Rainwater streamed from the eaves, pounding tiny craters into the muddy ground.
Inside, the oil lamp swayed erratically in the draft blowing through the hall. Light and shadow twisted across the walls, stretching human silhouettes into ghostly shapes.
Hu Jiudao sat collapsed on the floor, a foul-smelling puddle steeped in liquor beneath him. He watched helplessly as the black-clad, masked man stepped over the splintered door and the warm corpses of his companions, advancing toward him one step at a time.
Every step landed on the drumbeat of his heart.
The rain, the wind, and the suppressed wheezing of another accomplice with a broken leg tangled together, weaving a net of despair.
"You... who sent you?" Hu Jiudao's voice trembled, stripped entirely of his daytime arrogance. "The Hungry Wolf Gang? Or the Brute Bull Society? How much did Hall Master Duan pay you? I... I'll pay you double!"
He scrabbled backward with both hands and feet, desperately retreating until his back struck the icy wall. There was nowhere left to go.
The masked man did not answer. He merely stopped.
In the eyes exposed above the black cloth, Hu Jiudao saw no emotion at all—no greed, no mockery, only a hollow darkness so deep it seemed capable of swallowing a man's soul.
He suddenly turned his head toward the window. It was his only path to survival.
Begging was useless!
Hu Jiudao sprang from the floor with all the strength he possessed and hurled himself at the wooden window covered in oiled paper.
"Crash!"
The window shattered. Half his body had already thrust outside when cold rain poured over his head, jolting his spirits awake. As long as he escaped the courtyard and fled into the spiderweb of winding alleys in the Southern District, he would have a chance to live!
Just as one leg was about to clear the window frame, a sharp whistle tore through the air behind him.
"Pfft!"
A muffled thud sounded, like a ripe watermelon struck by a pebble.
Hu Jiudao felt a drilling agony explode behind his right knee. His entire leg instantly lost all strength. With a scream, he lost his balance and tumbled from the window, crashing heavily into the muddy water outside the courtyard.
Rainwater and mud flooded his mouth.
He struggled to rise, but his wounded right leg lay limp and unresponsive. His kneecap had been smashed to pieces by that single blow.
A cloth-shod foot stepped onto his back, pinning him firmly in the muddy water.
Choking and coughing, Hu Jiudao spat out the mud in his mouth and struggled to turn his head.
The masked man stood beside him, looking down from on high. In his hand, he toyed with a flat, smooth pebble.
"Why... why..." Hu Jiudao's teeth chattered, whether from the cold or from fear, he could not tell. "I, Hu Jiudao, can honestly say I've never offended someone of your stature..."
Faces flashed rapidly through his mind: the vendors he had bullied, the gamblers he had extorted, and the enemies who secretly opposed the Fierce Tiger Hall.
Who was it?
The masked man crouched down and reached up, slowly lifting the black cloth from his face.
Rain washed over a lean, youthful face.
The moment Hu Jiudao saw that face, every expression on his own froze. Shock and confusion finally curdled into a terror more intense than seeing a ghost.
"Ye... Ye Qingxuan?"
No matter how hard he tried, he could not connect the god of slaughter before him with the young constable he had casually tormented during the day, a boy who had not even dared to breathe too loudly.
Ye Qingxuan ignored his shock and merely waved the pebble before his eyes.
"You filthy thug. You've gone too far."
His voice was calm and utterly undisturbed in the rainy night.
"You insulted me. Fine. But you should never have touched her."
Hu Jiudao suddenly remembered. He remembered the little girl he had shoved against the corner, scraping her arm. He remembered the vicious obscenities he had spat about "having some fun."
A chill shot from his tailbone straight to the crown of his head.
So it was not for money, nor for a gang feud.
It was simply because... he had bullied a little girl.
How absurd! How laughable!
Hu Jiudao had lorded it over the Southern District for years. His hands had known blood, yet in the end, he was going to die for such a ridiculous reason.
"You... you can't kill me! I'm with the Fierce Tiger Hall! Hall Master Duan won't let you off!" he roared hoarsely with his final strength.
Ye Qingxuan's gaze did not waver in the slightest.
The short dagger with its sharkskin sheath had already slipped into his hand from behind his waist.
"Duan Tianbao, is it..." Ye Qingxuan murmured the name. Then he bent down and whispered his final words into Hu Jiudao's ear.
"He'll be joining you down there soon."
Before the words had even faded, a flash of cold light flickered.
The dagger drove precisely upward from beneath Hu Jiudao's jaw, slanting through and piercing his entire neck.
Hu Jiudao's howl cut off abruptly. His eyes bulged as a gurgling sound escaped his throat, blood mingling with rainwater as it poured from the corner of his mouth. He stared fixedly at Ye Qingxuan, his eyes filled with unwillingness and venom, until they gradually lost their light.
Ye Qingxuan pulled out the dagger and wiped the blood clean on Hu Jiudao's clothes.
He rose and surveyed the surroundings.
Inside the house, the thug with the broken leg was dragging his crippled body inch by inch toward the door, leaving a long trail of blood behind him.
Ye Qingxuan walked over and planted one foot on his ankle.
"Crack!"
Another crisp snap of breaking bone rang out.
The man let out a beastlike wail.
Ye Qingxuan gave him no chance to make another sound. He reversed his grip on the dagger, and with one swift stroke, brought it down.
The courtyard fell silent once more, leaving only the rushing rain.
Killing someone was like anything else: the first time was unfamiliar, the second came easier.
Compared to the first time he had dispatched the man in the bamboo hat in the narrow alley, his emotions this time were frighteningly calm.
He did not leave at once. Instead, he began handling the scene in an orderly fashion.
First, he searched all three men and took every money pouch, along with several pieces of broken silver, stuffing everything into a cloth bag.
He recognized one of the money pouches at a glance. It was his younger sister Ye Caiwei's, with a crooked little duck embroidered on it. He took that pouch out separately and tucked it close to his body.
Then he entered the house and dragged the two corpses over beside Hu Jiudao's body, arranging them together.
He lifted the jug of cheap liquor left unfinished on the table and poured it over the corpses and the surrounding floor. Then he kicked over the oil lamp that was still swaying.
The flame touched the alcohol and suddenly roared upward.
Firelight illuminated his face, throwing it into shifting brightness and shadow.
He left the courtyard without looking back. The fire would burn away most of the traces, while the heavy rain would wash away everything that remained.
As for what the Fengtian Division's coroner might discover, he did not care.
Thugs in Linyuan Prefecture, gang clashes and vendettas—such things were common as dirt. Who would go to great lengths over the deaths of a few hooligans?
Carrying the cloth bag filled with silver, he used the cover of night and rain. Instead of going straight home, he detoured to the riverside on the other side of the Southern District.
Beneath an old locust tree, he dug into the damp earth and buried the cloth bag together with the short dagger he had used to kill. When he finished, he carefully covered the traces with fallen leaves and muck.
He could not bring the money home yet.
The deaths of Hu Jiudao and the others would certainly spread throughout the Southern District by tomorrow morning. If he suddenly appeared flush with money at such a time, he would inevitably arouse suspicion.
He walked slowly along the riverbank in the rain. The icy water washed away the faint trace of blood clinging to him and gradually cooled the mind that had been fevered with the excitement of killing.
He paused before the gate to his own courtyard.
He took off his mud-soaked shoes and repeatedly scrubbed them in the puddle by the entrance until not the slightest irregularity remained.
Only then did he push open the half-closed courtyard gate and walk inside.
In the inner room, Ye Caiwei slept soundly, a sweet smile still lingering on her little face.
Ye Qingxuan stood beside the bed and watched her for a long while.
He reached out and gently touched the scabbed-over wound on his sister's arm.
From now on, whoever dared hurt her in the slightest, he would make that person repay it tenfold, a hundredfold.
In this murky, filthy world, there was no justice.
Then he would become his own justice.
Before you continue