Chapter Seventy-Seven: Money Makes Even the Devil Work

Bai Shuangfei’s expression had grown exceedingly grim, but suddenly he burst out laughing, as though he’d just heard the most ludicrous joke in the world. “With your strength, Brother Yan, are you seriously thinking of killing this brutal-class BOSS on your own?”

Yan Yishan couldn’t help but laugh as well—his laughter was eerie and chilling. “Don’t forget, my sword is the true weapon.”

“A weapon?” Bai Shuangfei sneered, “Do you really think someone like you is worthy of talking about weapons? A true master can turn even grass and trees into deadly tools; even an extraordinary blade in your hands is nothing but scrap metal. The Goldfish Spirit’s scales are as hard as iron—you may be able to break its defense, but inflicting real damage requires internal force. Otherwise, why would I have come here alone?”

Yan Yishan’s face changed, for he noticed Zhang He’s gaze had shifted to the corpse of the goldfish, his expression contemplative.

The BOSS corpse was indeed covered in sword wounds, but the BOSS’s mouth foamed, blood still oozing from the sword cuts—eight or nine times out of ten, it was injured by powerful internal force. Bai Shuangfei’s argument held some weight.

Yet, after considering both their statements, Zhang He still couldn’t determine who held rightful claim to the kill.

Like Bai Shuangfei, Yan Yishan suddenly smiled with a sinister undertone. “Brother Wu, do you know what kind of place this is?”

Zhang He could only shake his head.

Yan Yishan explained, “Let me tell you—this place is a bubble under the surface of Clear Wave Lake. Do you understand?”

Zhang He was silent for a long moment, then finally nodded. “I understand.”

The principle was easy enough to grasp—just like a fish tank in the real world. If you observe closely, tiny bubbles often cling to the sides. If disturbed by external force, or stirred with a chopstick, the bubbles will burst or float to the surface.

With this in mind, it was clear that Clear Wave Lake was akin to a giant fish tank, and this treasure site was the bubble within. On the surface, everything appeared calm, but under the force of two masters’ powerful internal energy, this dead zone could easily collapse.

The mysterious places and strange tales in “Dynasty” were often bizarre, but if you thought carefully, many oddities weren’t hard to explain.

All strange events in the world are much the same; once you have a basis, it’s easy to uncover them with human effort.

Yan Yishan’s question was simply to inform Zhang He that internal force couldn’t be overused here—without the mastery to control and retract it at will, letting internal energy spill would disrupt the balance of the room’s atmosphere, and then, forget about treasure; everyone would end up buried at the bottom of the lake.

More subtly, he was implying that, under restrained use of internal force, the BOSS’s loot should belong to him, Yan Yishan, since he had the advantage in weaponry, whereas Bai Shuangfei relied solely on internal energy to drive his palm strikes.

But Bai Shuangfei sneered even harder. “Nonsense! If internal force couldn’t be used strongly here, would I still be sitting here, unable to stand? And would you have any say at all? Brother Wu, if you lend me a hand, I guarantee you and your siblings won’t be shortchanged.”

Zhang He remained silent, for both men made compelling arguments.

Yan Yishan gritted his teeth, lifted his hand with difficulty, and scattered a pile of gold before him—at least fifty taels by the look of it.

The room was awash in golden brilliance, dazzling the three committee members awake, though they still lay on the floor, unable to move.

“Boss, so much money!” The union vice-chair’s eyes glazed over; she’d never seen so much wealth since entering “Dynasty.”

“Chief, should we help one of them?” The treasury director’s envy was palpable.

The discipline committee secretary fixed his gaze on Zhang He; now, nothing he could say would matter—their fate rested solely in Zhang He’s hands.

“Well?” Yan Yishan smiled, “If you agree, all this can be yours—all four of you.”

These two masters, once heroic and mutually admiring on the lake’s surface, were now full of honeyed words and sly arguments, even resorting to bribery.

The martial world was always so unpredictable—no one could accurately foresee anything. But Zhang He’s mind was never on their schemes. He knew both were simply stalling, buying time for their attributes to recover… Even if they managed a partial recovery, the four of them would be no match, and the fifteen-minute loot claim timer was running out.

Now was the moment to make a choice—it was like betting on a horse. You could only pick one side; if you picked right, you’d hit it big. If not—too bad, you’d be sent back to town to play mahjong.

Staring at the pile of gleaming gold on the floor, Zhang He nodded slightly, drew his Flowing Cloud Blade, and slowly walked toward Bai Shuangfei.

Bai Shuangfei’s expression changed utterly, and his heart sank. He could see that Zhang He had been swayed by the other’s gold. He cursed his own haste—if only he’d brought more silver notes and gold, he’d offer a hundred taels to buy Yan Yishan’s life.

“Money can make the devil turn millstones”—Bai Shuangfei now fully understood the meaning of that ancient saying.

Watching Zhang He’s steady stride, the poised blade, and his grim expression, Yan Yishan finally broke into a relieved smile. The journey had been full of obstacles, but at the last moment, he hadn’t collapsed. Even he hadn’t expected that his final victory would be thanks not to his skill or swordplay, but to a mere fifty taels of gold.

Sometimes, in “Dynasty,” money could kill more effectively than martial arts. He’d once scoffed at the idea, thinking it was just the boast of powerless merchant players. Now he believed it. Now he understood—it’s better not to be arrogant, and always wise to listen to others.

By now, Zhang He was less than three meters from Bai Shuangfei. Zhang He stopped, raised his blade.

“Kill him! The gold and equipment are yours!” Yan Yishan couldn’t hold back, shouting with burning excitement.

Zhang He answered decisively, “Alright!”

As soon as that “alright” left his lips, the blade flashed—a chill swept toward Bai Shuangfei’s neck.

Zhang He didn’t hesitate; as he walked, he secretly summoned the powers of “Heroic Aura Filling the Four Directions,” “Assault Sword Technique,” and “Flying Rock Sword Technique.” Days of solitary training and perseverance in the wilderness, all culminating in this strike—a blend of three martial skills and internal energy, not to be underestimated.

Yet the blade did not slash Bai Shuangfei, but instead spun and suddenly swept toward Yan Yishan.

The change was so sudden that no one anticipated it. Yan Yishan, still elated, realized too late—the cold blade had already struck his shoulder.

Zhang He landed the blow and didn’t bother to retrieve his blade—he rolled away, ending up four or five meters behind Yan Yishan.

Yan Yishan was both shocked and furious, letting out a wild roar. Rage clouded his mind; he tore the Flowing Cloud Blade from his shoulder, and blood gushed forth. Only then did the critical hit’s yellow damage value appear: “-626!”

Such a terrifying damage value—even without exerting his full strength, Zhang He’s build was always high attack, low defense.

Yan Yishan cared for nothing now. He leapt up, spinning to attack Zhang He. He couldn’t tolerate this—it was shameless deceit, reckless trampling, wanton manipulation… He would destroy this bastard no matter what.

But he had completely lost his previous composure and cunning. By leaping up, he exposed his back to the most dangerous enemy.

Bai Shuangfei ignored his own depleted attributes—he knew this was a fleeting chance, never to return. He forced himself up, and in midair unleashed all his strength and internal force in a single palm strike—a fatal blow.

The palm struck Yan Yishan’s nape; Yan Yishan somersaulted twice in the air, then crashed heavily to the ground.

Yellow damage value: “-698!”

This palm was even more terrifying. Despite his injuries, Bai Shuangfei could still dish out such massive damage, leaving the three committee members utterly stunned.

Yan Yishan lay on the ground, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth. His eyes brimmed with regret, pain, and unwillingness. Was it disbelief that he had lost? Or was it that he couldn’t believe young Zhang He could deliver such a devastating strike?

“You… you’ll regret this!” He forced out the words toward Zhang He’s back, then his head slumped to the side and he died.

Bai Shuangfei was severely wounded again, coughing violently on the floor.

The treasury director finally managed to crawl up and staggered to Yan Yishan’s corpse. “Chief… chief, what… what do we do?”

The discipline committee secretary stumbled over, glanced at the corpse, and waved to the union vice-chair, “Call an ambulance!”

The union vice-chair wasn’t about to call any ambulance; she rushed to the pile of gold left by Yan Yishan, scooped it into her pocket, then dove toward the equipment pile.

Just then, Zhang He’s icy voice came: “Don’t bother picking it up, it’s useless.”

The three looked up in surprise, finding Zhang He had retrieved the Flowing Cloud Blade and was staring coldly at Bai Shuangfei. “The loot doesn’t belong to him either. Even if you join his party, it’s pointless.”

The three committee members felt a chill from head to toe, unable to believe their ears. The three had schemed and fought, but Zhang He had ended up betting on the wrong side, killing the wrong man. They couldn’t understand why Zhang He had killed Yan Yishan instead of letting Yan Yishan kill Bai Shuangfei.

But seeing Bai Shuangfei still half-squatting, clutching his chest and gasping, the discipline committee secretary couldn’t help but ask, “Comrade Wu, why did you…”

Zhang He seemed to know what he wanted to ask, replying coldly, “The loot’s ownership really was Yan Yishan’s.”

Even Yan Yishan, now in ghost mode, widened his eyes in curiosity, sharing the committee members’ doubts: “Damn it, you knew the loot was mine—why the hell did you ambush me? Bastard!”