The street was quiet now—too quiet.
In front of Luo Changfeng stood more than a dozen desperados, each gripping a rusty blade. Their rough appearance and crude weapons revealed much. Most were just ordinary people, likely with nothing left to lose—just enough desperation and muscle to be dangerous.
But their eyes betrayed them.
Beneath the bravado, Luo Changfeng saw nerves—tension flickering in their gazes like candlelight in the wind. He didn't even need to try; it was clear these men were new to this life. Banditry hadn't yet carved callouses into their hearts.
All except one.
At the front stood a lean man clad in black, a dark cloth wrapped tightly around his head. A new steel blade gleamed coldly in his hand, pristine and sharp. Unlike the others, his presence was suffocating, a faint but unmistakable aura of bloodshed clinging to him like shadow.
A cultivator—barely.
Luo Changfeng's eyes narrowed. The man had likely stepped into the realm of cultivation, perhaps only the early stage of Skin Refinement. Laughable.
Even if there had been ten like him—or sixty, or even a hundred—Luo Changfeng could have sliced through them like a knife through tofu and walked away unscathed.
…
"Old man, what are you spacing out for?"
The bandit leader's tone turned impatient, his earlier sneer now laced with hostility.
"Didn't you hear what I said?"
The quiet street, tucked away on the outskirts of Qingshi Town, buzzed with tension. This was far from the Luo Family's ancestral land. The safety and order of the central district didn't reach this far.
And in these parts, during such chaotic times, human life was cheaper than straw.
Had the leader not suspected that Luo Changfeng was wealthy, he wouldn't have wasted words. He'd have already buried his blade in the old man's chest.
"You lot, move in!"
The black-clad leader raised his blade, barking the order with a flick of his wrist.
"If we don't teach this old geezer a lesson, he'll think we're just here for show."
The bandits glanced at one another—some hesitant, others eager to prove themselves.
Then, with a collective shout, they charged forward, rusty blades raised high.
"Hmph… Do these fools really believe I'm just some frail old man?"
Luo Changfeng's face grew cold. His voice, barely above a whisper, was filled with disdain.
He didn't move.
In fact, he hadn't planned to act at all.
Ever since he'd left the Luo Family grounds, he'd sensed several cultivators tailing him from a distance—practitioners in the Skin Refinement Realm, keeping to the shadows. Their presence grew even clearer the moment these bandits emerged.
Now, as the desperados closed in, those hidden protectors made their move.
Like wolves unleashed, they burst forth from alleys and rooftops, their coordinated movements swift and lethal. In moments, they had surrounded Luo Changfeng, forming an ironclad circle of defense.
He smiled faintly.
"The young ones from the Luo Family… truly meticulous."
His eyes swept over the oncoming thugs one last time. Then, without a word, he turned his back and walked away.
…
The clash of steel and the cries of battle rang out behind him. The metallic scent of blood soon hung thick in the air.
By the time the echoes faded, it was over.
"Patriarch Changfeng," a firm voice called out from behind.
The speaker was a house servant commander clad in gray, his breath steady, hands respectfully clasped. He looked to be at the peak of the Skin Refinement Realm.
"All the bandits have been dealt with."
"The one in the early stage of Skin Refinement was taken alive. What shall we do with him?"
Luo Changfeng didn't turn around. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, hands still clasped behind his back.
"Do you know where this group came from?"
"We do," the commander replied. "They seem to be from Blackwind Stockade. It's a mountain stronghold not far from Qingshi Town."
Luo Changfeng's eyes narrowed slightly.
Blackwind Stockade…
Fragments of information surfaced in his mind.
It had been established roughly half a year ago, nestled in an abandoned mountain outside Qingshi Town. Its leader was reportedly a Skin Refinement cultivator. The group had swollen to about five hundred members, earning them a spot among the ten major bandit factions in the region.
They ranked tenth. The lowest of the ten—but still dangerous.
"Kill them," Luo Changfeng said quietly. "As for Blackwind Stockade…"
He paused in thought, then continued in a low voice.
"Scout it out. If you can find the main base, deal with them directly."
"If not… let it be for now. When I have time, I'll handle it myself."
"Yes, Elder!" the commander bowed and turned sharply.
His expression darkened as he strode toward the captured bandit, who lay bound and bloodied on the ground.
"You can't kill me!" the man shrieked suddenly, eyes wide with panic.
"Do you know who I am?"
"I'm the ninth leader of Blackwind Stockade! If you kill me, my big brother—!"
But his pleas fell on deaf ears.
He twisted and thrashed against his bonds, desperation flooding his voice.
"I can get you information! I can tell you everything! Please, don't—"
[Bang!]
A dull thud silenced him.
The commander's blade moved faster than the eye could follow. The ninth leader's head rolled cleanly across the stone street, a grotesque smear of red trailing in its wake.
The commander sheathed his blade, his voice calm and cold.
"Do you even know who you tried to rob just now?"
"That was the Ancestor of the Luo Family—one of the four great families of Qingshi Town."
"You? A minor steward of a two-bit stockade?"
He scoffed.
"Even if you were the leader of Blackwind Stockade… in front of that man, you'd still be nothing."
…
With the scene handled, the Luo Family house servants moved swiftly, disposing of the corpses with practiced efficiency. They hauled the bodies to the edge of the street, leaving no trace of the skirmish behind.
Then, as if they had never been there, the guards melted back into the shadows, disappearing into alleyways and rooftops.
Luo Changfeng stood for a long moment in silence, then turned away.
"It's time to return."
He cast one final glance toward the commander's hidden position, then walked off, hands clasped behind his back.
He didn't get far.
"Sir, sir!"
A hoarse voice called out behind him, panicked and pathetic.
"Please… lend me some money… just a little…"
Luo Changfeng stopped.
A middle-aged man, clad in ragged clothes and reeking of sweat and desperation, scrambled after him. His face was sunken, his body gaunt. Grimy fingers clutched at Luo Changfeng's leg as he collapsed to his knees.
"I swear, if you lend it to me… once I win back what I lost, I'll repay you double—triple—five times over!"
His eyes were bloodshot, lips cracked. The scent of stale alcohol and dirt clung to him like rot.
Luo Changfeng looked down at the man—really looked.
Recognition dawned.
This was the same man who had earlier sold his daughter to the thugs for a few taels of silver, then staggered into the gambling house without a backward glance.
Now here he was, reduced to begging on the streets, clutching at a stranger's robe.
Luo Changfeng's eyes shifted toward the nearby gambling house.
Even in the midst of this crumbling district, it thrived. A grotesque haven for the desperate and broken, its lanterns glowed bright while shadows swallowed its patrons.
He sighed.
Softly. Bitterly.
"This casino… truly ruins people."