Wang Chong had no desire whatsoever to meddle in other people's business. Having experienced so much lately, he knew that in jianghu vendettas, it was exceedingly difficult to tell right from wrong; perhaps the people being hunted down were the real villains. He had no intention of rashly playing the indiscriminate do-gooder, and to invite less trouble, he had even deliberately smeared a dusting of powder across his face.
Ever since transmigrating, Wang Chong routinely carried unscented cosmetic powders of various shades, blended with oils and tucked away in a palm-sized case for emergencies.
The rider pursuing the fugitives spotted Wang Chong from afar, drew his bow like a full moon, and loosed an arrow straight for Wang Chong's face.
Wang Chong had not anticipated this. The folding fan in his sleeve whipped out, knocking the feathered shaft to the ground. Unable to suppress his anger, he shouted, "You shoot an arrow at me, and I'll return a leaf to you!"
He casually plucked a tree leaf and flicked it with the Plucking Flower and Leaf Hand. Infused with his true qi, the leaf whistled sharply through the air, shooting forward like a throwing knife or a flying bolt. The archer could not help but be slightly alarmed and hastily raised his longbow to parry. With a crisp snap, the fine bow was sliced in two by the leaf.
Wang Chong was not particularly fond of the Plucking Flower and Leaf Hand. He had only ever used this martial art twice—once when he sliced a squirrel into two halves, and the other being right now, severing an enemy's bow with a flying leaf.
The archer was furious. Tossing aside the broken bow, he seized a spear from his saddle and barked, "Where did you come from, barbarian? Die!"
The man spoke with an odd accent. Wang Chong had heard it many times from Qin Han and others, knowing it to be the official Chang'an dialect, used deliberately by noble and aristocratic families to distinguish their pedigree.
Wang Chong thought to himself, *This man must belong to an eminent clan. If I strike, I cannot leave any survivors, nor can there be any eyewitnesses. Fortunately, those running for their lives ahead must have fled far by now...*
Just as the thought crossed his mind, the fleeing riders wheeled their horses around and came galloping frantically toward him, shouting at the top of their lungs, "Hero, save us!"
Wang Chong did not hesitate for even half a second. He turned on his heel and fled into the depths of the mountain forest.
These people had a death wish and wanted to drag him down with them. He had to steer clear of them first, lest he get spattered with blood.
Both the pursuer and the pursued had been rushing toward Wang Chong, and neither side expected him to turn and run. Naturally, they collided with each other. The rider who had traded bow for spear roared, "You petty thieves have fallen into my hands—do you still dream of living?"
His spear whirled, cutting down several men in an instant until only a burly middle-aged man remained, struggling bitterly to hold his ground. Yet his martial arts were far inferior, and he repeatedly faced mortal peril.
After running far enough, Wang Chong leaped onto a large tree to watch the fight. Try as he might, he could not fathom why those people hadn't fled while they could. What was the point of coming back? Why treat matters of life and death like child's play?
He sighed and muttered to himself, "People of the martial world truly are reckless and brazen, refusing to take life and death seriously."
As a transmigrator, Wang Chong had long understood one truth: there was no need to pay for other people's mistakes, nor any need to dance to someone else's tune, much less respond to every question. Oneself was oneself, and others were others.
It was just like a case he had once witnessed back in his old life: a new colleague who didn't know how to do his job was always begging others for help. A kind-hearted colleague repeatedly lent a hand, only for the newcomer to pin a major work blunder onto him. That diligent, good-natured colleague was fired just like that, and the manager firing him had said helplessly, "It wasn't your responsibility in the first place, and this had nothing to do with you, but now even I can't protect you."
That newcomer had asked Wang Chong for help too. The first time, Wang Chong dodged with evasive tai chi; the second time, he dodged again; and the third time, he did the exact same thing...
Mhm, he had even wondered whether deflecting like that so often was the reason he had transmigrated straight into the Wudang sect.
Seeing that he was no match, the burly middle-aged man bellowed repeatedly, "Hero, save me! Hero, save me! Hero, save me..."
Seeing no response from Wang Chong, he gritted his teeth and roared desperately, "The man hunting me is Wen Zhengming of the Wen family, a retainer to the Prince of Yan! I carry a great secret and a great duty—hero, you must save me!"
Stroking his chin, Wang Chong grew slightly suspicious and thought, *The killer is actually a retainer to the Prince of Yan, a member of the Wen family? Now this is interesting. When I make my move later, I truly cannot leave anyone alive.*
The Heavenly Empress's husband had been surnamed Wen, hailing from the Wen family of Weizhou. The Wen family was also a top-tier clan of the realm, producing a succession of illustrious figures. Although not as packed with imperial court luminaries as the Fanyang Lu Clan, nor backed by the Ten-Thousand-Year Fox House like the Su family, it could easily rank among the top twenty prominent clans under heaven, and it had always been the most steadfast clan supporting the Heavenly Empress's son to inherit the imperial throne.
With such a haughty background in an eminent house, no wonder he dared slaughter people indiscriminately without cause.
Well, Wang Chong felt no moral burden about killing someone from the Wen family either.
It was just that he truly didn't want such a minor "incident" to disrupt the wonderful life he had enjoyed since transmigrating.
Wang Chong rubbed his nose and suddenly remembered something, muttering in surprise, "A few days ago, I killed people again. Why didn't I throw up?"
"Is this kind of thing..."
"Really so easy to get used to?"
Wang Chong had a hard time accepting that he could take human lives with such peace of mind, even if Nalihai and Wen Ducheng deserved death ten times over.
The burly middle-aged man never got the intervention he hoped for; after six consecutive spear thrusts, he met a violent death.
After killing him, the assailant inspected the area and delivered a follow-up thrust to each body. Even the first man who had been struck by an arrow and tumbled from his horse was finished off with a spear thrust, though he had still clung to a breath of life.
Having finished the slaughter, Wen Zhengming narrowed his eyes, looked toward Wang Chong perched on the distant treetop, and barked, "Come here and die."
Wang Chong thought, *This whoreson really knows how to put on airs. You want to kill me and expect me to walk over to you?*
He called out coolly, "Wen Ducheng, Fourth Divine General of the eighteen grassland tribes..."
Wen Zhengming sneered and cut Wang Chong off. "I met that whoreson from beyond the frontier not long ago. You look nothing like him."
Wang Chong froze for a moment, then broke into a cold sweat. Wen Zhengming was a retainer to the Prince of Yan, and he had met Wen Ducheng. Those two brief pieces of information carried a terrifying implication: the Prince of Yan was in league with the eighteen grassland tribes...
Just as his reasoning reached this point, Wang Chong was startled and blurted out, "Wait, no!"
The great chieftains of the eighteen grassland tribes had jointly signed and dispatched hawk letters summoning experts to assassinate the Prince of Yan. How could the Prince of Yan be colluding with them?
Wang Chong's mind spun in confusion from the conflicting, mutually contradictory pieces of intelligence, but this was no time for careful contemplation. Even if Wen Zhengming did not fear leaks, he had no intention of sparing Wang Chong. Gripping his spear, he charged at full gallop. While still a hundred zhang away, he had already unified his essence, qi, and spirit with his spear, his entire being transforming into a terrifying whirlwind.
Wang Chong squeezed the folding fan in his hand and thought, *I cannot use Wudang martial arts to kill this man.*
...Wen Ducheng: Hahaha, someone tried to impersonate me and got seen right through...
...Wen Zhengming: My surname is Wen, while Wen Ducheng belongs to the Yaglakar clan. That whoreson from beyond the frontier and I aren't the same family...
...Nameless Rider: In the next chapter, I'll play a corpse...
...Wudang Martial Arts: If you use the Nine-Headed Dragon King Aspect and Diamond Prajna Palm Strength, believe it or not, Nalihai will speak from beyond the grave...
...Withered Chan: Heh-heh, that's what you get for not practicing me in advance...
Chapter 59