The Young Man’s Return Chapter Twenty-One: The Prison Break

Outside Beigu City, within the verdant Pine Valley.

Yiheng held a shovel, busily replenishing the earth over his master’s grave.

Though he had discovered the one who stole his master’s corpse, in the end, he still could not recover it.

He thought that he could not let his master’s grave remain exposed like this, so while the sky was still bright, he hurried to repair and perfect the tomb, even preparing to burn some incense paper, praying that his master’s spirit would bless him to soon retrieve the body.

Lishuyao knelt beside a brand-new headstone, bowed her head in solemn concentration as she burned the incense paper, whispering softly:

“Uncle Haoran, please watch over my brother from the heavens and ensure his path to cultivation is smooth and safe. For three years, he has wandered far and wide, enduring all the bitterness and sweetness of the world, facing countless crises, all to avenge you. Shuyao truly hopes my brother does not suffer any harm and wishes you will bless him to find your remains soon. Otherwise, he will forever be burdened with guilt…”

With a thud, Yiheng set down the shovel and knelt three paces behind Lishuyao, performing nine deep kowtows, each sound growing louder than the last.

“Master, your disciple is incompetent. Though I have found the one who stole your remains, they claim the bones were taken by others. If your spirit dwells in the heavens, I beseech you to grant me some guidance, so I may recover your body swiftly and not let your remains wander without rest.”

“Brother, Uncle Haoran will surely bless you to find his bones soon. Don’t be too burdened with guilt; one day you will find them,” Lishuyao said, raising her head to look at the headstone Yiheng had painstakingly carved himself with a long knife. The characters were bold and dignified, each stroke precise and elegant, revealing the immense care poured into the carving.

Yiheng rose, his eyes sweeping over the wreckage of the house he had burned down with a single fire that day. He closed his eyes slowly as if severing the memories deep within his heart—only in this way could he find some measure of relief.

He no longer forced himself relentlessly, nor did he overburden himself with guilt; yet, as long as his master’s body remained lost, he could never truly find peace.

It had become a torment of the soul.

“Shuyao, it’s getting late. Let’s return to the city,” Yiheng said, turning toward the valley’s exit.

“Brother, wait for me!” Lishuyao hurriedly stood and chased after him.

...

Night fell like ink, the cold wind howling as Beigu City’s prison gates remained tightly shut.

The prisoners inside seemed to instinctively feel the strangeness of this night; the air was thick with an unsettling tension.

The guards, who usually patrolled frequently, were nowhere to be seen, and the entire prison lay in a silence like the calm before a storm, the air heavy with impending chaos.

Many inmates tossed and turned on mildew-scented straw piles, unable to sleep, secretly hoping to seize this chance to escape their sunless cage and regain their freedom.

In the guard’s lounge, a dozen or so guards hung their swords and knives on the walls, sitting around a blazing charcoal fire to warm themselves. Some nodded off, others sharpened their blades, while a few repeatedly polished their weapons. The chief guard frequently glanced nervously toward a heavily locked iron door.

Having entered the guard profession in his teens, the chief guard had clawed his way through countless hardships and storms, finally rising to his current post after his predecessor’s departure.

But now, he felt an ominous sense that his fate might be reaching its end.

Within this prison, he had witnessed too many scenes of bloodshed and cruelty; killing, punishment, and betrayal were daily fare. Yet tonight, he truly felt fear, doubting he would survive till dawn.

After all, they were to face the Cangwu cultivators—beings akin to immortals in the eyes of mortals, whose every gesture brimmed with unfathomable power.

What was worse, the attackers were demonic cultivators among the Cangwu sect.

Though he had never seen a demonic cultivator in person, from the tales of tea-house storytellers, he knew they were ruthless monsters who reveled in chaos and killed without a blink.

How could ordinary mortals like them withstand such foes?

Probably not even all the guards and prisoners combined would be enough to stop them.

Today, he heard from his fellow constables that the head constable and sergeant Xu, leading the city guards, had gone to the Ten-Thousand Treasures Pavilion. Only five or six survived; the rest were torn apart by demon corpses and blood fiends.

At the thought, he felt a sudden urgency to urinate. He stood up to relieve himself, but his body betrayed him; no matter how hard he tried, nothing came forth. Finally, a trickle escaped, soaking his shoes and pants.

He cursed under his breath, “Damn it, you useless thing. You can’t even perform in bed, and now you fail at the crucial moment. If I don’t survive tonight, neither will you... Poor my beautiful wife; she’ll be someone else’s soon.”

“Boss, will someone really come to break into the prison tonight?”

A young guard held his long knife, his youthful face still showing traces of innocence but lit with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

The chief guard, irritated, patted the young man’s head and scolded, “You little fool, are you crazy to hope for a prison raid? Are you tired of living?”

The young guard covered his head, eyes gleaming with excitement, a silly smile playing on his lips as he spoke animatedly:

“I heard that the young master behind that iron door is a Cangwu cultivator! With him here, anyone trying to break in is courting death. I’ve never seen a Cangwu cultivator fight, but the storytellers say when they do, the sky darkens, the winds howl... A single strike can redirect rivers and mountains, reduce cities to dust. Just imagining it gets my blood pumping. If I could witness it even once, I’d die happy!”

“Idiot! Don’t you know that when the city gates burn, the fish in the pond suffer too? If those raiders really are demonic cultivators and start fighting, they won’t care about us mortals. We’d be cooked before their battle ends.”

“Besides, these Cangwu cultivators are heartless and ruthless; they wouldn’t care whether we live or die.”

Whether Cangwu cultivators or demonic cultivators, to ordinary mortals they remained distant, godlike beings high above, like immortals in the clouds, indifferent to the lives of mere ants.

Especially demonic cultivators, who, in pursuit of power and forging magical treasures, were crazed and bloodthirsty. They slaughtered wantonly, offering the blood of common folk as sacrifices to the heavens. To them, all life was fodder, a mere flick of the hand to snuff out a soul. Their cruelty was monstrous, their deeds atrocious.

To achieve their ends, massacring entire cities and clans was commonplace; they treated human life as worthless, devoid of mercy.

The young guard looked toward the iron door with inexplicable confidence: “The young master isn’t like that. He even treated me to a meal tonight. He’s so approachable, nothing like the heartless Cangwu cultivators the storytellers describe. He promised to protect me; he won’t break his word.”

The chief guard tightened his belt, wiping his urine-soaked hand on the young guard’s clothes with a sneer: “Fool, just because he fed you once doesn’t mean he cares about your life. To these Cangwu cultivators, your life is no more than that of an ant. Don’t delude yourself into thinking these great men truly care. We are ants and must act like ants.”

“Tonight, if someone does come to raid the prison, and you don’t want to die early, you’d better be smart.”

The young guard gripped his long knife tightly, whispering, “I don’t believe you. The young master will surely protect us.”

Beyond the iron door, Yiheng sat cross-legged on his cot.

He took from his bosom a demon core no larger than a broad bean—an essence he had obtained by slaying a blood demon. Tonight, he intended to cultivate using this demon core.

He placed the core in his mouth and began to chew it as easily as eating a bean.

If any other Cangwu cultivator saw this, their jaws would surely drop.

Typically, demon cores were incredibly hard, prized materials for forging weapons, magical treasures, and alchemical pills. They contained violent demonic energy that cultivators avoided at all costs.

Yet Yiheng swallowed the core without harm; the violent energy inside, once crushed, became as tame as a kitten.

Part of the energy followed the circulation path prescribed by the Nine Profound Demon Art, finally gathering into his Qi Sea realm, becoming part of his vital energy. Another portion merged into his muscles, bones, and skin, strengthening and reforging his body.

Most Cangwu cultivators followed the path of techniques, breathing in and guiding the spiritual energy of heaven and earth into their Qi Sea according to their cultivation methods.

However, some Cangwu cultivators did not follow the technique path but instead wielded blades and swords to confront enemies. These were revered as blade cultivators or sword cultivators and ranked among the most formidable in the sect.

Because Yiheng cultivated the Nine Profound Demon Art, which integrated with his body, he was both a blade cultivator and a warrior.

Perhaps by nature, he was less adept at techniques and preferred combat as a warrior.

...

Just as Yiheng chewed the demon core to cultivate, the iron door of the cell suddenly exploded with a thunderous crash, being cut open from the outside.

A burly man stood at the entrance wielding a massive sword.

Moonlight stretched his shadow long and imposing, like a towering mountain.

The man sneered, “This rusty iron door? You think it can block my path?”

His voice was rough and grating like a broken gong, piercing the silence of the prison.

“Enemy attack!”

Suddenly, the sharp blare of a suona horn shattered the oppressive quiet.

“Release the arrows!”

At the command, countless feathered arrows shot forth from the darkness, densely packed enough to skewer a person into a porcupine.

Yet these arrows struck the burly man’s body without even piercing his skin.

He roared in fury, the sound crashing forward like a tidal wave.

He strode forward like a moving mountain, charging at the guards in the corridor who fired arrows.

Swinging his right fist, he used his immense strength to knock them down one by one.

His punches were devastating; a single blow could shatter a guard’s skull. Those struck might lose limbs or be left a bloody ruin, dead on the spot.

“You ants, all of you, die!”

He howled like a beast, stomping on a fallen guard, crushing him beneath his foot.

“Quick! Pour the oil, burn him to death!”

At the critical moment, several brave guards charged with buckets full of oil. Yet before they could throw, the man swung his sword and severed a guard at the waist.

“Retreat! Close the door!”

The chief guard saw his men powerless, felled before even reaching the attacker, and shouted urgently.

With a heavy rumble, the iron door slammed shut from inside.

Leaning against the door, the chief guard and others gasped for breath, sweat pouring down their faces, eyes filled with terror.

That man was no mere human—he was a demonic fiend in human form, far more terrifying than wolf or dog demons.

“Boss! What do we do now?” an older guard asked in panic.

“Boss, if this goes on, all our brothers will be killed!” another guard exclaimed.

The chief guard was about to speak when suddenly his mouth opened wide, eyes bulging in horror.

A massive sword pierced through the iron door and impaled the older guard’s chest, as if slicing through a fish, hot blood spraying all over him.

“Help! Save me!”

The chief guard instinctively fled but a heavy iron door crashed down behind him, smashing against the prison wall before falling at his feet.

His legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees, wetness spreading over his pants—he had been so scared he’d lost control.

Near the threshold, several guards lay on the ground, struggling to crawl backward.

The burly man retracted his right leg, baring his teeth in a terrifying grin in the flickering candlelight.

“Please, don’t kill me.”

“Immortal, spare my life!”

...

Seeing no escape, several guards knelt, begging for mercy.

But the man paid them no mind. Dragging his great sword, he carved a deep groove into the blue brick floor.

Raising the sword high, he struck down the guards one by one, five blows in succession, leaving five headless corpses and blood staining the bricks.

Anyone faint-hearted would surely pass out witnessing this.

The prison had become a slaughterhouse, the man a merciless butcher, the guards helpless lambs.

Any resistance was futile—as futile as a fledgling bird against a mighty eagle.

“Die!”

A young guard charged from a corner, slashing at the man’s chest.

But the blade only left a shallow white mark.

The man turned his head, grinning cruelly, and punched the young guard’s chest.

The young guard flew like a kite cut loose, crashing heavily to the ground, kicking up dust.

He struggled to open his hand, crawling slowly toward the iron door.

“Young master… save me.”

Elsewhere, the chief guard knelt, repeatedly kowtowing and pleading: “Immortal, have mercy! The one you want to save is deep within the prison. Please don’t kill me.”

“You ants dare beg for mercy? How laughable!”

The man towered over him, disdain in his eyes. With a fierce shout, his sword swept down in a gale of cold wind toward the begging chief guard.

At the critical moment, the iron door burst open with a crash.

A black shadow flashed out like a phantom, moving so swiftly it was almost impossible to see.

In the blink of an eye, the shadow stood firm before the chief guard, gripping the massive sword with one hand, the clash of metal ringing harshly.

The burly man’s face flickered with surprise, then fury. He yanked back the sword and swung a mighty fist, carrying the force of a mountain crashing down on the shadow.

At the same time, the shadow responded without hesitation, flashing a punch directly back.

“Boom!”

The thunderous impact shook the entire prison.

Where fists met, the air twisted instantly, powerful shockwaves sweeping outward, scattering surrounding debris.

The burly man staggered, carving two deep grooves in the floor with his feet as he took five heavy steps back. Each step crushed the blue bricks beneath to rubble.

The black shadow only swayed slightly, stepping back three paces before standing steady, the superiority undeniable.

“So it’s you!”

The man’s expression changed from arrogance to disbelief as he stared hard at the slender youth before him.

The boy slowly raised his head, eyes cold and deadly like eternal ice, and spoke with chilling resolve:

“You shall die tonight!”