Shen Yi had always suspected the Demon-Subduing Bladework was something out of the ordinary.

The predecessor had brought the Bone-Crushing Grapple to Major Mastery in three to five years. But the Bladework — even with complete, undivided focus — had taken eight years just to reach Minor Mastery.

Thirty-three years in total before it hit Perfection, and even then it had only produced the faintest flicker of something more.

If he could fully capture that flicker, whatever it produced would be in a different league from ordinary martial arts entirely.

He made up his mind. Ten years of demon lifespan — poured straight into the Demon-Subduing Bladework.

【You continue refining a Bladework long since perfected. Ten years pass in the blink of an eye. The flicker grows clearer — but your natural talent is ordinary, and you cannot quite grasp it.】

“…That’s it?”

A dull weight settled in his chest. Ten years. Ten years of singular purpose, every distraction stripped away, total commitment to a single goal.

Even if you spent ten years doing nothing but tightening bolts on an assembly line, you’d have enough saved up for a flat in a small city.

And this gave him nothing.

But he’d come this far. Shen Yi wasn’t about to stop now. He kept pouring.

【Year seventeen — you finally catch hold of the flicker. You begin attempting to set it down in writing.】

【Year twenty-seven — you exhaust every last reserve of your focus and ingenuity to complete it. You name it: “Demon-Subduing Solarblade.”】

【Remaining Demon Lifespan: 36 years】

“I created a martial art?”

A complete set of insights and techniques materialized in his mind — the full theoretical foundation of a bladework he had apparently spent decades inventing.

Once it had settled, he realized it wasn’t quite what he’d imagined.

On the panel, a new line had appeared beneath Demon-Subduing Bladework:

【Threshold Realm · Demon-Subduing Solarblade】

It wasn’t a standalone martial art. It was more like a derived technique — a finishing move evolved from the Bladework itself. No proficiency meter. No cultivation stages to climb.

What he’d worked out, over sixty total years of grinding, was the bitter truth that mortal flesh has its limits.

No matter how flawless the technique, no matter how relentlessly the body was tempered — a mortal frame simply could not go toe-to-toe with a true Greater Demon.

So the solution he’d arrived at was a different approach entirely: mobilize the refined essence within the blood, transmute it into qi, and ride that qi through the blade.

“Threshold Realm?”

He looked at the prefix.

The last time he’d seen those words was in the notification after killing the Dog Demon.

Sentient Dog Demon — Pre-Threshold.

Which meant this single technique already touched on a realm beyond ordinary martial arts.

“If I kept pushing the Bladework further — could I eventually develop a complete Threshold Realm martial art? Not just one technique, but a full system?”

He closed the panel, something kindling behind his eyes.

Then common sense caught up with him, and he tamped down the urge to dump the rest of his demon lifespan in immediately.

Developing your own martial art from scratch was hard. The returns were terrible compared to the investment. The same years poured into an existing, well-developed art would get him much further, much faster.

He remembered the Demon Suppression Commander bringing more than one martial arts manual on that visit. As someone with standing in the yamen, getting his hands on them shouldn’t be difficult.

Rest first.

After everything that had just happened, the moment he let his mind go quiet, exhaustion crashed over him like a wave.

He’d barely started to lie down when the Liu family appeared — father carrying a basin of hot water, daughter kneeling to ease his feet into it, small rough hands kneading away with careful diligence.

Shen Yi closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

First time in either of his lives that anyone had waited on him like this.

Given how thoroughly terrified these two were of him, he could probably set himself up as the landlord from hell in this house for as long as he liked, and neither of them would dare breathe a word.

But when he opened his eyes, all he said was a quiet: “That’s enough. Go get some rest. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

No sentiment. No performance.

The predecessor’s long history of making life miserable for people was a fact that didn’t disappear because Shen Yi was wearing his face. Any warmth he showed would probably just make them more anxious, not less.

Old Man Liu blinked at that — skepticism written plainly across his clouded eyes.

Then he caught himself, grabbed his daughter’s arm, and nodded vigorously. “Of course, sir, of course — no need for formalities, stay as long as you please, just say the word if you need anything—”

The two of them shuffled out with the basin and disappeared into the other room.

The Liu girl pressed herself against the window, unable to sleep a wink all night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Constable Shen’s leering face. Every time she opened them, she saw the Dog Demon’s corpse in the courtyard, eyes frozen wide open in death.

She was still awake when the roosters called in the grey hour before dawn. Bleary-eyed, she glanced outside — and caught a figure moving in the yard.

A young man in a black constable’s coat. Tall, straight-backed, saber at his hip. Sharp and composed in a way that hadn’t been there the night before.

He slipped quietly out of the courtyard. On his way out, he paused to prop the broken gate back into its frame — a rough fix, barely enough to keep the cold out.

“Dad. He’s gone.”

“Hah… gone? Good riddance… hah…”

Morning dew clung to everything. A thin mist drifted along the empty streets.

Shen Yi emerged from the fog and stopped before a pair of stone lions.

Baiyun County Yamen.

He went through the side entrance without breaking stride and stepped into the duty room.

The yamen’s criminal division ran seven or eight rotating shifts. Shen Yi headed one of the smaller ones — eight constables under him, and above him, Chief Clerk Song Changfeng.

He dropped into his chair and flipped idly through the ledgers on the desk.

He couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it.

Which told him two things: he himself had no particular education, and his predecessor hadn’t cared one bit about actual work.

The Daqian Dynasty had been dealing with demon outbreaks for years now. The Demon Suppression Division existed, technically — but it was chronically understaffed. In practice, local yamen handled demon incidents as the primary response force. The Division only swept in to take over when things had already spiraled completely out of control, at which point the local officials lost their posts along with everything else.

It was exactly this gap in the system that the predecessor had been clever enough to exploit.

By playing both sides — negotiating with the demons, keeping Baiyun County looking peaceful on paper — he’d earned the trust of his superiors, kept his men out of fights they’d lose, and built up a reputation as the man who got results. He’d become so effective that there were quiet murmurs about him eventually taking Song Changfeng’s position.

Naturally, not everyone was happy about that.

Shen Yi surveyed the empty duty room. His eyes drifted to the collection of empty wine jars scattered under the desks. He picked one up and turned it over in his hands, saying nothing.

Then the door banged open.

A lean young man strode in at a near-run. His eyes landed on Shen Yi and flashed — a brief, involuntary sneer — before his expression snapped back into something carefully composed. He pulled off his bamboo hat to reveal a clean, sharp-featured face and gave a proper bow. “Your subordinate Chen Ji pays his respects, sir.”

Chen Ji. The most junior member of the division — but far from the most obscure.

The reason for his reputation was simple: an almost absurd natural talent for martial arts, which had earned him a direct commendation from the Demon Suppression Commander himself.

Youth and ego had done him no favors, though. He’d taken a series of bad beatings from demons, gotten dressed down harshly by his superiors, and been handed off to Shen Yi to be “disciplined.”

Both his parents were dead. He’d come to Baiyun County with just his younger sister.

Which had been, as it happened, the predecessor’s lever.

The two of them had gone several rounds — subtle and not so subtle — before settling into an uneasy arrangement: Chen Ji followed orders, and Shen Yi left his sister alone.

Good lord. Shen Yi rested his chin in his hand, staring at nothing in particular. The predecessor really was just waiting to get killed, wasn’t he.

Chen Ji broke the silence first.

“Sir. I’ve just returned from Liuli Temple village. There’s been an incident.”

He hesitated, clearly wrestling with something — no doubt recalling certain standing instructions — but pushed on. “I know you gave orders not to concern ourselves with matters outside the city. But this demon isn’t following the usual pattern. It’s moved into the village. Set up residence.”

The words came faster and faster, as if he was terrified of being cut off. Clearly, this wasn’t the first time he’d had to navigate this particular conversation.

“I was hoping… you might go and… negotiate…”

The word negotiate crossed his lips with a visible wince of shame. Even so, he kept his voice respectful and steady — unwilling to give Shen Yi any excuse to dismiss him outright.

Because if history was any guide, Shen Yi’s usual response to this kind of report was a yawn and a wave of the hand.

Getting this man to actually do something required careful handling.

“Those three martial arts manuals the Commander brought last time,” Shen Yi said, rising from his chair and stretching his arms toward the ceiling with a long, satisfied groan. “You still have them, don’t you?”

“I— what?”

Chen Ji stood frozen. Was this man even listening to a word he’d said?

“Let me see them.” Shen Yi held out his hand.

Chen Ji drew a slow breath. He walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and retrieved three manuals — each one meticulously preserved. A vein rose on the back of his hand as he held them.

He stood there for a long moment.

Then, with visible reluctance, he handed them over.

Knowing the man’s habits, Chen Ji fully expected these rare demon-slaying manuals to end up propping up a wobbly table leg — or handed off to some woman as a novelty gift. Reading them was absolutely out of the question.

Shen Yi took the manuals and strolled out the door without another word.

Chen Ji was left standing in the empty room, knuckles whitening around the hilt of his saber.

Didn’t even ask about the villagers. Are lives outside the city walls not worth anything to him?

Then a figure leaned back through the doorway.

Shen Yi. Returned already, with a look of mild bafflement on his face.

“Why are you just standing there? Lead the way.”

(End of Chapter)