Chapter Sixty-One: Courtesy Begets Reciprocity

Ye Chen and the cloaked figure remained locked in a tense standoff for quite some time.

He could not tell whether the earlier explosive arrow had drained the cloaked figure’s inner reserves too greatly, or if the relentless chase had left the other’s stamina sorely lacking. Either way, Ye Chen clearly sensed that as the pursuit dragged on, those harrying arrows lost much of their former power and became far easier to handle. In truth, both guesses fit the reality of the cloaked figure’s predicament—this was where Ye Chen held the advantage.

For those awakened to the path of artifacts, inner reserves could be channeled only into objects, offering no enhancement to their own physical strength. The repeated climbing and running had worn the cloaked figure’s stamina thin. Ye Chen, however, thanks to the breathing technique, could have his inner reserves automatically convert to bodily energy when his stamina flagged, granting him endurance far beyond the ordinary. This, in fact, was a unique ability of the path of the body.

Unaware of this detail, Ye Chen merely registered the steady drain of his inner reserves and assumed it was the result of keeping his “Eyes of the Back” active. He feared another arrow that could curve unexpectedly and strike him from behind, so he never dared to “close his eyes.” Soon, he discovered another remarkable benefit of the Eyes of the Back—they could warn him of traps hidden beneath the snow.

“This fellow truly isn’t a good person—so cunning!” Ye Chen cursed under his breath, his heart pounding. “When did they even have time to lay all these traps? I never saw them do anything! Did they slide them down their pants leg into the snow?”

Just moments earlier, thanks to his Eyes of the Back, Ye Chen had detected a frosty trap buried beneath the snow and leapt clear in time. The cloaked figure, too, felt a wave of confusion: “How did he notice? Were my actions so subtle, and yet he still caught on?”

…

Soon, the distance between the two had shrunk to less than five meters. Ye Chen, leveraging his superior physique, had forcibly closed the gap. The opportunity had arrived.

He poured every drop of his inner reserves recklessly into the broken blade. His aura drew inward, the reserved energy shrouding the knife, dense and unbroken. In the next instant, with a sharp sound, the invisible edge extended, slicing through air as though piercing a hole in space itself.

Ye Chen’s spirit, energy, and intent united as he swung with force, the blade cleaving through swirling snowflakes—though it seemed the snow parted of its own accord. This strike was the absolute peak of Ye Chen’s current mastery, the release of a night’s pent-up rage, and faintly, it bore the embryonic shape of a god-hunting blow. Though far from truly severing space, for now, it was more than enough.

A ripple flickered through the air, unseen yet tangible, as if an invisible fan had been snapped open and shut. Within its sweep, all things were sliced cleanly in two.

At that moment, the cloaked figure reached the corner edge of the rooftop, preparing to leap away. But the sensation beneath their feet was strange—a hollow weakness, as if stepping into empty air. Failing to find purchase, the cloaked figure was shocked to realize they were falling, roof corner and all.

Out of the corner of their eye, they glimpsed a smooth, clean cut along the eaves, as if a rectangular cake had lost an entire corner. Then, with two heavy thuds, the cloaked figure and the rooftop edge crashed to the ground together.

“Ow! That hurts like hell!” came a cry from beneath the hood.

That strike had drained Ye Chen’s inner reserves completely. It was his first attempt in the real world to transform all his energy into the blade’s length, having only practiced it in the training grounds of his mind before.

With his reserves spent, Ye Chen suddenly felt weak throughout, his stamina plummeting from fullness to breathless exhaustion. At last, he began to realize that his inner reserves might well be linked to his extraordinary endurance that night.

There was no time to dwell on it. Ye Chen pulled a bottle of restorative potion from his coat pocket—the one he’d acquired that afternoon. Confirming it was the fifty-point bottle, he popped it open one-handed and poured it down his throat, even as he leapt down after the cloaked figure.

On the ground, rubbing their aching backside and cursing, the cloaked figure looked up to see a scene rife with absurdity: the young man who had just sent her tumbling was still in midair, his garments whipping in the wind. One hand gripped the blade. The other… what was that? He was guzzling something.

“No—restorative potion!” Instantly, the cloaked figure realized and took off running, thinking as she fled, “What on earth was that strike just now? Since when did patrol bureau agents get supplied with such luxury items as restorative potions for their missions?”

Ye Chen landed steadily, tucking the empty bottle back into his pocket as he looked up to see the cloaked figure limping around the corner. He hurried to follow, feeling a surge of glee:

“At last, my goal is achieved—I knocked you off the rooftop and left you hobbling. Now let’s see how I torment you next!”

Through the night’s battle, Ye Chen had come to believe the opponent’s ultimate aim was simply to snatch the treasure and escape. If he himself had possessed the cloaked figure’s abilities, he would have used the rooftop opportunity to kill his pursuer outright, rather than merely firing warning arrows.

Thus, he had chosen to strike at the roof corner beneath her feet, rather than her back directly—a matter of fair reciprocity! Much later, Ye Chen would be grateful he made the right choice, but that is another story.

His greatest advantage that night lay in the three restorative potions he carried, which allowed him to unleash his power without reserve. Once drained, a fifty-point potion would almost restore him to full strength.

“Ye Chen, my friend?!”

Reaching the corner, Ye Chen suddenly heard someone calling his name. He looked closer—it was Qiao Mucao, leaning against the wall, thoroughly exhausted. Though he looked bedraggled, relief shone in his eyes.

“Are you alright? I heard the explosion too—felt sure something big was about to happen tonight. The outer city is chaotic, but such a commotion is rare, so I rushed over the shortcut to find you. You know, that blast was so powerful, I felt my ears ache from the shock even at a distance! What exactly detonated? People out here could hardly get their hands on fire-element explosives…”

Qiao Mucao was, as ever, himself; Ye Chen was confident the guy could arrange his last will and testament perfectly even while grievously wounded—then narrate his own autobiography for good measure.

All the same, Ye Chen felt a pang of gratitude. His friend’s first concern had been his safety, not whether the briefcase had been recovered. Such friends were worth keeping for life.

But in the next moment, Ye Chen sensed a surge of murderous intent behind him—sharp, cold, growing ever more intense in the snowy night, stabbing deeper and deeper into his back.

He gestured to Qiao Mucao, signaling for their reunion to pause.