Using conventional means couldn’t solve the problem.
After circling the mountain once, the swordsman seemed to panic and rushed into the dense forest.
Outside the forest was not a complex mountain path but a flat plain.
Upon closer inspection, one could see a familiar house in the far distance, the wild inn where they had bought needles and thread the night before.
Master Yuan Zhi didn’t think much and just focused on catching the person.
However, Meng Qi behind him frowned and whispered, “Something’s wrong.”
He didn’t need to say everything; Mo Li knew what he meant.
The swordsman’s actions were too panicked and too chaotic; at this moment, his pants were half-torn, and if the face mask could be considered clothing, he was barely wearing two pieces.
This impression didn’t match the swordsman’s initial appearance.
Although he wasn’t particularly rebellious or unruly, there was still a hint of pride in his nature, the kind of pride that a master possesses. Such a mindset couldn’t be worn down so quickly. Even if momentarily defeated and relentlessly pursued, it was ultimately because he was outnumbered. Even if eager to escape, how could he not even recognize the road?
Running in a circle, deliberately ending up in front of his own subordinates?
The two suddenly realized that the swordsman didn’t turn back for no reason.
His tattered clothing was likely to be a cover; the swordsman had already handed over the item in his possession to the assassins of the Piaoping Pavilion.
This was strange.
What kind of item could it be? The Piaoping Pavilion assassins appeared for the accounts of the Si family rice shop. Logically, they didn’t have anything important on them; the important thing should be what they were chasing after. Why did it suddenly reverse?
The talk of hiding a miraculous medicine was a joke and shouldn’t be taken seriously. Even if it was really a miraculous medicine, it wasn’t worth doing this.
Meng Qi couldn’t guess what it was, but it didn’t stop him from making a decisive decision.
“Seventy miles ahead is Run County…”
Time was of the essence; Meng Qi had to turn back immediately.
Mo Li understood and said, “I’ll wait for you at the largest medicine shop in the city tomorrow.”
With that, the two parted ways, one continuing to chase after Master Yuan Zhi and the swordsman, the other heading back west to the mountains.
They didn’t even discuss who should continue the chase or who should turn back; they naturally separated this way.
—Meng Qi thought that there was still Master Yuan Zhi here, making it safer. Mo Li thought the situation might be more complicated there, and with Meng Qi’s broader experience, he could uncover the truth from clues, while he himself might not handle it as well.
The subsequent journey had no surprises, no ambushes, and the swordsman ran smoothly.
Master Yuan Zhi kept his breath steady behind the swordsman. Initially, he was confident, thinking he would eventually catch this assassin. After all, he was in perfect condition while the swordsman was injured. However, every time he was about to catch up, the swordsman would change his footwork and leap a few yards away.
Over time, Mo Li noticed this was a lightness skill secret technique, used for escaping in critical moments.
It wasn’t surprising that Piaoping Pavilion assassins had such skills.
However, these kinds of secret techniques often came with a price.
For instance, if the secret technique suddenly greatly increased internal power, it could only last for the time it took to burn an incense stick. After that time, it would result in either death or severe injury. If lucky enough to survive, it would take three to five years to get out of bed.
The consequences of lightness skill secret techniques were not so severe, not causing immediate collapse, but they still damaged tendons and deplete vitality, directly affecting longevity.
Seeing the swordsman repeatedly using the technique, Mo Li was extremely displeased. This swordsman was a stranger to him and a killer stained with blood, so Mo Li didn’t care about the swordsman’s life or death. However, as a doctor, seeing the swordsman repeatedly seeking death right under his nose, this disregard for one’s own life infuriated Mo Li.
“Master Yuan Zhi.”
He used a secret voice transmission, and Master Yuan Zhi’s ears twitched.
Mo Li continued, “Chasing like this is not a solution. I see that this swordsman would rather exhaust himself to death than be captured. Besides, a cornered beast fights back, making it hard to deal with.”
Master Yuan Zhi softly chanted a Buddhist prayer.
As a monk, he had no desire to compete and bore no grudge against the swordsman for attempting to kill him multiple times. Capturing him to hand over to Fengxing Pavilion was not just for debt repayment but more importantly because of the words of Chief Qiu. The mysterious assassin organization Piaoping Pavilion had unclear ties with Holy Lotus Sect.
Holy Lotus Sect was a major threat to the soldiers at Xuan Chuan Pass. If it could be dismantled or weakened, it would be the best outcome.
With this in mind, Master Yuan Zhi didn’t intend to kill the swordsman, only to capture him.
Unfortunately, the swordsman was too slippery, always slipping through his fingers.
As they ran, Master Yuan Zhi felt like the figure ahead wasn’t a person but a fish.
Or a piece of chicken rib.
Chasing him was futile, but giving up was a pity.
Just as he was feeling frustrated, Master Yuan Zhi suddenly heard Mo Li’s voice transmission.
“Amitabha, what do you mean, benefactor?”
“Let’s pretend to be exhausted and slightly slow down our pace, without letting him leave us behind. He has used the secret technique several times and appears to be unharmed but is actually very drained. If he gets a chance to catch his breath, he will surely feel relieved.”
First, show weakness, then attack.
Master Yuan Zhi understood immediately and agreed.
Although monks do not lie, this tactic didn’t require talking to the swordsman. The old monk upheld his precepts but wasn’t inflexible.
Mo Li was prepared to remind Master Yuan Zhi, knowing that conserving energy without appearing suspicious wasn’t easy, and the person involved couldn’t see as clearly as an observer.
To his surprise, Master Yuan Zhi had a good strategy, slowly and patiently reducing his pace. By the time the swordsman noticed the pursuit was no longer as urgent, dozens of miles had passed.
The surroundings were no longer wild fields but villages and wheat fields.
To the farmers busy under the scorching sun, they seemed like a sudden whirlwind, not only abrupt but strange.
The dust blinded the farmers’ eyes and made them cough continuously.
By the time this “whirlwind” passed, the sturdy wheat stalks were covered with a layer of dust and fine gravel. No one saw clearly what had just passed by.
The bold ones looked at each other, while the timid ones turned pale and ran home, dropping their farming tools.
It was not surprising they were frightened; the situation resembled tales of supernatural disturbances passed down in rural areas, where a strange wind would blow, and the children in the house would disappear. Those monsters liked to eat boys and girls, and even the fox spirits and yellow weasels that caused trouble often targeted the children in homes.
Mo Li didn’t bother to discern the faint screams; he was worried the swordsman might rush into the village or town.
It wasn’t about losing the chase but accidentally harming the civilians.
Fortunately, the swordsman needed to balance his breath to relieve his injuries and accumulate strength for a final effort to completely shake off his pursuers. He had no energy to dodge through the streets and alleys to fight with Mo Li and Master Yuan Zhi. He was gradually falling into Mo Li’s trap.
The swordsman did not suspect anything because, after such a long and fruitless chase, anyone would inevitably become discouraged and doubtful about catching the target. This hesitation caused him to slow down when he ran out of initial momentum and hadn’t yet gathered new strength.
Just as Mo Li predicted, the swordsman did not seize the opportunity to use the secret technique to escape but instead maintained a proper leading position.
Master Yuan Zhi was very puzzled, but at this moment, Mo Li signaled him to slow down again after running another two miles.
“Benefactor, this—”
“Master, just follow along. He won’t run away for now.”
What happened next was exactly as Mo Li said. Master Yuan Zhi, after pondering deeply, had to put himself in the swordsman’s shoes and then suddenly understood.
The swordsman knew that the two behind him were only temporarily out of breath and had not really lost the ability to capture or kill him. If he suddenly ran at full speed now, the pursuers would be stimulated to muster their spirits and chase him desperately, which would be counterproductive.
It was better to gradually gather strength and then suddenly speed up and sprint when the opportunity arose. The pursuers, caught off guard, would naturally give up when they couldn’t catch him.
Mo Li and Master Yuan Zhi were pretending to be weak, and so was the swordsman.
Understanding this critical point, sweat appeared on Master Yuan Zhi’s bald head.
—Both sides had their calculations, and any slight misstep would result in total failure.
The key to this game lay in “catching the opponent off guard,” and their side had the initiative.
Although they had the advantage, it was uncertain when the swordsman would suddenly strike or what method he would use to escape. Therefore, there was no guarantee of success.
Master Yuan Zhi, worried yet impressed by how martial encounters in the martial world resembled military strategies, fought with cunning and decisiveness.
“Master.”
A sudden urgent voice transmission reached his ears.
Master Yuan Zhi immediately regained his focus, gathered his true energy, and swung his wooden staff fiercely at the swordsman’s knee.
The swordsman was startled. At first, he didn’t understand how the old monk had suddenly gotten so close. As he dodged, he felt a sharp wind, and saw Mo Li’s blunt sword pointing directly at his face. The swordsman rolled on the ground, realizing he had fallen into a trap.
However, while his mind reacted, his body couldn’t keep up with the sudden increase in speed.
Mo Li deliberately used fast moves, with the blade retreating as soon as it struck.
In an instant, the swordsman was surrounded by a whirlwind of blade energy. The sound of wind slicing through the air was continuous, and flying stones and trees obstructed his path.
“…”
The swordsman was hit in the face by a piece of bark and couldn’t avoid being struck by flying stones on his back.
Finally, the old monk’s staff swept in, aiming to break the swordsman’s leg.
With internal injuries compounded by the aftereffects of excessive exertion, the swordsman finally exposed a flaw while parrying.
“Thud.”
The swordsman’s left knee was hit, and he fell.
Mo Li stepped back and watched as the old monk, like an angry Vajra, swung his wooden staff, making the swordsman roll around in a small circle, covering his head.
When they finally stopped, the swordsman was covered in grass and leaves, his clothes tattered, and his body marked with bruises from the staff and stones.
“Cough, Master, let me handle this.”
Mo Li signaled Master Yuan Zhi to stop, then moved swiftly.
Instead of hitting pressure points, he dislocated the joints of the swordsman’s arms and legs.
—With his limbs dislocated, he wouldn’t be able to run anymore.
Then he reached out and tore off the mask tightly bound to the swordsman’s face, dislocated his jaw to prevent him from committing suicide.
Mo Li’s movements were so quick that he only saw the swordsman’s face after he was done.
It was also covered in scars, looking like a fierce ghost.
Most were cuts from sharp objects, and some were burn marks.
Mo Li paused, stopping in place.
Earlier, seeing the many scars on the swordsman’s back and hands, Mo Li hadn’t thought much of it. He had treated many martial artists in Yongzhou and knew that those who roamed the martial world for long bore such marks. Ordinary people braved the wind and rain; these people faced swords and fists, with some even injuring themselves while practicing martial arts.
The more skilled a person, the more they endured. Some would plunge their hands into scalding iron sand, practice agility amidst a rain of arrows from traps, or wield swords under waterfalls. If they succeeded, they became masters; if not, they risked death. What were scars compared to that?
However, these burn scars were peculiar, resembling marks made by someone branding with hot objects.
They were most prominent on his face, neck, and chest.
Mo Li sensed something was wrong and looked more closely at the swordsman’s scars, discovering besides the usual martial world marks, there were also long, thin scars that seemed inflicted by others. These scars were old, layered, making it impossible to discern the swordsman’s original appearance.
Master Yuan Zhi also didn’t expect this and lowered his eyes, softly chanting a Buddhist prayer.
The swordsman let out a muffled laugh from his throat; he had seen many people’s shocked, fearful, and pitying looks when they saw him.
Mo Li paused with his hand on the swordsman’s chin, half-holding him and lost in thought. Suddenly hearing the swordsman laugh, he recalled the man’s hoarse voice earlier, likely not natural.
He glanced into the swordsman’s open mouth, found no poison sacs, and reattached his jaw.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll bite my tongue and kill myself?”
The swordsman instinctively pulled away, asking in confusion.
“You didn’t die before; you won’t die now.” Mo Li lifted the swordsman’s right hand, placed three fingers on his wrist, and asked continuously, “Was your voice injured in your youth? How was it injured? Boiling water? Medicine? Or did it worsen from delay after becoming hoarse?”
“……”
The swordsman was bewildered while Master Yuan Zhi stood beside him, chanting sutras.
Mo Li concentrated on taking the pulse and continued, “Your qi and blood are both deficient, sustained only by a spiritual…vital energy in your chest. This energy doesn’t belong to you, yet it hasn’t dispersed, which is very strange. Your kidney meridian is failing, and your inner breath is diverted to other meridians…”
“Shut up!”
The swordsman suddenly shouted, his eyes fierce.
Mo Li realized the issue at the same time, stared at the swordsman for a moment, and changed his question back to the previous topic.
“There’s no medicine to regenerate flesh and blood for the scars, but your throat can be treated. Two pieces of fine cloth for the prescription, do you want it?”
Author’s Note:
Swordsman: You guys are the sick ones! What’s with pinning someone down to force a diagnosis and then demanding payment after catching them?
