Renegade Immortal Chapters 43-45: A Cruel Awakening and a Cunning Swindle
The mountain air of the Heng Yue Sect was crisp, carrying the distant scent of pine and medicinal herbs. For Wang Lin, the tranquility of the herb garden was a familiar refuge, but his mind was preoccupied with a monstrous discovery. The hundred-foot-long centipede, a creature of terrifying scale and implied venom, had sparked not fear, but a flicker of distant hope. In its potent poison, he saw a chance, however slim, to cure the lingering illness that plagued his father—the deep-seated chill that flared with every rain, a ghost of poverty and sacrifice from his childhood. He remembered the small centipedes of his village, their mild toxins gathered for poultices. If those could offer temporary relief, what miraculous cure might this colossal beast contain?
The practicalities, however, were daunting. He was a mere ant before such a creature. A method from village lore surfaced in his memory: a special pill that could induce a centipede to expel its poison. The ingredients for such a concoction would be found in one place—the pill house. The thought of the pill house brought another, more personal matter to mind. Four years had passed since he had last seen Wang Hao, the fellow villager who had entered the sect with him and become an assistant to the Third Elder, Lu Yunjie. It was time for a visit.
As dusk painted the sky in hues of violet and orange, Wang Lin arrived at the pill house. The scene he encountered was one of furtive secrecy. He saw Wang Hao carefully slipping out of a side door, his movements tense. Spotting Wang Lin, Wang Hao’s eyes widened. He placed a finger to his lips in a urgent gesture for silence and motioned frantically for Wang Lin to follow him away. A quick sweep of Wang Lin’s divine sense revealed the source of the tension: inside, Third Elder Lu Yunjie was deeply focused on a pill furnace, his expression severe and unapproachable.
Wang Lin followed silently. Wang Hao led him a good distance away, only stopping when the pill house was a distant silhouette. He was panting, not from the short run, but from a palpable anxiety. He cast a wary look back before turning to Wang Lin, a desperate hope gleaming in his eyes.
“Wang Lin,” Wang Hao began, short of breath, “I heard you went to the intense training four years ago. What layer are you at now?”
“The 3rd layer,” Wang Lin replied, but his attention was already elsewhere. His divine sense, far keener than any ordinary Qi Condensation third layer disciple’s, had already scanned Wang Hao. The spiritual energy within his old friend’s body was not right. It had reached the first layer, but it flowed in a strange, contorted path, a swirling vortex that seemed to move against nature. More alarmingly, with each circulation, this vortex leeched a tiny, vital shred of essence from Wang Hao’s very organs. It was a cultivation method that consumed the cultivator’s lifespan as fuel.
“What is this?” Wang Lin asked, his voice low and serious.
Wang Hao offered a bitter, twisted smile. “You saw through it?”
Wang Lin gave a firm nod. “Wang Hao, tell me what this is about.”
A hard, grim look settled on Wang Hao’s face. He clenched his fists, the knuckles turning white. “Back when we went to the exchange, I always regretted not being able to get the Foundation Establishment pill. Later, master—bah—Lu Yunjie gave me one. Said it was to repay me for my service as his helper. I was so surprised, so grateful.” The memory was clearly painful. “He also gave me a new cultivation manual. Told me it was far superior to the sect’s basic method. I didn’t think… I just started cultivating with it.”
“Let me see it,” Wang Lin demanded, a cold suspicion forming in his gut.
Wang Hao pulled out a thread-bound book, its pages worn, and tossed it to Wang Lin. “After two years of practicing it, my body started wasting away. I could condense spiritual energy, but I couldn’t command it. It was just… stuck inside, swirling. I used some savings, bribed a disciple who works in the archives to look something up for me.” His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, filled with venom. “The cultivation method Lu Yunjie gave me is called the ‘Fire Furnace Trial.’”
Wang Lin opened the manual and began to read. The more he read, the colder he felt. This was no cultivation method; it was a death warrant with a tiny, glittering prize. Unlike The Three Layers of Qi Condensation, which refined the body gradually from the inside with gentle spiritual energy, the Fire Furnace Trial forced all gathered energy into a violent, internal vortex. The theory was audacious: if the vortex could expand outside the body before the internal strain shattered the cultivator’s organs, it would forcibly achieve a state similar to Qi Condensation through external refinement. It was a brutal shortcut, where success was a matter of catastrophic luck. The manual itself hinted at the odds: only two in ten practitioners survived.
“The archives had records,” Wang Hao continued, grinding his teeth. “It’s a method scavenged from the extinct country of Lu. A gamble with life. But that’s not the worst of it.” He looked directly at Wang Lin, his eyes hollow. “What benefit would Lu Yunjie get from this, you ask?”
Wang Lin looked up from the horrifying text, awaiting the answer.
“He’s using me as a living pill furnace,” Wang Hao stated, the words flat and heavy. “The disciple from the archives showed me. The records state that the moment a cultivator dies from the Fire Furnace Trial, if a certain refining method is applied… a pill can be extracted. A pill that extends the user’s life by three years.”
A sharp, icy breath hissed through Wang Lin’s teeth. The cruelty of it was methodical, chilling. The Third Elder wasn’t just negligent; he was a farmer, and Wang Hao was a crop being cultivated for harvest.
Wang Hao’s expression was a mask of bitterness and impotent rage. “I can’t even report him. By sect rules, as his helper, my life is his to command. If I had known… ah, regret is useless now. Lu Yunjie found out I knew the secret. He threatened my parents back in the village. Now, I’m just waiting. Every day, he forces me to take multiple Qi Gathering pills to feed the vortex. It grows larger every day. My calculations… I have about a year left. Maybe less.”
The Weight of Powerlessness
Wang Lin stood in silence, the manual feeling like a lead weight in his hands. The peaceful mountain evening seemed to mock the horror unfolding beside him. After a long moment of pondering the brutal calculus of power, he asked, “What plans do you have? Do you need my help for anything?”
The hope that had briefly flickered in Wang Hao’s eyes died out completely, replaced by a resigned acceptance. “You are only at the 3rd layer. You can’t help me. Lu Yunjie is at the 6th layer. And because he produces pills for the sect, the elders dote on him. I’ve… I’ve given up hope.” He stepped closer, placing a hand on Wang Lin’s shoulder, his grip tight. “Wang Lin, in all these years at the Heng Yue Sect, you are my only friend. My big brother from home. If you become stronger in the future, you have to avenge me!” The plea was a last testament, a seed of hatred planted in despair.
Wang Lin met his friend’s desperate gaze and gave a slow, solemn nod. It was a promise, but one that felt agonizingly distant.
Wang Hao managed another bitter smile, a heartbreaking attempt at normalcy. “Brother Tie Zhu, did you need me for something? While I’m still alive, I’ll help you as much as I can. Do you want some Qi Gathering pills? I have a lot of them.” He gestured vaguely toward the pill house, the source of his poison.
Looking at Wang Hao—his diminished frame, the shadow of death already upon him—Wang Lin abandoned his original purpose. Asking for centipede-poison ingredients felt trivial, obscene even. He shook his head. “It’s nothing important.”
He wanted to say more, to promise immediate action, but the reality was a wall he could not scale. Lu Yunjie was at the 6th layer of Qi Condensation. Wang Lin’s own cultivation was unremarkable on the surface, but his divine sense was profound, and he had practiced the basic attraction technique with a monomaniacal focus for over twenty years within the mysterious bead. Yet, he had never tested his true strength in combat against another cultivator. Was it enough to challenge an elder? He had no idea. The uncertainty was a chain.
Wang Hao saw the conflict and silent resignation in Wang Lin’s eyes. He patted his own robes, the gesture full of a weary finality. “Brother Tie Zhu, you have more talent than I do. Thinking back to when we were taking the test… it feels like a dream. Time passes by too quickly….” His voice trailed off into a sigh laden with all his lost years. With a last, gloomy look, he turned and walked away, his figure slowly being swallowed by the gathering shadows, disappearing from Wang Lin’s view.
“In this cultivation world, the strong prey on the weak….” Wang Lin murmured the phrase to the darkening sky. It wasn’t a new concept, but witnessing its mechanical, personal application on Wang Hao transformed it from an abstract principle into a visceral, brutal truth. This was his epiphany—not a surge in cultivation or spiritual insight, but a fundamental, darkening understanding of the universe he sought to navigate. To survive, to advance, one needed the heart of a cultivator: ruthless, vigilant, and pragmatic. Yet, a quiet part of him questioned it. “Is the strong preying on the weak really the only mentality a cultivator must have?” The question hung in the air, unanswered.
With a heavy heart, he moved, his body a blur as he headed back toward the solitude of the herb garden. The encounter had left a stain on his spirit. As he walked, his heightened senses picked up on an unusual commotion near the guest quarters housing the visiting Xuan Dao Sect disciples. The sound of a boisterous, salesmen-like voice cut through the mountain quiet. His curiosity, a faint spark against the gloom, pulled him toward the noise.
The Merchant of Mayhem
Before he even entered the courtyard, he heard the pitch. “I have to say, brothers of the Heng Yue Sect, this flying sword I have is one of the peerless treasures of the Xuan Dao Sect! It is called the Noon Money Sword! You can ask around—the trouble I went through to ‘acquire’ this was immense. If any of you want to buy it, you must vow not to use it in the exchange in three days, or the deal is off!”
Wang Lin stepped into the periphery of the crowd. Disciples from both sects were gathered, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism. At the center stood a Xuan Dao Sect disciple in his twenties, lively and shameless, holding up a sword that appeared to be clumsily forged from old coins, glowing with a cheap, blue light. This was Li Shan.
A Heng Yue disciple voiced the obvious doubt. “Is this treasure really as amazing as you say it is?”
“I, Li Shan, would never lie!” the young man declared, puffing out his chest. “If you don’t believe me, forget it. This treasure will sell anywhere!”
The Xuan Dao disciples surrounding him wore expressions of profound awkwardness, as if they wished the ground would swallow them. One, unable to bear the secondhand embarrassment any longer, coughed and interjected, “What Junior Brother Li Shan says is… partially correct. The Noon Money Sword is indeed a noted treasure of our sect. However,” he added pointedly, “the one in Junior Brother Li Shan’s hand is a replica. A decorative item. It has… some aesthetic use.”
A murmur ran through the Heng Yue disciples. Then, a fifth-layer disciple Wang Lin recognized as Disciple Zhao stepped forward. After a brief, hushed negotiation filled with gestures and nods, an exchange was made. Both men walked away smiling, though for very different reasons. A knowledgeable inner disciple scoffed loudly, “A simple iron sword mixed with scrap spirit gold, and he has the nerve to sell it? The Xuan Dao Sect’s standards are revealing.”
Li Shan was utterly unfazed. He retorted with a grin, “Brother, you’re missing the point! My own elder brother confirmed it’s a fake, and yet your fellow disciple still bought it! This is about novelty, about the story!”
The disciple who had bought the coin sword laughed. “Brother Li Shan is mistaken. I didn’t buy it as a collectible. My family raises pigs. This will make an excellent pig-slaughtering blade.”
The sheer absurdity of the moment was not lost on anyone. Li Shan simply shrugged, his smile unwavering. “Once it’s sold, it’s yours to use as you see fit. Now!” His eyes gleamed with theatrical flair. “I have another treasure! Behold, the Invincible Dark Stinking Thunderball! This is the real deal, my own invention. I’ll give you a live demonstration!”
With a flourish, he produced a black, lumpy sphere from his bag of holding and lobbed it at a nearby stone wall. Boom! The impact was modest, leaving a web of cracks. What was remarkable was the aftermath: a patch of inky, viscous sludge clung to the wall, and from it emanated a foul, eye-watering odor that instantly spread through the courtyard. It was a complex stench of rot, dung, and spoiled meat.
Li Shan waved a hand in front of his face, beaming with pride. “See? The explosive power is secondary! The true marvel is this supreme sludge! Once it sticks, it never comes off. And the smell! I personally gathered the essences from dozens of rare and mundane beasts to perfect this aroma. It’s utterly revolting!”
A stunned silence fell, broken by coughs and gags. Several female disciples shrieked and retreated, pinching their noses. Wang Lin, too, was taken aback, but his reaction quickly shifted to analysis. He sent out his divine sense, enveloping the area with an imperceptible touch. As he focused on Li Shan and the residual spiritual fluctuations around the exploded ball, his expression turned strange, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips. He had detected something the others missed: a subtle pulse of spirit power from Li Shan himself at the exact moment of the explosion.
The Xuan Dao Sect disciples looked as if they wanted to disown their junior brother on the spot, but their resigned expressions indicated this was not Li Shan’s first outrageous performance. The “Invincible Dark Stinking Thunderball” was apparently infamous in their home sect.
“So?” Li Shan pressed, his expression turning mock-serious. “Remember the rule: you cannot use these in the exchange in three days, or I won’t sell! This is my ace, my secret weapon. I’m sharing it out of goodwill.” Internally, he was laughing. The more I forbid it, the more these fools will want to try it during the exchange. What a glorious mess that will be! The elders will have to acknowledge my disruptive genius!
The Psychology of a Sale
His eyes swept the crowd, alighting on the disgusted, intrigued, and skeptical faces. He shifted into full salesman mode. “Fellow brothers! There’s an old saying: ‘To kill a man requires but a nod.’ But let me ask you: is killing as satisfying as utterly disgracing your opponent? To make them stink for ten thousand years? Picture it! A duel with your rival. Even if you lose, you hit them with this. Who truly won? They’ll be the laughingstock for decades!”
He paced, his voice persuasive. “Or imagine you’re being chased. You run into a crowded marketplace and pop! You think your pursuer will have the face to keep following you through that stink? Of course not!”
Then, he delivered the masterstroke, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “And for those with… romantic troubles. A love rival moving in on your sweetheart? One of these, and the problem solves itself. What woman would want to be near a man who smells like a demon’s latrine?” He finished with a suggestive chuckle.
This last argument resonated deeply. Wang Lin could see several inner disciples’ eyes light up with malicious understanding. This was a weapon of social destruction, perfect for the petty jealousies and rivalries that flourished within the sect.
Li Shan’s gaze, sharp and assessing, finally landed on Wang Lin, lingering at the back of the crowd. He recognized the type—the low-level disciple, often bullied, perpetually on the outskirts. In Li Shan’s experience, such individuals were the most eager customers for a quick, dirty advantage. His internal monologue cheered. Perfect! The trash in my own sect have already been cleaned out by me. This one looks ripe.
“This bomb,” Li Shan announced, pointing vaguely in Wang Lin’s direction, “is especially useful for brothers with… humble cultivation. With this in hand, who would dare bully you? I, Li Shan, promise you, you’ll be able to walk tall in the sect, unafraid!” He puffed out his chest, selling the fantasy of instant respect. Inwardly, he smirked. Walk tall? More like get beaten twice as hard for being a smelly nuisance. But that’s not my problem after the sale!
Seeing the heightened interest, he moved to close. “A limited-time offer! Buy two, get one free! Consider it my gift. When we meet again on the broader path of cultivation, remember to take care of your old friend Li Shan!”
The performance was working. One disciple, an inner disciple named Sun Hao, stepped forward, a calculative look in his eye. “Is it really as reliable as you say? Take out a few more. Let me test one at random. If it works, I’ll buy a few.”
“Of course! Customer verification is key!” Li Shan agreed with exaggerated earnestness. He carefully, almost reverently, placed a dozen of the black stink bombs on a flat stone. “Handle with care! Gently! To activate, simply throw it. Upon meeting any resistance, it will detonate.”
Sun Hao picked one up, turning it over in his hands, examining its unremarkable surface. Li Shan watched with a placid face, but his mind was mocking. Look all you want, little fool. Not even most of my senior brothers can decipher the mechanism.
After a long moment, Sun Hao drew his arm back and hurled the bomb toward an empty patch of ground. As it sailed in an arc, Li Shan focused, and at the precise moment before impact, he thought, Explode!
Bang! Another patch of foulness was born, the stench wafting back on the breeze. The crowd recoiled, but many now looked convinced.
Wang Lin’s faint smile returned. His divine sense had been wrapped around the entire scene. The moment of the explosion coincided perfectly with that same, subtle spiritual pulse from Li Shan. The bombs were duds. Li Shan was remotely detonating them with a secret technique.
“Satisfied?” Li Shan asked cheerfully. “But I am an honest merchant, so I must state the drawbacks plainly. This treasure doesn’t explode every time. It requires a specific throwing technique, a certain wrist flick. You’ll have to practice. Once you buy it, you’re on your own to master it—no refunds, no complaints.”
Sun Hao nodded, seemingly accepting this. He pulled Li Shan aside, and after some hushed bartering involving spirit stones and materials, he walked away with a small pile of the black balls. Li Shan whispered as a final bonus, “Normally, buy six, get three free. But for you, my first Heng Yue customer, I’ll make it buy six, get four! Treasure them!”
The dam broke. Seeing a successful test and a completed sale, other inner disciples, particularly those nursing grudges or romantic jealousies, came forward to trade for the stink bombs. Li Shan repeated his disclaimer to each one: “Requires a special technique… practice makes perfect… if you have questions, come find me for tips on the throwing motion.” Inside, he was jubilant. They’ll try a few, fail, then try a new one and it’ll ‘miraculously’ work after I secretly trigger it. By the time they realize the ones that work are random and suspect a trick, I’ll be long gone back to the Xuan Dao Sect!
Soon, only a few bombs remained. Li Shan looked over the Heng Yue disciples with a sense of smug superiority. A congregation of fools. If you don’t use them in the exchange, you’re merely out some trinkets. But if you do… oh, the spectacle! These things only explode when I will them to. You could hit someone with a hammer and nothing would happen. I can’t wait for three days from now.
His triumphant gaze swept the thinning crowd and once again settled on Wang Lin. The quiet disciple was still there, watching, and that faint, knowing smile still played on his lips. It unnerved Li Shan for a second. That look seemed to pierce through his performance. He scrutinized Wang Lin—the third-layer cultivation was plain to see. The label of “trash” was evidently well-earned. It must be my imagination, he decided. He’s probably just simple.
Deciding to go for one last, perfect sale, Li Shan called out directly. “Brother! You’ve been watching so intently. Why not buy a few for yourself? For someone of your… cultivation level, these are a perfect fit. The ultimate equalizer! Anyone bothers you, just toss one. Your problems will vanish.”
Wang Lin met his eyes. The mocking in his own expression deepened, just for a flash, before he smoothed it into a mask of mild interest. He gave a light nod. “Alright. I’ll take two. But I have no rare treasures. Only some basic talismans from the sect.”
Li Shan hesitated. Talismans were low-value currency. But a sale was a sale, and sealing the deal with this particular disciple felt important, as if it would validate his entire scam. He reassured himself once more of Wang Lin’s weak cultivation, then relaxed. He pulled out three stink bombs. “For you, brother, I’ll make an exception. Talismans are fine. Buy two, get one free! These will give you an… extraordinary feeling, haha!”
As Wang Lin handed over the talismans and took the three inert, black spheres, Li Shan’s inner voice crowed with delight. And I wasn’t lying about the extraordinary feeling! Even if you don’t use them in the exchange, if our paths ever cross again, I’ll make sure you experience it firsthand. A memory to last a lifetime!
Wang Lin pocketed the stink bombs, his fingers brushing their innocuous surfaces. He knew they were worthless. But in acquiring them, he felt he had purchased something else: a clear, firsthand lesson in the cunning and deception that thrived in this world. It was a smaller, farcical mirror of the greater cruelty enacted upon Wang Hao. One was a life-or-death predation by the strong; the other, a humiliating swindle by the clever. Both were facets of the same ruthless reality. As he turned to leave the chattering crowd behind, walking back into the deepening night, the weight of the three useless bombs in his pocket felt insignificant compared to the heavy, burning promise he carried in his heart, and the cold, sharp understanding now rooted in his mind. The path of cultivation was not one of pure ascension; it was a treacherous road paved with the suffering of the weak and the schemes of the ruthless, and he had just taken another irrevocable step forward on it.