Hard way to escape

Clad in his attire, Song Qingshu emerged from the confines of his bedchamber, an unsettling sense of unease plaguing his every step. The gravity of his actions weighed heavily upon him, and he couldn't shake off the gnawing dread that permeated his being.

Casting a remorseful gaze upon the weakened figure of Zhou Zhiruo lying before him, Song Qingshu crouched down, his finger lightly grazing her cheek. "My love, how could I bear to harm you? Fear not, by the break of dawn, your inner strength shall be restored. I, too, shall recover from this ordeal."

Yet, despite the immense fury that had once consumed him, leaving his emotions in disarray, Zhou Zhiruo regarded him with a complex expression, her tone chillingly cold. "You shall rue this day."

"Even if my own hands deliver my demise, I shall harbor no regrets," Song Qingshu murmured, stealing a tender kiss from her luscious lips. Collecting his belongings, he made his exit. However, a sudden recollection compelled him to turn back. "Do not hold me accountable, my dear. Except for you and I, no soul is privy to tonight's events. You wouldn't be so foolish as to disclose the truth to Zhang Wuji, would you?" With a sly smile, he departed, leaving behind unanswered questions that lingered in the air.

The passage of time crawled, the sky gradually awash with the pale hues of daybreak. Zhou Zhiruo stirred, her eyes fluttering open as she sat up, only to be met with a surge of numbness and pain from her lower body. She surveyed her surroundings, her gaze falling upon the evidence of their union strewn across the disheveled bed. The remnants of their intimate encounter fueled her determination, and through clenched teeth, she vowed, "Song Qingshu, I shall make you suffer."

A distant sneeze echoed through the air, emanating from Song Qingshu, who found himself miles away. He glanced skyward, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "I daresay that woman has awakened by now. How abhorrent my actions must appear."

Song Qingshu had come to realize that Zhou Zhiruo still clung to her virtue, and his subsequent acts of humiliation were intended to stoke her hatred, lest she succumb to the depths of sorrow and despair. Aware that should she discover his true intentions, she would be driven to seek vengeance, he had opted against eliminating her altogether.

Though Zhou Zhiruo had undoubtedly recognized his deceit, Song Qingshu knew her options were perilous. Were she indeed involved with Zhang Wuji, he might have been compelled to rid himself of her ruthlessly, to quell the turmoil that plagued him. Yet, now that she stood as the sole witness to their tryst, her disappearance would cast him as the prime suspect—a man accused of murdering his own wife. The repercussions would be dire, with the world rising in unanimous condemnation, his reputation forever tainted.

The weight of these considerations bore down on him, as he contemplated the consequences of his actions. The delicate balance between cruelty and cunning had guided his decisions thus far. However, the intricate web of circumstances demanded his utmost vigilance. Should Zhou Zhiruo, driven by her shattered dignity, pursue him relentlessly, he dare not underestimate her resolve. Conversely, were she to meet an untimely demise, his looming reality as the chief suspect would seal his fate, leaving him at the mercy of Zhang Wuji's relentless pursuit and the scorn of the entire world.

Underestimating the power of reputation would be a grave error. In ancient times, a tarnished name could haunt an individual for a lifetime. Song Qingshu, harboring ambitions amidst the turbulent times, understood the perils of bearing the label of a wife-killer. He couldn't fathom enduring the weight of such infamy, especially when considering the relentless scrutiny faced by figures like Wu Sangui, the Pingxi King, who constantly found themselves ensnared in the grip of public judgment.

Song Qingshu surmised that Zhou Zhiruo was likely on her way to exact vengeance upon him. Having mentioned the four renowned physicians in the realm, he knew that she would deduce his intent to seek their aid in mending his damaged meridians.

Hu Qingniu's demise left only three esteemed doctors—Ping Yizhi in Kaifeng, the closest to his current location, followed by Xue from Songzhou, a more enigmatic figure whose whereabouts eluded the common folk. Yet, Song Qingshu possessed an advantage in his modern knowledge, having delved into the intricacies of Jin Yong's novels. He knew that Yaowangzhuang, the Poisonous Medicine King's residence, resided in the Dongting Lake basin, specifically within the regions encompassing Baima Temple, Wuchang, and Yueyang.

Assuming Zhou Zhiruo encountered no mishaps, she would likely travel to Kaifeng and Songzhou before embarking on the search for the elusive Yaowangzhuang. For the time being, she should remain safe. With unwavering determination, Song Qingshu set forth, striding towards Dongting Lake.

After a relentless journey spanning half a month, Song Qingshu finally arrived in the vicinity of the Dongting Lake basin. He diligently inquired about the whereabouts of the White Horse Temple, seeking leads in various cities. However, the responses he received were unanimous—none had ever heard of such a place.

Ravenous and parched from his arduous travels, Song Qingshu discovered a modest eatery in a nearby town. He ordered food and wine, pondering his uncertain future as he indulged in a solitary drink.

His despondency was unsurprising. Not only was there uncertainty surrounding the Poisonous Medicine King's ability to heal his meridians, but he also struggled to locate the enigmatic White Horse Temple. To compound matters, the unpredictable trajectory of the "Snow Mountain Flying Fox" plot further clouded his understanding. Should the Poisonous Hand Potion Master, Wang Wu'an, have met his demise, Song Qingshu would truly find himself bereft of hope.

There is no elation akin to that experienced by the typical protagonist traversing a crowd. Song Qingshu, thrust into this chaotic world, felt grateful to have reclaimed his life. However, he harbored no emotional connection to this realm. The vast sky loomed above him as a mere transient, unaccompanied—never once had he considered Song Yuanqiao as his father since his arrival. Moreover, the Wudang Sect had severed ties with him due to Mo Shenggu's treachery, and his meridians owed their existence to the same sect. The closest person to him, in name at least, was his wife Zhou Zhiruo, who now relentlessly pursued him across the globe.

A bitter smile played upon Song Qingshu's lips as he realized the profound desolation that permeated his existence.

"Get up, make way for my uncle." With a forceful thud, a foot came crashing down on the bench beside Song Qingshu, while a gleaming knife landed upon the table, a menacing display of dominance.

In the realm of martial arts, even humble establishments like restaurants could breed trouble. Song Qingshu, engulfed in his melancholy, never anticipated falling victim to such an encounter. Surveying the empty tables nearby, he regarded the three burly figures surrounding him with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "Aren't there any other available seats around?"

"I simply desire to occupy your position," the leader stated brazenly, his gaze fixed on Song Qingshu. "This spot affords an excellent view. If you have any sense, vacate it and spare yourself a thrashing."

His companions chuckled among themselves, exchanging amused glances. "Our boss detests these types of greasy noodles. He's having a stroke of bad luck today."

"This kid, with a face like a rabbit, must have fallen into a pile of dung."

...

Song Qingshu couldn't help but laugh inwardly at the situation. Just moments ago, he had been consumed by despair, preyed upon by figures like Zhang Wuji and Zhou Zhiruo. And now, even a bunch of ruffians had come to make a spectacle of themselves.

Drawing upon his past life experiences, he knew several ways to defuse such conflicts without succumbing to frustration. However, ever since his arrival in this world and the revelation that it was fashioned from Jin Yong's novels, he couldn't shake off the sense of unreality. In his eyes, the characters in this realm were nothing more than low-level creatures.

As he regained his composure, Song Qingshu realized that his meridians were shattered, his nominal wife had abandoned him for another man, and a mere touch from her would send her on a relentless pursuit across the globe. If he were to bow and scrape before insignificant NPCs like these ruffians, he would truly become a disgrace to his status as a traveler.

A faint smile curved his lips as he decided to ignore the ruffians encircling him, lifting his wine glass to take a slow sip.

"Oh!" the leader exclaimed, a smirk playing on his face, before forcefully slamming his glass to the ground. Unperturbed, Song Qingshu calmly picked up his chopsticks, plucking a shrimp from his plate and leisurely lifting it to his mouth.

"Fuck!" one of the ruffians blurted out, growing agitated. He snatched the thick-armed whistle from the boy next to him and swung it forcefully, aiming for Song Qingshu's back.

"Puff!" Song Qingshu was caught off guard, and the sip of wine he had just taken sprayed from his mouth, tinged with a trace of blood. He had anticipated this outcome when he made his decision. To others, it might seem absurd, but he had resolved to endure.

Of course, he wasn't a fool. If he were still in the northern regions of the Yangtze River, he wouldn't dare to act so recklessly. Today, however, he found himself in the prosperous heartland of the Song Dynasty. Unlike the war-torn north, the government's deterrent power still held some sway here. These scoundrels might beat him, but they lacked the audacity to commit a public act of violence and take his life.