Chapter Seventeen: Tiger Feather

Ji Xun picked up the books, but he didn’t take Bai Anpin’s words to heart.

Even if, in this very moment, Bai Anpin was moved by the possibility of regaining his freedom and wished to repay the favor in the future, such gratitude was fleeting. A surge of courage is easy to muster, but to remain steadfast is hard; vows are fickle things—who knows when one might regret them.

Ji Xun had no intention of placing his life in another’s hands.

“Then, until we meet again,” he said.

“Benefactor…”

Without looking back, Ji Xun left, employing lightfoot techniques to depart the scene.

Not long after, Bai Anpin coughed up a mouthful of corpse-blood, collapsed to the ground, and only after a long while managed to sit up.

It turned out that the force and energy of Ji Xun’s punch had completely suppressed Bai Anpin’s corpse-demon body—he’d nearly been killed with a single blow, only surviving by sheer force of will.

“Heh… My benefactor, we will meet again,” Bai Anpin murmured to himself.

...

“Such petty tricks, hardly worth mentioning.”

Ji Xun looked at the dozen or so books before him and used the Demon Refining Gourd to extract any lingering demonic energy. Now, even if Bai Anpin had left any hidden traps, they could not find him.

He then wrapped the books and returned to the market entrance.

By now it was afternoon; the appointed hour was drawing near. Ji Xun couldn’t stray too far, so he wandered among the nearby stalls, which were still bustling with noise.

“Top-quality tea leaves, hand-picked by fox-maidens—still bearing the scent of the fox tribe!”

“Old Ma, come on! Your foxes have a scent? Last time, that fox girl almost made me sick!”

“If you’re not buying, don’t ruin my business!”

“Who are you calling fox-scented? We fox-spirits don’t have a stink!”

Amidst the clamor, Ji Xun stopped by another stall, buying some spices, salt, and other odds and ends. As for the so-called ancestral treasures on display, Ji Xun reckoned that not even one in ten was genuine—none older than his dog, Da Huang.

Before long, Old Master Lin and his party arrived at the market on their donkey cart, the cart piled high with winter quilts, clothes, coarse grains, and various sundries.

“The town is quite lively, isn’t it?” Old Master Lin asked with a smile.

“Yes, it truly is,” Ji Xun replied.

The group climbed aboard the donkey cart and set off toward the village.

Halfway home, the sky began to darken.

...

“These quilts can’t get wet—should we shelter in the ruined temple up ahead for the night?” Lin Changshan asked.

Ji Xun frowned at once. Entering a ruined temple at dusk—he knew this story well. Wasn’t this the perfect setup for a haunting?

Old Master Lin sighed. “No, the rain won’t come down just yet. Let’s take the shortcut—even if it’s a rougher ride, we’ll make it home before dark.”

“Alright, Uncle,” Lin Changshan’s cousin said, turning the cart down another road.

This path was indeed more rugged; the poor donkey nearly gave out. Fortunately, everyone rode atop the quilts, so they suffered little discomfort.

Safely, they returned to the village.

Old Master Lin led Ji Xun and the others, distributing winter bedding and clothing to every household.

Most of the villagers wept with red-rimmed eyes—for years, they had finally outlasted Qu the Skinflint.

After finishing his deliveries, Ji Xun returned to his thatched hut. Outside, rain began pouring down; inside, the leaks began as well.

Gazing at the dripping thatched roof, Ji Xun felt a pang of desolation. So this was how Wang Dali had endured ten years of his life.

But wait—there was still Da Huang!

Ji Xun sprinkled a bit of salt over a piece of pork and handed it to Da Huang.

Then he lit a candle and examined his newly purchased books. He had to admit, Bai Anpin’s calligraphy was quite refined.

He opened the “Chronicle of Ten Thousand Demons” and began to read.

When night fell, Ji Xun took out the “Tiger-Crane Dual Form Fist” and instructed Da Huang to keep watch.

[Tiger-Crane Dual Form Fist (Incomplete): Upper-grade Profound Rank fist technique. Once cherished by the half-demon Tigerfeather, this item allows one to dream of fragments from Tigerfeather’s past.]

...

In a haze, Ji Xun saw a young boy being bullied by a group of children.

“You bastard, mangy beast!”

“I’ll kick you to death!”

“Orphaned brat—no father, no mother!”

Perhaps growing tired, the group finally dispersed, each child returning home.

The bullied boy did not shed a single tear. He endured the beating as if nothing had happened.

Dejected, the boy wandered to the riverbank and looked at his reflection in the water.

His eyes were pitch-black, his face round, tigerish—a small face carrying a hint of fierceness.

Ji Xun quickly grasped the outline of the boy’s life.

Tigerfeather was ten years old, his birth marked by hardship and misfortune. Even Ji Xun found the tale melodramatic.

Tigerfeather’s mother, in her youth, was a romantic at heart, dismissive of the burly men within her own tiger-blooded clan.

Yet she fell for a delicate, handsome face.

One day, Tigerfeather’s father—a dashing crane-descendant—met his mother. They were instantly enamored; passion flared, and they soon lived together.

Not long after, his crane-blooded father left in the dead of night, supporting his aching back as he departed.

Several months later, Tigerfeather was born.

Eight months after that, his mother encountered an even more charming flower-demon and left with him, abandoning Tigerfeather.

Notions like “a mother’s love makes her strong” or “father’s love is as deep as the mountains” were foreign to Tigerfeather.

As for the kinship and brotherhood extolled in clan teachings, young Tigerfeather thought it was all nonsense.

His peers never missed a chance to torment him, using every method they could imagine, wishing only to see him dead.

...

Three years later, Tigerfeather sat in the forest, practicing his clan’s martial arts.

The “Mountain Tiger Body-Tempering Method” was a mid-grade Profound Rank technique, suited to the tiger-blooded members of his clan.

It could, in theory, reach the highest grade of the Profound Realm, but progress was slow and offered little in the way of self-defense.

Moreover, as Tigerfeather cultivated, he often found the flow of energy impeded—perhaps due to the crane-demon blood within him.

Still, this was the best technique his grandfather had managed to secure for him.

Now seriously ill, Tigerfeather’s grandfather found his only company in his grandson, who alternated between hunting, practicing, and keeping him company.

Before long, his grandfather passed away. After the burial, Tigerfeather left the clan without a backward glance and set out for a county town under the neighboring commandery.

In this new place, he was robbed, deceived, and beaten.

Relying on his strength, he worked at the docks, apprenticed at a blacksmith’s forge, and even served as a bodyguard.

Finally, through introductions, he barely managed to join an escort agency, where he learned a lower-grade Profound Rank fist technique called “Six Harmonies Fist.”

This technique was balanced in attack and defense, leaving few openings, though its power was limited and could be overcome by brute force.