South of Linzi, beyond the city walls, stood Mount Ganma. Legend had it that a general once spurred his horse on a forced march here and dropped dead from exhaustion. The general's name had been forgotten, but the mountain's name endured. Presumably, anyone who could be worked to death on a forced march wasn't much of a general to begin with.
Somehow, the mountain gradually became a burial ground, and many graves were moved there.
It retained a certain fame—resting here meant the protection of the so-called General—not just anyone could be buried here. It was considered a decent cemetery.
The place Xu Xiangqian had chosen for Xu Fang, this ancestor from five hundred years ago, was right here.
No wonder Linzi was said to be overpopulated.
Once outside the city, the crowds thinned somewhat, though there were still plenty of people on the main road—sightseers, merchants, and all manner of travelers.
After walking for roughly the time it took to burn half an incense stick, the road finally began to clear.
Jiang Chen paused and said, "You two go ahead. I'll catch up."
Xu Xiangqian didn't ask why. He simply acknowledged and continued walking.
Jiang Chen turned, his hand resting on his sword, and walked with clear purpose toward a porter.
The porter, carrying a load of stone slings, sidestepped to make way. Jiang Chen shifted two steps to follow him. Only then did the porter look up and speak in a thick Linzi accent: "Young master, I'm not moving anymore. You go ahead."
Sweat dripped from his brow, and his smile was simple and honest.
"I'm worried you can't keep up," Jiang Chen said.
"What are you saying? Why would I need to keep up with you? I'm hauling stone to up ahead. We're not going the same way."
The porter looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. But remove the waxy yellow pallor from his face and tidy up his somewhat disheveled beard, and he'd look at least ten years younger.
Jiang Chen stared at him: "How do you know we're not going the same way? How do you know... where I'm headed?"
The porter blinked, then reacted quickly: "You're walking with those people handling funeral matters, so you must be heading to Mount Ganma. That doesn't take much thought."
Jiang Chen's gaze dropped to the porter's boots: "Those boots—I've seen them more than ten times. What, can't bear to replace them?"
Only then did the porter realize where the problem lay. He hadn't expected the person who'd prepared his disguise to make such a basic mistake. But this wasn't the time to quibble.
Trouble.
The thought flashed through his mind.
Without a word, he hurled the load from his shoulders—the pole and both baskets of stone—straight at Jiang Chen.
Boom!
To produce such a thunderous sound at such short range spoke to the tremendous force behind it.
Jiang Chen drew his sword in a flash of cold light. The carrying pole snapped in two, the stone slings split apart on either side, and—as if with minds of their own—all of it bypassed Jiang Chen.
Jiang Chen pressed forward through the gap, his sword aimed straight for the porter's vitals.
Clack!
The porter clapped his hands together, catching the blade between his bare palms, then twisted it outward while delivering a vicious straight kick.
Jiang Chen didn't dodge. He simply rotated the blade slightly, and violent sword qi erupted in a swirling burst.
To save his hands, the porter had to release his grip and retreat.
Jiang Chen followed through with a downward slash, aiming for the leg the porter hadn't fully withdrawn. But then he saw a surge of martial qi rise from the leg, enveloping it, and it kicked upward to meet Chang Xiangsi head-on.
This clean, decisive fighting style—the hallmark of a military cultivator.
Jiang Chen made his judgment. His sword reversed course, sweeping upward toward his opponent's throat.
The porter's eyes flashed cold. He raised his left hand to guard his neck while his foot jabbed unhesitatingly toward Jiang Chen's heart.
There was a ruthless willingness to trade hand for life.
Jiang Chen's hand shot out like lightning, pressing against the porter's calf. He launched himself into the air, spun, and delivered a whipping kick!
Crack!
The kick shattered the air, slamming directly into the arm the porter had raised to protect his neck, driving it inward. The force carried his hand into his own right cheek, sending him flying.
All of this happened in the span of a heartbeat—fast as a rabbit leaping, a hawk dropping—too quick for even a hand seal to be formed.
In terms of raw strength, this disguised tracker was no weaker than Xi Munan, who had once held the city lord's seal in Jiacheng. Among those at the Soaring Dragon realm, he was formidable.
But for the current Jiang Chen, this level of strength was no longer enough to pose a challenge.
The porter was sent flying by the kick but immediately rolled to his feet. However, Jiang Chen was already before him again, close enough to touch.
This was a distance where evasion was impossible and life or death would be decided in an instant.
"Don't force me to lose control," Jiang Chen said.
Like a bucket of cold water poured over his head, the porter instantly sobered up.
Even in Linzi, killing an unidentified person who had been stalking you wasn't something that would be hard to explain.
And from that brief exchange, the gap in their strength had been made abundantly clear.
Compared to those hot-headed fools who charged in blindly for a fight to the death, a rational opponent was always something to be grateful for.
Jiang Chen sheathed his sword and asked evenly: "Who sent you to follow me?"
The porter clenched his teeth: "I can't tell you."
"Not 'won't' but 'can't'?" Jiang Chen thought for a moment. "The military? Wang Yiwu?"
He couldn't help but let the corner of his mouth lift. He'd found leverage on Wang Yiwu—an unexpected bonus from this trip: "Using military orders for personal business?"
"That's not it!" the porter retorted. "You're not from Qi, your background is unknown, and you're currently lurking in Linzi. We have a duty to garrison the capital and are justified in investigating you."
Wang Yiwu really wasn't so easy to pin down. This was an internal military investigation—one could argue it followed proper procedure.
But at a time like this, even without reason one should be bold, let alone with it.
"Setting aside that my baronetcy is an imperial appointment, even the Emperor himself has met me at the Donghua Pavilion and acknowledged my merits. You suspect me? You doubt the Emperor's judgment?"
Jiang Chen regarded him with cold eyes, practically writing 'who do you think you are' across his face: "Which army do you belong to?"
"We were only investigating... we didn't do anything."
"Then do you know Wang Yiwu's relationship with Chongxuan Zun, my relationship with Chongxuan Sheng, and that Chongxuan Zun and Chongxuan Sheng are currently competing for the family head position? How intense is this rivalry, and how much is at stake?" Jiang Chen pressed with rapid questions.
Even through the waxy yellow makeup, the porter's expression flickered uncertainly: "I didn't... I didn't think that far. I was just following orders."
Jiang Chen stared at him, his fingers tapping lightly on the sword hilt.
The porter remained silent, waiting for his decision.
After a long moment, Jiang Chen said: "Wipe your face clean. Let me remember who you are."
With this man's cultivation, regardless of which army he belonged to, he was no ordinary soldier. Wang Yiwu sending someone like this to follow him was highly suspicious—it didn't seem like mere surveillance. If Jiang Chen had simply killed him, that would have been foolish.
Under the piercing stare of Jiang Chen's sword-sharp gaze, the porter had no room to hesitate. He reached up and wiped his face.
The waxy yellow substance came away, and even the beard vanished.
Before him now was a face of average features but healthy complexion—a young face, roughly twenty years old.
Jiang Chen's earlier judgment was now certain. He simply said: "Now we're going the same way, aren't we?"
Then without another word, he turned and walked in the direction Xu Xiangqian had gone, not at all concerned that the porter might seize this chance to flee.
Because both of them knew—there was no escape.
The young man, still dressed in the porter's clothes, let his expression shift for a moment before finally falling into step behind Jiang Chen.