A Night of Killing

The main hall's door stood ajar. Candlelight seeped through the crack, mingling with the sour reek of cheap liquor and the charred aroma of roasted meat.

Chen Yuan used the tip of his knife to lift one corner of the door curtain.

The main room was small. Two square tables had been pushed together in the center, their surfaces strewn with cups and plates.

Eight men—two were already dead drunk, one slumped over the table and another leaned back in his chair, their snores rising and falling in turn.

The remaining six sat around the table, playing finger-guessing games and urging one another to drink. Their bowls clinked together.

Chen Yuan's gaze swept across the six men's faces one by one.

Five were ordinary gang members, their faces flushed and their eyes unfocused. Even their hands shook as they played.

But the lean man sitting farther inside was different.

He held a wine bowl too, with a smile on his face, but there was no warmth in his eyes.

His knuckles were large, and the hand holding the bowl was as steady as a rock.

He wore a tight-fitting short jacket, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing both forearms.

His skin was darker than most, and in the candlelight it gave off a faint, waxy sheen—the tough luster unique to skin that had undergone its first tempering.

He was probably the Golden Blade Sect's last entry-level martial artist.

Not easy to kill.

Chen Yuan made his assessment.

A sneak attack would only work on the first man. Once he struck, the others would react at once.

If he failed to kill this entry-level martial artist, he would be in trouble if he got surrounded. Two fists were no match for four hands.

He had to clip the man's wings first, then focus on the main target.

He drew a deep breath and sank his qi to his dantian.

Then he shot into the main room like a cannonball out of its barrel.

The Six Harmonies Mind Boxing's Darting Step ground half a brick to dust beneath his rear foot. His shoulder slammed the door open with a bang.

His left hand, fingers hooked like an eagle's talons, seized the back of the Yellow Tooth man's neck at the doorway. Using the momentum of his charge, he smashed the man's head hard against the table.

Crack!

The man's forehead shattered a porcelain plate. Shards embedded themselves in his flesh, and he collapsed without even a groan.

At the same time, the Bone-Cleaving Knife flew from Chen Yuan's right hand.

The blade spun twice in the air before burying itself in the throat of the man beside Yellow Tooth. Its tip emerged half an inch from the back of his neck.

The man had been raising his wine bowl to his mouth. With a clang, it struck the table. His hands instinctively clutched at his throat, but all they found was the knife's handle.

From the moment Chen Yuan crashed through the door to the moment he threw the knife, no more than a breath had passed.

Two men.

The room erupted into chaos.

"Who—!"

"Damn it, someone's here!"

The three remaining ordinary gang members weren't slow to react. They were gangsters, after all. Even with liquor clouding their minds, their instincts remained.

One snatched up a bench, another drew the short knife at his waist, and the third charged at Chen Yuan barehanded, emboldened by drink.

The lean man moved at the very same moment.

He braced both hands against the tabletop and vaulted backward, landing steadily with his knees slightly bent and his feet set one in front of the other.

That wasn't an attempt to flee. It was a martial artist's instinct.

When someone suddenly burst in to attack, you didn't know what they could do. The first thing was to open up some distance and assess the situation. That was what an old hand did.

But Chen Yuan gave him no time to assess anything.

He kicked the bench in front of him over. It rolled toward the barehanded gang member charging at him, and the man instinctively raised an arm to block it.

Riding the force of his kick, Chen Yuan shot toward the lean man like an arrow loosed from its bow.

His right hand whipped up from his waist: Crushing Fist.

His fist drove up the centerline. As Clear Force surged through him, the muscles and bones in his entire right arm rang together, a rapid series of crackling pops. Before his fist even landed, a gust of force struck the man in the face.

The lean man's pupils contracted.

He had already opened up some distance and was about to identify his opponent's style before making a move. He hadn't expected the man to ignore the three gang members behind him completely and charge straight at him.

The punch was too fast, too heavy, too direct. There was no fancy flourish to it. It came straight at him, aimed at his heart, its line perfectly true.

He had no time to think. He crossed his arms and pressed down to block the punch.

Thud!

Fist and forearm collided with a dull boom, like a drum being struck.

The lean man felt a spiral of force twisting inward through his forearm. His tiger's mouth went numb, and the blood and qi in his whole arm surged backward toward his shoulder.

His heart lurched in shock. This man's Clear Force was more than a cut above his own.

The toughness of his Skin Realm was no less than his either.

This was no ordinary opponent.

The impact knocked him back three more steps. This was a dangerous one. He'd be hard to deal with unarmed. He would use this chance to get his own blade.

In the ten breaths it took him to retreat, hit a pillar, and grab his blade, three dull thuds and a scream rang out behind him.

After driving the lean man back with one punch, Chen Yuan didn't pursue him.

He planted his right foot and used the rebound to twist at the waist. Turning a hundred and eighty degrees, he swung his left leg through the air in an arc.

He turned and threw a Splitting Fist. The heel of his palm, like an axe, struck the short-knife-wielding gang member squarely in the neck.

The man had been raising his knife to stab. Its tip was still half a foot from Chen Yuan's back when the heel of his palm struck the side of his neck.

A sharp crack rang out as his collarbone broke. He flew sideways into the wall, then slid down with his neck bent at an unnatural angle.

The third.

Two remained: one had just dropped the bench he'd kicked aside, while the other had just struggled to his feet.

The man with the bench snatched it up and raised it over his head. Before he could bring it down, Chen Yuan had already closed to within two inches of him.

He slammed in, lowering his left shoulder and driving his whole-body force into the man's chest.

The man spat out a breath of liquor and flew backward, overturning the table. Bowls and plates clattered across the floor. His chest caved in, and who knew how many ribs had broken.

The fourth.

The last barehanded gang member turned to run.

His legs were shaking, though. He made it only two steps before tripping over the bench and falling to the floor.

He rolled over and saw Chen Yuan walking toward him. Terror sent snot and tears streaming down his face as he scrabbled backward on his hands and feet. "Don't... don't kill—"

Chen Yuan kicked him in the jaw.

The muffled crunch of his teeth biting through his tongue came with the sound of his neck vertebrae shifting out of place. He crumpled to the ground without a sound.

The fifth.

Now only the lean man remained standing. He had just picked up his own cleaver.

He gripped it in both hands, its point trained on Chen Yuan.

His expression was no longer fierce. It was wary.

The lingering force from that Crushing Fist still clung to his forearm, and his tiger's mouth remained numb.

He had seen everything clearly. After forcing him back, the man had turned and killed three others, with three punches and two kicks—clean and decisive.

The five men under him might not have been much, but they weren't made of paper.

Yet in just a few breaths, they were all gone.

"Who are you?" the lean man asked in a low voice. The tip of his cleaver dipped slightly. "What's your relationship with the Black Dragon Gang?"

Chen Yuan didn't answer.

He flicked his toe, sending the short knife on the floor into the air, and caught it in his left hand.

He held the short knife in a reverse grip, leaving his right hand empty. His feet were set one in front of the other, three parts forward and seven back, as he planted himself in the Three-Body Stance.

The lean man stopped wasting words.

He stamped down and swung his cleaver.

The blade ripped through the air with a violent howl, chopping down toward Chen Yuan's head.

The blow was heavy and powerful, Clear Force driving the blade as it wrapped around a wave of scorching wind.

Chen Yuan didn't block it.

His feet tapped out successive short steps as he darted backward. The cleaver skimmed past his nose and came crashing down on the square table, splitting its surface with a foot-long gash.

The lean man's first strike missed. His wrist turned, and he changed moves with astonishing speed. The chop became a slash, the blade sweeping sideways toward Chen Yuan's waist and abdomen.

Chen Yuan stepped back again. The blade skimmed his jacket and sliced off a corner of cloth.

The slash turned into an upward cut. The tip of the cleaver rose from below, angling toward Chen Yuan's ribs.

Chen Yuan turned sideways, narrowly avoiding the blade with his ribs.

Seven or eight strikes came in succession, each one deadly.

The main room was left in shambles. Wood chips flew from the pillar, a corner was sliced off the table, and a jar of wine exploded when the blade swept across it. Dregs of wine spread across the floor.

But he still couldn't touch Chen Yuan.

Chen Yuan circled around the pillar, around the overturned tables and chairs, around the bodies on the floor.

He alternated short steps with shuffling steps, every footfall landing at the transition point between the cleaver's movements.

His figure darted left and right, advancing and retreating, like a snake slipping through cracks in stone.

The lean man's strikes grew more and more frantic.

He felt as though every swing was chopping into water.

Worse, after more than a dozen strikes, his breathing began to falter and his steps grew unsteady. The transitions between his swings became increasingly ragged.

His hands were fast, but his feet were slow. He had skill in his hands, but his stance wasn't rooted deeply enough; his lower body couldn't keep up with his upper.

Fifteenth strike.

He thrust straight out, putting his full force into it. The blade's tip sank two inches into a wooden pillar.

Now.

Chen Yuan drove off with his right foot and rushed in.

His left hand raised the short knife crosswise. With a clang, it caught the cleaver by the handle, while his right knee slammed into the lean man's abdomen.

The lean man grunted. Instinctively, his body pitched forward and his grip on the cleaver loosened.

Chen Yuan's right hand had already seized his wrist—Eagle Catch twisted into Dragon Form, his five fingers clamping around the joint like an iron hoop. He twisted inward, then turned it outward.

Crack!

The wrist dislocated.

The cleaver clanged to the floor.

The lean man screamed and instinctively swung his left fist at Chen Yuan's face.

Pain had stripped all order from the punch. Chen Yuan leaned his head aside to evade it, keeping his right hand locked around the man's right wrist. He lowered his left shoulder and slammed into the man's chest—Bear Form: Bear Mountain Lean.

Thud!

The lean man's feet left the ground as he was sent flying. His back slammed into the square table, shattering the bowls and plates. He rolled to the floor, drenched in wine and covered in porcelain shards.

He struggled to rise. As soon as he lifted his upper body, sweetness welled in his throat and he spat out a mouthful of blood.

Chen Yuan walked over and looked down at him.

The man was an entry-level martial artist, but his foundation was flimsy, and his blade work was a mess. He seemed more like someone who'd reached this level by taking drugs.

If he hadn't had a sharp weapon, he would've died ten times over.

The lean man raised his head. The ferocity on his face crumbled completely.

He braced his left hand against the ground and scooted backward, his voice trembling.

"Don't... don't kill me... I know I was wrong... Want silver? Take it all! I'll give you my turf too!"

Tears and snot ran together, dripping onto the bruise on his chest.

Chen Yuan crouched down and looked him in the eye.

"Do you know what I hate most?"

Chen Yuan's voice remained as calm as ever. His right fist was already clenched, the knuckles just raised, the front of his fist perfectly flat and utterly still.

"I hate it when people apologize after the fact."

Crushing Fist. Force rising from the ground, knees and hips moving as one, waist and spine twisting to drive the blow, the fist carrying a spiraling burst of short-range force.

His fist slammed squarely into the lean man's Adam's apple.

Crack—

The Adam's apple shattered, and the force of the punch drove into his cervical vertebrae.

The lean man's body went rigid. His eyes bulged, his mouth fell open, and then he toppled sideways like a puppet with its strings cut. He twitched twice and fell silent.

Chen Yuan stood and shook the blood from his knuckles.

He pulled the Bone-Cleaving Knife from Yellow Tooth's throat and walked to the table.

The two drunk men were still there.

One had just managed to lift his head, groggy and confused. He saw the blood all over the floor, and his pupils suddenly contracted. Most of the drunkenness left him.

He opened his mouth to shout, but phlegm in his throat reduced his voice to a hoarse rasp.

He reached for the knife at his waist. The instant his fingers touched the hilt, Chen Yuan was already behind him.

The Bone-Cleaving Knife stabbed in through the back of his neck, angling upward and piercing his brainstem.

Chen Yuan pulled out the blade, and the man slumped silently back onto the table.

The other man was still snoring, completely unaware.

Chen Yuan grabbed him by the hair and lifted his head. He slit the man's throat with one stroke, then let go and allowed him to slide back onto the table.

He finished off all the others to make sure they were dead.

He searched the bodies too, finding a little over twenty taels of silver on the ten men, along with several pills he'd never seen before.

They'd been sucking the people dry, and still managed to rake in the equivalent of his wages for three months. No wonder they hadn't planned to keep this up for long. What a fat haul, Chen Yuan thought, clicking his tongue in wonder.

But in the end, it had all fallen into his pocket. It really did prove the old saying: murder and arson put gold belts around a man's waist.

When he looked back, the entire main hall had fallen utterly silent.

The candlelight flickered, illuminating the wreckage scattered across the floor.

Tables and chairs lay overturned, bowls and plates lay shattered, bodies were strewn every which way, and blood streaked the walls, slowly trickling down.

The stench of blood mingled with the sour reek of spilled wine, so thick it almost seemed to congeal.

Chen Yuan wiped the Bone-Cleaving Knife clean on a tablecloth, then went to the corner of the room. He cut the hemp ropes binding the three girls' hands and feet and pulled the rags from their mouths.

"Can you stand?"

One of the girls looked up at him. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her lips still trembled, but she gritted her teeth and nodded.

"Go out the back door." Chen Yuan stood. "Don't look back."

He turned and pushed open the hall's front doors.

The night wind swept in, carrying the stench of blood and making the candle flame flicker.

The darkness outside was thick enough to drown in. Wind from the Yi River rushed in through the alley, carrying the chill of late autumn.

Chen Yuan pulled off the black cloth covering his face, tucked it into his robes, and walked step by step into the deep night.