Wu Zhe rose slowly, his hand gripping the man's spine as it detached from the body.
In his grasp, he held the man's head from his spine.
Everyone present, including the armless men, stared in horror at the headless corpse, jagged bone exposed.
Most covered their mouths, unable to stomach the disgust sight infront of them.
Only the frail man showed no emotion.
He simply stared, blank and unmoved, as if this kind of thing were normal to him.
"Take this filth to his resting place." Wu Zhe sneered, tossing the severed head before the armless men, clearly mocking them.
For a moment, none of them moved.
Then one, the only one among them who still possessed a single arm, stepped forward. His hand trembled as he reached down, fingers brushing against the blood-slick hair before he quickly seized it, as if afraid to hesitate even a second longer. Without a word, all of them scurried off, head lowered, back hunched.
Silence swallowed the tavern once more.
Wu Zhe stood amidst the pool of blood, his robes soaked, blood covering him. He glanced down briefly, as if the blood was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, turning away from the pool of blood he headed to bathe himself.
Moments later, the faint sound of water echoed.
When he emerged from the bath, he was only clothed from the waist down, his body clean of any blood, as if the blood had never touched him. Not a trace of blood remained on him, the only trace that remained was the faint pool by the man, but it was already being scrubbed away by a kneeling maid.
She worked in haste, her hands moving quickly, almost frantically, as she wiped the last stains from the floor. But the moment Wu Zhe stepped past her, her movements faltered.
She was visibly shaking as he walked past, her body trembling uncontrollably. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, head lowered, not daring to so much as glance up at him.
Wu Zhe walked past her paying her no mind.
As he walked down the stairs his steps were loud, echoing across the quiet tavern as he made his way down the stairs.
The receptionist was already trembling before Wu Zhe even spoke, his hands shaking uncontrollably, eyes unable to meet Wu Zhe's gaze. Sweat running down his forehead, his lips opening and closing.
Wu Zhe stopped in front of him.
"My clothes?" he asked calmly.
Although the question itself was simple, the receptionist couldn't help but flinch. He nearly stumbled over his own feet as he tried to respond, his composure faltering under the weight of Wu Zhe's presence.
"It's here, sir!" the receptionist stammered, quickly grabbing them and bowing his head.
"Thank you," Wu Zhe muttered, heading upstairs. After changing, he came back down and made his way to the frail man sitting alone at a table.
"That was quite the show… Mr. Cultivator."
"Weren't you a bum? How are you able to buy drinks?" Wu Zhe asked, eyeing the large amount of alcohol in front of him.
"You would be the rich one, Mr. Cultivator," the frail man muttered smirking.
"Hm?" Wu Zhe murmured.
Just then, Little Xue arrived with a tray of alcohol.
"Sir Huang!" she exclaimed. "Here are all the drinks you ordered!"
Wu Zhe immediately understood what the frail man had done, though his expression remained unchanged. Simply because money meant nothing to him.
"Thank you. Just bring me water and bread."
"Understood!" Little Xue replied with a soft smile.
"Hck— So… how can you…" The frail man paused, chugging a full bottle.
"Help me?"
"You misunderstand," Wu Zhe said calmly. "It's not me who can help you. It's you who can help yourself."
"Ha… you people and your damn philosophical shit," the man muttered, raising a drink to his lips again, and chugging it all"
"I asked. How. Can. You. Help. Me?" he muttered slowly, pausing inbetween his words, while pointing the bottle at Wu Zhe.
As he spoke, Little Xue returned with the bread and water.
"Here you are, Sir Huang."
Wu Zhe began eating, ignoring the question.
The frail man narrowed his eyes, suspicion growing.
Minutes passed in silence. As Wu Zhe drank his water.
"So are you just here to waste my time?" the man snapped, his fist tightening.
"Patience, child," Wu Zhe replied.
"Your dantian is destroyed."
"Well no fucking shit. Tell me something I don't already know." the man murmured, staring at his Wu Zhe, rage flickering in his eyes.
"Come with me," Wu Zhe muttered, glancing around the crowded tavern.
He stood up, grabbing a bottle of alcohol and a cup from the table.
The frail man's eyes narrowed, but he followed anyway. He had nothing left to lose.
Once they arrived in Wu Zhe's room, Wu Zhe placed the bottle and cup on the table and said, "Sit."
The man sat down obeying his command.
Wu Zhe studied him, feeling a sense of familiarity within him.
"When a dantian is destroyed, what happens?" Wu Zhe asked.
"You can no longer cultivate anymore… and everything—" He paused, his hand clenching into a fist, knuckles whitening. "Everything you've ever fucking built… it all disappears like a puff of smoke."
"Now tell me who decided that?"
"Huh?"
"Who decided that you can never cultivate again once your dantian is broken?"
The man frowned, looking down. Trying to understand then suddenly, his eyes lit up.
"Y-You… know a way to cultivate without a dantian?!"
"I do not."
The light in his eyes shattered instantly.
"I have something different."
The man's fragile hope returned, but he still cautious if it was just another way to make him feel hope.
"Just because your dantian is broken… who says it cannot be repaired?"
The man looked at Wu Zhe with widened eyes and hope, but it was conflicted, and fragile.
What if Wu Zhe was lying? But what choice did he have? He had already accepted he would die like this.
"Please!" The man dropped to his knees at Wu Zhe's feet, the last shred of his pride gone.
"Disgusting." Wu Zhe muttered, his face showing clear disdain, he kicked him lightly, but with enough force to send him crashing into the wall.