The night breeze rustled through the trees of the residential complex, filling the air with a soft, dry whisper. I crouched in the corner of my third-floor balcony, a mid-grade spirit-gathering stone still in hand from my cultivation session. Ever since the blind old man had tipped me off that the bounty order traced back to Baizhen Pavilion's "Iron Abacus" — Rex Zhao — not a single week of the past half-month had passed without rogue cultivators showing up at my door. Qi Refinement fourth-layers, fifth-layers, and on two separate occasions, honest-to-god peak fifth-layer bruisers.

"Old man," I muttered at the bronze ring on my finger, "at this rate, my apartment complex is going to turn into a cultivator's fighting pit."

The ring warmed faintly against my skin. The system elder's holographic projection flickered into view, looking as absurd as ever in his Foundation Establishment Is Fun pajamas, cradling a bowl of virtual Kang Shuai Fu black-pepper beef noodles. "If Baizhen Pavilion's chump change of a bounty is pulling in this many flies, it means you're somebody now, kid. What's the matter — scared?"

"Scared my ass." I tightened my grip on the meteoric iron chopping board at my side, its dark-gold spirit runes glinting faintly in the darkness. "I'm just annoyed. Every day it's like whack-a-mole. Never ends."

Though, if I was being honest, without the Baizhen Pavilion bounty on my head, I never would have realised just how many cultivators were hiding in plain sight across the country. Every encounter was updating my mental model of the immortal cultivation world.

The words had barely left my mouth when a cold, sinister ripple of spiritual energy surged up from below, carrying with it a faint but unmistakable reek of rot. My heart went cold. I stuffed the spirit-gathering stone back into my pocket, snatched up the Wave-Cleaver blade, and pressed myself flat against the balcony railing.

"Three Qi Refinement fifth-layer rogue cultivators detected. One is at peak fifth-layer, in possession of the evil artefact: Bone-Rot Whip." The system chime rang out in my mind, laced with quiet warning.

I narrowed my eyes and, by the dim amber glow of the streetlights, made out three dark shapes gliding into the stairwell below like wraiths. The one in front was tall — broad-shouldered, a jet-black whip coiled at his waist, its tip weeping thin threads of dark-green venom. The Bone-Rot Whip. Exactly as described.

"Looks like I'm loosening up the joints again tonight." I drew a slow, steady breath, then slipped out through the back window, shinning down a curtain of Boston ivy until my feet found the second-floor window ledge. I'd barely steadied myself when hurried footsteps clattered through the stairwell. They were heading straight for my unit.

"Ethan Lu, get out here and die!" A coarse, grating voice echoed from the third-floor corridor, punctuated by the wet crack of the Bone-Rot Whip slapping the wall.

I said nothing. Instead I gathered my spiritual energy outward, spreading it like a web, pinpointing all three positions. The peak fifth-layer cultivator stood at my front door; the other two held the stairwell landing and the fire-escape exit, boxing me in from both sides.

A pincer trap? Trying to catch the turtle in a jar? A cold smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I launched myself off the second-floor ledge, swinging the Wave-Cleaver the instant I was airborne.

"Flowing-Wave Slash!"

A blade of pale-blue water-qi tore through the night sky, its momentum sharp and merciless, angling straight at the rogue cultivator guarding the fire exit. The man's face went white. He scrambled to raise his short sword in a desperate parry.

Boom.

The water-blade met steel and exploded in a burst of spray. The short sword cracked from pommel to tip; the shockwave numbed the cultivator's arms and sent him stumbling backwards.

"Who's there?!" The tall man at my door spun around, and the Bone-Rot Whip came singing through the air toward me.

I was ready. One push of my foot, I activated Water-Glide technique, skimming across the ground in a low slide that let the whip-shadow pass harmlessly overhead. Where it struck the pavement it left a groove eaten clean to gravel, oozing a pungent, acid stench.

"Interesting." A flicker of genuine surprise crossed the tall cultivator's eyes. "No wonder Baizhen Pavilion is paying in mid-grade spirit stones for you. Peak Qi Refinement fifth-layer and already moving like that."

"Likewise," I said, planting my feet and tightening my grip on the Wave-Cleaver. "But did you really think the three of you would be enough to cash in that bounty?"

"Shut your mouth!" The rogue cultivator from the stairwell came charging with a roar, his longsword blazing with a sickly blue luminescence — poisoned, clearly.

I didn't dodge. I waited until the blade was no more than ten centimetres from my body, then twisted sideways and swung the meteoric iron chopping board in a single, heavy arc. A dull, meaty thunk — the longsword buckled and bent into a mangled spiral, and its owner cried out as his wrist shrieked with pain, the weapon spinning out of his grip.

At that exact moment the tall cultivator cracked the Bone-Rot Whip again. This time it was nearly twice as fast as before. So this is peak fifth-layer. My chest tightened. With no time to manoeuvre, I had no choice but to pour my spiritual energy into the chopping board and throw up a light-barrier.

Szzzt—

The whip bit into the barrier with a searing, corrosive screech. The surface of the shield rippled like disturbed water. It held — but I could feel the barrier thinning by the second.

"Shit." Something's wrong. I kicked backwards hard, putting distance between us. The tall cultivator sneered, formed a hand seal, and a thick wave of fetid stench rolled over me as an enormous phantom serpent coalesced behind him, rearing its massive head.

"Ten Thousand Serpents' Devouring Venom!" My pupils contracted. Again with this?

I drove every scrap of spiritual energy I had, pressed my palms together, and called up a water-veil that materialised in the air before me. The poison fog slammed into the curtain with a bubbling, corrosive hiss; the surface of the veil began to blister and thin at a terrifying rate.

I can't keep this up. Panic scraped at the edges of my focus. My peripheral vision snagged on a pile of construction debris nearby, and an idea sparked. Still maintaining the veil, I began backing toward the rubble.

The tall cultivator read it as a retreat and pressed his advantage, the phantom serpent stretching its gaping jaws wide, lunging for me.

At the last instant — just as the poison fog was about to swallow me whole — I threw myself sideways and ducked behind a stack of concrete drainage pipes. The phantom serpent crashed into them with a deafening impact; one pipe was eaten through in seconds, a ragged, dripping hole where solid concrete had been.

"I'll see how long you can keep hiding!" The tall cultivator bellowed, directing the other two to fan out and close the net.

I drew a long breath. I couldn't stall any longer. Spiritual energy raged through my meridians in a furious torrent; I could feel them swelling, stretched taut, as though the next heartbeat might split them apart.

"Old man," I called out silently, "I think I'm about to break through!"

End of Chapter 27: The Night Wind Stirs