Killing Intent Rises

Night had deepened.

Lu Zhen felt his way to a crooked, earthen house.

It was the residence of one of the three thugs.

Lu Zhen pressed his ear to the crack in the door.

Thunderous snores came from inside.

The man was dead asleep.

The door hinges had long since rotted. Though they gave a faint creak, it was utterly swallowed by the howling wind.

He slipped inside sideways.

The room reeked of sour foot odor and cheap distilled liquor.

By the faint snowlight filtering through the window, Lu Zhen saw someone lying on the kang bed.

The man lay sprawled on all fours, collar wide open, sleeping soundly, completely unaware that the King of Hell was already standing at his bedside.

Lu Zhen walked to the edge of the kang. He made no move, merely looked down coldly at the piece of trash who had swaggered before him not long ago.

Then his legs exploded with force, sending him high into the air within the cramped room!

Borrowing the force of his descent, he drove his right leg—crippled for twelve years—down hard on the man's neck!

Crack!

It was the sound of cervical vertebrae and windpipe snapping in an instant.

The man jolted awake in agonizing pain, his eyeballs nearly bursting from their sockets, his face filled with unbelieving terror.

He opened his mouth wide, instinctively trying to scream.

But his throat had completely collapsed and shattered.

Lu Zhen bent down and stared at his face.

"Triangular Eyes, you seemed quite fond of calling me cripple."

At those words, Triangular Eyes' already bulging eyes trembled violently.

His gaze was full of disbelief and pleading.

"Ho... ho..."

Lu Zhen paid him no heed, stomping down heavily again and again.

The man's struggles grew weaker and weaker, the light in his eyes rapidly scattering until he finally stopped moving.

Lu Zhen withdrew his foot and stood there for a while.

The world was a strange place. He had heard that those with profound martial arts, or those who had taken some Spirit Medicine, possessed frightening vitality.

If he did not make absolutely sure, who knew whether the man might somehow come back to life?

After leaving the room, Lu Zhen searched around the yard, picked up a sharply angled bluestone, and returned.

Facing the corpse on the kang, he raised the stone high.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The stone smashed down viciously, once after another.

Only when the head had been reduced to a red-and-white pulp, no longer remotely human in shape, did Lu Zhen stop.

He tossed aside the blood-dripping bluestone. The only sound in the room was his steady breathing.

Lu Zhen coldly regarded the mangled corpse.

Triangular Eyes had already driven Wu Laoliu to death. He would certainly be next. So it was either him or Triangular Eyes.

With that, he bent down and searched through the bloodied clothing on the corpse's chest.

Two silver dollars.

He slipped the money into his pocket, picked up the stone from the floor, and casually wiped the blood from it on the corpse's clothes.

An hour later, everything had been settled. He returned carrying seven silver dollars.

Four of them were the ones he had handed over earlier. The remaining three were this group's "earnings" for the day.

Clutching the silver dollars in his hand, Lu Zhen made his way back along the base of the walls.

Just as he reached the old well at the mouth of the alley, before his foot could even come down—

Smack!

A dull thud of a wooden club striking flesh.

Then came a woman's desperately suppressed cry of pain, followed by the shrill curses of that crippled man.

"Still not talking? Playing dead, are you? Is that wild man fond of your dead-fish act?"

Smack! Smack!

Several more blows.

Lu Zhen stood where he was. The breath caught in his chest had already settled after killing those men.

Yet hearing that sound, his fury shot straight to the crown of his head.

Once, twice.

Still not done, are you?

Why were there so many evil people in this rotten world?

Lu Zhen touched his face. The black cloth was still tightly wrapped around it.

His eyes hardened. Without further hesitation, he turned and charged straight at the broken wooden door.

Bang!

The door panel had already rotted through. Lu Zhen kicked it open, and half the door crashed directly to the ground.

Inside, the oil lamp burned like a bean.

He the Third was sprawled on the bed, holding a jujube-wood club as thick as an arm, his face twisted in savagery.

Shen Yun huddled in the corner, clothes disheveled, clutching her head as she trembled.

At the sight of someone breaking in—a black-clad, masked man—He the Third froze.

Then the viciousness on his face turned to terror.

"Ah—!"

He opened his mouth and had only managed half a scream.

Lu Zhen gave him no chance.

He covered two steps in one, moving like the wind.

Before the club in He the Third's hand could fall, Lu Zhen launched a flying kick, driving it squarely into his chest.

Boom!

That kick carried the full force of the Early Force Refining Realm.

He the Third flew off the bed like a torn sack, slamming heavily into the earthen wall behind him.

Plaster rained down from the wall, and even dust shook loose from the roof.

He the Third rolled his eyes. Unable to draw another breath, he went limp and slid down.

Lu Zhen did not stop.

He stepped forward. The large hand that had just killed three men clamped around He the Third's thin neck like iron pincers.

He twisted hard.

Crack.

A crisp snap.

He the Third's head tilted grotesquely to one side. His terror-filled eyes had yet to close, but his breath was already gone.

In the corner, Shen Yun stared wide-eyed, clamping both hands over her mouth as she watched in horror, forgetting even to breathe.

Lu Zhen did not spare her a glance.

Moving swiftly, he turned and pulled open the broken cabinet, yanking out all the old clothes inside and scattering them across the floor.

He tore open the pillow at the head of the bed, spilling buckwheat husks all over the sheets.

Then he casually swept the bowls and chopsticks off the table onto the floor.

The whole thing took no more than a dozen breaths.

A home invasion for robbery, followed by murder to silence the witness.

The scene was set.

Lu Zhen said nothing and did not linger. He turned and rushed into the night, disappearing after only a few leaps.

Back in his own little house, Lu Zhen quickly stripped off the black clothes and stuffed them into the deepest corner beneath his bed.

He changed into his sleeping clothes and climbed under the covers.

Before long, chaos erupted outside.

"Someone's been murdered!"

"He the Third is dead!"

Noisy voices and torchlight flickered through the paper window.

A little while later, the Constabulary's whistles began to sound.

Lu Zhen lay in bed, listening to the commotion outside.

In this slum, a few deaths meant nothing to the Constabulary.

Especially in the bitter winter months, when countless people froze or starved to death.

A few constables merely stood at the doorway and took two glances, kicking at the clothes on the floor with their feet.

"Burglary."

"There are plenty of refugees these days. Could've been some starving outsider gone mad."

"Enough. Carry him away. Don't leave this unlucky thing here."

They did not even go door to door asking questions, much less investigate Lu Zhen, that cripple.

The case was closed just like that, hastily and carelessly.

The crowd dispersed, and the alley sank back into deathly silence.

Lu Zhen lay with his eyes open, staring at the pitch-black ceiling.

He slowly let out a long breath.

Those three men from the Black Snake Gang had to die—for survival, for money.

But He the Third... he did not even have a single coin on him. What had Lu Zhen killed him for?

Could it be that he was bloodthirsty by nature?

Lu Zhen slowly shook his head.