Chapter Thirty-Five: Compassion of a Bodhisattva, Thunderous Methods

The snow had never ceased, nor had the troubles of the day settled down.

An Renjie complained to Manager Wu, "Old Wu, the inn’s doors need fixing. Why are you pinching pennies for your Young Master Shen?"

Manager Wu replied with pride, "Young Master An, this door has stood for a hundred years, made from a corner piece of Dragon-Taming Wood. Its value is certainly not less than a thousand gold coins. It is the golden signboard of our inn." Of course, the door was not an original fixture; Old Master Shen had gifted it to Shen Lian after the inn gained fame and prosperity.

To say it was worth a thousand gold was perhaps an exaggeration, but its value was indeed considerable. This wood grew slowly, with a tough and resilient grain, polished smooth and fine, not easily broken. If one forced it, the break would be slanted and razor-sharp, like the edge of a blade.

More remarkably, the wood exuded a faint fragrance that repelled poisonous insects. With this door in place, many travelers who carried unsavory creatures on their persons would find them driven away upon entering the inn.

An Renjie, unlearned as he was, knew nothing of Dragon-Taming Wood, but he also knew Manager Wu never spoke without reason. Clearly, the material of this door did have some real value.

"If this door is so precious, aren’t you afraid someone will steal it?"

"You jest, Young Master An. Who in Qingzhou City would dare steal from our inn?"

"Enough," Shen Lian interjected, frowning slightly. "There’s a man collapsed outside. Uncle Wu, send two staff to carry him in."

He had already caught the faint scent of blood in the air.

Manager Wu, long accustomed to Shen Lian’s uncanny awareness of his surroundings, dispatched two attendants to open the door. Indeed, not far away lay a man.

The two attendants carried him inside—a young man in black, just over twenty, eyes closed, clearly unconscious. His body was otherwise intact, save that his clothes were flecked with snow and slightly damp.

They laid him flat on the ground, and Shen Lian ordered a basin of hot water.

He gently felt the man’s forehead—it was burning hot. His gaze fell to the lower chest, where three tiny, barely noticeable holes marred the fabric, as if pierced by needles.

The scent of blood came from there.

"What a remarkable hidden weapon technique. Each needle struck an acupoint with perfect precision. If they were all fired at once, the attacker must be truly formidable."

To strike acupoints is a common skill among martial artists, but to do so with hidden weapons, and with such accuracy, required not only talent but also painstaking practice.

Within the man’s body, a malignant energy roamed wildly, impossible to contain. Yet it was this very force, burning hot and fiercely yang, that had prevented him from freezing to death in this icy world.

In such weather, even a skilled martial artist, shielded by inner energy, would struggle to get far. Not everyone could match Lady Xin—the Fourteenth—who, besides, was not human, and not a common mortal.

"Young master, the hot water is here."

There were still many diners in the hall. With nothing else to amuse them in this weather, and after Lady Xin's hasty entrance and departure, they all crowded around, eager to watch the spectacle.

"My friends," Shen Lian said, "I dislike an audience when tending to the wounded. Please disperse."

"Young Master Shen, we’re just curious. We won’t disturb you," someone replied.

"Yes, we’ve heard of your legendary medical skills and wish to witness them for ourselves."

Shen Lian smiled faintly, not annoyed. In a blur, his figure seemed to flit like the wind, so quickly that all anyone saw was a fleeting shadow.

He circled the crowd and returned to his spot. The onlookers, including those who had spoken, were left paralyzed, unable to move.

Only now did they recall that Young Master Shen was no ordinary man.

"I have a flaw," Shen Lian said politely, clapping his hands. "When reason fails, I tend to use force. Forgive me, gentlemen."

"If you’re willing to heed my words and disperse, blink your eyes, and I’ll release your acupoints."

At this, everyone blinked.

"Very well, I have one more thing to say."

The crowd, anxious that Shen Lian might play another trick, found themselves unable to speak or move. Though eager to admit fault and placate him, they were powerless.

"If, after I unseal your acupoints, anyone remains defiant, I’ll have no choice but to let everyone share his punishment, so he may feel shame and reflect. I trust you won’t object."

With that, Shen Lian released them exactly as he had sealed them. Even those few who still harbored resentment dared not act, fearing the wrath of the crowd.

The spectators dispersed, though many, impressed by Shen Lian’s power, ordered good food and wine from afar, hoping to curry his favor and leave a good impression.

In the end, it is human nature to bully the weak and fear the strong, to dread might without cherishing virtue—a flaw as old as time.

Shen Lian possessed a Bodhisattva’s heart, wielding thunderous means. He was no villain, but neither was he a soft-hearted fool. The Bodhisattva, though infinitely compassionate, was not without fierceness; even Manjushri, having attained enlightenment, once slew a hundred thousand demon soldiers without diminishing his mercy.

As for offending a few guests and potentially hurting the inn’s business, Shen Lian cared not at all. He lived in the mortal world but had no desire for wealth or status. Why should such things trouble him?

He turned his attention back to the man in black. A stubbled beard showed he had not tended to himself for some time, and other signs on his body made it clear he was on the run.

A thick callus on the web of his right thumb suggested he practiced with saber or sword. Yet he carried no weapon—it had clearly been lost.

Apart from the three needle wounds, there were no other injuries. It seemed the man had been struck by a hidden weapon and fled at once.

The loss of his weapon was likely due to the suddenness of the attack, or perhaps he’d thrown it with all his might to cover his retreat. This proved both the swiftness of his assailant and the black-clad man’s decisiveness.

Perhaps it was just another vendetta from the martial world, but why come to the Youjian Inn above all other places? Maybe there was a reason.

After all, Shen Lian had made a name for himself in the martial world.

These were only Shen Lian’s speculations and might not be correct, but he would not stand by and watch a man die.

Though he sought the Dao, he was not devoid of humanity. If the matter did not concern him, he still could not bear to watch a life slip away before his eyes.

Perhaps one day he would walk the path of supreme detachment, but for now, he was still human—still possessed of human feeling.

After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the black-clad man was propped up, vomiting into the basin of hot water. What he expelled were frozen clots of blood, purple-black and clearly poisoned.

As they fell into the water, they melted instantly, but still a faint bloody scent lingered.

Even Shen Lian found the smell oppressive.

Had the hot water not melted the blood, the stench would have been far more overwhelming, enough to make one ill.