One Stone Severing Soul, Nine Blades Executed

Rainwater streamed down the eaves, creating fine craters in the muddy ground.

The oil lamp inside flickered erratically from the cross-breeze, its light distorting on the walls, stretching human shadows into ghastly figures.

Hu Jiudao slumped to the ground, a puddle of stale alcohol soaking into the dirt beneath him. He watched, wide-eyed, as the masked man in black stepped, one by one, over the shattered doorframe, over the still-warm corpses of his companions, and approached him.

Each step landed precisely on the beat of his frantic heart.

The sound of the rain, the wind, and the choked gasps of another accomplice whose leg had been broken, all mingled together, weaving a net of despair.

"Who... who sent you?" Hu Jiudao's voice trembled, stripped of its daytime arrogance. "The Hungry Wolf Gang? Or the Brute Bull Society? How much did Hall Master Duan pay you? I... I'll pay double!"

He scrambled backward on hands and feet, his spine hitting the cold wall. He had nowhere else to retreat.

The masked man didn't answer, merely stopped.

Hu Jiudao couldn't discern any emotion from the eyes visible through the black cloth—no greed, no mockery, only a void of darkness so deep it seemed capable of swallowing one's soul.

He abruptly turned his head, glancing towards the window beside him. It was his only escape.

Begging for mercy was useless!

Hu Jiudao leaped from the ground with all the strength he possessed, charging towards the wooden window covered in oiled paper.

"CRASH!"

The window shattered. Half his body was already outside, the cold rain drenching him, invigorating him. If he could just escape this courtyard and disappear into the maze-like alleys of the Southern District, he would survive!

Just as one leg was about to clear the window frame, a sharp whistling sound cut through the air from behind him.

"THWACK!"

A dull thud, like a ripe watermelon struck by a stone.

Hu Jiudao felt a searing pain in the back of his right knee. His entire leg instantly lost all strength. He screamed, lost his balance, and tumbled from the window, crashing heavily into the muddy water outside the courtyard.

Rain and mud filled his mouth.

He struggled to get up, but his injured right leg hung limply, useless. The kneecap had been smashed to pieces by the blow.

A cloth-shod foot stepped onto his back, pinning him firmly in the mud and water.

Hu Jiudao coughed, spitting out mud and water, and turned his head with difficulty.

The masked man stood beside him, looking down at him from above, idly playing with a flat, smooth river stone in his hand.

"Wh-why..." Hu Jiudao's teeth chattered, whether from cold or fear, he didn't know. "I, Hu Jiudao, have never offended anyone of your caliber..."

Faces flashed through his mind—the merchants he'd bullied, the gamblers he'd extorted, the enemies who had crossed the Fierce Tiger Hall in secret.

Who was it?

The masked man crouched down, reached out, and slowly removed the black cloth from his face.

Rainwater washed over his lean, young features.

When Hu Jiudao saw the face, all expression froze on his own. Astonishment, confusion, and finally, a fear far deeper than seeing a ghost.

"Ye... Ye Qingxuan?"

He couldn't possibly connect the murderous demon before him with the young constable he'd casually humiliated earlier that day, the one who hadn't dared to breathe too loudly.

Ye Qingxuan ignored his shock and dangled the river stone in front of him.

"You scoundrel, you went too far."

His voice, in the rainy night, was calm, utterly devoid of ripples.

"You could insult me. But you shouldn't have touched her."

Hu Jiudao suddenly remembered something—the little girl he'd pushed against the wall, scraping her arm. He remembered his own vile words, the lewd jokes about "having some fun."

A chill shot up his spine to the crown of his head.

So it wasn't about money, or a gang war.

It was simply because... he had bullied a little girl.

How absurd! How laughable!

He, Hu Jiudao, had lorded over the Southern District for years, had blood on his hands, and yet, he was going to die for such a ridiculous reason.

"You... you can't kill me! I'm from the Fierce Tiger Hall! Hall Master Duan won't let you get away with this!" he let out a final, hoarse howl.

Ye Qingxuan's eyes didn't waver.

The short dagger in the sharkskin sheath at his lower back slid into his palm.

"Duan Tianbao..." Ye Qingxuan softly uttered the name, then leaned in and whispered his final words into Hu Jiudao's ear.

"He'll be joining you soon."

Before the words even finished, a cold glint flashed.

The dagger accurately plunged from beneath Hu Jiudao's jaw, piercing his entire neck.

Hu Jiudao's howl cut off abruptly. His eyes bulged, a gurgling sound came from his throat, and blood mixed with rain poured from his lips. He stared fixedly at Ye Qingxuan, his eyes filled with unwillingness and malice, before finally growing vacant.

Ye Qingxuan pulled out the dagger and wiped the blood clean on Hu Jiudao's clothes.

He stood up and looked around.

The ruffian inside, whose leg was broken, was dragging his mangled body, inching towards the door, leaving a long trail of blood on the ground.

Ye Qingxuan walked over and stepped on his ankle.

"Crack!"

Another crisp sound of bone breaking.

The man let out a beast-like wail.

Ye Qingxuan didn't give him another chance to make a sound. He reversed his dagger, raised his hand, and brought it down.

Silence returned to the courtyard, leaving only the sound of the pouring rain.

Killing was something that became easier with practice.

Compared to the first time he finished off the straw-hatted man in the narrow alley, this time, his mind was eerily calm.

He didn't leave immediately but began to meticulously clean up the scene.

First, he emptied the money pouches from Hu Jiudao and the other two, stuffing them and some loose silver into a cloth bag.

He immediately recognized one of the money pouches as his sister Ye Caiwei's, which had a crooked little duck embroidered on it. He took out that pouch separately and kept it close to his body.

Then, he went into the house and dragged the two corpses over to Hu Jiudao's body, arranging them together.

He picked up the unfinished jar of cheap wine from the table and poured it over the bodies and the surrounding ground. Then, he kicked over the still-flickering oil lamp.

The flame touched the alcohol and erupted in a roar.

The firelight flickered across his face, casting shifting shadows.

He walked out of the courtyard without looking back. The fire would burn away most of the traces, and the heavy rain would wash away the rest.

As for what the Fengtian Division's coroner could find, he didn't care.

The squabbles and feuds among the ruffians in Linyuan Prefecture were commonplace. Who would go to great lengths for the deaths of a few lowlifes?

Carrying the cloth bag full of money, he used the cover of night and rain to skirt around his home and head to the riverside on the other side of the Southern District.

Beneath an old pagoda tree, he dug into the damp earth and buried the cloth bag along with the short dagger he had used as a weapon. After finishing, he carefully covered the traces with fallen leaves and mud.

He couldn't take this money home yet.

The deaths of Hu Jiudao and the others would surely spread throughout the Southern District by morning. If he suddenly became well-off at this time, it would inevitably arouse suspicion.

He walked slowly along the riverbank in the rain. The cold rainwater washed away the faint scent of blood from his body and also calmed his mind, which had become somewhat agitated from the killing.

He stopped when he reached the gate of his own courtyard.

He took off his muddy shoes and repeatedly washed them in a puddle by the door until there was no sign of anything unusual.

Only then did he push open the slightly ajar courtyard gate and walk in.

In the inner room, Ye Caiwei was sleeping soundly, a sweet smile on her small face.

Ye Qingxuan stood by the bed and watched for a long time.

He reached out and gently touched the scar on his sister's arm, which had already scabbed over.

From now on, anyone who dared to harm her again, he would make them pay tenfold, a hundredfold.

There was no justice in this corrupt world.

Then he would be his own justice.