Chapter 28: A Warm Embrace

What does it mean to be beset on all sides by traps? What does it mean to face peril at every step? Today, Shan He experienced these truths in the most tangible way.

This young man would be wasted if he weren’t an assassin; when it comes to killing and hunting, he’s more adept than any of us professionals. For a fleeting moment, Shan He felt a wave of melancholy, as if a new generation were rising to replace the old—a sensation of being swept away by the relentless tide of time.

Have I grown old already?

Of course, now was not the moment to lament the passing of youth. First and foremost, he had to find a way out of his current predicament. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a matter of age—it would be a matter of death.

Yet, the mire beneath his feet gripped him with tremendous force, dragging him down with desperate strength. This was no ordinary mud. If it had been, a deft movement would have launched him free in an instant. Now, Shan He understood why Tang Fei called it the “Gate of Hell.” They say the newly dead hesitate at the threshold, unwilling to part from the world of the living, but within the Gate of Hell, a horde of vengeful spirits revel, eager to drag you in and make you one of them.

Whether living or dead, all are eager to lure others into damnation.

Shan He found himself in a dire situation. He could not struggle, could not move, and dared not recklessly use his own inner energy. He knew that every effort would only sink him deeper. Who could understand the frustration of possessing such a wealth of power, yet being unable to use it?

“How does it feel?” Tang Fei looked at Shan He with a cheerful grin. “Difficult, isn’t it? Today, the Gate of Hell opens just for you… Enjoy it while you can.”

“You think this will be enough to capture me?”

“Oh? You still have a way out?” Tang Fei asked, intrigued.

Whenever Tang Fei encountered particularly troublesome prey, he liked to lure them here. Whether it was a bear the size of a hill or a cunning, demonic panther, once they entered the Gate of Hell, their fate was always the same: to be roasted or stewed.

The stronger and larger the beast, the greater the harm the Gate of Hell inflicted—the deeper it would drag them down. Struggling is instinctive when faced with danger; this is true for both man and beast.

Shan He reached into his pocket and produced a palm-sized model airplane. With a gentle press of his finger, the toy expanded with a clatter, quickly transforming into an AI-powered plane in the air, its tail spewing deep blue flames.

“Rope!” Shan He shouted, and from the plane’s belly dropped a silver cord, thoughtfully equipped with a handle for easy gripping during flight. Shan He seized the handle, and the AI plane began to lift him from the mire. He could not use his own strength, but he could borrow the pull of another force. With this, the Gate of Hell could no longer hold him.

Tang Fei was infuriated. Was there no shame left in these people? Resorting to high-tech tricks now? Just because we refugees from the Old Lands lack education, you think you can bully us?

Tang Fei summoned his machete, spinning it toward Shan He’s arm, the one clinging to the handle. Trying to escape? Not a chance. Leave the arm—no, take the arm, but leave the body behind.

Shan He was already prepared. His fist, blazing red, swelled to an enormous size, like a giant football, and smashed into the oncoming machete. An immense red wave of energy surged forth, striking the blade hard and sending it flying with a boom.

Tang Fei panicked, worried the blade would be lost to the mire, and quickly summoned it back to his palm. The impact of the chilling deathly force had not yet dissipated, and Tang Fei grunted as his body sank further into the mud.

He dared not move recklessly now. He had no smart plane—only manual means.

The AI aircraft hauled Shan He out in no time. Suspended in the air, Shan He regained control. He recalled the plane and, looking down at Tang Fei, burst into laughter. “Didn’t you call this the Gate of Hell? Today, let me help you descend to hell ahead of schedule…”

As he spoke, his fist glowed red once more. The crimson fire, like a massive fist, barreled toward Tang Fei, who was trapped in the mire.

Tang Fei cursed inwardly. He had intended to use the Gate of Hell to trap Shan He, and once the old man was immobilized, his machete would have made quick work of him. Only after confirming his death would he bother fishing out the body—or not, as he sometimes left them behind after a hunt.

But Shan He had escaped with his AI plane, and Tang Fei’s own manual craft was of no use. Now, with the attack incoming, his only options were to fight back or die.

Gritting his teeth, Tang Fei channeled his energy into his right hand and struck with a punch. The spectral forms of a dragon and an elephant erupted, roaring as they charged toward the crimson fist.

Tang Fei’s “Dragon-Elephant Subjugation Technique” had not yet breached its first tier. If he did, the dragon and elephant would manifest physically, and his power would skyrocket.

With a thunderous crash, the spectral beasts collided with the red fist in the air; the sky darkened, dragons roared, and elephants trumpeted. The dragon and elephant vanished upon contact, but the crimson fist pushed forward a little, then dissipated as well.

Tang Fei knew his cultivation was inferior to this old man’s, his inner energy even more so. But his technique was a Buddhist art, filled with righteous power, while Shan He’s “Thousand Corpse Transformation” drew on extreme yin and toxic forces. Righteousness always suppresses evil; when faced with Buddhist arts, his abilities were naturally restrained.

Even though his punch carried deeper, stronger energy, the result was only a stalemate. The subjugation technique, after all, was made to subdue the likes of Shan He.

Shan He was shocked that his punch had failed to achieve the expected result. Hovering in midair, he said, “Your technique is exquisite, but your mastery is lacking…”

He began to gather power again, the red flames on his fist burning even brighter, as though a small crimson sun blazed upon it.

“Take another punch…”

The crimson sun moved with astonishing slowness, yet with breathtaking force, toward Tang Fei. This time, Shan He not only intended to kill Tang Fei, but to destroy this so-called Gate of Hell as well.

In the face of absolute power, no gate can withstand destruction.

Tang Fei’s expression grew grave—he knew how formidable this punch would be.

Even at a distance, he could feel the eerie, chilling aura emanating from the red flames. That is the uncanny essence of the “Thousand Corpse Transformation.” Though the flames burn red, they draw on the coldest yin energy. The fire brings no warmth, only a bone-chilling cold. It can reduce a man to ashes or freeze him into a statue of ice.

The crimson sun shone down like the blazing mid-day sun, engulfing Tang Fei and the land beneath his feet. Even the dark brown mire was stained red, as if blood itself was writhing there.

Despair welled up in Tang Fei’s heart. Was this old man bent on utter annihilation?

His legs were trapped deep in the mud; any movement would only drag him deeper. The trap he designed for Shan He had now turned on him—a cosmic joke.

At that crucial moment, a silver whip dropped from the sky.

Phoenix stood atop a tall tree and shouted, “Tang Fei, grab on!”

He caught the end of the whip, and Phoenix gave a powerful pull. With the terrifying force of her mystical weapon, she yanked him out of the mire as if pulling up a stubborn radish.

As Tang Fei hurtled toward her, Phoenix reached out and caught him in her arms. The two of them spun through the air, not gracefully, but with undeniable warmth, before landing together on the ground.

With a thunderous crash, mud flying everywhere, the spot where Tang Fei had just stood became a gaping black pit.

“Are you alright?” Phoenix asked.

Tang Fei was covered head to toe in mud; he had been pulled free just as the crimson sun exploded. Though his body was unharmed, the flying mud had drenched him completely.

“I was in trouble, but now I’m fine.” Having narrowly escaped death, Tang Fei was in high spirits. “You’ve saved me again.”

“I only had the chance because you saved my life first,” Phoenix replied.

Tang Fei nodded, approving of her logic. “That’s reasonable… I’ll go kill him for you—then I’ll have saved you once more.”

Shan He had come to kill Phoenix. If Tang Fei killed Shan He, wouldn’t that be saving her? In the end, Phoenix would still owe him a life debt. Her earlier promise of supplies and weaponry would stand.

“I’ll go with you,” said Phoenix.

“I’m coming too,” said Fatty.

Even Fatty could see that Shan He was no easy opponent; his big brother might not come out ahead this time. Fatty feared his brother might get beaten—if anyone was going to do that, it should be him.

The old man seized Fatty’s arm and pointed to Little Blade. “Go play with him.”

“Alright,” Fatty replied, hefting his hammer and heading for Little Blade.

The old man then called Tang Fei and Phoenix back. “Leave the old fellow to me…” He pointed to the Clown and Snake Woman. “You youngsters probably have more in common to talk about.”

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