C5 Revenge

These items were neither practical to carry around at all times nor could they be discarded. After some consideration, Feng Yimo let out a sigh, picked up a Blood Power Fruit, and nibbled on it before resuming his refinement process. To safely store these valuable items, he needed to at least develop his Divine Sense to access his Storage Bag and secure everything inside. As for the mana he had cultivated, should he come across a superior cultivation method, he was prepared to disperse his current mana and start his cultivation anew.

Time in the mountains passed differently, with no distinction between day and night. Feng Yimo was as steadfast as a boulder, immovable in his meditation. When he finally devoured the last Blood Power Fruit, his eyes snapped open, emitting a two-foot gleam. A plume of black smoke wafted from his body as filth erupted from his pores, emitting an unbearable stench. Despite consuming twenty-four precious Blood Power Fruits, he had only managed to reach the first level of the Qi Training Period, leaving him at a loss for words. The Spirit Devouring Silkworm was to blame, having absorbed ninety-nine percent of the Spiritual Energy, leaving him with less than a quarter of the Blood Power Fruit's efficacy. In the hands of another, these Spiritual Fruits could have been enough to successfully establish a foundation, and those with exceptional talent might have even reached the False Core Stage.

"What a waste, such a terrible waste!" Feng Yimo lamented, standing up and diving into the dark river for a thorough cleanse. Emerging invigorated and brimming with strength, he felt a newfound power. Now, lifting a three hundred jin weight with one hand was effortless. The Spiritual Qi had purified his body, and the transformation wrought by the Blood Power Fruit had greatly enhanced his resilience. He was confident that even the corrosive gastric juices of a Golden Horned Green Python would not harm him now.

Feng Yimo's greatest joy came from possessing Divine Sense at the mere first level of the Qi Training Period, likely a result of his soul's awakening. His formidable soul power from a past life had strengthened his soul. Although he had yet to form a sea of consciousness within his mind, a green mist was present, vast and pristine. This mist was the nascent form of the Primordial Spirit, a concentration of soul power, which enabled him to project his Divine Sense.

Before reaching the Foundation Establishment stage, most cultivators could only harness Spiritual Sense, necessitating the placement of a jade slip against their forehead to read its contents. Divine Sense, on the other hand, allowed for the remote reading of jade slips and the effortless retrieval of items from a Storage Bag.

Feng Yimo, now equipped with Divine Sense, easily accessed his Storage Bag, only to be met with disappointment. Inside were a mere six or seven low-grade spirit stones, two porcelain bottles meant for spirit pills—both regrettably empty—and a rust-covered steel blade, clearly of mundane quality. The Storage Bag, a modest ten feet in volume, was ample for items like python skin. With a sweep of his Divine Sense, he gathered the python skin, jade pendant, horn, and other items from the ground into the bag, leaving behind only half of a low-grade spiritual weapon sword.

"The time for vengeance has come," Feng Yimo thought, a glint of cold determination in his eyes. Having reached the first level of the Qi Training Period, avenging his parents was a must. While his current power was insufficient to confront other cultivators, dealing with a mere mortal from the Zhou Family would pose no issue. Resolute in his decision, Yimo quickly packed the Storage Bag and tucked it away. He grabbed the short sword and departed the cave that had been his home for over ten days. After discerning the general direction, he set off at a brisk pace.

His speed was such that even wolves could not keep up; within half an hour, the vague outlines of houses appeared. Iron Wind Village lay just ahead. Observing the evening sky, he knew that seeking revenge by day would attract unwanted attention. So, he chose a rock to sit upon, cross-legged, to restore his strength and wait for nightfall.

Time crawled, his restless heart unable to find peace. Memories of his parents' voices and laughter filled his mind, particularly his mother's calls during his unconscious state. Her last words echoed in his ears: "Son, if you can hear me and by some fortune survive, make your way to Black Wood City in Chu Country. Seek out the Feng Family. With the jade pendant, they will recognize you. My child, I can no longer be by your side, but you must take care of yourself." Even in her final moments, she thought only of him—such is the greatness of a mother's love.

Lost in thought, tears streamed down his cheeks as his emotions surged. Glancing at the sky, he saw the sun had already dipped behind the mountain. Unable to wait any longer, he marched into Iron Wind Ridge Village with determined steps.

As evening settled, the village homes were alive with the sounds and smells of cooking. Spirals of smoke wafted from the chimneys, punctuated by the occasional bark of a dog, creating a scene of contentment. The streets were nearly empty, and Feng Yimo encountered no one as he approached the imposing entrance of the Zhou family estate.

The Zhou residence was hard to miss, perched on the hillside at the village's edge. The sprawling estate covered over ten acres, its black walls standing twenty feet tall. The grand entrance was thirty feet wide and just as high, flanked by two majestic stone lions. Two servants, clad in black and donning the caps of household staff, stood guard, exuding pride as if serving the Zhou family was an honor of the highest order.

With his Divine Sense, Feng Yimo took in the scene within the courtyard with clarity. Over thirty robust men were dining in the east wing, while the main hall was bustling with a family gathering. At the center of the table sat a portly man in the garb of a wealthy official, his plump cheeks and fierce expression unmistakable. Accompanying him were six lavishly dressed women and three children, around six or seven years old. The family of ten feasted on a spread of chicken, duck, fish, and meat, with more than a dozen dishes to choose from.

In the west wing, a smaller table was set with fare far superior to that of the strong men in the east. Five individuals enjoyed six meaty dishes, complemented by a jug of wine, savoring each bite with gusto.

A cold sneer crossed Feng Yimo's mind. Enjoy your meal, he thought, for this is your last supper. Miss it now, and you'll never taste such delights again.

"Halt! What's your business here? Don't you know this is the esteemed Official Zhou's residence? Lingering at the gate is forbidden—be off with you!" The servant on the left barked as he caught sight of Feng Yimo peering at the courtyard gate. The servant on the right, noting Feng Yimo's lack of response, became enraged. He descended the steps and confronted Feng Yimo, reaching out to shove him. "Get lost! Don't test my patience!"

Rage blazed in Feng Yimo's eyes as he swung his right hand, the broken sword in his grip sending a servant's head soaring into the air. While the short sword failed to penetrate the Golden Horned Green Python's stomach, decapitating a man was as effortless as slicing through tofu.

The servant to the left stood frozen in shock. How could his companion be slain so swiftly? Before he could even cry out, Feng Yimo had closed the distance, his short sword piercing the servant's heart.

"You, you're...," the servant stammered in terror. As they stood face to face, he recognized Feng Yimo as the long-deceased son of the Feng Family. How was he alive again? He tried to sound the alarm but found himself voiceless; his head lolled to the side, and he was gone.

Withdrawing the short sword, Feng Yimo struck at the black gate. A single blow was all it took to cleave the heavy door in two, sending it crashing down and kicking up a cloud of dust.

Stepping through the threshold, Feng Yimo was met by the alarmed servants who had noticed the intrusion. They charged, brandishing weapons, and encircled him. Minister Zhou, emerging from the main hall, laid eyes on the beggarly youth standing amidst the chaos, a blood-stained broken sword in hand. Outraged at the sight of his slain servants, he demanded, "Who are you? Why have you broken into my Zhou residence and killed my people?"

Beside Minister Zhou stood the house steward, Zhou Huai, who lifted his lantern high. The faint light illuminated Feng Yimo's face, prompting Zhou Huai to exclaim, "You, you're the Feng lad! Weren't you burned to death?"

At the sound of his voice, Feng Yimo recognized the man responsible for the tragic events at his home—the murder of his father and the vile arson that claimed his mother. Gazing skyward, he sighed deeply, "Father, Mother, your son has come to avenge you. May you witness their downfall from beyond."