My Years as a Menace in the Sect

Wei Ping'an's eyelids felt as heavy as if they were weighed down by stones, and he couldn't open them. He could only feel a cool liquid sliding down the corner of his mouth into his throat, like an icy spring from a mountain stream, suppressing the burning pain in his lungs.

He tried to groan, but his throat was thick with blood and froth, and he could only manage a few faint gasps. The hand didn't move; its fingertips lingered on his wrist for the time it takes to burn an incense stick, then moved upwards, touching the exposed edge of the pot on his back. The fingernail tapped against the iron wall, producing a very soft, muffled sound. The other person stopped.

"Mysterious Pattern Pot." It was a woman's voice, extremely low, the breath brushing past his ear, slightly hoarse, "Qi Xuan has been searching for it for half his life... I never expected it to fall into the hands of a half-grown child."

Wei Ping'an's mind was buzzing. He couldn't understand or remember anything. He only felt that the person put a small porcelain bottle in his palm and wiped the blood off his face with a cloth. The movements were very light and hesitant.

"Go south, not east. Qi Mang is guarding the pass. He's only at the half-step Foundation Establishment stage, you won't be able to get out." As soon as he finished speaking, footsteps began, soft and silent on the decaying leaves. After a few steps, they completely disappeared into the mist at the bottom of the cliff, leaving no trace.

Wei Ping'an fainted again.

When he woke up again, the warmth in his back had enveloped his entire body. It wasn't the coolness of the medicine, but a familiar, gentle heat that seeped from the bottom of his back, running down his spine and into every part of his body, like sun-dried cotton filling the gaps in his broken bones.

He moved his fingers, his fingertips could curl up again, and he shifted his position by bracing himself on the ground. The pot on his back pressed against his waist, heavy yet very stable. The tadpole-like patterns on the rim of the pot gleamed with a very faint black light, as if a thin stream was slowly flowing within the patterns, and with each rotation, a wisp of warmth seeped out and seeped into his veins.

It was this pot that was keeping him alive. The miasma at the bottom of the cliff, damp and cold, seeped into his bones, but he felt no chill at all. His dantian, which had been empty, was now slowly gathering qi, as thin as a thread but very steady, swirling around the walls of his dantian little by little.

Wei Ping'an didn't rush to get up. He sat against the stone wall behind him, closed his eyes, and let the warmth guide his qi. The medicinal power he had accumulated from the previous drug trials, the potential he had been forced out before falling off the cliff, and the drop of medicine that the person at the bottom of the cliff had fed him were all mixed together by the warmth in the pot, slowly sinking down his meridians.

The energy paused at the wrist meridian, as if blocked by a thin membrane. The warmth in the pot deepened, and a thin stream struck it, making a very soft cracking sound, like thin ice breaking. The energy flowed smoothly, overflowing from the fingertips with a cool sensation, and then flowed through the ankles as well. The soles of the feet felt heavy and numb, and one could feel the sharp edges of pebbles underfoot. Wei Ping'an suddenly opened his eyes, his palms glowing with a faint white light. His spiritual energy was more than twice as thick as before, and he walked smoothly and steadily.

He broke through to the third level of Qi Refining after falling at the bottom of the cliff.

He looked down at the small porcelain bottle in his palm. The white porcelain bottle, about the size of his thumb, was sealed with a wooden stopper. He uncorked it and smelled it; it had a slightly bitter fragrance with a hint of orchid. One sniff was enough to refresh him. He didn't know who had saved him, nor why the other person recognized the Xuanwen Pot or why they wanted to help him.

Wei Ping'an tucked the porcelain bottle into the closest part of his body; he had to keep something that could save his life. He touched the pot on his back again; the outer iron wall was still cool, but the side against his skin was warm. "Thanks," he muttered softly, using the pot as support to slowly stand up. His legs were still a little weak, but he swayed and steadied himself.

The fog at the bottom of the cliff was so thick he couldn't tell which way to go, but he remembered the man's words: don't go east, there's a half-step Foundation Establishment cultivator guarding the pass. Su Yin and Zhang He must have run east towards the pass, unaware of the ambush. Wei Ping'an's heart tightened; he had to catch up with them. If they ran into Qi Mang, the half-step Foundation Establishment cultivator, they would both be dead. Without further hesitation, he grabbed onto the vines on the cliff face and started climbing. The thorns on the vines scratched his hands, and old wounds reopened, blood dripping down the vines.

He gritted his teeth and trudged upwards, slipping twice along the way, only managing to avoid falling back down thanks to the pot wedging into a crevice in the rock. By the time he reached the top, the moon was high overhead, its silvery light casting a cold glow on the pine needles. He calibrated his bearings, determined to go east, and took off. The spiritual energy he had just gained circulated rapidly through his meridians, making his steps much lighter than before, almost silent as he stepped on the pine needles. He deliberately chose to slip through the densest shadows, like a night cat.

The road was littered with signs of a struggle: broken tree trunks, steel knives lying in the mud, and the corpses of two members of the Qi family, their throats ripped open by whips, blood splattering everywhere on the tree trunks—Su Yin's doing. The bodies were still warm; they hadn't gone far. Wei Ping'an quickened his pace.

After chasing for about half an hour, the crisp sound of clashing weapons and menacing laughter came from the rocky hill ahead. He immediately crouched down and crept behind a large rock to peek out. Seven or eight people were gathered in a circle in the open space. Su Yin stood at the front, leaning on a long whip. Half of her body was covered in blood, her left arm was hanging limply and she could not move it. Her face was as white as paper and her lips were bluish. With each breath, a little blood seeped from the corner of her mouth.

Zhang He leaned against the boulder behind her, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling only slightly, as if he were about to die. The Qi family members surrounding them all carried knives, their faces showing mocking smiles. The leader was a scarred-faced man carrying a broad-backed knife, blood dripping from it, and he was using the back of the knife to slap Su Yin's face.

"Run, keep running!" Scarface spat. "The female disciples of the Cangxia Sect, with their delicate skin and tender flesh, are definitely better suited to be sacrificed to the patriarch than those servants." Su Yin raised her eyes, her gaze as fierce as a wolf's, and raised her arm halfway before letting it fall. Scarface laughed loudly and reached out to grab her hair.

Just then, Wei Ping'an moved. He pulled out the last packet of lime powder from his pocket, aimed at the wind, and threw it out. The white powder drifted with the night wind, instantly blinding the three people in the front. "Who?!" Scarface shouted angrily as he backed away with his eyes closed.

Wei Ping'an grabbed a fist-sized rock from beside him and smashed it hard on the back of the head of the man on the far side. With a dull thud, the man fell straight to the ground without even groaning. "Your grandpa's right here!" Wei Ping'an shouted at the top of his lungs, untied the black pot, and rushed out from behind the rock, aiming it at the lower back of another man. The rim of the pot hit his waist, and the man screamed as he flew through the air, landing on the ground curled up in a ball.

"Wei Ping'an?!" Su Yin looked up abruptly, her eyelashes trembling violently at the sight of the figure rushing towards her. She thought he had died at Black Pine Slope; Qi Kun had told her himself when he returned that he had fallen off Broken Soul Cliff and his body was nowhere to be found.

"Enough talk, let's go!" Wei Ping'an rushed to her side and blocked her path with the pot. "I'll clear the way, you help Zhang He retreat south! We can't go through the pass!"

"South?" Su Yin was taken aback. "Don't ask anymore, it'll be too late if we don't leave now!"

No sooner had Wei Ping'an finished speaking than Scarface, having rubbed his eyes, charged over with his knife. "You little bastard, you won't even die from falling off a cliff!" The broad-backed knife came crashing down with tremendous force, and Wei Ping'an raised his pot to block it. With a clang, sparks flew everywhere, and he took two steps back, crushing two pebbles under his feet. His hands were numb from the impact.

He was at the ninth level of Qi Refining, much stronger than those previous fodder soldiers. He definitely wouldn't have been able to withstand it before, but now that he had broken through to the third level of Qi Refining, and with the warmth from the pot flowing from his arm to his palm, he actually managed to catch the knife.

"Interesting." Scarface paused for a moment, then grinned maliciously. "So what if you broke through? You're still six levels short. I'll still kill you!" With that, he slashed at him diagonally again.

Wei Ping'an didn't take the hit head-on. Instead, he dodged to the side and took out a bottle of unknown ointment from his pocket. It was left by the person at the bottom of the cliff. It was sticky and smelled of wormwood. He splashed it on the scarred man's face, smearing the ointment all over his face.

"Ah! What is that!" Scarface instinctively rubbed it, and immediately felt a stinging pain on his skin as if he had been bitten by a poisonous insect. Wei Ping'an took the opportunity to kick him in the knee, and a crisp cracking sound was the sound of bones dislocating. Scarface screamed and fell to his knees.

"Let's go!" Wei Ping'an grabbed Su Yin, who immediately helped Zhang He up, and the three of them retreated into the woods to the south. The remaining Qi family members wanted to give chase, but Wei Ping'an turned around and threw several handfuls of gravel at them, leaving them with bloodied heads and too afraid to move forward.

The three of them plunged into the woods and ran as fast as they could, the shadows of the trees whipping past their backs and the wind stinging their ears. Su Yin, panting as she ran, couldn't help but ask, "How did you know the pass was impassable? How did you climb up from the bottom of the cliff?" "I'll tell you on the way," Wei Ping'an replied without turning his head, "Let's shake them off first."

After running for about half an hour, the footsteps behind them gradually faded into the distance. The three of them found a secluded ravine to stop and catch their breath. Zhang He was still unconscious and his breathing was getting weaker and weaker. Su Yin leaned against a tree trunk, clutching her left arm, and her face looked terrible.

"Someone at the bottom of the cliff saved me from death," Wei Ping'an said, squatting down and picking up a twig to scrape the soil. "It was a woman, but I couldn't see her face clearly. She said there was a guy named Qi Mang guarding the pass, and we couldn't get through. She told us to go south, and once we passed the miasma forest, we could shake off the Qi family."

"A half-step Foundation Establishment cultivator..." Su Yin's face paled. If a half-step Foundation Establishment cultivator was guarding the pass, going there would be suicide. "Then should we head south?"

"We can only go south," Wei Ping'an nodded. "We should get out of the Qi family's blockade first, and then try to find a way to get around to the sect's stronghold. It's better than being stuck at the pass." Su Yin was silent for a moment before nodding in agreement.

The two rested for less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn before helping Zhang He continue on. The forest to the south was denser and the fog was heavier, and the muddy ground made their progress very slow. Wei Ping'an walked in front, stopping from time to time to listen for any sounds, always holding the black pot tightly in his hand, not daring to relax.

After walking for about two hours, as dawn approached, an open area appeared ahead. A narrow mountain path stretched out before them, flanked by steep cliffs, the only way south. Wei Ping'an's heart skipped a beat; such strategically important locations were perfect for ambushes.

Just as he was about to signal to stop, a figure slowly emerged from the mist in the middle of the mountain path. Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark, close-fitting outfit, he carried a nine-ringed saber, the rings jingling as it swung. A diagonal scar ran from the corner of his eye to his jaw, and his eyes were as fierce as a wolf that hadn't eaten for half a month. He stood in the middle of the path, completely blocking it, leaving no room for even a sideways turn.

"South?" the man asked, his voice rough and hoarse like two coarse stones grinding together. "Who told you there's no one guarding the south?"

Wei Ping'an's fingers tightened instantly, his knuckles turning white. Su Yin also gripped her whip tightly and took half a step forward, shielding Zhang He behind her. "Qi Mang?" she asked, her voice trembling.

The man grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth. "You do have some discernment." He brandished the nine-ringed sword in his hand, the rings jingling loudly. His gaze swept past Wei Ping'an and landed squarely on the black pot behind him, his greed undisguised. "The Xuanwen Pot is on you, isn't it? Hand it over, and I'll leave you three with intact corpses."

The pot on Wei Ping'an's back started to get slightly hot again.

The mist drifted along the mountain path, obscuring the figures of the four. Qi Mang took a step forward, his shoes crunching over the pebbles. The pressure of his half-step Foundation Establishment cultivation washed over him, like icy water creeping up his ankles, making his bones ache.