The Death of Fan Qingyang

"Faster... run faster..."

Rapid, ragged breathing echoed incessantly through the woods.

Fan Qingyang was tearing through the forest at a speed that seemed entirely incompatible with his obese frame.

Whether it was due to the panic in his heart or the way the curtain of rain obscured his vision, he veered off course several times, stumbling and scrambling to find his way back again and again.

Fortunately, he had not become completely lost.

When he finally burst out of the woods and caught sight of the silhouettes of the three small cabins in the distance, a smile of survival finally squeezed onto his fleshy face.

Great... as long as I get back to the cabin and face all those people, Jiang Feng wouldn't dare continue trying to kill me.

Otherwise, once we return to the Medicine Hall, he won't even have a place to stand!

Watching the cabins draw closer, the smile on his face widened.

Just then, a bolt of lightning suddenly tore through the sky, instantly dispelling the surrounding darkness and illuminating the scene in front of the cabins with a stark, snowy light.

Fan Qingyang's body jerked to a halt, for he saw a person sitting on the steps in front of the small wooden cabin.

The man was shirtless and covered in blood, rainwater streaming down the defined contours of his muscles.

He held a thick-backed, wide-bladed Ghost-Head Blade in his hand, using the torrential rain to wipe the blade clean, stroke by stroke.

Hearing footsteps, he slowly raised his head, revealing a young and handsome face.

"Fan Qingyang, you've finally returned."

Jiang Feng's voice was calm, as if he were greeting an old friend after a long separation. "I was truly worried you'd get lost in the woods and die somewhere without a sound. If I couldn't slaughter you, this fat pig, with my own hands, I wouldn't know how to answer to him."

The killing intent wrapped within these calm words was cold enough to make one's spine tingle.

Fan Qingyang didn't quite understand what Jiang Feng meant by "answer to him," but he felt the naked killing intent more clearly than anything else.

"Jiang... Jiang Feng, calm down!"

His legs went weak, and he nearly collapsed to the ground, his voice trembling like a winnowing sieve.

"Those things I said in the woods earlier, that thief Sun forced me to say them!

I never did any of those things!

I admit, I've treated you poorly in the past, but that was all forced by circumstances; it was all Xue Zhao and Wu Han forcing me to do it..."

As he spoke, Fan Qingyang actually began to wail loudly in front of Jiang Feng, his tears and snot mixing with the rain to smear across his face.

"Jiang Feng, please spare me this once, I really know I was wrong... have you forgotten the bond we shared?

We can still be good friends just like before!

I... I'll kowtow to you, please, I beg you to let me off."

As he spoke, Fan Qingyang actually knelt down and began to kowtow to Jiang Feng with heavy, thudding sounds.

Jiang Feng did not reply. With a gentle smile on his face, he stood up, blade in hand, and walked toward Fan Qingyang step by step.

Fan Qingyang wanted to retreat, but his legs were already as soft as mud and refused to obey him.

He collapsed to the ground, using all four limbs to scramble desperately in the opposite direction, his fat body struggling pathetically in the mud, unable to gain any speed.

Jiang Feng lunged forward, raised his foot, and stomped hard onto his chest, pinning him firmly to the ground.

Fan Qingyang's eyes were filled with absolute despair. A warmth spread through his crotch as he lost control of his bowels, and he screamed toward the cabin like a madman:

"Help! Someone come quick! Jiang Feng is killing people—"

But the rain poured down like a waterfall, and the wind howled; his hoarse cries were swallowed whole by the curtain of rain, not even an echo escaping.

Jiang Feng looked down at him, the smile on his face gradually turning cold. A fierce light flashed in his eyes, yet his voice remained calm:

"Since you already know you were wrong, then go down below and apologize to him yourself."

The Ghost-Head Blade was raised high, then transformed into a biting silver light as it fell with a heavy thud.

Meanwhile, on the second floor of the small wooden cabin.

On a bed near the window, a curled-up figure suddenly opened his eyes and sat up abruptly.

He subconsciously glanced out the window, but outside, the rain was pouring down in a pitch-black sheet, and he could see nothing.

He froze for a moment, reached out to nudge his companion who was squeezed onto the same bed, and whispered:

"Wake up, wake up... I think I just heard Boss Fan's voice. It sounded like he was screaming for help."

The apprentice next to him was in a deep sleep. Being rudely shoved awake, he looked annoyed and muttered a curse:

"I didn't hear anything. I think you're muddled from sleep. It's always been Boss Fan bullying others; since when has anyone been able to bully him?"

He turned over, scratched his greasy hair, and his voice was filled with the irritation of being woken up:

"Besides, have you forgotten Boss Fan's warning? No one is allowed to leave this room before dawn. If you dare take a single step outside, be careful you don't live to see tomorrow's sun."

The first man shrank his neck in fear at these words. He dared not say another word, pulled the quilt over his head, turned over, and went back to sleep.

The next morning, the heavy rain showed no signs of stopping, and the air felt even colder than the day before.

"Achoo! Damn it, why is this weather so strange? It was sweltering yesterday, so why is it this cold today?"

A thin, small Medicine Hall apprentice pushed open the wooden door of the cabin, hunched his shoulders, and glanced at the dark, heavy clouds in the sky, grumbling as he cursed, "We still have to go into the mountains to gather herbs today. With rain this heavy, it's going to be miserable."

A tall, thin youth in the room chuckled at this: "Maybe Boss Fan will see the weather and show some mercy by letting us rest for a day. Back at the Medicine Hall, when did we ever get days off like this?"

As soon as these words were spoken, a burst of light laughter erupted in the room, the atmosphere relaxed and cheerful.

The people in the room chatted and laughed, completely unaware of the horrific events that had transpired the night before.

In the midst of the laughter, a young man of about sixteen or seventeen walked out of the cabin. While adjusting his collar, he wrinkled his nose and sniffed hard: "Why do I smell something fishy? Did you guys smell that?"

The people around him didn't take it seriously at all, laughing and scolding without looking back: "Isn't it always like this on rainy days? That's just the smell of wet earth, don't make such a fuss."

As the group discussed, a thin, gaunt young man with a sharp, monkey-like face walked out of the room.

This man was Ma Liu, the lackey closest to Fan Qingyang. He was born with a shifty, rat-like appearance and usually followed behind Fan Qingyang, peeking and prying like a mouse stealing oil.

"Alright, brothers, stop dawdling here and hurry to the warehouse. Boss Fan is probably already waiting for us."

Ma Liu called out, then took the lead and charged into the curtain of rain, the group following him as they ran toward the warehouse.