Chapter 27: The Blood Wolf Totem

Swish—

Suddenly, a gleam of cold steel flashed, and a chill swept through the air. Just as Qin Lang was preparing to stand, he agilely twisted his body back, hastily dodging the attack from that icy blade.

Bang!

Stumbling backward in panic, Qin Lang’s forehead was drenched with cold sweat, and he swallowed hard as he stared at the imposing middle-aged man before him, nearly wishing for death itself.

Another Berserker Immortal.

Were they determined not to stop until he was dead tonight?

As soon as he dodged the attack, Qin Lang scrambled to flee, cursing under his breath, “That old man’s crow mouth really is something. This isn’t just a disaster of blood—he’s dead set on getting me killed!”

Seeing Qin Lang preparing to run, the middle-aged man, unable to strike him down with his Tang blade, suddenly reached out with his left hand and seized the back of Qin Lang’s robe.

Rip—

In that instant, Qin Lang’s clothes were torn apart by brute force, revealing his bronze-hued, sinewy skin, every muscle standing out in sharp relief.

When he saw his clothes shredded, Qin Lang’s face darkened inexplicably. “What, are you here to molest me? I’m not into that!”

At the same time, he realized his clothes must be of questionable quality, or they wouldn’t have been torn apart so easily.

Without hesitation, the imposing middle-aged man, still gripping the remnants of Qin Lang’s robe, raised his blade to strike.

“Young master—”

But just then, the wolf totem on Qin Lang’s left shoulder instantly rooted him to the spot, his eyes fixed and unblinking, body frozen in place.

The wolf totem glowed blood-red, the wolf depicted upon it fierce and savage, as if it had clawed its way up from the very depths of hell—so terrifying that chills ran down one’s spine.

Bang!

Sensing the other’s momentary loss of composure, Qin Lang didn’t hesitate, kicking him away with all his might before making his escape.

He didn’t know what had come over the man, but he instinctively felt that staying close would only mean certain death.

The imposing middle-aged man wanted to shout after the fleeing Qin Lang, perhaps even to stop him, but before he could, he saw the generals of the Mutian City garrison leading soldiers into the fray.

“Retreat—”

The bellow echoed in all directions. The two Berserker Immortals still engaged in combat with Liu Man and the others trembled inwardly at the command, and without a moment’s pause, turned and fled in different directions.

Just as the garrison commander and his men burst in, they saw the Berserker Immortals shattering windows and escaping in all directions. His face darkened, and he roared, “Split up and give chase—don’t let any of them get away!”

“Yes, sir!”

At his order, the soldiers quickly divided into three squads, each pursuing a different path.

The man in black armor, after glancing at the crowd, did not linger. The criminals had not been apprehended—he had no way to answer for this.

Watching the three men flee for reasons unknown, Qin Lang collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath—he had truly scraped by with his life.

It seemed the old man’s words were not wrong; tonight, not only had he suffered bloody disaster, but he had also managed to turn misfortune into blessing. His fate was truly hard to break.

But he had no desire to experience such an ordeal again.

The sensation just now was enough to make him wish for death.

At that moment, Tian Hui, dragging his weary body, approached and asked in concern, “Brother Qin, are you all right?”

Qin Lang waved his hand, exhaling a long breath. “I’m fine. It’s a good thing you and your men were here, or I might not have walked away from this tonight.”

“No need for thanks,” Tian Hui replied, shrugging lightly. “After all, we’re friends. How could I stand by when a friend is in trouble?”

“But tell me, what’s going on? Why did three Berserker Immortals suddenly try to kill you, and working together no less? Did you offend someone you shouldn’t have?”

“Ah!”

Qin Lang let out a heavy sigh, a bitter smile on his face. “It’s a long story. I’m afraid I can’t explain everything to you, Brother Tian. I hope you won’t take offense.”

Seeing his discomfort, Tian Hui simply waved it off. “No need to say more if you don’t wish to, Brother Qin. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask; I’ll do my best to help.”

…

Half a stick of incense later, Tian Hui departed alone, leaving the grand hall of Misty Rain Pavilion deserted save for Qin Lang and his companions, who were still recovering, and Lin Xian.

She surveyed the chaos before her—her once-elegant Misty Rain Pavilion transformed into a battlefield, guests fleeing in droves, many of her girls dead or wounded—and Lin Xian felt her heart bleed.

She ground her teeth in hatred for the Berserker Immortals.

If not for those bastards, her establishment would never have become like this—a haven of pleasure turned to ruin in an instant.

After a moment of inner conflict, Qin Lang finally approached Lin Xian with a gentle smile. “Sister Xian, I’m truly sorry. We never intended for this kind of havoc.”

“But please rest assured, I’ll compensate you for all your losses tonight, not a single coin short.”

“Really?” Lin Xian’s eyes lit up at his words, fixing her gaze on him. “Young Master Qin, you’re not just saying this to comfort me, are you?”

“Of course not,” Qin Lang replied. “I give you my word. If I say I’ll compensate you, I will. Besides, all these losses were caused by me, so naturally I should make it right.”

As he spoke, Qin Lang looked around at the devastation. “Sister Xian, please have someone tally up all the losses to the Misty Rain Pavilion, then send the report to Courtyard 18, Yunyang Road.”

This disaster was entirely his doing.

Though he still didn’t know why those three had targeted him, nor why they’d suddenly broken off mid-attack, all this destruction was a direct consequence.

As the one who brought this calamity, he was duty-bound to make reparations.

Lin Xian, about to accept, suddenly hesitated, her face turning bitter. “Young Master Qin, the losses here are enormous. Do you really have that much money?”

Hearing her question his wealth, Qin Lang’s anger flared. “Now, Sister Xian, what do you take me for? If I weren’t wealthy enough, would I dare boast before you?”

What he hated most was being accused of poverty.

Him, poor?

What a joke!

In the Celestial Prison of Supreme Mystery, no one was richer than he. The fortune he carried would make anyone’s eyes go red with envy.

Moreover, a month ago he had received a handsome share of the spoils from Prince Pingnan, making him even wealthier.

Seeing his unwavering confidence, Lin Xian felt a glimmer of hope. “Since you say so, I humbly accept. I’ll have someone calculate the losses as soon as possible and bring the bill to you.”

She had thought she would have to swallow this loss.

But to her surprise, Qin Lang had volunteered to compensate her—a secret delight she could barely conceal.

Even though Qin Lang was responsible, no one could say for certain who had sent the Berserker Immortals; she could always shift the blame if need be…

“Very well.”