That Year, I Was Sixteen, Scarlet and Blinding

Rain lashed the banana leaves, pierced through the woods and leaves, and rustled without end.

Fang Xuan raised his head at the sound and looked over, only to see that the man who had just spoken was somewhat broad-built, with a fat belly.

Chu Chong's fat was muscle wrapped in flesh; coupled with the scar on his face, he gave off a vicious, ferocious air.

Yet though this man was fat, his skin was fair and smooth, his flesh soft, the corners of his eyes drooping. He looked rather kind and honest.

He was coming up the mountain, flanked by several burly men. One glance was enough to tell they were martial artists.

"May I ask who you are?" Fang Xuan asked doubtfully.

Just as the honest-looking, stout man was about to speak, one of the martial artists beside him looked at the red shirt Fang Xuan wore, embroidered with a great whale leaping across the sea. His gaze immediately sharpened.

"First Young Master, this man is Fang Xuan of the Black Whale Gang! Fang Xuan's former Hall Master, Old Man Yu, served under the Third Young Master—"

Before he could finish his sentence—

"What? He's Fang Xuan?"

The stout man's eyes lit up at once. Forgetting all about the rain, he hurried forward and laughed excitedly. "Hahaha, Fang Xuan, I know you! I heard that a few days ago, you crippled the two top lieutenants of the South Hall and West Hall all by yourself, then exchanged a palm strike with South Hall Master Zheng Juexiong without losing! What a display of might!"

Fang Xuan could not help but laugh at the fat man's excitement. "Fang is merely a street thug. Can such trifling affairs of the martial world really make their way all the way to Anning Mountain?"

The fat man gave an honest smile. "I've never had much talent for martial arts, but ever since I was young, I've been interested in matters of the martial world."

At this point, the fat man wore a proud expression. "Don't underestimate me. I know every slightest stir in your martial world."

"First Young Master, be careful not to get soaked!"

Those martial artists hurried forward with umbrellas, shielding the fat young master from the rain.

One of them, a young man with a square face and thick brows, snorted. "Fang Xuan, this is the Sikong Family's First Young Master, Sikong Jihuai! Watch how you speak!"

"A member of the Sikong Family?"

Fang Xuan frowned, an involuntary chill entering his eyes.

Perhaps it was because of his preconceived impression, but he now held little fondness for the entire Sikong Family.

"Zhou Guwu, introduce my name if you must, but don't keep telling others to watch how they speak!"

Sikong Jihuai shot the martial artist a dissatisfied look, then turned back to Fang Xuan. As if recalling something, he sighed. "Still, my third brother has always been overbearing and jealous. If you speak with me, I'm afraid you may make him unhappy."

Fang Xuan laughed. "What does his happiness or unhappiness have to do with me?"

Sikong Jihuai froze, then scratched his head in confusion. "Aren't you one of his people?"

Fang Xuan shook his head with a faint smile. "Unfortunately, that Third Young Master happens not to think much of me."

Hearing this, Sikong Jihuai first let out an "Ah," then could not help heaving a long sigh. "There's nothing wrong with my third brother, except that he is a little too arrogant. He never puts others in his eyes and easily offends people. Brother Fang, his nature isn't bad. Please don't hold it against him."

Only then did a hint of surprise appear on Fang Xuan's face.

The three young masters of the Sikong Family stood in an extremely delicate relationship. Had an ordinary person heard him say this, they would likely have followed his lead and trampled the Third Young Master with a few vicious remarks.

Yet this First Young Master was instead speaking up for the Third Young Master.

For a moment, Fang Xuan could not tell whether this man was pure-hearted or simply utterly guileless.

No wonder the martial world generally speaks only of the Sikong Family's Second Young Master and Third Young Master, while this First Young Master, despite being the legitimate eldest son, has received little notice. Then again, if this First Young Master were a forceful and domineering man, how could there still be a struggle for succession when he was the legitimate eldest? Fang Xuan mused inwardly.

"Brother Fang, how about I take you up there and personally have a word with my brother?" Sikong Jihuai offered.

"No need."

Fang Xuan shook his head with a smile. "Fang has never liked pressing a warm face against someone's cold backside. Still, I thank the First Young Master for his good intentions."

With that, Fang Xuan went around Sikong Jihuai and continued onward.

"Brother Fang, wait!"

Sikong Jihuai hurried after him. He had only run a short distance, yet his fat, fair face was already covered in beads of sweat and rain.

Panting lightly, he smiled. "Come, I'll treat you to drinks at Bright Jade Pavilion. First, it'll count as my apology to you on my third brother's behalf. Second..."

He scratched the back of his head and gave a guileless laugh. "I've always loved making friends. To be honest, I've long wanted to befriend a hero of the martial world like you, but out of consideration for my third brother, I never found it convenient to speak up.

Today, by some stroke of fate, I've finally met you. I absolutely can't let this chance slip away! Hahaha!"

With that, he seized Fang Xuan's arm without another word and dragged him down the mountain.

The fine rain hung like a curtain of pearls, gradually blurring the scene.

BANG!!!

A steel blade shot through the air on a howling gust, plunging into the Mud Ground beside Fang Lan. Its hilt trembled without stop.

Fang Lan gritted her teeth and ran forward without looking back.

"Run? Where can a little wench like you run to?"

Malicious laughter rang out behind her.

The one-eyed thug in a headscarf licked the raindrops from his lips, his remaining right eye gleaming with lecherous light.

"Hahaha, I wonder what Fang Xuan's own little sister tastes like. Get her together—catch that little brat!"

One fled while the others gave chase, the distance between them visibly shrinking.

Fang Lan dashed several steps into the fields, about to flee toward the mountain.

"The slopes ahead have been softened by the rain. Step on them and your feet will sink in. You still think you can climb up?"

The headscarf-wearing thug sneered, no longer in any hurry.

Just as they all stepped into the fields—

Whoosh—!

A rope hidden in the darkness was yanked hard!

In an instant, the ground beneath the five or six thugs gave way, and they plunged violently into a deep pit that had been dug long ago!

Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!

Thick wooden stakes sharpened to points stood upward within the pit, instantly skewering the five or six thugs into hornets' nests!

Hearing the dull sounds of flesh being pierced behind her, Fang Lan turned back, panting.

"You fucking dare to set me up?"

A mustached thug who had been standing farther away and had not fallen in immediately twisted his face in fury and stabbed his blade toward Fang Lan!

Pfft!

Another sound of steel entering flesh rang out!

A sharp dagger pierced into the mustached thug's back, then burst out through his body.

Blood dripped steadily from the blade in thin streams onto the Mud Ground, staining the puddles all around crimson.

The mustached thug first stiffened all over and lowered his head to glance at it. Then, as if unable to believe it, he turned to look behind him.

Behind him stood a fair, delicate-looking sixteen-year-old boy, his face twisted ferociously as he drove the dagger in his hand into the thug's body.

"You..."

Blood kept pouring from the thug's mouth as he tried to speak.

With reddened eyes, Fang Li gritted his teeth, yanked the steel blade free, then kicked the thug into the deep pit bristling with bloodstained wooden spikes.

"Huff... huff..."

The next moment, Fang Li seemed to lose all his strength and collapsed onto the Mud Ground, gasping in great heaves.

His hands trembled without stop, his face deathly pale, while a churning, ocean-upending urge to vomit roiled in his chest.

Blood flowed out from the deep pit with the rainwater.

Like thumb-thick streams, it slowly soaked the muddy ground, the hole-riddled hem of the first-time killer's clothes, and the book that had fallen from within the lapels over his chest, dyeing them all a glaring scarlet.

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