Apotheosis Begins with Tai Chi

But at this moment, beneath Chen Cheng’s feet, the road seemed to be crushed and compressed, its distance effortlessly erased as he shot straight toward his destination.

The glare of the snow reflected the last sliver of gray on the horizon. Before the dusk settled into complete darkness, he could already see the pitch-black silhouette of the hillside ahead, dotted with the scattered lights of torches.

...

On Seven Miles Slope, ruined walls were half-buried in snow. The exposed sections were scorched black and mottled, jutting out from the earth like rotting skeletons.

The wind whipped up from the mountain pass, wailing like the low, intermittent whimpers of someone being strangled—a miserable, grim sound.

The sky turned completely dark. The torchlight flickered violently, making the silhouettes of the ruins twist and writhe as if they had come alive in a mad, demonic dance.

”Chief...”

One of the Bai Family’s private soldiers felt a chilling wind brush the back of his neck, and the hair all over his body stood on end.

”This place is creepy as hell. How about we pull back?”

”Retreat?”

Beside him, a ferocious-looking man with a Horizontal Saber at his waist held a Crossbow Mechanism, a pitch-black Short Arrow resting in its groove and gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

He shot the grunt a sidelong glance, a sneer twisting his lips as he retorted in a sinister voice:

”The Hunting Manor is about to run out of food. We’re out on this ’hunt,’ and if we return empty-handed, what do you suppose Lord Bai will do to me? And what do you think I’ll do to you in turn?”

”I...”

The grunt gulped hard and didn’t dare say another word.

There were twenty men on this expedition, all of them Manor Soldiers from the Bai Family’s Cangying Hunting Manor.

When the Bai Family had first recruited them, they had rejected anyone local to Zhao City, accepting only outsiders who couldn’t survive on their own—drifters, refugees, and the starving.

These men had no roots, no family, and no friends. With no future to look forward to and no path of retreat, they ate the Bai Family’s food, took their pay, and had no choice but to follow them down a dark path to the very end.

Although the Bai Family was now desperately defending a few strategic strongholds, practically ruling like mountain bandits, their situation was actually far from comfortable.

The Bai Family’s foundation in the Inner City had been completely uprooted. Although their few strongholds outside the city were strategically placed and hard to assault, they were critically lacking in supplies.

In the dead of winter, food alone was a critical issue, sufficient to bring about their demise.

The day their provisions ran out, they would collapse on their own, no attack from the official army needed.

With no other option, the current leader of the Bai Family could only send out their private soldiers.

It was called hunting, but in reality, it was banditry—arson, murder, pillaging, and preying on humans.

”Listen up and listen good!”

The man in the lead said in a low voice,

”Those people from before were all wounded in the ambush, especially the ones hit by arrows. They can’t have gotten far! So get your heads in the game and search! Catch one, and there’s a reward of five taels! Catch two, and you get a pound of meat!”

”Yes, sir!”

After acknowledging the order, the men broke into pairs and fanned out to search.

...

「Deep within the ruins.」

Inside a half-collapsed stone house, Wang Peng was huddled in the shadows, his back against a broken wall. A Short Arrow was buried deep in his left arm, with only a small part of the shaft showing.

The skin around the wound had already turned a bruised, blackish-blue, spreading like ink on paper as it crept up his veins.

He gritted his teeth as layer after layer of cold sweat broke out on his forehead. It streamed down his cheeks and dripped onto his collar, gradually freezing into tiny ice crystals.

Pain.

It felt as if someone had shoved a red-hot iron wire deep into the wound, only to twist it violently before churning it around.

His entire arm, and by extension half his body, was convulsing and shaking uncontrollably.

The middle-aged man beside him felt the pain seep into his own bones just from watching.

He didn’t dare to look for long. After a quick glance, he hastily averted his gaze and curled into a ball, trembling like a leaf.

His name was Du Wenshun, an old acquaintance of Wang Peng’s. His home was in the Prefecture City, and he had accompanied Wang Peng to Zhao City on a business matter, thinking the journey would be safer with an old friend to watch his back.

They had been on the road for several days without any trouble.

Who would have thought that just as they were about to reach the city, they would run into this mess.

”Nngh...”

Suddenly, a wave of agony overwhelmed him, and Wang Peng couldn’t stop a low, choked sob from escaping.

He instantly bit down hard on his lip. His body was shaking so violently that he couldn’t control his strength and ended up biting it raw.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, mixing with his cold sweat before dripping onto the long, flat wooden box clutched to his chest.

The wooden box was wrapped in several layers of coarse cloth. He clutched it tightly to his chest, his arms clamped around it as if it were more precious than life itself. Most of his left arm had already turned a dark, bruised blue and his fingers were swollen purple, yet his grip remained ironclad, not budging an inch.

In truth, with his skill, he should have been able to handle the earlier ambush with ease—both the chaos from the tripwires set for the horses and the volley of poisoned arrows that followed.

However, he was trying to protect Du Wenshun, who had no martial arts training, as well as the wooden box, all while keeping an eye on their other companions. With his attention split, he had neglected his own defense and taken an arrow to the arm.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded from outside. They were light and slow, crunching on the snow, each step landing like a footfall on one’s own heart.

Du Wenshun’s shoulders flinched violently. He pressed himself further against the base of the wall, as if trying to embed himself into the cracks.

His breathing became rapid and shallow, his chest heaving. A low, strangled sound escaped his throat, like a chicken being choked to death.

Wang Peng turned his head and glanced at him.

Du Wenshun met his gaze and froze for a second. Then, he stuffed his sleeve into his mouth and bit down hard. Silent streams coursed down his face—whether from sweat or tears, it was impossible to say.

Outside, the footsteps stopped right beside the stone house, just beyond the broken wall.

They could hear someone panting, and the soft clink of something hard, like a scabbard, brushing against a surface.

Wang Peng held his breath, clutching the wooden box even tighter. Its corner dug painfully into his ribs, but he paid it no mind.

The pain in his left arm grew steadily worse, but he didn’t dare make a sound, didn’t dare relax, didn’t even dare to let himself tremble.

Just moments ago, he had still been able to circulate his Blood Qi to suppress the poison’s spread and quiet his own heartbeat.

But now, that last line of defense was beginning to crumble.

THUMP... THUMP... THUMP...

The sound of his heart grew louder and louder.

He felt as if the whole world could hear it.

SWISH!

Suddenly, a face appeared from behind the broken wall. The torch was still out of sight, and its faint glow illuminated the face, leaving it half in shadow and half in light. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a ghost.