Ambush

Chen Jianghe heard every word clearly from a distance, a chill rising in his heart.

One hundred and fifty wen, with two wen of interest daily—it sounded like a pittance, but over a month, that amounted to sixty wen in interest, an annual rate of nearly fifty percent!

This was clearly usury designed to strip the bone and suck the marrow; once borrowed, there would be no hope of ever paying it back in this lifetime.

Wang Biao had clearly pegged them as a weak, defenseless mother and son.

Chen Jianghe took a deep breath, suppressed the rage in his heart, and walked up quickly.

His voice was calm as he slowly steadied Lin: "Mother."

Seeing her son, Lin became even more panicked: "Jianghe, you're back. This Master Biao says the protection fee has gone up!"

Seeing Chen Jianghe return, the smile on Wang Biao's face grew even wider: "Oh, Jianghe is back! Perfect, you hear it too. The gang has a new rule: fees are per head. Your family of three must pay four hundred and fifty wen. Your mother only has three hundred here, so you're short one hundred and fifty. Do you want to make it up now, or should I lend it to you first?"

As he spoke, his gaze swept over Chen Jianghe's patched, coarse cloth clothes, a trace of contempt flashing in his eyes.

How much oil could a day laborer at the Shen Mansion possibly have? He was determined to squeeze this money out of him today.

Chen Jianghe shielded his mother behind him and smiled bitterly: "Master Biao, this increase is too sudden; the family really can't scrape it together right now."

Wang Biao patted his shoulder, putting on an "I'm looking out for you" expression: "I understand, I understand. That's why I said, you can borrow it first. One hundred and fifty wen, two wen of interest a day, pay it back whenever you can—I'd never cheat you. How about it? I'm only offering this because I know how hard it is for a widow and her son."

Chen Jianghe lowered his head and remained silent for a few moments.

Behind him, Lin tugged at his sleeve in a panic, whispering: "Jianghe, don't borrow it, that interest..."

"Mother, it's fine." Chen Jianghe turned back and gave his mother a reassuring look.

When Chen Jianghe turned back, his face was full of gratitude: "Master Biao is righteous. Then let's borrow the one hundred and fifty wen to cover the emergency. Next month, I will definitely pay back the principal and interest."

A flash of triumph crossed Wang Biao's eyes as he waved a large hand: "Straightforward! Bring the ledger!"

The lackey behind him immediately handed over a ledger.

Wang Biao pulled a charcoal pencil and an ink pad from his robes, licked the tip of the pencil, and said: "Come, press your thumbprint. Loan of one hundred and fifty wen, daily interest of two wen, term of one month. If not repaid by the deadline, the boat will be seized as collateral."

Chen Jianghe took the pen and pressed his thumbprint on the IOU.

Wang Biao tucked the IOU away with satisfaction and patted Chen Jianghe's shoulder heavily: "Done. You two get back to it. Remember, the first of next month, principal and interest, two hundred and ten wen. I'll be here on time to collect."

With that, he swaggered away with his two lackeys, their footsteps thumping against the wooden planks of the boat, gradually fading into the distance.

Chen Jianghe helped his mother, Lin, sit down at the bow of the boat.

The river water slapped against the rotting hull, emitting a hollow sound.

Lin's tears fell again, her rough fingers clutching her son's sleeve tightly: "Jianghe, it's Mother's fault! One hundred and fifty wen, two wen of interest a day... how much will this be by the end of the month?"

Chen Jianghe squatted down, bringing his eyes level with his mother's, and said softly: "Mother, don't calculate it. You'll only panic more."

Lin stared blankly at her son. After three years of tempering at the Shen Mansion, the quiet composure in the boy's eyes sometimes made even her feel like he was a stranger.

But she didn't dare ask, only trembling: "Jianghe, what can you do? Don't do anything foolish. That Wang Biao has the Black Water Gang behind him; we can't afford to provoke them!"

Chen Jianghe twitched the corners of his mouth, as if trying to smile, but failing: "I won't provoke them. We'll be reasonable and pay back the money according to the rules. Mother, trust me. Haven't we survived all these years?"

A few scattered oil lamps flickered in Loach Bay, dim and yellow.

Lin fumbled to light their own small oil lamp, the bean-sized flame dancing and casting shifting shadows across Chen Jianghe's face.

Lin lowered her voice, her fingers unconsciously picking at the edge of her apron: "Jianghe, tell Mother the truth. What exactly are you planning to do?"

Chen Jianghe looked at his mother's tense face and remained silent for a moment.

He finally spoke, his voice very low: "Mother, my day labor at the Shen Mansion ends in a few days. It's time to collect my final wages."

Lin nodded: "Mother remembers. Didn't your Uncle Liu say last time that he wanted to offer you a long-term contract?"

"I'm not taking it," Chen Jianghe said firmly.

Lin understood. Her lips trembled: "You still want to learn martial arts?"

"It is the only way out."

Lin looked at Chen Jianghe, then nodded: "Mother believes in you. If the wages aren't enough when the time comes, I'll find a way."

The night in Loach Bay arrived quickly and heavily.

After Chen Jianghe settled Lin into bed, he sat alone at the bow of the boat. He took out the IOU from his robes and read it one more time. Then, Chen Jianghe tore the paper into pieces and scattered them into the river.

He stood up and walked into the cramped cabin. He pulled a small cloth bundle from under the floorboards—it was the wages he had saved for three years. He counted it; it was still short of ten taels.

Ten taels was just enough for the tuition at a martial arts school.

He wrapped the silver back up and tucked it away. Then, from a broken wooden box in the corner, he took out the butchery knife he had used for three years. The blade had been honed to a mirror finish, gleaming coldly in the dim light.

Three years. In the butchery room of the Shen Mansion, he had slaughtered pigs, sheep, and cows. From the beginning, when he couldn't even hold the knife steady, to later, when he could map out every bone and the path of every tendon with his eyes closed.

[Skill: Butchery (Mastery)]

[Effect: Insight into muscle, bone, and vital joints]

This skill was a trade when used on livestock. But when used on people...

Chen Jianghe tucked the knife into the back of his waistband and covered it with his shirt. He found an old rag and covered his face, leaving only his eyes exposed.

He slipped out of the cabin without a sound, sliding into the night like a water snake.

Chen Jianghe knew exactly where Wang Biao would be tonight.

At the east end of Loach Bay, there was a cluster of slightly more orderly boathouses. Wang Biao went there to "drink" every single day.

Chen Jianghe knew the dark alley that was the only way through. Flanked by crooked, dilapidated wooden shacks piled high with debris, it was rarely traveled by day and pitch-black at night.

He crouched behind a pile of tattered fishing nets deep in the alley, not moving a muscle.

The river wind whistled through the alley, drowning out the sound of his faint breathing.

After an unknown amount of time, the sound of stumbling footsteps and slurred humming drifted in from the alley entrance.

"Damn it! That widow sure has some strength!"

It was Wang Biao's voice, thick with drunkenness.

Chen Jianghe slowly stood up, stepped out from the shadows, and blocked the middle of the alley.

Wang Biao squinted, taking a long moment to recognize the figure before cursing vaguely, "Who the hell is blocking the way? Get lost!"

Chen Jianghe didn't speak; he simply took a step forward.

Wang Biao finally sensed that something was wrong. His drunkenness faded slightly as his hand reached for his waist: "You..."

Before he could finish, Chen Jianghe moved.

There were no flashy movements, not even a loud sound. He simply turned his body to dodge the short blade Wang Biao was half-drawing, his left hand darting out to precisely clamp onto Wang Biao's right wrist.

Before Wang Biao could react, Chen Jianghe's right hand had already drawn that butchery knife from his lower back.

The blade flashed in the darkness.

No hacking, no slashing. He simply guided the blade along the side of Wang Biao's neck, sliding it gently into the gap between the protruding tendon and the bone.

Wang Biao's eyes widened, a strange "hissing" sound rattling in his throat.

He wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

Chen Jianghe let go, and Wang Biao toppled to the ground like a log, his body twitching twice before going still.

The entire process took no more than two or three breaths.

Chen Jianghe crouched down, first wiping Wang Biao's blood onto the short blade before tossing it beside the corpse. Then, he began to search the body.

There were a few taels of broken silver in the money pouch, along with a few dozen copper coins. He weighed them in his hand before tucking them into his own clothes. He then pulled out a Black Tiger Gang identity token and tossed it casually into the nearby sewer.

After finishing this, he didn't leave immediately. Instead, he used the tip of his knife to carve several shallow and deep gashes around the wound on Wang Biao's neck. Following that, he used the hilt of the knife to strike Wang Biao's chest, temple, and throat bone heavily, until he heard the faint sound of bone cracking.

Finally, he used the dim light filtering in from the alley entrance to carefully wipe the blood off the blade.

He pulled a small paper packet from his clothes and poured out some white powder—quicklime he had swiped from the Shen Mansion butchery—rubbing it onto the blade before wiping it clean.

Only after finishing all of this did he stand up and sheath the knife at his back.

He walked to the entrance of the alley, paused, and looked back.

Wang Biao's corpse was curled in the shadows; the wounds on his neck were obscured by the subsequent gashes, making it look as if he had been hacked to death in a frenzy.

The impact marks on his chest and head looked like someone venting their rage after the kill.

Was it perfect? No, but in this world, as long as it was chaotic enough and looked enough like a gang vendetta, it was enough.