Addicted to Killing?

Xu Qing returned to the martial arts school just as dinner was being served.

The moment he entered, he saw Chen Wang pacing around the courtyard, looking this way and that as though searching for someone.

"Junior Brother Xu!" The instant Chen Wang spotted him, he hurried over, his brows tightly furrowed. "Where did you go? You were nowhere to be seen all afternoon. Hurry and wash up. The kitchen roasted venison for the inner courtyard tonight and saved you a bowl."

Xu Qing smiled, looking no different from usual. "Senior Brother Chen, I went to my aunt's house and forgot to tell you."

With that, he headed to the washroom. When he came out, Mama Zhang had already brought out the venison and large white steamed buns. The bowl was piled high, glossy meat juices spilling over the rim.

Venison had more chew than pork; the more he chewed, the more fragrant it became. Its juices soaked into the buns as Xu Qing ate in large mouthfuls, every bite solid and satisfying.

After dinner, he went to the training ground as usual to practice his fist techniques.

The difference was that he did not change into training clothes tonight, remaining in that old outfit instead.

The sky gradually darkened completely.

Once again, Xu Qing was the only one left in the training ground.

Xu Qing did not continue practicing his fist techniques. Instead, he stepped onto the plum blossom stakes.

His footwork atop the stakes was so light that it made almost no sound. Without the sounds of fists striking, the courtyard was strangely quiet—quiet enough to hear the water of the distant moat, quiet enough to hear the dull clack of the night watchman's wooden rattle several streets away.

Xu Qing waited until midnight.

He waited until all sounds had fallen silent, until the snores of his fellow disciples drifted from the rooms, until even the insects in the courtyard had gone quiet. Only then did he silently make his way to the wall.

The wall was not low, a full eight feet high, but he had built a foundation in martial arts. With one kick and a leap, he climbed onto the top, then flipped over. When he landed, his toes touched down first without making the slightest sound.

What he did not know was that Ning Yun stood leaning against the wall in the shadows at the entrance to the inner courtyard, his gaze passing through the night and falling upon him.

These past few days, Ning Yun had secretly hidden in the dark to watch Xu Qing practice his fists and stand on the stakes.

In Xu Qing, he saw himself. Not Xu Qing's face, but that drive—that refusal to be trampled into the mud, that desperate force striving upward with all its might.

Every punch Xu Qing threw, every stance he held, felt as though he were throwing it and holding it for Ning Yun.

"Half an incense stick to grasp the basics of stake training, three days to grasp the basics of Five Elements Fist, scaling the wall and leaving the courtyard in the dead of night... My junior brother truly is impossible to read." Ning Yun shook his head and smiled. He walked to the wall, sprang upward, and vaulted over it. Landing without a sound, he followed after him.

He had long since reached the consummation of dark force. Though his leg was lame and his strength far inferior to what it had once been, following behind a youth who had not even reached bright force without being discovered was still effortless.

Xu Qing walked down the deserted streets.

It was deep into the night. The long street lay empty, the shops on either side all shuttered and pitch-black. Only the occasional dim yellow lantern hung at an alley entrance, swaying unsteadily in the wind.

His steps were as light as a cat's, making barely a sound against the flagstone road. Following the route he had memorized during the day, he turned left, then right, crossed a long street, and circled around a narrow alley...

Before long, he arrived at Chen Jiang's small courtyard.

He crouched by the wall, pressed his ear to its base, and listened carefully.

A single snore came from within the courtyard—heavy and muddled, interrupted by a few indistinct sleep-mutterings. Other than that, there was no extra sound.

He climbed over the wall and entered the courtyard.

The door to the house was actually open—Chen Jiang had been drinking, and he was confident that no one in this area would dare cause him trouble, so he had never been in the habit of bolting the door. It stood ajar, leaving a gap, as if it had been deliberately left for Xu Qing.

Xu Qing had long seen through him. Chen Jiang had no real martial arts foundation and was not much stronger than Liu San. All he relied on to bully others was his viciousness and the gang behind him.

Killing Chen Jiang would not be difficult.

This time, he had no knife. Nor did he want to use one.

Using a knife on someone like this would be letting him off too easily.

He would beat Chen Jiang to death with his bare fists!

Xu Qing entered the room and closed the door behind him. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness inside. A sliver of moonlight filtering through the window lattice was just enough for him to make out the blurry figure on the bed.

Chen Jiang lay sprawled across the bed, snoring with his mouth wide open and drool streaming down his face. That nauseatingly roguish grin from daytime still hung on his face. Perhaps he was still harassing some respectable woman in his dream.

The room reeked of liquor, mixed with the stench of feet and sweat, enough to make one vomit.

Xu Qing stepped forward, one step at a time.

He looked down at Chen Jiang.

At that face.

His aunt's reddened eyes flickered before him. The dull thud of his uncle crashing into the doorframe rang in his ears. That lecherous gaze, that hand reaching to touch his aunt...

He slowly raised his fist, veins bulging along his arm.

A Cannon Fist.

Carrying the hatred filling his chest, carrying all the rage buried in his heart, it smashed viciously into Chen Jiang's chest.

"Crack—"

The sound of bone breaking was especially crisp in the night.

Chen Jiang's eyes flew open. His pupils shrank to needlepoints. Before he could see who stood before him, he had already sprayed out a mouthful of blood, splattering the pillow in blackish red.

He tried to scream, but Xu Qing's second punch had already arrived.

Crushing Fist. It struck him squarely in the face.

The sound of his nasal bone shattering was like a walnut being crushed beneath a foot. Chen Jiang's scream was blocked in his throat, turning into a muffled, incoherent groan. Bloody froth surged from both his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, smearing his entire face.

His body arched violently, only to be smashed flat again by Xu Qing's fist.

"This punch is for my aunt." Xu Qing's voice was cold as ice, without a trace of warmth.

Drilling Fist. It drove into his ribs.

His ribs broke at once. Chen Jiang's body convulsed violently, and a rasping "heh-heh" sound came from his throat.

"This punch is for my uncle."

Crossing Fist. It swept across his temple.

Chen Jiang's head snapped to one side, blood flowing from his ear.

Xu Qing panted heavily, his chest rising and falling violently as he looked down at the face that was no longer recognizably human. The bridge of the nose had collapsed, the cheekbones were shattered, and a gash had split open at the corner of the mouth, exposing bloodied gums and teeth.

Chen Jiang's eyes were half-open, the whites rolling upward. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Only bloody froth spilled from the corner of his mouth, running down his cheek onto the pillow.

The final punch.

Splitting Fist. From above, it crashed down upon the crown of his head.

With a muffled "thud."

Chen Jiang's body stiffened sharply, then went completely limp, collapsing on the bed like a heap of rotten mud. He did not move again.

Xu Qing straightened up. After taking a few breaths, he lowered his head and looked at his hands.

They were covered in blood.

The flesh on his knuckles had split open, revealing red-and-white meat beneath. Beads of blood ran through the gaps between his fingers and dripped to the floor. Drip, drip, drip.

Yet he could not feel any pain at all. Or rather, the pain had been covered over by something else.

He wiped the blood from his hands on the bedsheet, then searched Chen Jiang and the room. He found more than ten taels of silver.

Then he pushed open the door and left.

The night wind rushed in, cold and biting against his face and his bloodstained clothes.

He walked through the courtyard and looked up at the sky. The moon was hidden behind clouds. Everything was dark and heavy; nothing could be seen. There were no stars, no light—only boundless darkness pressing down.

He took a deep breath and headed toward the courtyard wall.

After taking two steps, he suddenly stopped.

He sensed something.

An indescribable feeling—not a sound, not a smell, but an instinct, the instinct of prey being watched by a predator.

Someone was watching him from the darkness.

He spun around—

The courtyard was empty. Only dead grass rustled in the night wind. There was no one there.

Ning Yun had already retreated into the shadow at the base of the wall, his entire body blending into the darkness. Holding his breath, he remained utterly still.

Xu Qing looked back and forth several times but found nothing. Without hesitating any longer, he turned and climbed over the wall. His footsteps gradually faded away, vanishing at the end of the alley.

As he walked down the deserted street, the night wind was cold against his sweat-soaked back. Yet his heart was calm. There was no fear, no excitement—only certainty.

He was not addicted to killing.

He was pulling out, one by one, those who had humiliated his family by the roots. Like pulling weeds, roots and mud together, leaving not a single one behind.

Only after every last one of them had been uprooted could Second Uncle fish in peace, his aunt sell buns without worry, and Xiuer grow up carefree.

In the small courtyard, Ning Yun emerged from the shadows in the corner.

He stood at the doorway for several breaths before walking in.

Chen Jiang's face on the bed could no longer be recognized. It was swollen like a pig's head, blood smeared across the pillow, while the bedding was a complete mess as well.

Ning Yun did not know Chen Jiang, but he knew this courtyard belonged to Azure Flood Dragon Hall. The dead man was most likely one of Azure Flood Dragon Hall's street thugs. Along with the words he had vaguely heard Xu Qing say—"This punch is for my aunt," "This punch is for my uncle"—he understood what had happened.

Someone like this did not deserve pity for dying at Xu Qing's hands.

"I did not misjudge him." Ning Yun murmured softly. "My junior brother values loyalty and affection, knows gratitude, and his heart is ruthless enough. It's just—"

He paused, shook his head, and a helpless smile surfaced at the corner of his mouth.

"It's just that he has too little experience killing people. If an expert saw the state of this corpse, they would always be able to discern traces of Five Elements Fist."

He stepped forward, crouched down, and erased the traces of Five Elements Fist. His methods were practiced: smoothing what needed smoothing, disrupting what needed disrupting, concealing what needed concealing.

After he finished, Ning Yun's gaze suddenly turned cold. He raised a palm and gave Chen Jiang another strike in the chest.

There was no sound. Or rather, the sound was trapped inside. Dark force erupted with a crash, like a silent bolt of lightning passing through his palm and into Chen Jiang, shattering his internal organs to pieces.

This was how an expert killed. Nothing could be seen on the outside, while the inside had already rotted through.

Ning Yun withdrew his hand and inspected the body once more. From head to toe, inside and out, he carefully examined every place that might leave behind a flaw. Only after confirming there were no flaws at all did he wipe his hands on Chen Jiang's clothes, rise to his feet, and climb over the courtyard wall.

Following the path he had come by, he returned silently to the martial arts school.

Inside the martial arts school, Xu Qing had begun practicing his fists again.

He stood before the wooden training dummy, took a deep breath, then viciously smashed his fist into it.

Bang!

The flesh on his knuckles split open again. Beads of blood splattered onto the wooden dummy, leaving several dark-red marks.

As if he felt nothing, he expressionlessly withdrew his hand, wiped it on his blood-spattered outer garment, and entered the washroom.