"Looks like I won't be heading to Mount Zhongnan today after all."
Trailing in the direction the man had gone, Lian Youming shadowed him at an unhurried pace. Strolling along the street and taking in the sights, he caught sight of someone selling opera face masks, bought a Sun Wukong mask on a whim, then took off his navy-blue jacket, revealing a woolen sweater underneath.
The man wound through streets and darted through alleys in a wide, convoluted loop before finally heading out the South Gate.
The South Gate was Yongning Gate.
The fellow seemed intimately familiar with the area. Instead of taking the main gate, he deliberately chose nooks and crannies, ducking through gaps and scaling walls.
Wearing the mask, Lian Youming followed the wild circuit until he came to a stop, only then realizing he had arrived at the barbican outside the South Gate.
Looking out, brick houses and earth dwellings of varying heights and sizes were crowded together. A network of crooked alleyways branched out in all directions, with plenty of people slipping in and out. Everyone looked on edge; some carried grain, some carried hamper baskets, and some even had homemade hunting guns tucked away.
"When did a black market pop up inside this barbican?"
Lian Youming marveled silently. Native of Xijing though he was, the city was developing so fast these days that certain quarters changed by the day, catching people completely off guard.
His gaze flickered as he watched the man who had been shadowing him slip straight down a narrow lane. Adjusting his mask, he followed.
Unlike before, two thugs with crooked mouths and shifty eyes stood smoking at the entrance to this lane, raising their hands to block his path.
Lian Youming thought he might be barred from entering, but one of them simply held out an open palm and drawled lazily, "Buying or selling? If you're buying, fifty cents."
"And if I'm selling?" Lian Youming asked softly.
The other held a cigarette between his fingers, legs bouncing as if he had fleas, nostrils flared to the sky. "Selling's fifty cents too."
"Hm? Is there a difference?" Lian Youming asked, taken aback.
The first took over: "First time here, eh? Buyers pay when they go in. Sellers pay when they come out—and if you don't make a sale, the fee is waived."
"Quite methodical."
"Naturally. This is Brother Hu's turf. We do things by two words: fair and square. If there's the slightest sign of trouble, our lookouts on the city wall will give a shout."
Lian Youming glanced up at the lookouts on the city wall, handed over fifty cents, and continued inside.
Rounding the very first corner, he saw a modest short street lined with people squatting, sitting on the ground, leaning against the walls, or steadying hamper baskets. There were folk from both inside and outside the city.
The wares on offer covered a wide range as well.
Not only were there pelts, mountain produce, refined grains, and cuts of meat, but also antique heirlooms like vintage furniture, curios, calligraphy, and paintings.
Lian Youming swept a casual gaze across the scene, then his eyes flickered. In a corner, two dark-skinned, burly young men sat squatting with their hands tucked into their sleeves. Colorful cloths masked their faces, and they were bundled in thick gray padded jackets. They kept darting nervous glances around, looking as clumsy and furtive as thieves.
Though their appearances had changed slightly and seemed unfamiliar at a glance, he recognized those two padded jackets immediately.
His Third Aunt's two boys had worn those exact jackets every winter since childhood. The boys grew into them while the clothes grew smaller on them, mended and patched over and over. The stitches had even been sewn by Lian Youming's mother using a neighbor's sewing machine. The cotton batting had been restuffed two years ago, and the inner lining had been tailored from his own old clothes—he couldn't forget them if he tried.
He looked down at the items spread before them: a haphazard assortment of odds and ends, pottery jars and jugs that looked fresh from the mountains, still caked in dirt.
*Did they go up into the mountains to rob graves?*
Lian Youming felt a headache coming on.
By seniority, they were his younger cousins. Hard times had bred a reckless streak in them, though at heart they were honest enough.
*At least they had the sense to cover their faces.*
Remembering he had to track down the man who was tailing him, Lian Youming merely cast them a brief glance and walked onward.
Inside a small courtyard at the end of the short street.
"Brother-in-law, I swear I didn't see wrong! It was the guy from the drawing—mole between his brows, tall and sturdy, built like a tiger!"
The rat-faced young man was nervously recounting what had happened.
"Where did he board the bus?"
On a recliner in the courtyard, a pale-faced man with bare brows, cold eyes, and gaunt cheeks was squinting in the sun.
The youth tilted a pot of hot tea and gulped greedily. Once he had drunk his fill, he spat out tea dregs and said, "I don't know that—I got on halfway through the route."
The pale-faced man snapped his eyes open. "Did you get off and chase after him?"
The rat-eyed youth nodded frantically. "I did! I even lost a shoe in the crowd, but a big guy like that vanished in the blink of an eye."
Hearing this, the man called "Brother Hu" shot straight up and kicked the youth aside, cursing furiously, "Damn it! Didn't I tell you that if you spotted him, you were only supposed to watch from a distance? Do you even know who that is, chasing after him like that? And you came straight to my place—are you trying to get me killed? That's... Damn it..."
Brother Hu's face drained of color, his gaze darkening sharply. "Call all the brothers nearby over—"
Before he could finish, the closed courtyard gate was pushed open.
*Creak!*
Hearing the dry groan of the hinges and seeing no sound or movement from the two lookouts outside, Brother Hu's expression turned grim.
Accompanying it came a mild voice:
"Looking for me?"
The rat-eyed youth hadn't caught on yet. Seeing the youth standing at the gate remove his mask, he was instantly thrilled. "Brother-in-law, it's him! He's the guy... Aha, you brat, you actually tracked your way here yourself! You've got guts, I'll give you that!"
Lian Youming closed the gate behind him with a flick of his hand. Glancing at the rat-eyed youth jumping and gesticulating, he chuckled softly. "Where on earth did you dig up talent like this? Brother Hu, is it? Did I somehow offend you in the past?"
At those words, the pale-faced man rose stiffly from his recliner. "I wouldn't dare claim you've offended me. I am Song Xiehu. Greetings, brother."
Over the past few days, a piece of news from the martial world had spread across the Northwest Circuit. A gang of bandits from Tianjin had suffered over a dozen casualties—dead and wounded—and those who died hadn't passed quickly; they had urinated blood or defecated blood, tormented to death in sheer agony.
Others might not understand, but Song Xiehu knew full well that they had crossed an internal arts expert.
Lian Youming swept his eyes over the other men in the courtyard and asked gently, "Then what do you mean by this? Were you trying to dig into my family's background?"
The words were delivered lightly, but the underlying killing intent sent chills down the spine.
Song Xiehu took a deep breath. "I wouldn't dare. Those words go too far. Misfortune should not be visited upon family. Walking the martial world, whatever else one might neglect, one must uphold righteousness."
Yet the moment the words left his mouth, Song Xiehu regretted them.
"Misfortune?" Lian Youming raised an eyebrow. "Where would this misfortune come from?"
Song Xiehu's lips twitched, his gaze turning sinister. "Such are the rules of the jianghu; forgive me for not being able to say. But brother, whatever you did and whomever you crossed, you ought to know in your own heart."
Lian Youming smiled. "So that means you're birds of a feather with that lot from Tianjin?"
Song Xiehu narrowed his blade-like eyes, his tone turning cold. "I called you 'brother,' but don't think I'm afraid of you. What kind of man do you take Song Xiehu for? Those filthy scoundrels who do nothing but evil—if I ever threw in my lot with them, eight generations of my ancestors would share the shame, and my son would be born without an asshole!"
The rat-eyed youth had been utterly bewildered by the exchange, but hearing this, he couldn't help chiming in, "Brother-in-law, don't talk crazy! You haven't even married my sister yet!"
"Did your head get caught in a door, damn it? Get lost!"
As the words left his mouth, Song Xiehu's hands hanging by his sides twitched slightly. With a crisp *shring*, a pair of short blades slid from his sleeves into his palms.
With the dual blades in hand, Song Xiehu pointed toward the main hall. "Kid, look what's in there first."
Lian Youming looked over and saw an offering table inside the brick room. Upon it sat not a deity's shrine, but a red staff tied with red silk.
In a ringing, sonorous voice, Song Xiehu recited:
"This staff emerged from Mount Baonan,
Falling to the Hong family to strike down villainy.
Three feet six inches, fixed without change;
Four jin and eight taels, admitting no rift."
Lian Youming grinned. "That stuff doesn't work on me. What era is this, and you're still spouting secret jianghu cant? You're living in the past—it's utterly archaic."
With that, his smile vanished, replaced by an expressionless mask. "Who in Xijing told you to look for me? Tell me, and I'll turn and leave. Otherwise, every person in this courtyard might end up flat on their back."
Seeing not a flicker of hesitation in Lian Youming's eyes, Song Xiehu tightened his grip on his twin blades. "If I talk, none of us will have an easy time. These men are just scraping by with me; they haven't done any evil."
Lian Youming looked at the crowd in the courtyard. Sallow and emaciated, they all appeared to be ordinary folk. "Then have them all leave. We'll speak one-on-one."
Someone in the yard with a hot temper had already reached his limit and flared up: "Brother, what are we afraid of him for? Let's take him on first... Kid, you've got an arrogant mouth!"
Song Xiehu shouted him down: "Nobody move! Get outside, guard the gate, and don't let anyone in. And don't you dare peek!"
Once the crowd had retreated reluctantly, the wooden gate creaked shut.
Pacing slowly, Lian Youming watched Song Xiehu's steadily deepening aura and the pair of short blades, remarking with genuine interest, "A Guanzhong blade-wearer? Now that's something I've heard of."
In the next instant.
A streak of snow-bright blade light slashed diagonally, flashing like silver bursting from a cracked vase. In an instant, it was barely two inches from Lian Youming's neck and shoulder.
Song Xiehu's feet—shod in straw sandals—shifted over the ground in swift, rustling footwork. The twin blades spun and whirled; no sooner had one blade struck than the other was already upon its mark.
Fast, accurate, ruthless.
Lian Youming tilted his head, advancing rather than retreating. With a surging stride, he closed within half a step of Song Xiehu, then hoisted a single shoulder to jam against his right wrist.
With one blade neutralized, Song Xiehu's face changed drastically. His left blade dropped sharply and slashed horizontally across, aiming straight for Lian Youming's waist and abdomen.
Yet a fist suddenly expanded before his eyes, completely soundless, carrying not the slightest stir of wind.
Pupils contracting, Song Xiehu snapped both blades back, crossing them before his chest in a block. As the fist descended, a torrent of overwhelming force crashed into his chest.
Lian Youming merely lowered his stance, bearing down with raw power as his punching force sank. Song Xiehu fell to one knee, barely holding himself up as if bearing a mountain on his shoulders, teeth clenched as he desperately parried the fist, teetering on the verge of collapse.
"Your blade has no edge."
For some reason, despite seizing total advantage in a single exchange, Lian Youming showed no pleasure; instead, his brows knitted slightly.
"Even less killing intent. Do you have a death wish?"
This man's blade technique was even faster than the little old woman's on the train, and his skill was undeniably formidable, yet crossing hands with him felt thoroughly unsatisfying.
Just then, the rat-eyed youth climbed back in from somewhere, crying out in alarm, "Brother-in-law, you can't cause any more trouble! My sister's almost ready to give birth!"
He was frantic with panic, and seeing Song Xiehu at a disadvantage, he grabbed a wooden club and slammed it hard against Lian Youming's shoulder.
Wood splinters shattered and flew, yet the burly figure before him didn't budge an inch. The youth collapsed on his rear, looking as though he had finally realized what kind of monster he was dealing with.
"I'm sorry, it's all my fault! My sister's suffered so much in her life, and she's finally getting a few peaceful days. If you want to kill someone, kill me, just let my brother-in-law go!"
Clinging to one of Lian Youming's legs, he yelled to Song Xiehu, "Brother-in-law, run! I'll hold him off!"
Song Xiehu snapped angrily, "Who told you to come back in? Get the hell out!"
Turning back to Lian Youming, he said in a heavy voice, "This has nothing to do with him. If you want to kill someone, kill me."
Lian Youming was thoroughly dumbfounded.
Kicking aside the sniveling youth, he gave them a bizarre look. "Are you two performing an opera together? After all this, why do I feel like I've become the villain? Besides, I never said anything about killing anyone."
Meanwhile, the men outside heard the commotion and were getting ready to charge in.
Song Xiehu barked at them immediately, "Stay out, all of you!"
Lian Youming eased his fist, took a step back, and looked at Song Xiehu. "Then have you considered this: if the other party is truly ruthless, and I walk out of here alive today while you remain completely unharmed, do you think they'll let you off?"
Song Xiehu fell silent. After a long while, a fierce look entered his eyes, and his voice turned raspy: "You've heard of the Eagle Claw Sect? Their deputy sect master is named Tan Fei. His disciple died at your hands... There's a thief boss at the Xijing Railway Station who has old ties with Tan Fei. He was tasked with finding you."
Having obtained what he wanted, Lian Youming prepared to leave, but seeing Song Xiehu's desolate, somber look, he asked, "You've never killed the innocent, have you?"
Before Song Xiehu could answer, his brother-in-law stuck his neck out and shouted, "My brother-in-law is a hero! A blade-wearer!"
Lian Youming raised his eyebrows. "Do you know where the Eagle Claw Sect is located?"
Song Xiehu replied in surprise, "In Cangzhou, Hebei. What are you planning to do?"
"In Cangzhou?" Lian Youming was momentarily startled, then let out a low chuckle. "Anyone who could teach a disciple like that can't be anything good himself. Since he has no eyes to see, I'll just have to gouge them out for him."
Walking away without looking back, he said, "Pass a message along to them for me. Set it for the final day of the lunar year—a little over a month from now. Let them take it however they please, as a visiting card or a letter of challenge. I'll go to Cangzhou to cross hands with them, and whatever grudges exist will be settled once and for all."
Chapter 66