Yefutidaolu

Chapter 308 Dog’s Life
Gao Jian observed Qin Long's expression.

Qin Long grew up in the crevices of the frozen wasteland, living like a hibernating insect, relying on the occasional pika he caught and the snow water he collected, living silently and tenaciously.

The soil on the cave walls was warm and dry, and the rustling of insects crawling around was the only accompaniment.

He had grown accustomed to this almost frozen silence, to living among insects, and to drawing sustenance for survival from the narrow warmth of the room.

The horrific scene of my parents starving to death has long since faded from my memory, leaving only an instinct etched into my bones: to live, to live like a blade of grass growing in a crack in a rock.

Until that snowy dusk.

This kind of light snow is annoying because there aren't many snow particles, so it doesn't accumulate and just stays cold for a long time. But the snow particles are mixed with sand, so it's impossible to drink the snow; it only moistens the surface of the ground.

So, as always, Qin Long remained huddled inside, motionless.

Outside the cave, the cold wind howled like ghosts, whipping up snowflakes that pelted the frozen ground with a rustling sound. Qin Long was curled up, gnawing on a piece of dried meat as hard as a rock with the last bit of snow water. Suddenly, the withered grass and fallen leaves that had been covering the cave entrance were jolted open, and a strong smell of blood and bone-chilling cold rushed in.

A figure rolled in and landed heavily on the soil at the bottom of the cave.

He was a swordsman, carrying a short sword. Though he was called a swordsman, he was no different from a vagrant.

He landed on the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust and a few startled beetles. The man curled up like a dying pig.

The reason it was a pig is because when Qin Long was a child, he once saw a wealthy family slaughtering a pig. The pig was pressed to the ground like this, and then a knife was stabbed into its neck. Blood gushed out, but it couldn't make a sound, only a slight gurgling sound, just stiff and struggling.

The man was like that too. He lay stiffly on the ground, making a hoarse sound like a broken bellows coming from his throat. The tattered leather coat he was wearing was soaked with dark red blood and frozen into a hard shell by the low temperature, like a layer of blood-red ice armor. His face was buried in his arms, only his messy, tangled hair and beard, covered with blood and ice shards, were visible.

“Water…” His voice was so hoarse it was almost incoherent, like sandpaper scraping against sheet metal.

Qin Long didn't move, but just clenched his bones.

The man seemed to have exhausted his strength; his head drooped again, and his breathing became heavier. After a long while, he mustered all his strength, pulled something from his pocket, and threw it with a clatter onto the muddy ground between the two of them.

The object was short, dark, dull, and covered in mud and bloodstains. Qin Long recognized it as a short sword, its hilt bound with tattered hemp rope. The blade was longer than an ordinary dagger, but far shorter than the three-foot-long swords that noble young masters carried at their waists. It lay on the ground like an inconspicuous piece of stubborn iron, yet it exuded an indescribable, cold, and ferocious aura.

"Change... saliva..." the man gasped, his eyes fixed on the leather bag beside Qin Long's hand.

Qin Long hesitated for a long time.

The wind and snow howled outside the cave, while inside, the air was thick with the stench of blood and heavy breathing of the dying. He looked at the short sword; it was made of iron, and iron was expensive, certainly more valuable than snowmelt.

But snow water isn't cheap either; you have to go to a very far place to carry it back.

Finally, after weighing his options, he slowly moved over, removed the plug from the leather pouch, and carefully handed it over.

The man, like a thirsty demon who hadn't eaten for eight hundred years, snatched the water and gulped it down. The icy snow water flowed down his lips and beard, freezing into new ice crystals on his blood-stained fur coat. He drank most of it before stopping, letting out a long, painful breath, as if he had come back to life.

“Boy,” he wiped his mouth, his sharp eyes fixed on Qin Long’s face, his voice still hoarse but with a bit more strength, “I can’t give you the sword.”

Qin Long became anxious.

This was the first time he had experienced what 'deception' meant.

But the swordsman changed his tone: "However, I can teach you skills. You've managed to survive here all by yourself, so you must have some basic skills. I can't give you the item, but I can let you learn from me how to use it."

As he spoke, he seemed to want to perform a sword flourish to show off his skills, but it was clear that he was not good at it, so much so that the short sword flew out of his hand before the flourish was even completed.

The scene is a bit embarrassing.

Qin Long reacted quickly, only feeling awkward for a moment before rushing towards the short sword like a small beast.

This is his!

It was replaced with water!

But in that instant, as he lunged forward, he discovered that the sword was already pressed against his neck.

A thin line of blood appeared on my neck. It was very light and shallow, but it still hurt a lot.

"I'm not very good at tricks, but look, I still have some skills."

"Do you want to learn or not? Your saliva is the tuition fee, and you've already paid it."

Qin Long swallowed hard.

And so, Qin Long acquired a master. A master whose name he didn't even know, yet he called this man "Master."

The master of a man who was being hunted down by his enemies like a stray dog, who called himself a swordsman but had no swordsman's demeanor at all, and was more like a stray dog.

My master was seriously injured; his internal organs were probably shattered. He was only clinging to life by sheer grit, but he didn't die. After taking a sip of water, he seemed to come back to life.

Like those withered, curled weeds in the desert, which look like they could be crushed into dust with a single step, they are all dry and look like they have completely lost their vitality. But as long as a tiny drizzle passes by, the next day, a few bright green shoots can sprout from the roots of those grasses.

Some people are born cheap, as cheap as stones in a wasteland, like grass growing in the cracks of rocks. They look like they'd fall over in the wind or wither in the frost, but they just can't be crushed or killed. Give them a little water, a little earthy smell, and they can stand up and stubbornly survive.

Master was destined for a lowly life. Qin Long fed him snow water, half-cooked rat meat with blood streaks, and occasionally caught a frozen crow.

He ate with difficulty, coughing for a long time after swallowing a single bite, but he just kept eating and swallowing, stuffing anything edible into his mouth, even if it caused him excruciating pain.

That fierce determination wasn't directed at the enemy, but at his own broken body.

Qin Long felt a chill run down his spine. In his master's eyes, it was as if his body was not his own, but merely a tool that could still be used with difficulty. As long as the tool was not completely broken, it had to be squeezed out to make the last bit of use.

After that, he gradually recovered. So, he taught Qin Long.

His teaching methods were certainly not martial arts demonstrations, routine practice, or foundation building. Instead, in this narrow, dark cave filled with the smell of earth and insects, he taught him how to move silently like a snake, how to observe prey and the environment like a wolf, and how to unleash a fatal blow in the most confined space.

The master's swordsmanship had no name, only the bruises and almost broken skin left on Qin Long's body time and time again—a simulation of the dangers of a real life-or-death struggle.

"A short sword isn't just for show!" the master said through gritted teeth. "It's for fighting to the death! Remember that! No matter if the opponent is human, ghost, or demon, if he wants your life, you have to be faster, more ruthless, and more decisive than him! Charge into his arms! Use your bones to block his blade! Use your shoulder to create an opening! Then, with this thing," he patted the dark, heavy short sword, "stab it into his softest spot! Tear him apart! It's either you or me! There's no third way!"

Master's swordsmanship was like icicles on frozen ground, cold and hard, piercing into Qin Long's bones.

What he learned wasn't some profound martial arts technique, but how to squeeze out his last bit of strength in desperate situations, risking his life for a sliver of hope. Like hunting pikas in the wilderness, prey cornered often unleashes its fiercest counterattack. His master taught him how to become that prey that fights back in dire straits, or how to become the hunter who corners the prey.

Later, his master led him away from the cave.

They went through a lot, killing for orders, or killing for a moment of impulse, and even their master broke through to a higher realm, and later helped Qin Long advance to the next realm as well.

Eight years have passed quickly.

Everything was going well, and Qin Long transformed from a clueless country bumpkin into a killer who murders for money. He felt that his life was great.

Life ticked by on the edge of a knife; his purse gradually swelled, and Qin Long accumulated more scars.

He was no longer the boy who huddled in a cave gnawing on jerky. With more blood on his hands, his eyes had hardened, like a stone worn smooth by thousands of years on the frozen soil of northern Liaoning.

The master's old injuries seemed to have healed somewhat, and he could occasionally give him pointers on more ruthless and cunning short sword techniques. The reputation of the master and disciple gradually spread in the shady world.

Qin Long thought it was good; the money earned from risking his life was a hundred times better than toiling for a living on frozen ground. He wasn't afraid of death, but he was afraid of poverty and hunger. In his eyes, death was a clean and swift way to exchange for sustenance and even wealth.

When he was licking blood from the blade, he couldn't see death; he only saw the wealth, status, and power that death brought.

Until one day... because their reputation was growing, their master's enemies came.

Only then did he learn that his master's enemies were a powerful family surnamed Fang, and that his master had been hunted down so badly because he had offended such a family.

When Qin Long first heard about his master's opponent, he was first afraid, then excited, and then he happily chased after his master to ask what earth-shattering thing he had done to provoke a powerful family!
Yes, think about it!
That's a prestigious family!
Master must have done something extraordinary, something that caused a sensation throughout the state, to make the powerful families go to great lengths to search for and hunt him down, right?
However, the master just curled his lip and said, "What nonsense! I only killed a dog. Damn it, I can kill so many people and get away with it, but I've been chased like this for killing a dog for almost eight years!"

Qin Long then realized that, in some cases, a dog's life is more valuable than a human life.

The killer has murdered so many people and is still at large.

But after killing one of the young masters' dogs, he was driven to a dead end.

For the aristocratic family, this dog was worth far more than a second-realm assassin.

That day, they had just finished a job in a remote border town and were huddled in a smelly corner of a tavern, counting the money in their pockets and wondering whether to have stewed mutton or roasted lamb leg for their next meal.

The tavern's curtain was suddenly flung open, not by the wind, but by a chilling pressure more biting than the cold wind.

The air froze instantly. The noisy tavern seemed to have been choked; the drunkards' drinking games, the waiters' shouts, and the clatter of dishes all came to an abrupt halt. An invisible, heavy, mountain-like aura descended, making it hard to breathe, as if even the flickering flames in the hearth had shrunk.

Three people stood at the door. The one in the lead was a young man, wearing a brocade robe. The fabric still gleamed with a warm luster under the dim, greasy light, like frozen jade covered in the first snow.

He had a handsome face and fair skin that belied his years of exposure to wind and sand. His indifferent gaze swept over the tavern's throng of people as if they were a pile of garbage waiting to be cleared away. Behind him followed two men dressed in gray-blue close-fitting clothes, long swords at their waists, their auras deep and focused, their eyes sharp as hawks, exuding a kind of sharpness and coldness that seemed completely out of place in this dilapidated town.

Qin Long's heart sank, and his fingers tightened instinctively around the precious coin. He had never seen anything like it before, but the young man's air of superiority, seemingly born to be superior, and the iron-like pressure from the guards behind him, instantly reminded him of a term his master had mentioned—an aristocratic family!
He subconsciously looked at his master. His master, who had been leaning lazily against the wall, was now as taut as a fully drawn bow the moment the curtain was lifted.

“The Fang family…” Master’s voice was dry, like sandpaper being rubbed.

"Is that the young master of a prominent family?" Qin Long looked at the man curiously.

So dashing, so handsome, he exudes an air of nobility.

"Fool! The young master would come all this way for a dog? He's a damn lackey!" the master cursed.

Yes, a person who looks like a young master is actually a servant, and a servant who is not qualified to show his face in front of a real young master, because the servants around a young master would not do such chores.

The man in the brocade robe, upon hearing this, looked at her with a malevolent glint in his eyes, as if he wanted to devour her.

But he didn't stay angry for long; he just waved his hand.

The two guards behind him made their move.

He captured his master in one fell swoop.

Those are the three realms, two whole realms!
The master began to struggle. Overwhelmed by humiliation and rage, he abruptly raised his head, his cloudy eyes flashing with a ferocious light, staring intently at the young man in brocade robes. He roared, "I killed dogs! Not people! Why are you..."

"As for," the young master in brocade robes... no, the servant in brocade robes interrupted him, his tone as calm as stating a fact, "that 'Snow Shadow' is a mutant, it understands human nature, and it's worth ten lives of someone like you. If you kill it, you'll have to pay with your own life. How many lives you have depends on the young master's mood."

Later, it was a fierce battle, and Qin Long didn't even know how he survived.

But my master died.

The master's withered hands, now ice-cold, gripped Qin Long's wrist tightly with astonishing strength. He shoved the dark, heavy short sword into Qin Long's hand, the hemp rope on the hilt still carrying the last warmth of his body.

He concluded by saying, "Damn it... I still can't renege on this debt. In the end, this thing is still yours."

"They're still chasing us. You run fast, I'll go stop them."

"Remember, this is not about winning, it's about fighting for your life."

(End of this chapter)