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When Su Ning opened her eyes, she saw a heavy snowfall.

It wasn't the sparse, melting snow that falls in mid-air like in Beijing winters, but a vast, all-encompassing expanse of white.

Snowflakes hit my face, heavy and piercingly cold.

I was lying in the snow, wearing my pajamas...

He wore a white T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and was barefoot, without even a pair of socks.

A cold wind blew in through his trouser legs, creeping up his spine and making him shiver, instantly waking him up completely.

He quickly sat up and looked around.

Mountains and forests.

The dense pine trees, with their dark trunks, were laden with snow, which hung heavily on their branches.

In the distance, there are mountains, ravines, and deep valleys whose bottoms are not visible. The valleys are shrouded in mist, gray and hazy, like someone has splashed ink on rice paper.

There were no buildings, no streetlights, no asphalt roads, and no car horns.

This is definitely not Beijing, not that courtyard house, not his bed with the latex mattress.

Su Ning paused for a few seconds, then looked down at himself.

My hands are still there, my feet are still there, and I have no injuries.

He tried moving his fingers, and spiritual energy flowed through his meridians, warm like a cup of hot water in winter.

The cultivation of the Taiyi Loose Immortal is still intact, as is his ability to perform the Seventy-Two Transformations.

The system didn't respond.

There were no notification sounds, no quest descriptions, no cold, mechanical voice telling him "Welcome to the new instance," nothing at all.

The system just left him there, like a dog, without even a word of explanation.

"Fine!" Su Ning muttered to himself, his voice mostly swallowed by the heavy snow. "Damn it! You win."

Su Ning stood up and stepped barefoot into the snow. The moment his soles touched the snow, he felt a chill from the cold, and his toes curled up involuntarily.

He quickly channeled some spiritual energy to the soles of his feet, and the chill immediately subsided by more than half.

It's not cold anymore, but the feel of the snow is still there...

It's soft and loose, and it makes a crunching sound when you step on it.

He looked around and then used his divine sense to explore the surroundings.

Not far away, they spotted a group of strange people, and further away was a small town inhabited by humans.

Just then, shouts came from ahead...

It wasn't just one person shouting; it was many people.

Men and women, young and old, mingled together with cries, curses, the clanging of swords, and the neighing of startled horses, all carried on the wind.

There was a faint smell of blood in the air, but Su Ning could smell it.

Su Ning frowned, his divine sense having already detected the specific situation, and then he walked over to the source of the sound.

After passing through a pine forest, the view suddenly opened up before us.

The mountain road was narrow, just wide enough for two carriages to travel side by side.

The mountain path was a mess, as if someone had overturned the entire world here.

Several horse-drawn carriages lay overturned on the ground, their wheels pointing upwards, still creaking and turning.

Chests and trunks were scattered everywhere, and cloth, grain, copper basins, and earthenware jars were rolled all over the ground. A pottery jar was broken, and the pickled vegetables inside were scattered on the snow, black and looking like puddles of mud.

Several people lay motionless on the ground, the snow beneath them stained crimson with blood, a blood-red so intense it was jarring and made one's heart clench.

A middle-aged man was lying on the ground with a knife stuck in his back, the hilt of which was still sticking out. He was no longer moving.

A dozen or so men, dressed in tattered leather coats and wrapped in thick cotton-padded jackets, held knives and surrounded the remaining dozen or so civilians.

The people huddled together, old and young, men and women, shivering like chickens huddled together in winter.

An old woman was holding a little girl, who was about four or five years old. The girl was so frightened that she couldn't even cry. Her face was pale, her eyes were wide open, and her lips were trembling.

A bandit with a mouthful of yellow teeth was raising his knife and slashing at a middle-aged man.

The man, in his forties, with a square face and thick lips, was wearing a patched cotton-padded coat. He was so frightened that he collapsed to the ground, kicking his legs but unable to stand up, shouting, "Don't kill me! Don't kill me! I have money! I'll give you money!"

The bandit chuckled, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth: "Too late! I'm in a bad mood today, I'll kill you first!"

The knife was raised above his head, the blood on the blade still wet, dripping down the tip.

Without thinking twice, Su Ning took a step forward.

This leap directly employed the technique of shrinking the earth to an inch.

He covered the distance of about twenty zhang in an instant.

He disarmed the man with his bare hands, grabbed the man's wrist with his left hand, and twisted it...

With a snap, the wrist bone dislocated.

Before the bandit could even utter a scream, the knife was already in Su Ning's hand.

With a backhand slash, he cleanly and swiftly cut from the left side of Big Yellow Teeth's neck to the right, as effortlessly as killing a chicken.

Big Yellow Teeth stared wide-eyed, clutching his neck with both hands, blood gushing from between his fingers, making a hissing sound like a bellows leaking air.

He staggered two steps in disbelief, then collapsed onto the snow with a thud, blood splattering out and drawing a large red stain on the snow.

It was so red it was almost blinding, so red it seemed to be steaming hot.

The mountain road fell silent for a moment.

All the crying, cursing, and sounds of clashing weapons ceased.

It's as if someone pressed the pause button.

The snowflakes were still falling, the wind was still blowing, but all human voices had disappeared.

Everyone turned to look at this young man who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

Barefoot, wearing strange white clothes, with hair so short it was plastered to his scalp, he looked like a monk who had just left the monastic life.

But the young man had a knife in his hand, and there was blood on the knife. Blood was still dripping down the blade and onto the snow, one drop, two drops, three drops.

That was incredibly fast.

It was so fast that no one could see how he made his move; the bandit fell down before he could even react.

The middle-aged man sprawled on the ground looked up at Su Ning, his lips trembling as he cried out, "Hero... Hero, save me..."

Su Ning glanced down at him, said nothing, and turned to face the remaining bandits.

The bandits then realized what was happening.

The dozen or so men looked at each other, gripping their knives tightly, but none of them made the first move.

A leader squeezed out from the crowd, his face full of scars, with a scar on his left cheek that stretched from the corner of his eye to the corner of his mouth, like a centipede lying there.

The centipede-faced man carried a large, ghost-headed scalpel with three iron rings on the back, which jingled loudly.

He first looked Su Ning up and down, from head to toe, and then from head to toe, before grinning and revealing a half-smile.

"Where did this wild monk come from? Meddling in my business?" Centipede Face's voice was rough, like sandpaper rubbing against wood.

Suning looked down at himself—white T-shirt, gray sweatpants, barefoot.

His hair was so short it was plastered to his scalp, and in this freezing weather, he did look a bit like a monk.

However, Su Ning did not explain or speak. He just looked at the bandit leader with a calm expression, like a stagnant pool.

The bandit leader felt a little uneasy under that gaze.

You have to understand, he's been robbing people on this mountain road for over a decade. He's seen tough guys, ruthless guys, and guys who don't care about their lives, but he's never seen eyes like that before.

The young man looked at himself as if he were not a person, but as if he were a tree or a stone, with nothing in his eyes.

"Fuck you, what are you pretending for?" The bandit leader spat and waved his hand, "Brothers, kill him first!"

"Kill..." Seven or eight bandits charged forward, brandishing their knives.

Some people shouted, some cursed, and some yelled; the glint of knives flashed across the snow.

Suning, however, did not make a move.

After all, he fought countless battles in "The Peaceful Years," charging in and out of thousands of troops; and he went offline with Sun Wukong in "Goodbye Mr. Loser" and "Journey to the West."

With the cultivation level of a Taiyi Loose Immortal and the ability of seventy-two transformations, he could crush these people into dust with a single finger.

But he didn't want to use magic. Using a sledgehammer to crack a nut is pointless.

Besides, Su Ning hasn't even figured out where he is or what era this is. If he rashly reveals his magic, who knows what trouble he might cause.

So, Suning went to meet them.

The first strike felled one.

The bandit charged at him with his knife raised, but Su Ning dodged to the side, and the knife slashed past him, missing by only three inches.

He grabbed the bandit's wrist with his left hand and pulled him forward, while his right hand slashed across the bandit's throat and collarbone with his knife. Blood spurted out and splattered all over the bandit's face.

The bandit fell down without even uttering a sound.

The second cut pierced through one.

While he was drawing his sword, the bandit on the left raised his sword and chopped off his head.

Without turning his head, Su Ning thrust the knife backward with his right hand, the tip piercing through his ribs and striking his heart.

The bandit's knife froze in mid-air before clattering to the ground, and he knelt down as well.

The third cut slit his throat.

The bandits directly in front of them were terrified and turned to run away.

Su Ning caught up quickly, the knife slicing around from behind and twisting around his neck like cutting wheat.

The bandit took two steps, blood gushing from his neck like a fountain, and collapsed onto the snow.

The knife seemed to come alive in Su Ning's hands; he chopped, hacked, stabbed, and slashed, each move clean and crisp, without a single superfluous motion.

He kills people like he's chopping vegetables, one slice after another, without even breaking a sweat.

Before the bandits could even raise their knives, the men had already fallen.

One of the bandits was slashing halfway down the mountain when Su Ning's knife was already at his neck. The bandit stared wide-eyed at the knife at his neck, but before he could utter a word, he was gone.

The bandit leader was dumbfounded.

He stood there, mouth agape, knife raised, like a wooden statue.

He had been robbing people on this mountain road for over a decade, fighting against government soldiers, bodyguards, and ruthless gangsters, but he had never seen a fighting style like this before.

This young man didn't seem to be fighting; rather, he seemed to be doing something he had practiced a thousand times before. Every step was calculated, and every strike was just right, not too much, not too little, just enough to kill.

"Brothers, let's attack together!" the bandit leader roared at the top of his lungs.

The voice had changed tone, becoming high-pitched and thin, like a rooster being choked.

The remaining five or six bandits gritted their teeth, exchanged glances, and rushed forward.

Some people brandished knives, some brandished guns, and a bandit carrying an axe charged forward, howling.

Su Ning smiled, flicked his wrist, and with a flash of light, the two bandits at the front collapsed, clutching their throats, blood gushing from between their fingers, making gurgling sounds.

The three people behind them wanted to retreat, but it was too late.

Su Ning stepped into the crowd, his blade flashing and blood splattering, like red flowers blooming in the snow.

A few moments later, five or six more corpses appeared on the ground.

A large patch of red appeared on the snow, steaming hot, and snowflakes that landed on it melted instantly.

Su Ning flicked the blood off his knife and glanced at the remaining bandits.

There are three more.

Their legs went weak, they couldn't even lift the knife, and some people's crotches were soaked, with sweat dripping down their trouser legs.

They looked at each other, their eyes filled with fear.

I don't know who threw the knife first, but it clattered to the ground and sparks flew out.

The other two also threw down their knives, turned and ran. They took a couple of steps, tripped and fell, got up and kept running, disappearing into the pine forest in a flurry of motion.

Suning didn't chase.

He simply stuck the knife into the snow, and the blood on the blade flowed down, leaving a small red stain on the snow.

He turned around and looked at the people.

They huddled by the roadside, not daring to breathe.

Someone glanced at Su Ning secretly, then quickly lowered their head, as if afraid of being seen by Su Ning.

A young woman was holding a baby who was crying loudly in her arms. She covered the baby's mouth to stop the baby from making a sound.

The old woman was still holding the little girl, who then burst into tears with a heart-wrenching wail. The old woman quickly comforted her, "Don't cry, don't cry, it's okay, it's okay..."

Su Ning glanced at them, but didn't say anything or go over.

He realized that his appearance had frightened them.

A man, barefoot and dressed in white, killed more than a dozen people in the blink of an eye, his body splattered with blood, his face also covered in blood...

He reached up and touched his face; it was sticky—the bandit's blood.

He casually rubbed his hand on the snow, getting mud all over his hand.

Some of the bolder ones immediately fled for their lives, fearing that Su Ning, the god of death, would target them.

The only middle-aged couple was the first to react.

The man was in his forties, with a square face and thick lips. He wore a patched cotton-padded jacket with worn-out cuffs that revealed the cotton batting underneath.

The woman was also in her forties, with a round face and a kind appearance. She had two red patches on her cheeks from the cold, and wore a pair of small silver earrings.

The two helped each other to their feet, their legs still trembling. After taking two steps, they almost fell again.

After finally reaching Su Ning, he knelt down with a thud.

"I will never forget your life-saving grace, hero!" The man kowtowed, his forehead striking the snow and leaving a dent. The woman followed suit, murmuring, "Thank you, hero, thank you, hero..."

Suning quickly bent down and helped them up.

The moment his hand touched the man's arm, the man shuddered as if he had been electrocuted.

Su Ning sighed inwardly.

He killed too swiftly just now; these people are just as afraid of him as they are of bandits.

"Don't kneel, stand up and speak." Su Ning's voice was very soft, trying to make herself look as kind as possible.

The man looked up and glanced at Su Ning.

The young man's eyes were bright, clear, and his gaze was pure.

His fear lessened somewhat, and with Su Ning's help, he stood up, his legs still trembling, his knees covered in snow.

The woman also stood up, secretly glanced at Su Ning, and then quickly lowered her head.

The man looked Su Ning up and down.

What kind of clothes is this young man wearing? They're white and thin, like summer clothes. He's standing barefoot in the snow in the dead of winter, isn't he cold?

Looking at the young man's hair, it was so short it was close to his scalp, as if it had just been shaved not long ago, with his scalp showing and looking bluish.

The man's heart skipped a beat, and his lips trembled as he asked, "Hero... are you a monk from the temple?"

Su Ning was stunned for a moment, "What?"

“It’s… a monk.” The man pointed at Su Ning’s hair, then withdrew his hand, afraid of offending her. “Your hair… looks like it was just shaved.”

Suning touched his buzz cut; it was hard and prickly.

He thought for a moment, then smiled. "I'm not a monk. I've just been practicing with my master on the mountain and haven't come down. This hair... is convenient for practice, so it's easier to manage if it's shaved short."

The man suddenly realized, nodding repeatedly, "I see, I see. No wonder..."

He glanced back at the bandits' corpses on the ground, swallowed hard, and said, "No wonder the young master is so powerful. What about your master?"

“My master has already passed away.” Su Ning said smoothly, with a slightly sad expression on his face. He was good at acting. “I stayed on the mountain alone for a few months. I thought it was time to go down the mountain and gain some experience, so I came out. Who knew that I would run into this as soon as I came down the mountain.”

The man nodded repeatedly, muttering, "Fate, fate."

He rubbed his hands together, then looked at Su Ning's feet, but there was no reaction when he stepped on the snow.

He's clearly a highly skilled cultivator; he's definitely a once-in-a-century living deity.

“Young man, if you don’t mind, would you like to rest at our house? It’s freezing cold, and you’re barefoot…” The middle-aged man looked down at Su Ning’s feet, then looked up at Su Ning’s face. “Our Lin’an Town is just ahead, not far, about twenty miles away. You saved our lives, what’s this little thing? At least… at least we can get you a pair of shoes.”

"..."

...(End of this chapter)