《Divine Usurper: Reborn from the Ashes》

Chapter 2 The Old Immortal of Nanhua

“Murder! Murder!” The sugarcane vendor, a middle-aged woman, had been watching the scene with the detached amusement of someone accustomed to the daily dramas that unfolded at the university gate. She never could have imagined that this polite, clean-cut young man, with his gentle and scholarly air, would drive a knife into the neck of that loathsome fat man. What stunned her even more was the realization that the knife he wielded was hers—taken from her own stall.

Her screams, raw and guttural like those at a pig s*******r, plunged the lively school entrance into a whirlwind of chaos. Xue’er stared at Jiang He, his eyes bulging like a dead fish’s, frozen in disbelief even in death that Qin Mufeng had dared to act. Her shriek tore through the air, a sound of pure hysteria. Amid the piercing cries of the two women, Qin Mufeng jolted back to his senses. He gazed at Jiang He, motionless and breathless, and understood with cold certainty: Jiang He was dead.

Jiang He deserved it—a vile wretch like him could die a hundred times and it still wouldn’t be enough. Yet the fact remained that Qin Mufeng had caused this death. As the haze of fury cleared from his mind, his heart began to race once more, thudding heavily in his chest. He looked down at the fruit knife in his hand, its blade coated in thick, crimson blood, and knew that this small weapon had not only ended Jiang He’s life but had also sealed his own fate.

Even so, Qin Mufeng felt no remorse. He was certain that if he could turn back time, he would make the same choice—not for the woman called Xue’er, but for his own dignity, the dignity of a man! A faint, icy smile curled his lips as he took in the frenzied crowd before him. Without sparing a thought for the gawking onlookers, he strode boldly away, his steps long and resolute, pushing through toward the edge of the throng.

“Don’t let him get away! He’s a murderer!” “Stop him! Quick, stop him!” Shouts of brave intent rose sporadically from the chaotic mass, but not one of those self-proclaimed heroes stepped forward to intervene. In that moment, Qin Mufeng was like a fearsome god of death, radiating an aura so menacing that no one dared come within five meters of him.

Xue’er, dazed with terror, kept screaming, her voice a relentless wail, but Qin Mufeng didn’t so much as glance her way as he departed. He walked with purpose, indifferent to the people dialing the police on their phones or the waves of murmurs rippling through the crowd. Then, out of nowhere, a pang of hunger struck him.

Time to eat something, he thought. Fully aware of the destiny awaiting him, Qin Mufeng had no intention of running. He knew escape was impossible—no money, no connections, and countless witnesses pinning him to the scene. With the police’s speed, no matter how far he fled, the end would be the same.

Two hundred meters away, a modest night market stall caught his eye. The scent of lamb skewers sizzling over an open flame drifted toward him, rich and enticing. While everyone at the crime scene assumed he was making a desperate getaway, Qin Mufeng instead sat down beside the stall with calm deliberation. The vendors, a couple in their fifties, had been left alone as their usual customers abandoned them to gape at the murder spectacle, leaving their little stand desolate and quiet.

The couple stared at Qin Mufeng as he settled at their table, their faces blanching as if they might weep. In their hearts, they lamented their terrible misfortune—had they known a harbinger of doom like this would darken their doorstep, they’d have stayed home no matter what. Noticing their pallid, terrified expressions, Qin Mufeng’s lips twitched into a wry smile. This might well be the most formidable moment of his life, though these brief minutes of power would likely cost him everything he had left.

“Boss, give me twenty lamb skewers and two bottles of beer. Here’s the money.”

With that, Qin Mufeng pulled his wallet from his pocket and tossed it onto the table with a casual flick.

The couple hesitated, reluctant to serve him, but their eyes fell on the blood-streaked fruit knife lying beside his wallet. Trembling uncontrollably, they gathered a heap of skewers and a few bottles of beer, dropping them onto his table with shaky hands before fleeing as if their lives depended on it.

Unfazed by their fear, Qin Mufeng picked up a beer bottle, clamped his teeth around the cap, and yanked it off with a sharp twist. Tilting his head back, he guzzled the contents in loud, gulping swallows until the bottle was empty. The beer settled in his stomach, and his hunger sharpened. As he reached for the skewers in front of him, he noticed someone had taken a seat beside him at the table.

“You’re a cop, aren’t you? Hold on—I’m not full yet. Let me finish eating, then I’ll go with you. I haven’t eaten all day,” Qin Mufeng said loudly, not bothering to look at the newcomer’s face. By now, he’d cast life and death to the wind, so whether it was a policeman or not hardly mattered anymore.

“To kill in a crowded marketplace and still face it with such composure—your strength of mind is truly impressive, sir,” the stranger replied. Far from taking offense at Qin Mufeng’s brash words, the man spoke with a calm, measured tone.

The voice flowed over Qin Mufeng like the soothing sound of a mountain stream cascading over rocks, bringing an unexpected comfort. But when the man referred to himself as “old Taoist,” Qin Mufeng’s curiosity piqued. He lifted his eyes, expecting to see a policeman, only to find a Taoist priest sitting across from him—clad in a robe adorned with the eight trigrams, his head crowned with a nine-ridged Taoist cap.

A Taoist priest? In this day and age, one dressed so traditionally was a rare sight indeed. Qin Mufeng’s first thought was that he must be seeing things. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, only to confirm that not only was this a genuine Taoist, but he might even be a foreign one.

White hair framed a youthful face, his presence exuding an ethereal grace that matched every tale of an immortal sage. Yet those striking green eyes unsettled Qin Mufeng—no matter how he looked at them, they felt out of place. Taoism was a religion born and nurtured in China; since when did it boast a foreign priest?

“Who are you? Why are you sitting here? Aren’t you afraid I’ll lose my temper and kill you too?” Unable to gauge the stranger’s intentions, Qin Mufeng had no desire to waste time with this odd, half-Chinese, half-foreign figure. He scowled fiercely, hoping to intimidate the Taoist into leaving.

“Hahaha, my young friend, as to who I am—I am an immortal here to save your life. You killed someone in a busy market; you must know the consequences that follow,” the Taoist replied. Instead of shrinking from Qin Mufeng’s threat, he laughed heartily, his green eyes glinting with playful mischief.

At the mention of being saved, a spark flickered in Qin Mufeng’s heart, which had long turned to cold ashes. Though he’d steeled himself for the worst, he wouldn’t let a chance at survival slip by. Steadying his quickening pulse, he asked a question that sent the old Taoist into a fit of lopsided laughter: “Priest, do you perhaps have friends in the police or the courts?”

It wasn’t an absurd question. In today’s world, Taoist priests and monks were not to be underestimated. The famous ones often held positions in the Political Consultative Conference or the National People’s Congress, their influence stretching far and wide.

“Hahahaha!” The Taoist’s laughter boomed like rolling thunder. “Young friend, didn’t you hear me? I’m an immortal—of course I can save your life. It’s been over ten minutes since you took that man’s life. Don’t you find it odd that the police haven’t shown up?”

The words snapped Qin Mufeng’s mind into focus. Indeed, it had been more than ten minutes since the killing—by all accounts. The. The police should have arrived long ago given their response time. Yet there was no sign of them. When he cast his gaze around, he found his surroundings shrouded in pitch-black darkness. The bustling crowd had vanished without a trace, and even the stove grilling his skewers was gone. All that remained was the table before him, bearing his beer and skewers—nothing else existed.

“What… what’s happening?” Qin Mufeng’s voice trembled as he turned to the green-eyed Taoist, his shock palpable. Though he’d never put stock in tales of the supernatural, this bizarre turn of events rattled him to his core.

The Taoist’s smug grin widened at Qin Mufeng’s astonishment, his green eyes twinkling with flecks of starlight. “I told you—I’m an immortal. Now you should believe me. The police haven’t failed to come; they simply can’t see us.” With a gentle wave of his hand, the darkness dissipated, and the world around Qin Mufeng flared back to life. Where moments ago there had been only blackness, police cars now stood in rows, their lights flashing. Officers armed with rifles scoured the area, searching with grim determination.

Amid the disorderly throng, Qin Mufeng spotted Xue’er, tears streaming down her face as she answered questions from two policemen. Nearby, the sugarcane vendor and the stall couple were also being grilled by officers.

The sight of those police cars drained the color from Qin Mufeng’s face. Just then, the Taoist’s voice reached his ears again: “Don’t be afraid. They can’t see you. Even if you walked up and slapped one of them, they wouldn’t notice.”

Turning to face the still, unwavering Taoist, Qin Mufeng’s racing heart began to calm. In the quiet that followed, a realization settled over him: there’s no hatred without cause, nor love without reason. This old priest wouldn’t save him without purpose. Whatever his motives, now wasn’t the time to question them—his life hung in the balance. With a steady voice, he said, “Priest, your grace in saving me is something I’ll never forget. My life is yours now. Whatever you command, just say it.”

The green-eyed Taoist had shown him the police mobilization to intimidate him, to ensure his submission. Seeing Qin Mufeng’s compliance, he laughed heartily. “You’re a clever one, my young friend—I didn’t save you for nothing. I am the Old Immortal of Nanhua. I rescued you because we share the bond of master and disciple. Tell me, are you willing to join my sect, to cultivate the Great Dao with me and seek eternal life together?”

There’s no such thing as a free meal—Qin Mufeng knew that well. But with his back against the wall, he had no choice but to yield. He understood clearly: if he displeased this green-eyed immortal, he’d face a horde of relentless officers. Without a shred of hesitation, he dropped to his knees and said reverently, “Your disciple, Qin Mufeng, pays respects to his master.”

After kowtowing several times, the green-eyed immortal grasped his arm and pulled him up from the ground. Gazing at Qin Mufeng’s serene expression, he let out a long sigh. “Mufeng, I’ve taken many disciples, but when it comes to decisive ruthlessness, none can match you.”

Hearing this, Qin Mufeng’s tension eased considerably. Having companions was far better than facing the unknown alone. Buoyed by this thought, he couldn’t help asking, “Master, where are my senior brothers now?”

The Old Immortal’s face darkened once more, and after a prolonged silence, he spoke in a low, somber tone: “Your eldest brother Zhang Jue, second brother Zhu Wen, third brother Li Futong, fourth sister Tang Sai’er… and your youngest brother Hong Xiuquan—they’re all dead.”

As those familiar names rang in his ears, Qin Mufeng’s mind buzzed with a deafening hum, and his thoughts dissolved into a blank void.