The Stench of Wine and Meat Behind Vermilion Gates, the Bones of Starving Folk by the Road

The next morning.

Yang Ning changed into a washed-out gray training outfit, tightened the bindings around his legs, then tucked a packet of medicinal salve into his robes and locked the training room.

Today, his destination was the Martial Arena on East Street, located on East Fourth Street:

It was the poorest, most remote, and most chaotic district in Kuishan County's Outer City.

The arena's location was rather thought-provoking.

Martial bouts and death matches were supposedly the favorite amusement of wealthy clans and nobles. By rights, it ought to have been located on East First Street near the Inner City, where the distinguished gathered.

Yet it had instead been built on East Fourth Street, even more dilapidated than East Third Street, where the Yang Family resided.

But after giving it some thought, Yang Ning reached his conclusion. The reason was simple:

The government's order now barely extended over East First, East Second, and East Third Streets.

Beyond them lay a chaotic land beyond the reach of law, where the weak were prey for the strong.

There, the killing was fiercer and the bloodshed more savage—better able to stir the interest of those who sat high in splendid halls, pampered and privileged, and give them the thrill of contrast.

From East Third Street toward East Fourth Street, only a dozen or so alleys separated them, yet the scene changed abruptly.

Before he had truly stepped into East Fourth Street, a stench mingling rot, blood, and cheap powder came rolling in with the wind.

Yang Ning's steps paused, but he soon entered the street with an unchanged expression.

Even though he had prepared himself, the sight before him still made his chest tighten slightly.

Though it was daytime, the long street seemed to have been cleaved into two worlds.

On the left side of the street stretched grand homes behind vermilion gates, with towering entrances, deep courtyards, and imposing stone lions standing guard outside.

From time to time, noble horsemen galloped out of the city, yellow hounds led in their left hands and hawks raised in their right, a spectacle of pure swagger.

Luxurious carriages occasionally sped past, their curtains lifting at one corner to reveal the profiles of richly dressed young masters or extravagantly attired women within.

They chatted and laughed, turning a blind eye to the scene outside their windows.

Whenever they passed, the scent of wine, meat, and incense drifted through the air, cloyingly sweet enough to make one feel stifled.

But on the right side of the street, and upon the filthy mud road running down its center, lay another world entirely.

Ragged refugees huddled in twos and threes against the walls, their eyes dull, their faces yellow, their bodies emaciated.

Children with bare upper bodies, every rib visible, rummaged through heaps of garbage for anything that could fill their bellies.

Farther away, several thugs were kicking and punching an old beggar, snatching away the half-hardened bun clutched to his chest.

Suddenly, the back door of a wealthy household creaked open, and a fat servant emerged carrying a bucket of slop, which he casually dumped by the roadside.

In an instant!

Those refugees who had been sprawled on the ground, seemingly half-dead, sprang up like hyenas that had caught the scent of blood.

They surged madly toward the filth mixed with vegetable leaves, scraps, and sour swill.

They clawed at it with their hands, scooped it with broken bowls, even buried their faces directly in it as they fought to swallow it down, making hoarse, rasping sounds.

Several gaunt stray dogs barked frantically around the edge of the crowd but did not dare approach.

Yang Ning watched silently, his fingers unconsciously curling tight.

His gaze swept over the shadows at the street corner, where several stiff bodies lay beneath torn straw mats, blue-black ankles exposed.

No one collected them, and no one asked after them.

Several mangy stray dogs of unknown origin even prowled nearby, gazing in that direction as they licked their mouths, their eyes glowing a ghostly green.

This was East Fourth Street.

It was the naked embodiment of the Outer City's rules.

The rich let wine and meat rot; the poor were cheaper than grass.

"What are you looking at?! Get lost!"

A harsh shout rang out.

Yang Ning turned and saw two burly men dressed in the uniforms of some household's guards driving away a little girl who had tried to approach a carriage.

She was a girl carrying a bundle of miscellaneous goods, clutching something bulging in her hands as she tried to sell it to the carriage's owner.

She was only eight or nine, about the same age as Xiao Hua, yet so thin she was little more than skin and bones, her outstretched hand like a bird's claw.

"Get lost."

One of the guard martial artists raised his foot to kick her, and the little girl could only scream and shut her eyes.

Yet the agonizing pain she had imagined in her stomach, and the scene of herself tumbling into the mud, never came.

The little girl shakily opened her eyes and found herself held in the arms of a man in gray.

The martial artist's kick had been caught by Yang Ning.

The guard martial artist looked at Yang Ning in surprise. That kick of his had not been light.

Dark-hearted as he was, he had put the force of the Lower Stance Barrier into that kick, intending to kick the annoying girl to death.

Yet the man before him had merely shifted his footing slightly and forcefully stopped the impact of the kick.

A skilled fighter. Best not to get entangled with him.

The guard merely snorted and left with the carriage.

Yang Ning released the girl selling sundries. Seeing her panic like a frightened fawn, he could not help but sigh.

Before acting, he had kept asking himself:

Could he save one person? Could he save all the suffering filling this street? If he acted now, aside from exposing himself and inviting trouble, what could it change?

Yet when he looked at her, Yang Ning thought of his niece Xiao Hua. In the end, his compassion had been stirred.

He took a deep breath, pressed down the pent-up gloom in his chest, patted the little girl's head, and prepared to continue onward.

"B-Big Brother, wait."

"Hmm?"

Yang Ning turned back and saw the girl carefully rummage through the bundle in her arms before finally taking out a wooden box and handing it to him.

He opened it and found inside a black, grimy bracelet of unknown material.

"This is?"

"This is... a Protection Bracelet. It's for Big Brother..."

Yang Ning said nothing. He merely looked at the fairly intricate patterns on the bracelet, then at the little girl's expectant eyes. Afterward, he nodded, accepted it, and put it on.

The innocent little girl smiled happily and turned to leave, unaware that five taels of silver had quietly appeared in the pack on her back.

Yang Ning walked a while longer before reaching his destination.

The Martial Arena's sign was particularly conspicuous among a row of low, disorderly storefronts.

That was because it was a black banner with gold lettering, upon which the character for "Fight" was written in soaring, serpentine strokes. Dark-red patterns were embroidered along its edges, resembling dried blood from afar.

Two sharp-looking men stood at the entrance, their temples slightly bulging. One glance was enough to tell they were martial artists, their eyes sweeping over passing pedestrians like hawks.

When they saw Yang Ning walk straight toward them, one of them extended an arm to stop him.

"This is an important Martial Arena ground. Idle persons are forbidden entry."

The man's tone was cold.

"Do you have a recommendation, or are you here to gamble?"

Yang Ning raised his eyes and replied calmly, "I'm here to fight."

"Here to fight?"

The man looked him over. Yang Ning was young and plainly dressed, but his posture was upright, his steps steady, and a hidden gleam lay within his eyes. He did not look like some ordinary hooligan, so the man's tone softened slightly.

"First time here?"

"Yes."

"Do you know the rules?"

"I know a little. Please enlighten me."

The man snorted and stepped aside, opening half the door.

"Go inside and register with Steward Liu. You'll have to sign a life-and-death waiver, and your background will be questioned.

"One reminder: in this place, only fists count, not one's origins.

"If you lose, you bear your own injuries and disability. If you die, they'll wrap you in a mat and toss you into the mass grave.

"Think it through before you enter."

Yang Ning nodded and stepped over the weathered threshold.