Chapter 111: Cursed Weapon (1)

  “...Huh?!” Xu Mo froze for a few seconds, unable to process what the old man had just said.

  “Old Sir, I really just want to genuinely help your family,” Xu Mo said, forcing a smile as he tried to explain himself to the old man, whose face had turned red with anger.

  “Get lost!” The old man picked up a stick from his side and waved it threateningly, as if to say, ‘I’ll fight to the death if you dare to even touch my granddaughter.’

  “I’ve already seen through you, beast. Not even sparing little girls,” the old man growled. His chest heaved up and down with every breath, and perhaps due to his old age, his heart seemed unable to handle the fury burning within him.

  Don’t die on me, old man, Xu Mo thought inwardly. He knew that if he didn’t do something to calm the old man down, he might actually die on the spot—leaving his granddaughter alone in a world that was already cruel, and even more unforgiving for a young girl with no one to protect her.

  “You’re a hypocrite. It’s only because you’re interested in my granddaughter that you’re pretending to help me. Would you have helped me and bought all the toys if it was just me here today? Why don’t you help my other old pals over there too?” The old man gestured toward the side, then behind him, where a group of drunk old men sat—some lying on the ground, rubbing their stomachs as flies buzzed around them and their ragged cloth stall.

  In comparison, the old man’s stall was a little better. Though not luxurious, and he too was dirty here and there, Xu Mo couldn’t help but feel the old man gave off a strange sense of charm. He couldn’t quite find the right word to describe him. The man had a long beard and unkempt hair, both pure white—though it wasn’t obvious due to the dust—and a few toothpicks were stuck in his beard. While most mundane old men began losing hair in middle age and were left with just a few strands in their later years, this man looked like a hermit with a full head of long hair and beard.

  “Yes, you’re right, sir. I am a hypocrite. I agree. But I truly have no bad intentions toward your granddaughter. Her face just reminds me of my younger sister,” Xu Mo admitted, accepting the accusation of being two-faced. It wasn’t entirely wrong. And he added the part about his younger sister to evoke a little sympathy from the old man.

  The old man froze, clearly not expecting such honesty from an arrogant cultivator. The part about the granddaughter resembling Xu Mo’s younger sister especially caught him off guard. Guilt began to creep into his chest as he realized how serious the accusation he’d made had been. He noticed the passersby giving Xu Mo looks of disgust, but Xu Mo’s gaze remained fixed on the cloth stall before him. His eyes were lowered, even though he wasn’t the one in the wrong.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “I-I’m sorry... I misunderstood you,” the old man said. His breath was still uneven, and the words struggled to make it out of his throat.

  Xu Mo quietly picked up the pouch the old man had thrown earlier and tucked it inside his robe. Then, he took out another one—this one containing a surprise, including 50 low-grade spiritual stones.

  The old man had assumed Xu Mo was still offended and about to cancel the purchase. And he wouldn’t have blamed him—it was, after all, the old man who had thrown away the first pouch. But what Xu Mo did next stunned him.

  Xu Mo took the wrapped toys from the old man’s hands and moved a little closer, subtly blocking the view of the drunkards behind them. He was afraid they might covet the old man’s sudden fortune and cause harm to him or his granddaughter. He picked up the dirty cloth beside the old man and buried the pouch underneath it. All this was done in a matter of seconds, so swiftly that no ordinary beggar or drunkard would have been able to track where Xu Mo had hidden it.

  He didn’t wave at the little girl, nor did he pat her head—not because she was covered in dirt, but because any act like that would reignite the old man’s suspicion. Showing kindness wasn’t wrong, but excessive kindness toward a stranger you had just met could be suffocating—for both the giver and the receiver.

  ...

  “Head Elder, Happy New Year,” Xu Mo said as he presented a simple gift. It was wrapped in textured cloth and tied with a ribbon, offered respectfully with both hands to the Head Elder.

  “Oh? Xu Mo, this wasn’t necessary. Elders should be the ones gifting juniors,” the Head Elder said, even as his hand reached out with zero hesitation to accept the gift. Xu Mo even caught a flicker of excitement in the elder’s eyes.

  “Elder, I must tell you—I wasn’t able to afford anything expensive,” Xu Mo confessed.

  The Head Elder flicked his forehead. “It’s the thought that counts in the end.”

  “I couldn’t prepare a gift for you earlier, but I’ll make sure to bring one next time,” the Head Elder added, and Xu Mo nodded in response.

  Next, he approached the Sect Master and presented him with his gift.

  “Here, this is for you too,” Bai Xu said, pulling something out and placing it inside a wooden box.

  “Careful,” Bai Xu cautioned when he saw Xu Mo move to open it.

  “This is a cursed weapon. It’s been getting a lot of hype lately. I bought it for you at an auction, thinking it might suit your personality. But be careful—its previous owners haven’t exactly met good ends.”

  “...Then why are you gifting it to me, Sect Master?” Xu Mo asked, unable to hide his suspicion. Something that dangerous was usually best left sealed and locked away.

  “It’s called the Threadspike Capsule,” Bai Xu replied, skipping the question and instead introducing the weapon.

  Xu Mo took the wooden box in his hands and instantly felt a cold chill spread from his palm up to his shoulder.

  He braced himself, unlocked the box, and slowly pried it open.

  Inside was a small, black, metallic capsule—about the size of a thumb. Cold to the touch, with faint etchings spiraling around it like veins. It looked unimpressive, almost like a forgotten trinket from a junk stall.

  But coiled within it was a mass of impossibly long, near-invisible threads—each tipped with piercing micro-spikes.