Chapter 91: The True Opportunity

A thin thread of true Qi gathered and flowed upward, striking the blocked acupoints. Meng Qi, weak and ill, forced himself to stay alert and calm. Following the acupoint-opening technique, he concentrated his Qi into a sharp point and stabbed fiercely at the foreign inner force that had entrenched itself in his meridian.

A silent “puff” echoed in Meng Qi’s mind. The foreign inner force, already weakened and dissipating, collapsed instantly under this piercing strike. The acupoint was unblocked!

Meng Qi pressed forward without hesitation. His Qi surged, rushing rapidly through the meridians, quickly clearing the remaining few blocked acupoints.

The flow of Qi was no longer sluggish. Although his strength had recovered by less than ten percent—insufficient even to activate the Golden Bell Shield automatically—Meng Qi had at least regained the freedom to move and possessed a certain level of combat capability.

With a slight exertion of force from both hands, the ropes silently snapped apart. Meng Qi carefully removed the final obstacle and turned his gaze toward An Guoxie.

An Guoxie remained seated cross-legged, eyes tightly shut, fully focused on recovery and cultivation. He had changed into a new robe, but the wound beneath his neck was still visible, resembling a hideous centipede slowly writhing and healing.

Meng Qi narrowed his eyes, contemplating whether to escape using the Wind God Leg technique or seize the opportunity to kill An Guoxie and end the threat permanently.

He knew that although An Guoxie was severely injured, he had already spent more than half a day recovering and had consumed numerous healing pills. His injuries should now be stabilized, allowing him to exert about fifty to sixty percent of his strength—vastly superior to Meng Qi’s current state after using the Sacrificial Art.

After assessing his current strength and the fact that his saber was broken, Meng Qi judged that even if he gave his all and landed critical strikes with the Arhat Fist, he probably wouldn’t kill An Guoxie. At best, he might worsen his injuries and cause a relapse, since An Guoxie’s protective Qi barrier would have naturally resumed its function once his condition stabilized.

Therefore, Meng Qi faced two choices: either wait a bit longer until his strength recovered to thirty or forty percent, or flee immediately.

Though Meng Qi was bold and daring, he wasn’t reckless or impulsive. After careful consideration, he decided on the latter option, recognizing that staying was no longer safe.

How nice it would be if the Storm of Pear Blossoms Needles were available now, Meng Qi thought regretfully, eyeing An Guoxie, whose posture was so inviting that it almost made him lose control. Then, slowly rising, he used the Divine Steps of the Hundred Changes technique and silently stepped backward. Once he had created some distance, he would unleash the Wind God Leg without hesitation, no longer fearing to alert An Guoxie.

Suddenly, his vision blurred, and his body stiffened in shock as he saw An Guoxie appear beside him.

“I thought you’d try to ambush me. Weren’t you fearless and relentless the last time you assassinated me?” An Guoxie said with a half-smile.

Meng Qi, stunned, asked, “You noticed me earlier?”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t have hesitated to torture you, but do you know why I only sealed your acupoints and didn’t use other methods?” An Guoxie’s smile widened, appearing particularly sinister under the cold moonlight. “Because I enjoy watching someone’s hope turn into despair in my hands. So I wanted to give you hope, let you believe you could escape, and then, at the moment you were full of hope, I would destroy it myself. Your current expression satisfies me greatly—it was worth pretending to recover for so long.”

Psychopath! Meng Qi inwardly cursed. The last time he had used this word was against Gu Xiaosang.

An Guoxie shook his head with a satisfied grin. “No, the despair isn’t enough yet, little bald monk. Running away secretly deserves punishment.”

As he spoke, he extended his right hand and pressed it onto Meng Qi’s dantian, unleashing his inner force.

Intense pain surged into Meng Qi’s brain. The muscles and skin that had been strengthened by the Golden Bell Shield and Iron Shirt technique bulged as they resisted the external force. However, due to the massive disparity in power, they quickly collapsed. His dantian felt as if scraped by a steel blade, shattering inch by inch.

“There, I’ve crippled your martial arts as punishment,” An Guoxie said, his expression filled with a sickening pleasure and satisfaction. “Little bald monk, don’t despair. Keep striving, hahaha!”

“Now, if you tell me that martial art technique, you won’t suffer like this anymore. I’ll just leave you here to survive or perish on your own. What do you think? Tempting, isn’t it?”

Despite the excruciating pain in his dantian and his complete physical exhaustion, Meng Qi did not feel the despair An Guoxie expected. He had already faced life-and-death situations before. At this moment, he remained remarkably calm. He knew that even if he handed over the Illusory Body Art, An Guoxie would never spare him. Thus, he disdainfully turned his head away, ignoring An Guoxie’s demand.

An Guoxie chuckled, said nothing more, resealed Meng Qi’s acupoints, and sat down to cultivate.

“With my dantian destroyed, his vigilance toward me will drop significantly. There’s still a chance to escape!” Meng Qi didn’t dwell too much on the loss of his martial arts. Once An Guoxie resumed genuine cultivation, he immediately lay down to rest, striving to recover his spirit and strength. Even as a “man without martial arts,” he still had ways to escape.

In the following days, An Guoxie led Meng Qi along the periphery of the Hanhai, skirting around the area. For a top-tier expert like An Guoxie, who had unlocked all nine acupoints, even the beasts and monsters lurking in the depths of the Gobi Desert posed a formidable threat. Under normal circumstances, he might have dared to traverse directly, but given his current injuries, taking the detour was the more prudent choice.

Meng Qi maintained a very cooperative attitude, patiently seeking and waiting for an opportunity.

One day, An Guoxie took Meng Qi to an oasis within the Hanhai. Once a thriving and vibrant place, the oasis had gradually diminished as the sands encroached and conditions grew harsher, driving most of its residents to abandon their homes and seek shelter in other oases.

Thus, at a glance, the greenery here was always covered by a layer of dull gray. Most of the buildings nestled among the trees were old and dilapidated, except for the central inn and its surrounding houses, which were relatively well-maintained. Across the shallower lake stood abandoned temples and palaces.

Since many merchant caravans passed through here, the inn’s business was fairly brisk. Nearly all the dozen or so tables were occupied—some by merchants and desert traders, others by martial artists.

At one table sat four young men and women clearly belonging to the martial world. They were full of youthful vigor and ambition, as if the entire martial world awaited their conquest, drawing considerable attention.

As Meng Qi entered the inn, his gaze fell on them first—not because their martial attire was particularly eye-catching, but because one of the men had a snowflake-shaped ice crystal embedded on the back of his hand, and the sword at his waist was seven inches shorter than the standard length, narrow and oddly shaped.

All of this could only mean one thing—he was a disciple of the Snow Mountain Sect who had earned the qualification to travel outside the sect!

Only the Snow Mountain Sect used swords of this particular design, and only they embedded ice crystal snowflakes on the backs of their disciples’ hands as a mark of their sect when they traveled outside.

As one of the six sword-wielding sects, rivaling the Diamond Temple and others for dominance in the Western Regions, disciples of the Snow Mountain Sect who embarked on journeys had at least two acupoints opened.

This was an opportunity, Meng Qi silently told himself.

An Guoxie’s unusual appearance immediately drew many glances as he entered the inn, including from the Snow Mountain Sect disciple. However, the disciple soon furrowed his brows, seemingly recognizing An Guoxie’s identity, then resumed chatting casually with his companions.

Unlike Shaolin, the Snow Mountain Sect was located in the Western Regions. An Guoxie, preferring not to provoke unnecessary trouble, naturally avoided provoking them. He dragged Meng Qi to a corner, ordered food, and rested.

Meng Qi carefully observed the table where the Snow Mountain Sect disciple sat. Besides him, there were two men and one woman. The woman was petite and delicate-featured—not particularly beautiful but exuding a natural approachability. One man wore black martial attire, was tall, and had average features, smiling as he conversed with the Snow Mountain Sect disciple. The other man wore the appearance of a frail scholar, but his bulging temples indicated considerable strength. Meng Qi suspected that they had all opened their acupoints.

The Snow Mountain Sect disciple wore white robes, had an ordinary appearance, a high nose bridge, and carried a faintly aloof aura.

“The Snow Mountain Sect has no notorious reputation. I wonder if they would offer assistance…” Meng Qi pondered silently. However, he did not recklessly seek their help. Not every disciple from a major sect possessed the same profound understanding of true martial intent or the same formidable life-and-death combat skills as Jiang Zhiwei and himself. Even if the Snow Mountain Sect disciple had unlocked four acupoints, the others might have only recently opened theirs. Together, they might still be no match for the injured An Guoxie—after all, the legacy of the Crying Elder was no less impressive than that of ordinary direct-line disciples from major sects. An Guoxie, being a practitioner with all nine acupoints unlocked, was far superior in cultivation level.

Meng Qi silently ate his meal. When An Guoxie wasn’t looking, he secretly bit his index finger and quietly wrote the word “救” (jiu—save) on the side of the table leg facing him.

After finishing dinner, as An Guoxie turned to head upstairs in the inn, Meng Qi seized the opportunity. Tilting his head, he looked toward the group of young martial artists, opened his mouth, and silently mouthed “save me” (jiu wo), while gesturing toward the table where he had sat.

He repeated this three times, then turned his head and followed An Guoxie upstairs.

He didn’t expect them to understand his lip movements. He merely hoped to catch their attention so they would notice the character “救” (jiu—save) written on the leg of the table. Then, upon identifying An Guoxie, they might summon sufficiently powerful allies to rescue him.

After a few steps, An Guoxie suddenly stopped and smiled at Meng Qi, saying, “Sigh, I’m more used to staying in ruined temples.”

With that, he pulled Meng Qi out of the inn, through the woods, around the lake, and into a dilapidated temple.

As An Guoxie left, the Snow Mountain Sect disciple and the others indeed furrowed their brows and went to check the table Meng Qi had occupied.

“He was asking for help,” the frail scholar said softly, casually wiping away the blood-stained character. “Brother Fu, should we assist?”

Brother Fu, the Snow Mountain Sect disciple, frowned. “That’s the ‘White-Headed Vulture.’ We’re not strong enough. Besides, the monk’s identity is unknown. Perhaps this is just a conflict between evil forces?”

He seemed reluctant to take the risk.

Upon hearing the name “White-Headed Vulture,” both the young girl and the black-clad martial artist shook their heads at the frail scholar and said, “Master Gu, don’t be reckless. Although chivalry is our goal, we shouldn’t do anything that would certainly lead to death. At the next oasis, we can contact some senior martial artists for help. How about that?”

“I understand. I won’t be reckless, but I must first determine the monk’s identity before inviting seniors to intervene,” Master Gu mused. “Tonight, I’ll investigate and try to gather some information.”

“Alright, but be careful,” the Snow Mountain Sect disciple said sternly.

…

Inside the ruined temple, just as Meng Qi sat down, An Guoxie approached with a laugh. “Do you think they’ll come to rescue you?”

Had he discovered it again? Meng Qi was slightly surprised but quickly composed his expression, remaining silent.

“It’s that expression again,” An Guoxie said delightedly. Then, he squatted down, grabbed Meng Qi’s right hand, and examined it carefully. “This was the hand that wrote the blood character, wasn’t it?”

“What are you going to do?” Meng Qi noticed a trace of madness in his expression.

“What do I want to do? If you hand over the martial art technique, I won’t do anything. I’ll even release you. Otherwise, I’ll break every bone in your right hand, inch by inch,” An Guoxie said, his expression indicating he hoped Meng Qi would refuse.

Meng Qi gritted his teeth and coldly said, “Please, go ahead.”

An Guoxie burst into laughter. With both hands, he began squeezing Meng Qi’s right hand, crushing each bone slowly and deliberately.

The pain pierced Meng Qi’s heart, nearly causing him to faint. What followed was even more torturous, as if he had endured the Ten Cruel Punishments all over again.

“Next will be your left hand, then your left leg, right leg, and even your manhood…” An Guoxie said contentedly as he withdrew his hands. He carefully resealed Meng Qi’s acupoints and then resumed his meditation.

Meng Qi lay in front of the incense table, his right hand completely numb, feeling only waves of pain that kept him half-conscious.

There was still a chance, he kept telling himself.

In his dazed state, Meng Qi suddenly felt darkness envelop him, followed by a surprised female voice:

“Little monk, how did you end up in such a terrible state?”

“Requesting treatment. Deduct the merit from me. I’ll exchange the pills on my body for merit.”

A faint smile appeared on Meng Qi’s lips. The opportunity had come!