Awakening

Old Xiang wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes.

Now that his wife had awakened, he could return to work at the prison.

But to his colleagues, Old Xiang seemed even stranger today.

After his shift, Old Xiang bought two live fish and a live hen at the market, then hurried home.

He did not know what to do.

Life had to go on.

He could only hope for a miracle. Perhaps one day, if he encountered an immortal master again, he could have his son healed.

Thinking of the Soul Banner in his hand, Old Xiang decided to use it to trade for a sliver of hope.

It was that Demon Cultivator's treasure.

It had protected them many times on their journey back—powerful and strange.

If he offered it to an immortal master, he should be able to persuade the immortal master to treat his son.

This was the best solution he had come up with after thinking all day.

He was just about to return home and tell his wife and son the good news.

He opened the door.

He walked into the inner hall.

What he saw before him left him rooted to the spot.

The live fish and hen slipped from his hands and fell to the floor.

His son, who had been paralyzed in bed, and his wife, who had stayed by his side to care for him, had already lost all signs of life.

He rushed over in panic.

He saw rat poison scattered across the floor, and his wife and son foaming at the mouth.

He collapsed to his knees.

"Ah!" His anguished sobs were like the roar of a wounded beast.

After an unknown amount of time, Old Xiang rose.

He was still old, and his body was even more hunched, but it seemed as though he had awakened.

The flames in his eyes burned once more.

Tu Shan Jun had once felt that Old Xiang lived too oppressively, but now Old Xiang resembled someone.

Li Qingfeng.

Hatred could awaken a person.

Especially a man who had lost everything.

He was like a lone ghost lingering in this world, existing for nothing but revenge.

He sharpened his blade, tucked away a dagger, and brought poison and sleeping smoke.

He took the Soul Banner.

Draped in a black robe, Old Xiang headed for the market.

Liang Capital at night resembled a landscape ink painting.

It was also like a graceful maiden in her chamber, painting her brows, decorating her fan, and dressing herself up.

The lights blazed brightly, and painted pleasure boats drifted across the Little Ice River.

Music floated through the air.

Old Xiang hurried onward and knocked on the small door he had come through that morning.

Short Rat was somewhat surprised. He had once gone ten days or half a month without seeing Old Xiang; why had the old man been coming around so often lately?

"I want to see Old Ghost."

Old Xiang's voice was hoarse, and his eyes were bloodshot.

Short Rat did not stop him. Old Ghost had already returned from his shift by then. "Lord Xiang, please come in."

There were not many people in the courtyard.

Nor were there many people who knew of this courtyard.

Before long, the sinister-looking Old Ghost emerged.

"I want to know where my son went a few days ago."

Old Xiang's remaining arm rested on the saber at his waist at all times.

Old Ghost said nothing more. Instead, he took out a piece of silk and handed it to Old Xiang. "Lord Xiang, this is the list of those who crippled your son. As for whoever was behind them, I could not find out."

Regret showed in his expression. In the end, he was merely an underground rat of Liang Capital.

Though he could be considered the little rat king of one corner, he would still die when he encountered a cat.

Those wearing the skin of the authorities were cats.

High officials and nobles were tigers, even fiercer than cats.

Filth like them from the gutter could not afford to provoke such people.

Giving Old Xiang this assistance had already exposed him to enormous risk.

No one knew whether the nobles above would become enraged over this matter and bring calamity crashing down upon them.

Old Xiang seized the silk, his voice icy. "From this day forward, our debts of gratitude are settled. Neither of us owes the other anything."

With that, he turned and left.

Short Rat frowned and said indignantly, "What an ungrateful, stubborn old man. Boss, you took such a huge risk to help him find those people, and he still gave you that attitude."

Old Ghost's expression was complicated. He shook his head. "Lord Xiang does not want to drag us into this."

"This matter is complicated. The struggles between the nobles have brought disaster upon the fish in the pond. The noble behind Lord Xiang has fallen. Even if they handed over their power, they would still be purged."

"Poor Wen'er. He will have to lie in bed for the rest of his life."

At this point, the sinister Old Ghost's face filled with resentment, only for him to return to normal moments later.

He had seen such things far too often.

He had grown up in the gutter and witnessed who knew how many storms of blood and rain, how many schemes and intrigues.

Now, they had merely drawn close to him.

Short Rat seemed to want to find something more to support his own argument, and continued, "Boss, even if we gave him the list, Old Xiang would not dare make a move."

"He is old."

Those words—he is old—seemed to lay bare all their friendship and spirit in an instant.

Old Ghost did not refute him.

That was true.

Xiang Hu had grown old in the end.

He was no longer the Banner Guard Hundred-Household Officer of old, one of the foremost experts among the Twenty-Four Offices.

A hero in his twilight years—nothing was more fitting.

Old Xiang hunched over as he walked.

Even if his strength had declined, he was still a second-rate expert with abundant inner qi.

He had trained his family's inherited cultivation method for forty or fifty years.

His fighting techniques were as natural as moving his own arms.

He had walked through mountains of corpses and seas of blood; demons and monsters could not take his life.

Killing people was merely a return to his old trade.

"Wild Dog Gang."

The gambling den was boiling with activity.

Dim yellow light filled the place.

Gamblers with crimson eyes shouted out the numbers they had bet on, pounding the tables until they shook.

Heads packed together, shoulders rubbing against shoulders.

From time to time, someone shouted to borrow money.

There were also rotten gamblers thrown outside by the gambling den's fierce, vicious guards.

In the gambling house's rear chamber, a man with a scar across his face was plowing away with all his might, drenched in sweat.

Just as he had gotten himself ready, he suddenly felt a trace of coldness at his neck.

His scalp instantly prickled, and he went limp.

Just as he was about to cry out, a sharp dagger pressed against his throat, blood running down from the wound.

The woman beneath him had already fainted.

"Spare my life, hero."

"Spare me."

"I did not ravish an innocent woman. She is a secret prostitute from an alley outside the House of Leaning Red."

The scar-faced man raised both hands and hurriedly explained.

He feared that some righteous wandering hero had heard of his bullying deeds and come looking for him.

After only one exchange, he knew he was no match for his opponent.

The person behind him was definitely a true expert.

Without anyone noticing, his opponent had knocked the woman unconscious and put a dagger to his throat, forcing him to crane his neck back so he could not move at all.

If some wandering hero chopped off his head over rumors and gossip, he would truly die unwillingly.

"Wild Dog Gang. Chen Quan."

"One of the Wild Dog Gang's deputy leaders." The voice was old, yet sonorous and forceful, brimming with vigor.

It also sounded strangely familiar.

Yet no matter how Chen Quan thought about it, he could not remember where he had heard it before.

"I have come to ask you only one thing. Answer well, and you live."

"Answer poorly, and you will wish you were dead."

As a hereditary Hundred-Household Officer of the Banner Guard, he naturally possessed interrogation methods rarely seen by ordinary people.

At times, evidence was not needed at all. Mere suspicion was enough to force a confession.

He could not take Chen Quan back to the prison, so before killing him, he would interrogate him on the spot and obtain information.

He had countless ways to make Chen Quan speak.

"Please ask, great hero," Chen Quan hurriedly replied.

"Who ordered you to cripple Xiang Wen?"

Hearing Old Xiang's question, Chen Quan's pupils abruptly shrank. His chestnut-colored eyes filled with terror as he opened his mouth to shout, "You are—"

Crack.

With a twist of Old Xiang's thumb, Chen Quan's jaw was dislocated.

His thumb pressed against Chen Quan's lower jaw.

Chen Quan discovered in horror that he could not make a sound at all.

Even deaf-mutes could make muffled noises, but he seemed to have lost the ability to speak entirely. Not even the slightest sound could escape him.

Tu Shan Jun could not help but marvel. "A fine technique."

The mortal world did not lack things worth learning from.

They could not cultivate, yet they had studied fighting techniques to the utmost limit. Their command of the body's meridians and acupoints was no less precise.