The Scripture

"Drinking soup?"

Zhao Chuan's face darkened as he tore off his leg wraps in a few swift motions.

"I didn't even get so much as a fart! Instead, I lost two brothers! Fucking bad luck!"

With that, he rose directly to his feet and flicked his sleeves as he left alone.

This book was first published on Taiwan Novel Network, offering a worry-free reading experience with error-free and properly ordered chapters.

As he walked out of the noisy barracks, his left hand unconsciously reached for his waist, only to jerk away as though it had been scalded.

Several colleagues watched his hurriedly departing back and exchanged looks.

"Boss Zhao isn't right today."

"Maybe he really didn't get any benefits... and he lost two trusted men besides. He must be feeling awful."

"Forget about him... Red Jade Pavilion! Let's go! Hehe..."

Laughter erupted once more.

No one noticed that beside the leg of the stool Zhao Chuan had just occupied lay several dark-red specks of "mud."

The color looked rather like filthy blood that had yet to dry.

After leaving the rear hall, Zhao Chuan did not head for the main gate. Instead, he slipped through a narrow alley behind the side stables.

Once he had confirmed that no one was nearby, his whole body immediately hunched over. He pressed his back heavily against the cold, damp brick wall, his right hand clamped tightly over the left side of his chest.

The agonizing pain he had forcibly suppressed in the barracks now bored straight into his heart like a red-hot iron skewer, making his vision repeatedly go dark.

He knew perfectly well that he was severely injured.

That thing in the rear hall of Red Moon Nunnery had left behind far more than flesh wounds. His internal organs had likely all been knocked out of place.

Yet he did not dare reveal his true condition before outsiders.

No one knew better than he did how many corpses he had stepped over to climb into the position of head runner at the South Third Guard Patrol Office.

Never mind those outside whom he had ruined with underhanded, vicious means. Just among his own subordinates in the office, there were more people than he could count on two hands whose reward silver he had withheld, whose credit he had stolen, or whom he had publicly humiliated.

God knew how many pairs of eyes, openly and in secret, were staring him down, waiting for him to expose a flaw.

If he collapsed in public, forget recovering from his injuries—whether he could survive three days would be another matter entirely.

A fishy sweetness welled up in his throat, but he forcefully swallowed it down. His fingernails dug into the cracks in the wall, scraping painfully against the stone.

Hoofbeats and the shouts of runners came from the other end of the alley. His entire body jolted, and he immediately gritted his teeth, drew a deep breath, forced himself to straighten his back, and quickened his pace.

Only after he had finally put the Patrol Office far behind him did the string in his heart fail to loosen in the slightest. Instead, it drew even tighter.

He kept feeling that someone was following him. The corner of his eye constantly swept over every banner by the roadside, every alley entrance, every nook and cranny...

His gaze passed an old man selling flatbreads, children squatting beneath the eaves playing with mud, and even a lazy yellow dog...

Whether from excessive tension or the instinct he had developed over years of service, the feeling of being secretly tailed only grew stronger and stronger.

He deliberately took several turns, choosing crowded, chaotic markets to pass through. He wanted to use the clamor and bustle to conceal his tracks and dilute the lingering pressure at his back.

Time ticked by.

Just as he was about to cross two more streets and reach the entrance to his home alley, he could no longer hold on.

"Puh—"

He suddenly doubled over, spraying a mouthful of blackened, congealed blood mixed with tiny fragments of internal organs across the bluestone road.

The pedestrians beside him cried out in fright and backed away. One woman carrying a vegetable basket went deathly pale and hurriedly dragged her child farther off.

Zhao Chuan's vision went black for an instant, while his ears rang loudly.

He used every last ounce of strength to straighten up, raised his sleeve to wipe carelessly at the corner of his mouth, and dared neither look at the expressions of those around him nor linger.

Before the startled, uncertain crowd could gather around him, he suddenly exerted himself and staggered into an extremely narrow side passage piled full of clutter.

Deep within that passage was a dead end, enclosed by high walls on three sides. Almost no one ever came there.

Supporting himself against the damp, icy wall, he stumbled deeper inside. At last, unable to endure any longer, he slid down with his back against the wall and sat on the ground.

Dust and the smell of mildew rushed into his nostrils, yet he felt considerably more at ease.

I'll hide here and regulate my breathing for a while...

That was what he thought, but before he had even caught his breath, the light at the mouth of the alley was blocked by more than half by a rapidly approaching figure.

The newcomer moved incredibly fast and was backlit, their features utterly blurred within a stretch of dim shadow.

"Is that you?!"

Zhao Chuan's eyesight and instincts were both sharp. He did not need to see the face clearly; from the other party's outline and personal aura alone, he could roughly piece together the answer.

"Chen... ngh..."

The moment Zhao Chuan squeezed out a single syllable, that shadow abruptly arrived before him.

A cold hand clamped over his nose and mouth like an iron hoop, smothering every scream and cry for help.

The other hand pressed precisely and cleanly onto the grievous wound at his heart, already pushed beyond its limits... It did not seem to use much force, merely pressing down.

"Squish..."

A dull, wet cracking sound rang out, as though an overripe rotten melon had burst inside his chest cavity.

Zhao Chuan's eyes bulged wide. He clearly heard his heart and lungs being completely ground to pieces as the remaining force and his injuries attacked from within and without.

All his strength, calculations, unwillingness, and vitality shattered and scattered completely with that press, returning to nothingness.

Looking at Zhao Chuan, dead beyond all doubt, Chen Cheng finally slowly exhaled the foul breath he had held in his chest for so long.

After more than half a month of staking out, tailing, and patiently waiting, Chen Cheng had finally seized this perfect opportunity and effortlessly dealt with Zhao Chuan.

Steadying himself, Chen Cheng immediately searched Zhao Chuan's body thoroughly.

In the end, he found a somewhat shriveled money pouch, along with a thin booklet bound in blood-red covers.

On the booklet's cover were several faded little golden words: Red Moon Original Vow Sutra.

Chen Cheng had no interest whatsoever in chanting scriptures or worshipping Buddha, but Zhao Chuan had risked his life to bring this thing back. That made it a different matter.

Chen Cheng shook out the broken silver and copper coins from the pouch. There was less than five taels in all, and he tucked it, along with the scripture, into his clothes.

After doing all that, he did not immediately get up.

His eyes carefully swept over Zhao Chuan's corpse, the spot where he stood, and every corner he had passed on the way here.

Only after confirming that he had left behind no trace that could point to him did he swiftly depart the scene.

Chen Cheng had already investigated and familiarized himself with this area over the past half month.

Now, rather than returning to the main street, he turned from the other end of the side passage into those dark, inconspicuous alleys and lanes, leaving not the slightest trace behind, as though he had never appeared at all.

Night fell.

The slum, usually as silent as the grave, had become an entirely different sight today.

The Black Wolf Gang's territories erupted into chaos almost simultaneously.

The men of several surrounding gangs had all poured out in force. A vast sea of figures carried clubs, sabers, and axes, surrounding, beating, and hacking at any Black Wolf Gang member they saw.

For a time, curses, doors being smashed, the sounds of slaughter, and miserable screams as shrill as ghosts tangled like a chaotic skein within those foul-smelling, damp, dark alleys, as though hell itself had appeared in the world.

The poor people living in these places had long since bolted their doors and windows tight. Forget lighting lamps—they did not even dare breathe loudly.

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