The sun dipped below the western horizon, painting the evening sky in a shade of residual crimson that resembled fresh blood.

Song Wen walked down the street, his spirit weighed down by a heavy sense of dejection.

As he tramped forward, two flamboyantly dressed young women in flimsy attire suddenly blocked his path.

"Master, come inside and have some fun."

The two young women flanked Song Wen, each wrapping an arm around his. Their ample chests, barely concealed beneath thin fabric, rubbed rhythmically against his arms.

The contact instantly kindled a raging fire of desire within him. He raised his eyes and saw a three-story establishment Looming ahead. On the upper balconies, more than a dozen scantily clad women were preening and posing for the crowd, drawing the gazes of every passerby.

Song Wen realized he had unwittingly wandered into the pleasure district.

For a moment, he felt tempted. His frustrated mood sorely needed an outlet, and the brothel before him seemed like the perfect place to vent his troubles.

Yet, just as he was about to give in and follow the two women inside to experience the charms of an ancient pleasure house, a sharp ache shot through his lower back.

He jolted awake, suddenly remembering that his body was currently hollowed out and severely weakened. Even if he went inside, he would likely find himself completely powerless-doomed to look upon the feast and sigh in frustration.

Song Wen abruptly wrenched his arms free from their grasp, frantically blurting out an excuse as he pulled away.

"Next time! Next time!"

Watching Song Wen flee in a panic, one of the women snorted in disdain.

"Hmph, good-looking but useless. To be so weak at such a young age-what a waste of a fine face."

Leaving the pleasure district behind, Song Wen noted the dying sunlight and realized it was time to head back.

Since the mortal physicians in the city could not discern the poison, his only choice was to return to the Heavenly Fiend Gang. There, he might still find a sliver of hope.

He worried that once darkness fell, the lawless elements of Yancheng would emerge from the shadows. Lingering on the streets at night would only invite unnecessary danger.

At present, he was in the northern district of Yancheng, while the Heavenly Fiend Gang was situated in the southern district. Returning meant he had to traverse the entire city.

Ever since he had successfully drawn Qi into his body, his mental faculties had sharpened significantly. He silently mapped out the general layout of Yancheng and the route he had taken today, and a visualization of the shortest path back quickly crystallized in his mind.

During the day, he had stuck entirely to the main thoroughfares. Now, to hasten his return, he would inevitably have to cut through a few narrow alleys.

By the time the sky darkened and the surrounding terrain grew shadowy and indistinct, Song Wen was already nearing the perimeter of the Heavenly Fiend Gang. He only needed to pass through the alley ahead to reach the main road, which would lead him straight to the gang's headquarters.

The alley before him was desolate and abandoned, bordered by a stagnant ditch that occasionally belched a foul, stomach-turning stench.

Halfway through the passage, Song Wen suddenly spotted two figures appearing ahead, one tall and one short.

"Probably a father and son,"

Because the light was too poor to discern their features, Song Wen didn't give it much thought and simply kept walking.

After consuming the Blood Qi Pill, his cultivation had already advanced to the late stage of the first layer of Qi Condensation. Although he had never practiced any martial forms or mystical techniques and could not unleash his true combat potential, the sheer presence of spiritual energy in his body meant that ordinary mortals were far from a match for him.

When the distance between them closed to three Zhang, Song Wen finally caught a clearer glimpse of their silhouettes: it was a burly, muscular man leading a child of about ten years old.

The man's musculature was incredibly dense, stretching his heavy robe tight against his frame.

"Could he be one of those rumored martial artists who train in external hard arts?"

Having lived in this world for over two months, Song Wen had developed a basic understanding of the local martial arts landscape.

He had seen external masters within the Heavenly Fiend Gang who could effortlessly lift boulders weighing hundreds of Jin and shatter stone into fragments with a single punch.

However, it was the shorter child beside the man that caused Song Wen's internal alarms to blare.

The boy was none other than the little beggar who had fought him over the steamed buns-the one Song Wen had kicked and injured.

At that exact moment, the little beggar recognized Song Wen as well. He yanked hard on the burly man's sleeve, his voice dripping with pure hatred.

"Brother Biao, that's the kid who beat me up last time! He forced me to stay bedridden for over a month!"

Brother Biao instantly flew into a violent rage. He controlled a total of twelve young beggars in the area, relying entirely on their daily pickings to fund his livelihood.

The boy beside him was the most adept at garnering sympathy and extracting coins, serving as his chief assistant in managing the other children. It was for this very reason that the boy had been allowed to keep his limbs intact.

To evoke pity from passersby and maximize their earnings, Brother Biao had systematically crippled and deformed every other child under his control.

During the month the boy was recovering, Brother Biao's income had plummeted. He hadn't even been able to afford his regular shipments of restorative medicine lately.

As a result, his elder brother's wife-whom he had successfully seduced-was already suspecting that he had found another woman, treating him with cold indifference.

To make matters worse, over the past few days, Brother Biao had noticed his sister-in-law exchanging continuous, flirtatious glances with old man Wang next door.

Brother Biao felt as though both he and his elder brother were sporting a distinctly green tint upon their heads. In his mind, seducing his sister-in-law was merely keeping the fertile waters within the family field-even if the meat rotted, it would rot inside their own pot.

After all, his elder brother was away from home year-round, so it was only natural for him to care for his sister-in-law's needs.

Even if she bore a child, it would still carry the family bloodline.

But if she coupled with old man Wang, it would be a case of their family's prize cabbage being devoured by an outside pig. If she became pregnant with old man Wang's seed, his elder brother would truly become a monumental fool, raising another man's bastard.

This was utterly intolerable.

And the root cause of all his misery was the youth standing right before him.

Brother Biao's anger surged to a boiling point. He turned a fierce, murderous glare upon Song Wen.

"Brat, you dare lay a hand on Biao Ye's people? I think you're tired of living!"

Before the words had even fully left his mouth, Brother Biao clenched a fist the size of an earthen pot and brought it crashing down toward Song Wen's head.

Facing the sudden, explosive assault, Song Wen was initially startled, but he reacted in an instant. Though Brother Biao looked imposing, he possessed no true martial momentum. His punch was entirely devoid of form, relying solely on crude, heavy strength.

Still, the brute's raw force was terrifying. If that fist connected squarely, Song Wen would undoubtedly be left bloodied and concussed.

Song Wen ducked low, nimbly slipping beneath the path of the incoming fist.

Simultaneously, his right hand plunged into his boot, drawing the sharp dagger he had obtained from the tool shed back in the herb garden.

Pushing off hard with his toes, Song Wen lunged forward two steps, plunging directly into Brother Biao's guard.

The dagger in his hand thrust upward in a natural, fluid arc, burying itself cleanly into Brother Biao's chest.

Song Wen's entire sequence of delivering the lethal blow was seamless, executed without a single shred of hesitation or doubt. By the time the blade pierced the muscle and struck the heart, Brother Biao had not even realized what had happened.

Scalding hot blood surged along the fuller of the blade, and with it, Brother Biao's strength and courage rapidly drained away.

His eyes widened in sheer disbelief and horror. The alley was dark, and he hadn't even been able to perceive how the youth had moved.

"You..."

Brother Biao opened his mouth to speak, but found himself incapable of uttering another sound.

In stark contrast to the dying man's mortal terror, Song Wen's eyes shone with an intense, vibrant brilliance. He looked exactly like a cold-blooded killer whose twisted internal desires had just achieved total, euphoric satisfaction.

Yet, Song Wen was no madman.

The absolute moment the dagger sank into Brother Biao's flesh, a profound current of warmth traveled up the blade and flooded into his body.

His vital essence and blood, heavily depleted by the earlier refining of the Blood Qi Pill, began to replenish at an astronomical rate. The deep ache in his lower back vanished instantly, replaced by a surge of pure, vibrant vitality.

Song Wen felt as though every single cell in his body was cheering and leaping with joy. Even his consciousness became intensely elevated, entering a state of extreme euphoria.

It was a magnificent sensation-ethereal, intoxicating, and utterly sublime.

On the other end of the blade, Brother Biao's burly, muscular physique began to rapidly wither and shrink.

The vast amounts of moisture that made up the majority of the human body evaporated completely within the span of a few brief breaths.

In the blink of an eye, Brother Biao's corpse transformed into a completely desiccated husk.

His thick robe became entirely too large, hanging loosely over the shriveled, dried remains.