An Unforgivable Grudge

The slaughterhouse.

Qian Zheng saw Chen Jing coming from afar and hurried over in a few steps, lowering his voice.

"Jing, did you know Hundred Flowers Pavilion went up in flames last night?"

"Six Gates posted a notice saying it was the work of the bandits from Clear Wind Stronghold. Right now the whole city is hunting down Clear Wind Stronghold's men, and there's silver to be had for reporting them!"

"I know."

Chen Jing kept walking and answered offhandedly, "I was at Hundred Flowers Pavilion."

Qian Zheng's legs went weak. He turned his head and stared at Chen Jing.

"What was that? Don't tell me you set that fire?"

Chen Jing smiled and shook his head. "You can't joke around about something like that. It really was Clear Wind Stronghold's bandits who set the fire."

"They wanted to burn me to death. Shame they failed."

Qian Zheng's legs, which had only just steadied, went weak again. With a plop, he landed on his backside, his words coming out in a trembling stammer.

"Jing, don't scare me like that."

"How did you end up being targeted by Clear Wind Stronghold?"

Chen Jing smiled.

"Now that you mention it, I really might have been targeted."

"But don't be scared. With the lords from Six Gates and the city-defense troops here, can Clear Wind Stronghold really stir up waves inside the city?"

Qian Zheng's lips trembled twice. He thought, Why does that not sound reassuring at all?

Outside Green Mountain City, in Ox-Crouching Mountain.

The mountain terrain was steep and perilous, range upon range rising in layered folds.

A narrow goat trail wound into the mountains, twisting and turning toward the depths of the dense forest. Few human footprints ever reached this place; not even hunters came here.

And deep within Ox-Crouching Mountain stood a huge mountain stronghold.

Its walls were built from logs and massive stones, over three zhang high, with arrow towers at all four corners and men standing guard day and night.

The stronghold was full of outlaws.

For them, the business of licking blood from the edge of a blade was as familiar as driving a cart down a well-worn road.

At this moment, inside the stronghold's Justice Gathering Hall, dozens of large tallow lamps lit the hall until it shone bright.

Firelight reflected off blades, spears, swords, and halberds, glinting with a cold gleam.

Zhou Fan had been trussed up tight and thrown to the ground.

The black cloth covering his eyes was yanked off in one pull.

He was dazed for a long while before he adjusted to the light in the hall. When he finally made out the scene around him, it was as if a basin of ice water had been poured over his head, chilling him from crown to sole.

The Justice Gathering Hall was packed dark with people, heads crowding together.

On the armchairs arranged on both sides, figures swayed in and out of view, each one looking like a vicious fiend.

Some had saber scars crisscrossing their faces, some were missing half an ear, and some toyed with short knives in their hands, the blades fluttering between their fingers like butterflies.

The heavy stench of blood mingled with the sour stink of cheap liquor, making nausea surge up in his throat.

Every fierce man entrenched on those armchairs gave off a savage air that pressed down on Zhou Fan until he could barely breathe.

The most ruthless people he had ever seen in Green Mountain City were no more than the wanted brothers Du Hai and Du Shan.

But compared with the people before him now.

Those two brothers were practically as docile as sheep.

Zhou Fan desperately raised his head, struggling to look toward the highest seats, but he could only vaguely see three pairs of boots set side by side.

An elegant, refined voice sounded from above.

"You are Zhou Yunhan's son?"

"Do you know?"

"Your father is dead."

"He ruined nearly a hundred of our Clear Wind Stronghold's men and died utterly without worth."

"Tell me, how should we deal with you?"

"The son of that useless wretch."

My father is dead?

Zhou Fan's mind exploded with a buzz, and something seemed to lodge in his throat, leaving him unable to speak.

Tears spun in his bloodshot eyes.

He was not only crying for Zhou Yunhan, but for himself as well.

Since childhood, he had lived in Green Mountain City dressed in brocade and fed on jade. How could he ever have imagined that one day he would be tied up like a dead dog and thrown onto the ground?

Fear was like an icy venomous snake coiling around his throat, tightening more and more, as if the next moment would be the hour of his death.

Zhou Fan blurted out almost on instinct:

"Don't kill me! I still have value!"

His voice was trembling, but the words came quickly.

"My father hid away all the savings he'd accumulated over the years!"

"Only I know where they are!"

"Oh?"

Another voice sounded.

This voice was richer and lower than that refined one, like a vicious beast giving a soft growl beside his ear.

He had clearly taken an interest in Zhou Fan's words.

Zhou Fan seemed to have grabbed hold of a life-saving straw, and he seized the chance to ask:

"My father—how did he die?"

The refined voice chuckled and said unhurriedly:

"Over a hundred men failed to capture Bai Zhixing, and in the end he died in the great fire at Hundred Flowers Pavilion. Tsk, tsk, tsk..."

"An old hand of the jianghu who'd operated in Green Mountain City for more than a decade, yet he couldn't even handle a matter like this properly. What a waste."

He paused, as if recalling some detail.

"Oh, right. It seems it was because of two disciples from Lianshan Martial Arts Hall that your father fell short at the very last step. One was called Cheng Qingshi, and the other was called..."

"Chen Jing!"

Zhou Fan almost hissed the name out through clenched teeth.

Justice Gathering Hall fell slightly quiet for an instant.

The owner of that refined voice was also taken aback, then chuckled. "It is indeed Chen Jing. Looks like you have a grudge against each other."

"A grudge under the same sky that cannot be shared!"

Zhou Fan's furious roar echoed through Justice Gathering Hall.

His eyes were blood-red, tears and snot streaked his face, and his entire countenance was twisted, like an evil ghost that had crawled out of hell.

At that moment, his hatred for Chen Jing even overwhelmed his fear.

It made his whole body tremble.

If not for Chen Jing, he would not have been driven out of Lianshan Martial Arts Hall.

If not for Chen Jing, his father would not have taken such a desperate risk.

If not for Chen Jing, he would not be tied up like this and thrown into a thieves' den to be butchered at will.

It was all Chen Jing, all that pig-slaughtering mud-legged peasant!

"Please, Chief, give me a chance for revenge!"

Zhou Fan's voice was shaking, but every word was forced out with incomparable strength. "All of my father's savings—I will certainly offer them up in full."

Justice Gathering Hall sank into silence.

The lamplight flickered, and light and shadow swayed across those faces fierce as demons and baleful fiends.

No one spoke.

Only Zhou Fan's heavy breathing echoed through the hall.

In that stretch of silence, his heart also cooled bit by bit, like a piece of red-hot iron plunged into ice water, hissing and crackling before cooling completely.

Suddenly, that rich, low voice sounded again:

"Not a bad expression."

"Drag him away. No matter what method you use, pry his mouth open."

Zhou Fan felt as though he had fallen into an abyss.

He opened his mouth, wanting to fight for another chance.

A stinking, filthy rag had already been stuffed into his mouth.

Two men came up, each grabbing one of his ankles, and dragged him out of the hall like a dead dog.

His back scraped painfully across the rough stone floor.

The light and shadows before his eyes grew farther and farther away, and the faces of the vicious men entrenched in the armchairs gradually blurred.

He struggled and twisted with all his might, muffled howls tearing from his throat, yet he could only watch helplessly as the great doors of Justice Gathering Hall slowly closed before him.

The hall returned to silence.

The owner of that refined voice lifted his teacup and took a sip, then spoke in an unhurried manner:

"Chief, what should we do about Green Mountain City?"

"Lianshan Martial Arts Hall is indeed a troublesome one. Cheng Lianshan is impervious to soft and hard tactics alike, and it's very hard for someone of unknown origin to slip inside."

"Even if they do get in, becoming his direct disciple requires passing layer upon layer of examinations. It's harder than hard."

The owner of the deep voice fell silent for a moment.

The flame of the oil lamp danced on the desk before him, casting his shadow onto the tiger-skin armchair behind him, vast and grim.

"Lianshan Martial Arts Hall. Cheng Lianshan."

He slowly murmured those two names, as if chewing on a bone that was hard to gnaw through.

"I remember the Green Mountain Martial Tournament is about to begin, isn't it?"

The refined voice paused slightly, then understood the meaning behind his words.

"Chief means..."

"Since they ruined my business and killed my people, they have to pay some price."

"Cripple those two boys, then. Do it cleanly."

The owner of the refined voice cupped his hands and smiled.

"This subordinate understands."