Chapter 15: The Little Mouse Needs to Eat

The battle in the sky had reached a fever pitch, fighters lost to the chaos, oblivious to the world around them.
Brothers bound by life and death fell before each other’s eyes, and senior disciples who always looked out for their juniors perished shielding them. Both sides fought with bloodshot eyes.
Unlike their reckless subordinates, the elders, seasoned and cunning, didn’t charge headlong like the young.
Immortal combat wasn’t like mortal brawls. Against an opponent of the same realm, you never knew what they might pull from their storage pouch.

They’d once seen a female disciple from the Sword Sect, fond of candied hawthorns, who loved pulling a massive sword taller than herself from under her skirt. The more attacks she took, the more excited she grew, as each hit fueled a devastating strike from her giant blade.
Thus, battles between peers couldn’t be rushed, while fights against weaker foes couldn’t be drawn out.

The alliance elders kept this principle in mind. Instead of focusing fire on Zhang Jingfeng, they employed a kite-flying tactic, slowly draining his spiritual energy.
But Chen Yangyan disagreed. Compared to the other elders, his spiritual robe was tattered, his hair a mess with singed ends.
Catching a glimpse of an elder leisurely casting spells from the sidelines, he snapped:
“Fck you, Zhang Jingfeng! Am I the only Golden Core in all of Baihe City? Why do you keep chasing your senior?!”

Zhang Jingfeng wasn’t faring much better, his armor scuffed but barely injured, far better off than Chen Yangyan.
He’d long seen through the alliance’s disunity. After the bait of The Record of Qi Guidance*, the elders were wary of him and wouldn’t go all out until he was weakened.
This gave him an opening. If he could stall until reinforcements arrived, the tide would turn.
So, he targeted Chen Yangyan, the loudest of the bunch, without hesitation.

Shaking his slightly numb right arm, Zhang Jingfeng spat at Chen Yangyan, his disdain unmasked:
“I don’t get it. How did someone as weak as you become the spokesperson? Senior? The other elders are way stronger than you, old geezer.”

“You!”
Being insulted at such a moment made Chen Yangyan’s eyes blaze, his flushed face speaking louder than words.

“…”

Baihe City was in chaos. Shops on the ground had shuttered their doors, but underground “businesses” kept running.
Ling Qingli found a black-market vendor hiding in a half-collapsed cellar, trading nearly all her silver for a small jar of pungent, low-grade bruise salve.
The vendor glanced at her wounds with numb eyes, clearly used to such sights.

In a secluded corner, Ling Qingli gritted her teeth, clumsily applying the salve to her bruises, the cool relief fleeting.
Leaning against a broken wall, she panted, listening to the intensifying sounds of slaughter and explosions above, her eyes sharpening with vigilance.
After a brief rest, her stamina slightly restored, she moved again.

The sky fought, but the mouse on the ground needed to steal its meal.
This was both a crisis and an opportunity.

Using the ruins as cover, she crept cautiously through the half-dead city’s streets, her eyes scanning every corner.
Soon, in the rubble of a collapsed pavilion, she spotted a recently fallen cultivator’s body. His attire suggested he wasn’t from the sect alliance or the imperial army—likely a rogue cultivator scavenging amidst the chaos.

Her heart quickened. After a swift scan to ensure no immediate danger, she slunk closer.
Her hands moved swiftly, rifling through the still-warm body’s hidden pockets and linings for valuables.
Her fingers brushed a hard object, and she tugged a small brocade pouch from the cultivator’s inner clothes.

It felt heavy, faintly pulsing with spiritual energy.
“Good stuff! Time to eat!”

Her eyes gleamed with joy as she opened it.
She drew a short sword halfway from its sheath. Though slightly worn, the blade remained sharp.
One glance, and Ling Qingli’s mind raced:
Low-grade spiritual sword, standard make, well-maintained, spiritual energy intact. Black-market forges that deal in stolen goods crave these clean, resalable items. At least ten—no, twenty-five low-grade spirit stones, or three jars of quality wound salve plus ten Swift Travel Talismans.

Continuing her search, she found a book with a dancing girl on the cover.
Flipping it open, she tossed it aside with disgust.
Worthless in the black market and an eyesore.

“Tch, didn’t expect a little rat picking through trash in these ruins.”
A mocking young male voice cut through the air.

Ling Qingli froze, her head snapping up.
From behind a broken wall stepped five or six figures.
The leader was a richly dressed youth with a pallid complexion, fanning himself with a jade-inlaid fan, his gaze dripping with amusement as he looked at her.
His entourage, clad in uniform combat gear, had sharp eyes and steady auras—clearly bodyguards.

Ling Qingli’s heart sank. She’d run into a fully equipped squad!
One of them was bowing slightly, whispering to the youth:
“Your Highness, time is running out. We should hurry…”

The youth raised a hand, silencing his subordinate, his eyes fixed on Ling Qingli’s face.
Despite the dirt smudging her face and her tattered clothes, her wide, fearful eyes and the faint outline beneath the grime sparked a glint of interest in him.
“Tsk tsk, didn’t expect this broken city to hide such wild charm.”

He tapped his palm with the fan, approaching step by step, his gaze growing predatory:
“Little girl, you’ve got some guts, scavenging off a corpse like that.”

Ling Qingli’s heart pounded. She clutched the pouch tightly, her body tensing as she backed away, searching for an escape route.
“Your Highness is speaking to you. Are you deaf?”
A guard barked sharply.

The youth waved him off, plastering on what he thought was a warm smile:
“Don’t be scared, little girl. Look at you, all alone, struggling to survive in this chaotic world. How tough. Follow me, and I’ll ensure you live in luxury—no more digging through ruins or looting corpses. How about it?”

His tone was patronizing, his greedy eyes barely concealing his intent.
Ling Qingli’s stomach churned with disgust and danger. She blurted out:
“No!”

Her reaction clearly angered the so-called Highness.
His fake smile vanished, replaced by a venomous scowl.
A dignified Highness, lowering himself to offer a beggar girl a chance, only to be so bluntly rejected?
“You refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit!”

He snorted coldly, snapping his fan shut and pointing at Ling Qingli:
“Take her! Be careful not to ruin that little face—I like her wild streak!”

Two guards lunged forward.
Their movements were swift, their cultivation clearly far above the rogue cultivators from before.
Ling Qingli’s face paled as she turned to dive into the ruins.
Two steps in, a gust of force struck from behind.