txolops Chapter 47: The Trash's Counterattack?
Chapter 47: The Trash's Counterattack?
In the darkest corner of the hold, a strong, suffocating smell of blood mingled with the salty dampness of the seawater.
The middle-aged monk leaned against the cold bulkhead, his chest lapel soaked with blood that had congealed into a dark red lump.
His face was deathly pale, devoid of any color, his lips were cracked, and his stubble-covered face was filled with exhaustion and death. Each breath he took sounded like a broken bellows struggling to pull, making a hoarse "hoarse" sound.
Beside him, a boy of about ten years old held his cold hand tightly, his eyes red and tears welling up, but he stubbornly refused to let them fall.
The boy's face was still stained with dried blood, his father's. His eyes burned with a fierce fire of hatred that seemed to engulf his frail body.
"Cough...cough cough..." The middle-aged cultivator coughed violently, and a trace of black blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.
He struggled to raise his hand, trying to wipe away the tears on his son's face, but his hand fell limply halfway down.
"Wu Jiu..." His voice was hoarse and weak, as if it were squeezed out from deep in his throat.
The boy immediately leaned closer, put his ear to his father's mouth, and finally couldn't hold back his tears, which rolled down in large drops.
"Father...Father, hold on...we've...reached...a...safe...place...I...will find...the...best...medicine...for you..."
He shook his head with difficulty, his eyes beginning to glaze over, but when he looked at his son, a final glimmer of light returned.
"It's no use... Father knows... he can't hold on any longer." He paused, each word uttered with all his might, "Listen... Wujiu, Father is dying."
"No! Father! You...cannot...die!" The boy could no longer hold back, tears streaming down his face, his voice trembling with sobs, yet he desperately tried to suppress them, afraid of alerting those outside.
The middle-aged monk stretched out his trembling hand and tightly grasped his son's wrist with astonishing strength, as if he wanted to transfer his last bit of strength to him.
"Listen to me!" His eyes turned incredibly serious, even commanding. "After I die... don't think about revenge! Do you hear me? Don't seek revenge!"
The boy's body trembled violently, and the fire of hatred in his eyes was instantly extinguished by his father's words, replaced by immense shock and incomprehension.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted by his father.
"We're just rogue cultivators...we offended people we shouldn't have...those Tribulation Cultivators...their cultivation is too high...and your aptitude is too poor...even if you find your enemies, you'll only be sending them to their deaths..." With each sentence, the pain on his face deepened, but the determination in his eyes remained undiminished. "Throw me into the sea...take my storage bag...find a place...to live well...no matter what...to leave an heir for our Shen family..."
When the middle-aged cultivator spoke the words "leave an heir," a complex emotion flashed in his eyes. There was an obsession with the family lineage, as well as deep worry and reluctance for his son's future.
A single, cloudy tear slid down the corner of his eye.
Tears welled up in the boy's eyes again. He looked at his father's ashen face, pale from blood loss, and felt a profound sense of powerlessness.
He knew his father was telling the truth; his aptitude was too poor, and even if he cultivated with all his might, he might not be able to catch up with those Tribulation Cultivators.
Revenge? Easier said than done!
He could only clench his fists tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms, drawing blood.
He looked at his father, his face full of resentment and pain, his lips moving but unable to utter a sound.
"Promise me!" The middle-aged monk suddenly raised his voice, shouting with his last bit of strength.
His eyes were wide open, bloodshot, filled with reluctance, pleading, and his last hope for his son's future.
The boy was startled by his father's sudden roar. Looking into his father's bloodshot and reluctant eyes, his heart was in turmoil.
He wanted to agree, but the hatred and resentment in his heart were like a mountain, making it hard for him to breathe. He gritted his teeth, which chattered, and still refused to respond to his father's request.
The middle-aged cultivator looked at his son's stubborn face, and the light in his eyes began to dim little by little.
He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. His head slowly drooped, and the hand that was gripping his son's wrist gradually loosened and slid down limply.
Only when his father's eyes closed completely, the last trace of comfort seemingly frozen on his ashen face, did the boy, as if all his strength had been drained, suddenly throw himself at his father and let out a suppressed sob.
The cries, filled with endless sorrow, regret, and unvented hatred, echoed in the dark hold, lingering for a long time.
"He's dead."
In the empty, cold cabin, a languid female voice suddenly rang out, like a cold, venomous snake, instantly burrowing into Shen Wujiu's ears.
The boy froze, the tears welling in his eyes instantly freezing in shock.
He turned his head abruptly, his movements as swift as a startled wolf cub, his right hand instinctively reaching for the outside of his thigh, where a gleaming dagger was already in his grasp.
He quickly adjusted his posture, leaning against the cold bulkhead and crouching to the side and behind his father's corpse—a position that allowed him to both defend himself and launch a counterattack at any moment.
"who!"
His voice was hoarse and cold, as if it were being squeezed out from between his teeth.
Those eyes, which were originally red with grief, instantly became sharp and filled with murderous intent. The tear stains at the corners of their eyes had not yet dried, but they could no longer suppress the overwhelming hatred.
He stared intently at the dark corner from which the sound came, his muscles tense like a fully drawn bow.
In the darkness, a seductive figure slowly emerged like a ghost.
She was a woman dressed in a purple gauze dress, with a graceful figure and light steps, as if walking on clouds. In her hand, she toyed with a small yellow banner, about the size of a palm, with strange runes embroidered on its surface and faint black mist swirling around it.
A playful smile played on Yu Niangzi's lips as she glanced contemptuously at the boy and his father's corpses.
She seemed completely indifferent to everything before her, as casually as crushing an ant. With a flick of her wrist, the small yellow banner flew out of her hand, spun in the air, and as it unfurled, an invisible suction force suddenly erupted.
The boy only felt a blur before his eyes, and a faint phantom was forcibly pulled out from the top of his father's corpse. The phantom's face still carried the unwillingness before death and the concern for his son. It was Shen Tu Lie's soul!
"No!"
The boy let out a heart-wrenching roar, his eyes blazing with fury.
He watched helplessly as his father's soul was sucked into that strange little banner, and even the last trace of his existence in the world was about to be erased.
"What...did you...do?!"
Unable to contain his anger and despair any longer, he charged forward like a raging beast, brandishing his dagger.
His eyes were only on that alluring figure, and only on that small banner that had stolen his father's soul.
He wanted to tear her to pieces!
However, the gap in strength was as vast as an insurmountable chasm.
Lady Yu didn't even lift her eyelids, she just casually flicked her sleeve.
An invisible force appeared out of nowhere and struck Shen Wujiu precisely in the chest.
"Bang!"
The boy's thin body flew backward like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily against the cabin wall before sliding down helplessly.
The dagger in his hand clattered to the ground, his eyes rolled back, and he promptly and decisively lost consciousness.
The way he collapsed was so decisive it was heartbreaking, as if even his unconsciousness was telling of his helplessness and despair.
Lady Yu didn't even glance at him, as if he were just a speck of dust beneath her feet.
She walked slowly to the middle-aged monk's corpse, stretched out two slender fingers, disgustedly pinched the corpse's collar, and dragged it towards the cabin door like a dead dog.
A moment later, a soft, muffled "plop" sound came from the silent sea, as if no life had ever existed there.
The body was thus mercilessly thrown into the cold, deep sea of chaotic stars, without even causing a ripple.
Back in the cabin, Yu Niangzi lightly flicked her fingertips, a strand of hair twirling between them. Her beautiful eyes darted around, a hint of languor and confusion in them as she looked at Han Xiaoliu.
"Young Master, are you really interested in that young man?" She parted her lips slightly, her tone full of doubt. "He's just a mortal who hasn't even entered the Qi Refining stage, his cultivation is pitifully low. Apart from his useless arrogance, I don't see anything outstanding about him. This kind of trash, if thrown into the Chaotic Star Sea, wouldn't even be fit to be eaten by a demon beast."
Han Xiaoliu did not answer immediately.
He slowly walked to the unconscious boy's side, squatted down, and looked at the boy's face, which was covered in blood but still showed a stubbornness.
Even in his unconscious state, the boy's brows remained tightly furrowed, his hands clenched into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms, as if he were fighting his enemies even in his dreams.
Han Xiaoliu reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from the boy's cheek. A strange light flashed in his eyes, an appreciation for the "rough gem" and an anticipation for the "script".
"That's the kind of pride I want," he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of certainty.
Lady Yu pursed her lips, clearly not understanding.
In her view, pride is the least valuable thing in the Chaotic Star Sea; it only makes people die faster.
Han Xiaoliu didn't explain, but secretly pondered: Without pride, how can one act out the "Return of the Dragon King" storyline? Without the tragedy of losing one's family and the deep-seated hatred, how can there be the earth-shattering reversal of "Never underestimate a young man's potential"? This kid's eyes are just like those of the protagonists in classic scripts. With a little polishing, given time, he will surely become something special.
Rainy night, vendetta, massacre, stuttering boy, blood feud, and most importantly, encountering himself, a human-shaped immortal cultivation cheat!
The boy took off right then and there!
He stood up and muttered to himself, "His life is mine from now on."