0102 The Missing Medicine

He hadn't known Ning Changkong for long, but he already had a good impression of this new friend. He was quite pleased to be able to fight alongside him in the same place.

But as for Jiang Huaiming… Anyone connected to the Jiang family automatically evoked a feeling of aversion in him. He and Jiang Feng were quite far apart in age, so he’d never bullied him directly. Yet whenever his younger brother and others oppressed the weak, Jiang Huaiming simply passed by indifferently, never saying a word.

This time, together with five other members of the Jiang family, Jiang Huaiming had been assigned to the same area as Jiang Feng and Ning Changkong. Jiang Feng narrowed his eyes, glanced at Wanqi Yu, then at the faintly smug expression on Jiang Huaiming’s face.

It seemed that this provincial exam would not be so easily managed...

The county office required everyone to assemble there at a set time and had left a whole hour for the candidates to arrange their affairs.

For now, Jiang Feng set aside his wariness toward Jiang Huaiming and turned to Ning Changkong, asking, “Brother Ning, do you have anything to attend to before we go?”

Ning Changkong shook his head. “Everything I needed is already prepared. I’ll go over there now to take a look. And you?”

Jiang Feng nodded, “I’ll come with you.”

The two set off together, leaving Jiang Huaiming behind. Jiang Huaiming sneered coldly and led his group away in another direction.

As they walked, Jiang Feng chatted with Ning Changkong and learned a few things about him.

The Ning family was indeed one of the forty-two great clans, with their estate in Baibian City, east of Taicang City. In fact, Linxi Town fell under Baibian City’s jurisdiction.

The Ning family always participated in the county exam in Baibian County, and the provincial exam in Taicang City. This year, besides Ning Changkong, several other juniors from his clan were also taking part, but he wasn’t especially close to any of them, so he didn’t stay with them.

From just a few words, Jiang Feng could tell that Ning Changkong was well-liked by his elders but not much liked by his peers.

He was only a year older than Jiang Feng, yet already about to reach the Dawn Realm—an obvious testament to his exceptional talent. His temper wasn’t particularly mild either, so it was no wonder he didn’t have many friends among his generation.

The Ning family’s swordsmanship was renowned, especially the Celestial Calculation Sword Technique. This technique comprised 3,600 moves: 1,200 lower forms, 1,200 middle forms, and 1,200 upper forms.

Ning Changkong had already mastered all the lower forms, half of the middle forms, and a tenth of the upper forms—a level of progress far ahead of his peers, leaving them in the dust.

Hearing him describe this, Jiang Feng couldn’t help but say, “Three thousand six hundred moves? Just memorizing them must be a challenge.”

Ning Changkong replied earnestly, “It’s not easy, but the people of my family have always had good memories. And I’ve found that the moves are structured with an internal logic; they’re not just random. Once you grasp the underlying pattern, learning them becomes much simpler.”

Jiang Feng mused, “That’s how it should be.”

Ning Changkong was candid with those he recognized as kindred spirits. Jiang Feng was both quick-witted and passionate, and the more they talked, the more they found themselves in accord, soon dispensing with formalities.

Jiang Feng said, “Your family’s 3,600 moves sound as if they’re tailored for different levels of enemies—lower forms for those weaker than oneself, focused on group attacks; middle forms for enemies of equal strength, targeting vital points; upper forms for those stronger, aimed at breaking defenses… It’s a solid concept, but surely difficult to coordinate in practice.”

Ning Changkong admitted freely, “That’s true. Our coordination is always practiced within the family. In front of outsiders, we mostly fight alone. Outsiders can’t keep up with so many variations.”

With a friend he could talk to, the journey seemed much shorter.

Ning Changkong was very familiar with Taicang City and led Jiang Feng straight to Stone Alley. As soon as they approached, both men’s expressions darkened.

The demonic miasma here was especially heavy; the air was thick with gloom. Though the sun blazed overhead, the further they went, the more it felt like dusk had already fallen.

The sounds of battle drifted from ahead; the whole area had become a field of ruin. It was clear these had once been homes—now collapsed, with traces of warmth peeking out from beneath the debris, all the more shocking for it.

Ning Changkong clenched his fist and muttered, “To open a demonic lair in a place like this…”

Jiang Feng replied coolly, “This is the difference between our races. The demon race has no sense of human warmth. They have no use for it.”

Ning Changkong bent down and picked up a comb with delicate tortoiseshell inlays—now only a few fragments remained intact. His gaze grew icy. “So, when dealing with demons, all that’s needed is to kill them!”

Jiang Feng lifted his chin and gave a heavy “Mm.”

Just as they were about to move forward to report to the city defense forces, a black shadow suddenly flashed past them.

Both reacted instantly—Ning Changkong’s sword shot from its sheath in a silver arc toward the shadow!

But before his blade could reach it, the shadow shuddered and collapsed to the ground.

It was a low-level lesser demon, which must have slipped out somehow. It lay twitching, then died. Ning Changkong flicked his sword, split open its body, and found its tiny demon core already shattered.

Jiang Feng walked over. Ning Changkong regarded him thoughtfully, “You’re fast!”

Jiang Feng smiled, “I just took advantage of a martial technique.”

Ning Changkong said, “Among low-level techniques, those capable of ranged attacks are extremely rare.”

Although only at the Bright Yang realm could one project force outward, even before then, some martial arts could achieve ranged attacks using special treasures.

Ning Changkong immediately noticed the iron ring on Jiang Feng’s hand was a treasure and assumed the lightning bolt came from the ring, thinking nothing more of it.

In truth, Jiang Feng’s Thunderfall Palm had already been improved under Hua Su’s guidance. His inner force transformed into current, generated in the palm, and released through the air—a ranged attack.

This method required extremely precise and subtle control, something ordinary people could not achieve. Ning Changkong had not suspected anything.

At that moment, a four-man squad rushed over. Spotting the dead demon at their feet, they breathed a sigh of relief, then asked warily, “Who are you?”

The squad wore city defense armor and moved with practiced efficiency. Jiang Feng assessed them, then saluted, “We are candidates for the provincial exam, here to report.”

The squad leader nodded, “We’ve heard about that. Thanks for dealing with this demon—if it had gotten out, it would have been trouble.”

He walked over, grabbed the demon by its foot, and said, “Come on, the encampment’s up ahead. Report to the Centurion, he’ll assign you.”

Jiang Feng asked, “Hasn’t this area already been evacuated? Lesser demons aren’t smart; even if one gets out, is it really so worrisome?”

The man shook his head with a sigh, “Taicang is a big city. How could it be fully evacuated? Only the civilians near the demon lair have been moved. From where you stood just now, go two hundred paces back—there are still plenty of people in those homes. Martial artists can handle lesser demons easily, but for civilians, it would be deadly.”

Both Jiang Feng and Ning Changkong looked back. Jiang Feng asked, “Are there no other defensive lines?”

The man replied, “Manpower is already stretched thin. How could we do more? We can only do our best.”

Before long, they entered a ruined area.

This had once been the rear garden of some wealthy household; now, the buildings around it had been leveled by battle, the trees felled and cleared to make an open space.

The clearing was divided into two parts—one a large tent, with people constantly coming and going, clearly the command center for this demon lair battle.

On the other side were three rows of small tents, from which faint sounds of pain drifted—it was clear they were filled with wounded soldiers.

Upon arrival, the stench of blood mixed with demonic miasma assaulted their senses. The harshness of war immediately enveloped them.

Their escort left them at the tents. The two stood at the entrance, people hurrying past without a glance, as if they were nothing more than spare fixtures.

Jiang Feng surveyed the scene and said to Ning Changkong, “We’re the first to arrive, and there’s still time before assembly. Let’s go find out more about the lair’s situation, so we’ll be better prepared for the fight.”

Ning Changkong let out a sigh of relief. “Alright, I’ll go with you!”

Rather than bothering the busy officials, Jiang Feng led Ning Changkong toward the medical tents.

The closer they got, the stronger the smell of blood, but the groans of pain remained faint. Sometimes, a muffled grunt would sound—pain so intense it was suppressed, as if unwilling to worry others.

Jiang Feng lifted the tent flap and entered. Rows of straw mats lined the floor, each with a wounded soldier lying atop.

He knelt beside one, briskly saying, “Uncle, let me take a look at your wound.”

Without waiting for consent, he placed his hand on the man.

A trace of inner force probed in—Jiang Feng’s brow furrowed slightly.

Ning Changkong, somewhat at a loss since entering, saw Jiang Feng’s expression and quickly asked, “Is something wrong?”

Jiang Feng shook his head, produced a small censer from his robe, gave it a gentle shake, and placed it beside the wounded man.

A faint yellow-black vapor began to waft from the censer. Ning Changkong sniffed and asked in surprise, “A treasure? For dispelling demonic miasma?”

Jiang Feng nodded. “That’s right. The biggest problem for those wounded in battle with demons is that the miasma invades their wounds, disrupting inner force and preventing healing. So, the first priority in treating them is driving out the miasma. I heard the Mustard Seed Pavilion sent a large supply of medicine for this purpose—so why do these soldiers show no sign of having received any?”

Ning Changkong’s brow furrowed as well. “Not just the Mustard Seed Pavilion—my own family sent medicine too. There shouldn’t be a shortage. What’s going on?”

As soon as the demon-dispelling censer was set out, the miasma in the tent cleared noticeably.

All the wounded here were martial artists. As the miasma lessened, their inner force began to circulate again, easing their pain and prompting wounds to heal.

The subdued groans in the tent quickly faded. Jiang Feng breathed a sigh of relief, but his doubts only grew.

Just then, a man strode into the tent. Catching sight of him, he barked, “Who are you!”

_______________

Thanks to fatfox911, Zhesha, and others for daily support, and to Life Without Doubt and Xuanxiaoque for their rewards. Please keep voting for Sanjiang—remember, you can vote once a day! Don’t forget!