Elderly Martial Saint: Sixty Times the Cultivation Speed ​​at the Start

The third floor of Fumanlou Restaurant, the top-tier private room.

The curtains were half-drawn, the candlelight flickered, and the scent of perfume mixed with the aroma of wine swirled in the room.

Tang Hao leaned against the headboard with his shirt half-open, the brocade quilt piled around his waist, the old scars on his chest shining in the candlelight. The girl had just gotten out of bed and said she was going downstairs to get him some hot food to tide him over.

Tang Hao didn't stop him.

Although the time spent doing this wasn't long, it was quite physically demanding, and my stomach was growling with hunger.

He gazed at the shadow above the curtain, his hands behind his head, the smile on his lips impossible to suppress.

Cao Tie and Qian Jiu, two veterans of the Red Tiger Gang, with their Qi and Blood at the peak of the third level, would find it too late to deal with a sixty-year-old old man who was just flipping through papers. Half an hour would be too long.

Tang Hao stretched in bed, his toes dangling, while the abacus beads in his mind clicked away incessantly.

Once the booklet was in hand, it was handed over to the county magistrate, who then paid the remaining balance—three hundred and fifty taels of silver and two fourth-grade bone-strengthening pills.

Tuogu Dan (a traditional Chinese medicine formula).

Just those two words are enough to make one's heart race. He has just gained a foothold at the third level of Qi and Blood, and every step forward requires a lot of resources.

The meager salary and rewards from the Sky Patrol Division were barely enough to fill a gap in their teeth, but the Bone Strengthening Pill was different. It was a genuinely valuable item that could temper the skeleton to a deeper level. Coupled with the merits of this campaign against the cult and the county magistrate's connections in the officialdom, the formal appointment of the deputy patrol commander was a natural progression.

What about further up?

Lord of the Palace.

Du Qinghe, the head of the Contribution Hall, was only at the third level of Qi and Blood when he ascended to that position. The Hall Master oversees the allocation and distribution of resources within the Hall, and the annual tributes from various parties amount to at least several hundred taels of silver, completely ending the days of scarce martial arts resources.

Tang Hao closed his eyes, a satisfied sigh escaping his nostrils.

He even secretly calculated that if he could obtain a stable supply of Bone-Strengthening Pills and mid-grade pills, with his inherent talent and physical foundation, it wouldn't be a pipe dream for him to reach the fifth level of Qi and Blood Refining Realm around the age of sixty-five, before his Qi and Blood completely deteriorated.

By then, what will the deputy chief steward be? What will the chief steward be?

Tang Hao was in charge of the entire Yunwen Town branch.

Thinking of this, he couldn't help but cross his legs, tapping his toes on the bedding in a rhythmic fashion, like he was keeping time.

As for the possibility of failure? Tang Hao didn't waste a single thought in that direction.

The logic is simple—Yi Yang is sixty years old. He was born into a family of useless people who were judged by the martial arts school to be "unworthy of martial arts". So what if he secretly practiced some rudimentary skills and killed the three Qi and Blood level two soldiers sent by the county magistrate?

That's the absolute maximum; the Qi and Blood are in triple layers, I'm at my limit.

The foundation of Qi and Blood above the fifth level, the vast amount of elixirs, and the systematic cultivation over many years—which of these could an old woodcutter who had been poor for most of his life possibly gather?

joke.

Two fully-fledged cultivators at the triple perfection level would have a 100% chance of defeating an old man at most the triple perfection level.

Tang Hao was too lazy to even prepare a backup plan, completely lost in his dream of success and fame, his bones practically melting.

hiss--

A sharp shriek exploded in the night sky outside the window.

A signal arrow.

The red tail flames shot into the sky in a long arc, bursting into a dazzling burst of sparks in mid-air.

The second one followed immediately.

The third one.

The intervals were extremely short, almost as if the first arrow hadn't been extinguished before the second one was launched; that was the emergency assembly order from the Sky Patrol Division.

Tang Hao sprang up, and the osmanthus cake in his hand fell onto the bedding and shattered into pieces.

A series of clanging metal sounds came from the direction of the Sky Patrol Division, accompanied by shouts and muffled thuds of something collapsing, surging towards this direction in waves.

That wasn't the kind of noise you'd expect from a typical patrol conflict. Tang Hao kicked off the covers, rolled out of bed, rushed to the window, and pushed it open halfway with the heel of his hand. A cool breeze rushed in, making the curtains flap wildly.

Flames flickered in the direction of the Sky Patrol Office, casting a dark red glow over half the sky. The shouts of battle continued intermittently, and every gust of wind carried a murderous aura.

Tang Hao's brain was racing. Someone was starting a war with the Sky Patrol Division!

The force capable of launching a direct attack on the Cloud Pattern Town patrol branch is not something a few petty thieves could accomplish—it must be organized and have experts at least at the fourth level of Qi and Blood to back it up.

The remnants of the Nine Evil Cult launch a counterattack?

Revenge from an enemy?

Or is it something else entirely?

Tang Hao grabbed the outer shirt draped over the back of the chair, shoved his arm into the sleeve, tightened the knife at his waist, and buttoned the collar.

He had planned to stay peacefully until dawn to create an irrefutable alibi, but the town was in an uproar because he was the acting superintendent.

Hiding in a brothel at this time, if you're investigated later, it's not just a matter of losing face, it's a matter of losing your head.

They must show their faces.

Tang Hao strode towards the door, his mind racing: First, check on the situation at the Sky Patrol Bureau; on the way, send someone to find Cao Tieqianjiu. If the two had succeeded, all the better; if not—

Say.

His hand landed on the wooden door latch, his five fingers just gripping the iron bolt, before his fingertips could even pull it up.

Before me, the wooden window frame shattered.

It wasn't the wind that blew it, nor was it something that hit it. It was an arm that smashed through the entire window grille from the outside, sending wood shards and paper scraps flying everywhere, and extinguishing two candles in the blast.

Five fingers gripped Tang Hao's neck.

Rough, scalding hot palms, calloused and shiny, pressed against the skin of his neck. The touch was harder than iron clamps. The fingers snapped shut with absurd speed, crushing most of his trachea in the same instant.

Tang Hao was pulled forward half a step, and his face slammed into the door.

He wanted to shout.

I can't shout it out.

There was only a slit left in his throat, and the sound of air squeezing in was sharp and piercing, much like the muffled squawking of a rooster before it dies with its neck squeezed.

Tang Hao instinctively tried to pry open the hand that was pinching him.

Ten fingers dug into the other person's flesh—no, they couldn't even dig in. The fingernails scraped across the skin of the other person's forearm as if scraping an iron pillar, leaving not even a white mark.

Amidst the flying splinters of wood, the figure of the newcomer entered from outside the door.

Wearing an old blue robe, with graying hair and a deeply lined face, Yi Yang grabbed Tang Hao by the neck with one hand, lifting him half an inch off the ground to face him.

The knife at the waist was not drawn, so it was not needed.

Tang Hao's pupils shrank to their limit as he saw the face in front of him clearly—the same old man who had been drinking with him here before, with the same wrinkles, the same white hair, and the same old blue robe.

But those eyes were different; they were no longer cloudy, hunched, or aged.

Only one thing remained inside: a chilling killing intent.

It was so cold it had no warmth, so cold it was devoid of any emotion; it was no different from looking at a fly that should be swatted.

Tang Hao's mind raced wildly as he suffocated.

What about Cao Tie?

What about Qian Jiu?

What about the two Red Tiger Gang henchmen who were at the peak of Qi and Blood?

The answer is obvious.

died.

They're all dead.

The old man dealt with both of the triple perfect ones, and then made his way up to the third floor unscathed.

Tang Hao kicked twice in mid-air, the toe of his boot striking Yi Yang's calf. The feedback was no different from kicking a pillar; it was his own toes that hurt.

Those who can do all this are not those with three or four levels of Qi and Blood.

At least five layers.

The Realm of Refining Dirty Things.

At sixty years old, an old woodcutter who had been deemed "unworthy of martial arts" was now in the Refining Realm.

Tang Hao's eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets. Fear and disbelief swirled in his chest, his lips moving frantically. He wanted to speak—

"Spare my life" is also acceptable.

Negotiating terms is also acceptable.

"I can sell you the county magistrate to help you gather information" is also acceptable.

Anything is fine, as long as it can loosen that hand even by a fraction.

But the throat was compressed, and air hissed out from the gaps, making it impossible to form a complete syllable.

Yi Yang didn't wait. In the past, when he killed someone, he might have listened to the other party's information and tried to get a few words out of them.

But not tonight.

A fierce battle is raging in the direction of the town's Sky Patrol Bureau, with arrows being fired in rapid succession, and the situation remains unclear.

Jiang Yuexin and Yang Hui were still in the courtyard; he wasn't sure if the door bolt could keep the chaos at bay.

Every moment of delay is a risk.

Tighten your fingers.

With a twist of the wrist.

Click.

Neck fracture.

The sound bounced once in the private room, crisp and clear, not unlike the snapping of a dried old branch.

Tang Hao's body went limp.

Yi Yang let go.

The corpse sat on the ground with its neck crooked, its eyes still wide open, and its mouth half-open, its death posture exactly the same as Fang Yu's.

They were all people who died without ever uttering their last words.

Yi Yang squatted down and quickly flipped through his clothes.

He pulled out a cloth bag from inside his inner shirt, containing over thirty taels of loose silver and several small silver notes, totaling forty taels. He also kept the Commander of the Sky Guardian badge and a reasonably good-quality longsword at his waist, but he didn't leave them beside the corpse.

He stuffed all the silver and banknotes into his pocket.

Adding the twenty-five taels of gold found on Cao Tie and Qian Jiu, plus the two small yellow croakers that Tang Hao gave as an "apology"—ten taels of gold.

Tonight's revenue was barely passing.

It was a bit less impressive than killing Yang Shuqing, but it was infinitely better than killing Fang Yu.

At least it's not a losing proposition.

Yi Yang stood up.

Another muffled thud came from the direction of the Sky Patrol Office outside the window, and the flames leaped higher. The shouts of battle grew more intense, and the air was thick with the smell of rust.

He didn't stop for long.

He stepped onto the broken window frame with his toes, leaped, and jumped out of the third floor.

The blue tiles on the opposite roof ridge cracked and shattered under the weight of the boots, and the person had already leaped three zhang away.

With his legs fully extended at the Refining Realm, he moved so fast along the rooftop that he was faster than a horse galloping at full speed.

The night wind whistled past my ears, carrying away the lingering scents of perfume and blood from my clothes.

In the top-tier private room on the third floor of Fumanlou Restaurant, most of the candles had gone out, with only one still flickering weakly at the corner of the table.

Tang Hao lay sprawled on the ground.

The half-smile still lingered at the corner of his mouth, never to be taken back.