as they had in happier days. The moment was tranquil, as if time itself had paused.

...

Deep into the night, in an abandoned alley of the old village, the buildings on either side long deserted and overrun with weeds. No one came here anymore. Hei Yu remembered Uncle Liu telling him that over a decade ago, the families on this street had all moved away after a massacre wiped out an entire household.

Hei Yu had chosen this route on purpose—to avoid being seen during what he was about to do.

Now, sweating profusely, Hei Yu stood with a silver thread in his hand, the filament shimmering with a faint light.

That was close! If not for the system’s warning about impending danger, the smokescreen technique it deployed, and the decoy image it created—which deceived Ren Shuzhi into stabbing the fake Hei Yu—he would almost certainly be dead. Let alone having a chance to tap his attacker’s shoulder and extract his thread of fate.

Ren Shuzhi now lay on the ground like a broken puppet, his eyes unnaturally wide, pupils darting madly—a sign he was trapped in an illusion.

Hei Yu now knew some of the man’s past—a beast in human skin. In Great Xia, Ren Shuzhi had assassinated many top scientists and stolen countless technological secrets, yet felt no remorse for these deeds—only for betraying fellow killers who were just as blood-soaked as he was.

Such a man deserved a thousand deaths.

“System, will he really turn himself in to the police after this?”

[System: Yes.]

[Host, quickly swallow the fate thread and claim your reward.]

For the fifth time, the system urged Hei Yu to consume the shimmering filament, but he still hesitated.

Was this thing really edible?

Suddenly, his hand moved of its own accord, and he swallowed the thread.

[System: Forced execution complete. Two seconds of contempt for Host.]