Chapter Fifty-Eight: Guidance

Wang Yongping was startled by the sudden and synchronized shouts from the old man in the straw raincoat and Qin Yi, instinctively taking several steps back. When he finally came to his senses, his expression was as unpleasant as if he had swallowed a fly.

Wang Weixue, standing nearby, laughed and jeered, “Old ghost, the older you get, the more timid you become.”

Upon hearing this, Wang Yongping immediately turned his head, glaring at Wang Weixue with a gaze as sharp and lethal as a blade. If looks could kill, or if he had cultivated some art of slaying with a glance, or mastered the Divine Extinguishing Word, then Wang Weixue would surely have died a thousand deaths by now.

“All right, let’s get to the matter at hand,” came Wang Hong’s voice from behind them.

“Yes, young master.” Upon hearing this, Wang Weixue and Wang Yongping immediately ceased their bickering and responded in unison. Though Wang Hong’s strength was perhaps no longer far beyond theirs, his standing within the Eastern Ridge Wang Clan was on an entirely different level. In some sense, he was second only to the head of the family. Naturally, they would not dare disobey.

“I’ll handle that boy,” said Qian Jiaqi, who had been watching Qin Yi with resentment, stepping forward before Wang Yongping and Wang Weixue.

Wang Yongping remarked indifferently, “Just don’t let him escape.”

Wang Weixue grinned, “That kid has no shortage of tricks. Be careful.”

Qian Jiaqi sneered, “He’s just a fledgling who’s barely entered the Spirit Transformation stage. What can he possibly do?”

Wang Hong, hearing this, smiled mysteriously and said, “I advise you to be careful.”

Qian Jiaqi frowned when even Wang Hong spoke, but still replied, “Thank you for the reminder, Fourth Prince.”

Wang Hong glanced at Zhang Chen, then instructed Qian Hongfu, “You go deal with him.”

“Understood!” Qian Hongfu replied in a deep voice.

As Qin Yi surveyed the situation, his brow furrowed. Their numbers were woefully insufficient. And if so, who would face Wang Hong? Among their opponents, Wang Hong was perhaps the most formidable. There was also Qian Jiashun, who, though repeatedly defeated that day, was still a Golden Core cultivator. The greatest pressure, however, fell on Jiang Yao, who had to face two adversaries alone. Even one Wang Weixue could hold Jiang Yao to a draw, and now she faced Wang Yongping as well, who outranked him among the elders of the Eastern Ridge Wang Clan.

But their foes cared little for their disadvantage; if anything, they seemed even more pleased by it. The battles with Zhang Chen and Jiang Yao had already begun; only Qin Yi remained, waiting for the old man’s guidance. At last, seeing Qian Jiaqi charging at him, Qin Yi could wait no longer and turned his head, urging, “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”

The old man in the straw raincoat raised his battered black oil-paper umbrella and snapped, “If you don’t show me a move or two, how am I supposed to guide you?”

Qin Yi almost spat blood in frustration, but realized the old man had a point. Without displaying any techniques, how could he be taught? He drew his blade, “Flying Snow,” and unleashed the first strike of the Three Slashes of Taiyi—Demon-Slaying Sword—at Qian Jiaqi, who was charging forward. Like an assassin, the Demon-Slaying Sword struck with cunning precision at the oncoming foe.

But the old man only commented offhandedly, “All show, no substance.”

Qin Yi was exasperated. Wasn’t that obvious? Anyone could say so! Even a country bumpkin could offer such a critique. The Demon-Slaying Sword was known for its subtlety among the three Taiyi slashes. Wasn’t this just stating the obvious? What kind of guidance was this?

Suddenly, above the once battle-filled sea, thunder rumbled. Qin Yi quickly looked up, nearly blinded by a flash of lightning. A bolt of heavenly thunder struck out of the clear night, precisely hitting Qian Jiaqi, who had just blocked the Demon-Slaying Sword and continued charging forward, knocking him straight into the sea.

Qin Yi gazed curiously at the night sky, still clear and cloudless. How had a thunderbolt struck so suddenly—and so coincidentally, right at Qian Jiaqi as he was about to attack?

The thunder brought all battles above the waves to a halt.

Everyone turned to the spot where the lightning had struck. Under the gaze of all present, Qian Jiaqi, who had just been blasted into the sea, surfaced in the night, bedraggled, and cursed at the sky, “What kind of damned weather is this? How could there be thunder out of nowhere—”

He was about to say more but seemed to remember something, and fell silent.

The old man in the straw raincoat narrowed his eyes, stroking his snowy beard as he muttered, “Remarkable, remarkable.”

Not far off, Qian Jiashun, standing near Wang Hong, recognized the thunderous roar and his eyes went wide. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Impossible, impossible.”

Wang Hong squinted at the lightning’s mark, then looked up and called with a smile, “Since you’re here, there’s no need to hide in the shadows, is there, Master He?”

Qin Yi was puzzled. Could this thunder have been summoned by someone? Master He—could it be his grandfather?

Following Wang Hong’s gaze, Qin Yi looked up, as did everyone else who was equally uncertain.

Under the collective gaze, four figures slowly appeared in the distance. Qin Yi recognized them all: Chen Yulei, the head of the Chen family; Uncle Chen Yuxuan; his grandfather, He Anjian—so it seemed Wang Hong’s “Master He” referred to him. As for why Wang Hong addressed him thus, Qin Yi was curious, but had no idea of the origin of the title.

The last person surprised Qin Yi most: his uncle, He Yongde, one of the few in the He family without prejudice against Qin Yi and his brother, and the one who had always cared for their family. Yet He Yongde was no cultivator, merely a frail scholar—a fact well known throughout the South Sea, and as the current head of the He family, he was even considered a laughingstock. Why was he here?

Wang Hong looked over and asked calmly, “Master He, do you intend to interfere with the affairs of the Eastern Ridge Wang Clan?”

To Qin Yi’s surprise, it was not his grandfather who replied, but his uncle, He Yongde, who smiled and said, “Qin Yi is my nephew. I cannot stand aside in this matter.”

Then, turning to Qin Yi, he smiled and asked, “Are you all right, little Yi?”

Qin Yi shook his head instinctively.

Wang Hong narrowed his eyes at the small white creature in Jiang Yao’s arms, his tone calm but resolute. “That is what the Eastern Ridge Wang Clan desires.”

The old man in the straw raincoat looked up at the distant sky and chuckled, “Another one who’s not too bad.”

Qin Yi asked curiously, “Not too bad?”

But the old man only smiled, saying nothing.

He Yongde gazed at the distant sky and said with a laugh, “Fourth Prince, you must know as well as I do that the people you’ve brought today are in no position to take what you seek, so...”

He Yongde kept his eyes on the sky, but said no more.