CHAPTER 4

Drunk vs Blind

RUAN YANJUN

I yawned, leaning back against the cushions of the carriage. I had been on the road since dawn, and though it was well past midnight, there was still another hour before I reached Henmei District, the heart of the Eternal Damnation Sect and my main residence.

The journey from Wun Empire had been long and frustrating. I had spent weeks searching for the priest with a Natural Core, only to return empty-handed.

Most cultivators weren’t born with cores. Without one, cultivation could only progress to the third level, a plateau that no amount of effort could overcome. Cores, whether dark or light, had to be implanted by master cultivators, those at Level Six or higher.

But there were rare exceptions. Natural Core Bearers.

Born with cores already inside them, Natural Core Bearers were prodigies of the cultivation world. In the past five centuries, only a handful of cultivators had surpassed the seventh level, more popularly known as Grandmaster level, and most of them, if not all, had been Natural Core Bearers.

That was why this priest, Wei Fan, mattered to me. A Natural Light Core Bearer was so rare it might be decades before another emerged.

According to Huang Wen’s intelligence, Wei Fan had been escorted by Kan Empire soldiers to Nan City in Wun Empire. Nan wasn’t a large city, and I had initially thought the search would be straightforward.

I was wrong.

Wei Fan had led an extraordinarily private life within Frost Mountain. Few had seen him outside its confines, and even fewer knew his name. Despite his reputation as a master alchemist and the infamy he had earned for allegedly poisoning his own master, people only referred to him as the Divine Mage.

His sect brothers, those who might have known more, were predictably tight-lipped. No one else even knew what he looked like.

A week of searching yielded no significant results.

My frustration mounted, but duty called me back to Xianru. Word had reached me that the newly crowned Crown Prince had fallen seriously ill, and the imperial physicians were baffled. With the rivalry among the eight princes, it was easy to suspect foul play.

Before leaving Wun, I had instructed Huang Wen to continue gathering information about Wei Fan. I had ordered him to coordinate with our spies near Frost Mountain, even if it meant abducting Ethereal Frost disciples to force them to speak.

I sighed, rubbing my temple.

The Divine Mage was proving to be maddeningly elusive. Many in the Cultivation World believed he had been secretly executed to avoid scandal, but I didn’t buy it.

The Cultivation World wasn’t foolish enough to destroy a treasure as rare as a Natural Core Bearer. Someone had saved Wei Fan. That much I was certain. The only question was… where in this vast continent had they taken him?

Lifting the curtain beside me, I peered out at the moonlit landscape.

The surroundings were familiar. We were passing near a well-known pleasure house frequented by some of my Eternal Damnation Sect disciples during their free time. Unlike the righteous Light Sects, I didn’t concern myself with the personal vices of my disciples. As long as their indulgences didn’t compromise the sect’s reputation or interfere with their duties, I saw no need to impose strict moral codes.

In just over an hour, I would arrive at my residence in Henmei District. By dawn, I’d need to set out again for a six-hour journey to the capital.

The prospect of another long ride was tiresome, but unavoidable.

I was about to drop the curtain when a commotion caught my eye.

A group of young, drunken men were harassing a woman. She struggled against them, her resistance only seeming to provoke their aggression. One of them grabbed her around the waist, dragging her toward their group.

I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes as I observed the scene. The woman’s dress was unmistakable. That was the uniform of the brothel workers.

A pleasure woman.

Those drunk men likely assumed that her profession gave them the right to treat her however they pleased.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have cared what they intended to do. Such scenes were neither new nor of interest to me. But then, another figure rushed into the fray, pulling the woman behind him for protection.

A man dressed in white, thin and frail, using a stick as a cane.

Is he blind?

A smirk tugged at my lips. Things had suddenly become far more interesting. What could a blind man possibly hope to achieve against three drunken brutes?

One of the men grabbed the woman’s wrist, dragging her back toward him.

For a moment, I anticipated a fight, but instead, the blind man cupped his hands, bowing his head in greeting. His voice was calm and polite, even toward those who didn’t deserve an ounce of respect.

“Stop the carriage,” I ordered.

The coachman obeyed immediately, bringing us to a halt.

This blind man intrigued me. His approach was laughably naïve, and I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take before he was beaten into the dirt. Most fools who tried to play the hero in situations like this met with swift and violent ends.

From my distance, my sharpened hearing allowed me to catch their exchange.

“You’ve misunderstood,” the man in white said, his voice gentle, flowing like a quiet river. “This miss isn’t one of those women. She only works in the kitchen.”

The drunk man holding her wrist sneered. “What are you saying? I know her. She’s the one who taught me a few tricks in bed. Now that I’m getting married, I need her to teach me some more.”

The other two men laughed, while the woman’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“She left that job three years ago,” the man in white replied, undeterred. “I ask you, sir, to respect her decision and let her go.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“I plead with you… please let her go.”

I chuckled, unable to help myself. He stepped into the scene like a courageous little hero, and yet his grand solution was to beg? How pathetic.

The drunk men erupted in laughter.

The one holding the woman’s wrist released her with exaggerated slowness, as if mocking the blind man’s politeness.

“There. I let her go,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Does that satisfy you?”

The man in white inclined his head, his calm composure unbroken. “I appreciate your kind consideration.”

But before the woman could even step away, the drunk man grabbed the blind man’s chin, leaning in close.

“You’re quite the beauty yourself,” he sneered. “How about you take her place? I wouldn’t mind bedding an untainted beauty like you over a worn-out pleasure lady.”

My interest piqued further, and I straightened in my seat.

This was it. No man, regardless of blindness or frailty, would allow such an insult to stand. Surely, his courteous façade would crack here.

But instead, the man in white simply replied, his tone steady and polite, “I’m sorry, but I’m not into men.”

I blinked, stunned by his sheer audacity, or stupidity. Even in the face of a perverted insult, he remained calm, almost absurdly polite. Any other man would have punched that drunk fool by now.

The drunk man laughed, his grip tightening. “But I am. So, what can you do about it?”

The man in white calmly patted the drunk man’s hand away. “There’s no reason to prolong this discussion.”

And then, without waiting for a response, he turned to leave.

“Hey,” the drunk man growled, grabbing the other man into his embrace. “Damn, you’re a bit too thin for my taste, but I don’t mind.”

Just as he leaned in to kiss the man’s neck, he was suddenly thrown backward.

While the drunkards stumbled in confusion, I saw exactly what had happened.

The man in white wasn’t the helpless fool he appeared to be. He knew martial arts, and not just the basics. The move he used wasn’t flashy, but it struck a vital point in the drunk man’s stomach.

Still, something was lacking. If the man had possessed any real strength, that strike would have left the drunkard vomiting blood on the ground.

Even so, his precision was impressive. The strike had enough force to push the man several steps back. Such precision wasn’t something a mere novice could achieve. Only cultivators beyond Level Three could pull off such a move.

Yet, as I observed him, this overly polite man didn’t look like he had even reached Level One.

When the drunk men recovered from their shock, their gazes turned murderous.

“You dare,” one of them growled, lunging forward with a punch.

The man in white sidestepped the attack effortlessly, countering with another blow to the drunkard’s stomach. The remaining two charged at him, but he dispatched them just as quickly, leaving them sprawled on the ground, clutching their stomachs and vomiting the remnants of their alcohol.

For a moment, I wondered if I had underestimated him.

But then, the man in white collapsed to his knees, blood spilling from his lips.

The woman rushed to his side, supporting him as he swayed.

I laughed inwardly.

So, he was sick and frail after all. Yet, he had used every ounce of his strength to fend off a group of drunken fools just to protect a prostitute. It was absurdly noble, even sentimental.

Quite the show. And with an unexpected twist.

“You didn’t have to fight so hard,” the woman scolded gently as she helped him to his feet. “We could’ve just run away. Look at you now.”

“As long as you’re unharmed,” he replied, his voice steady despite his condition, “it was worth it.”

How sentimental. The way they spoke, one might mistake them for lovers.

As they approached my carriage, I took a closer look at the man’s face.

He was beautiful. Not just handsome, but truly beautiful. His features were delicate, almost ethereal, with a refinement rarely seen even among noblewomen. He was tall, but far too thin for his frame, giving him an air of fragility. If he gained weight, he would be even more striking, the kind of man who would effortlessly draw every gaze, captivating both men and women alike.

It wasn’t the first time I’d admired a man’s beauty, though it had never led me to pursue them. Even women had ceased to hold my interest lately. Perhaps I had indulged in too many fleeting pleasures in my younger years, leaving me numb to intimacy.

Still, this man intrigued me. Something about him caught my attention, from his unusual strength despite his frailty to his calm composure in the face of danger. His presence piqued my curiosity.

I would definitely check on him again. I wanted to see if those drunken fools would retaliate. I also wanted to watch how his relationship with the woman unfolded.

This was better than any staged play.

“Let’s go,” I instructed the coachman.

As the carriage began to move, the pair stopped in their tracks, turning toward the sound of the wheels.

The man’s head tilted slightly, his eyes following the movement of the carriage. But I noticed something odd.

He wasn’t looking—he was listening. His eyes were glazed, unfocused.

Blind.

Yet, there was a faint glow in his eyes. He wasn’t completely blind. He could probably see shadows or outlines, at most.

As the carriage passed them, I couldn’t contain my amusement and let out a loud laugh.

The coachman glanced at me briefly, no doubt thinking I was mad. But he had likely grown used to my peculiarities by now.

The show was getting better and better.

A sick, blind, and coreless martial artist capable of executing high-level techniques, despite lacking the strength to make them devastating…

It was unheard of.

I couldn’t wait to see the next act of his story. It was truly something worth looking forward to.

*****