Hurt Others, Hurt Oneself

On Wooden Fish Island, atop the fish's back, stood a three-courtyard residence. Compared to the First Chief's refined home, this one was far rougher. It looked luxurious, yet it could not conceal the air of a newly rich upstart.

At this moment, in the residence's main hall, a man in a brocade robe sat imposingly in a chair. His complexion was waxy yellow, a scar ran across his left cheek, his brows and eyes were fierce, and his thin lips gave him a somewhat mean appearance. His eyes were half-closed as two iron balls continuously rolled in his hand, as though he were pondering something. He was precisely the Third Chief, Zhao Meng of the Seven-Injury Fist.

Born into poverty, he had worked as a laborer and run with gangs. Relying on his willingness to fight and stake his life, he had clawed his way upward step by step. In the end, he won Ironman Tu's favor and became the River-Sweeping Bandits' third-in-command.

"What is Jiang Wang doing now?"

Opening his eyes, Zhao Meng turned his gaze toward his trusted confidant and adopted son, Zhao Er. Zhao Er had not originally borne the surname Zhao. It was only after Zhao Meng took him in as an adopted son that he simply changed his surname to Zhao.

"Reporting to Foster Father, after Jiang Wang came down from Wooden Fish Summit, he returned to his own residence and has not come out since."

In a low voice, Zhao Er hurriedly reported all the intelligence he had gathered. Knowing Zhao Meng's temperament, Zhao Er did not dare show the slightest carelessness, even as his adopted son.

After hearing this, Zhao Meng's eyes narrowed into slits, revealing something wolfish.

"It seems his wings have truly hardened. He no longer puts his old superior in his eyes. Heh."

With a cold laugh, Zhao Meng suddenly clenched the iron balls rolling in his hand.

Zhao Meng had never been particularly satisfied with Jiang Wang. He had only tolerated him because Jiang Wang was fairly capable and had considerable use. Now, Jiang Wang's behavior had pushed the dissatisfaction in his heart to its limit. In his view, this was Jiang Wang's betrayal of him.

Seeing Zhao Meng like this, Zhao Er quietly lowered his head.

"Go to White River and tell Qian Wen to raise the Gold Sand Mine's proceeds a little more."

Suppressing the rage in his heart, Zhao Meng made a decision.

Hearing this, Zhao Er's expression immediately turned solemn.

"Foster Father, how much do you intend to raise it by?"

Looking at Zhao Meng, unease suddenly stirred in Zhao Er's heart.

The Gold Sand Mine at White River had originally been discovered by people from their own faction by chance. But the matter had been too big to cover up, so it had been brought into the open. Even so, thanks to their head start, they had still stationed quite a few men there.

Although the mine had only just been established, illegal extraction had actually begun long ago. In essence, they were digging into the River-Sweeping Bandits' own wall. If the First Chief discovered it, things would likely end badly. He could not help being nervous. A small amount was easy enough to conceal, but once it became too much, hiding it would be difficult.

"Fifty percent."

Without much hesitation, Zhao Meng gave his answer.

Hearing that number, Zhao Er's expression changed at once. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but under Zhao Meng's cold and sinister gaze, he did not dare speak for a long while.

"I understand, Foster Father. I will leave for White River immediately."

Lowering his head, Zhao Er bowed in acknowledgment.

Seeing Zhao Er like this, Zhao Meng nodded in satisfaction.

"Also, take this. Before going to White River, go see Jiang Wang for me. Tell him that the Gold Sand Mine has only just opened, so production may be a little low. Tell him not to rush, to work hard, and that I will do my utmost to help him safely weather these three years."

His words carried an inexplicable meaning as Zhao Meng tossed a bottle of pills to Zhao Er. These were Blood-Replenishing Pills, capable of restoring a martial artist's depleted vitality and blood. Though they were far inferior to Tiger-Leopard Pills, they were still worth a fair amount.

Taking the pills and looking again at Zhao Meng, Zhao Er immediately understood something.

"Yes, Foster Father!"

Bowing again, Zhao Er hurried out of the residence.

Watching Zhao Er's departing figure, Zhao Meng sank back into thought.

"I hope Jiang Wang knows what is good for him and does not block my path. Otherwise, never mind that he is not yet the Fourth Chief—even if he already were, I would still slaughter him. White River may be small, but it can drown people just the same."

His ferocity fully revealed, killing intent rose in Zhao Meng's heart.

To tell the truth, Jiang Wang having a chance to become the Fourth Chief and oversee the Golden Sand Field was not the best outcome for Zhao Meng, but neither was it unacceptable. After all, Jiang Wang could be considered part of his faction. As long as Jiang Wang was willing to draw closer to him, he would not mind sharing a portion of the Golden Sand Field's benefits with him. Unfortunately, Jiang Wang's conduct had disappointed him too deeply.

Thinking of this, the fire in Zhao Meng's heart burned ever hotter.

Then, in the very next instant, his heart twisted in pain, and he suddenly began coughing violently.

Realizing what was happening, Zhao Meng hurriedly took out a pill and, trembling, stuffed it into his mouth. Only after a moment did he regain his calm.

"The Seven-Injury Fist injures oneself before injuring others. I have fought people too often over the years, and now my condition has reached the point where accumulated damage cannot be reversed."

Knowing that his condition had worsened further, Zhao Meng's face was full of gloom. He was in fact only thirty years old, the youngest of the three chiefs, yet he looked forty or fifty. White hair had already appeared at his temples. This was the price of cultivating the Seven-Injury Fist.

"First Chief, what exactly were you planning when you taught me the Seven-Injury Fist? Did you want to use my life to add bricks and tiles to your grand undertaking?"

Through the window, Zhao Meng gazed toward Wooden Fish Summit beneath the sunlight, and a flash of venomous resentment could not help appearing in his eyes. At this moment, Ironman Tu's past grace in promoting him had been cast behind his mind, leaving behind nothing but hatred.

"The power of martial arts has limits, while the power of the immortal path is boundless. If I want to solve my current problem, I can only ask an immortal cultivator to act. But moving those people comes at an enormous cost. I need more gold sand."

As this thought arose, Zhao Meng's desire for gold sand grew ever more fervent.

Compared with Zhao Er, he actually understood Ironman Tu's terror more clearly and knew the risks of further expanding their share of the gold sand. Unfortunately, he had no better choice. If he did not take a risk, death was certain; if he did, there was still a sliver of hope.

Meanwhile, after leaving Zhao Meng's residence, Zhao Er did not delay in the slightest. After selecting several suitable items from his household collection, he took the Blood-Replenishing Pills Zhao Meng had given him and headed straight for Jiang Chen's residence.

As Zhao Meng's confidant, he vaguely knew something of Zhao Meng's condition. It was precisely because of this that, unless absolutely necessary, he was unwilling to offend Jiang Chen. He would even try to befriend him.

As the Gold Sand Mine's steward personally appointed by Ironman Tu, if Jiang Chen was willing to cooperate, the risk of their swallowing up the gold sand would be greatly reduced. This would be excellent both for their faction and for Zhao Er personally.

"Hopefully, everything goes smoothly."

With a measure of hope and a measure of unease, Zhao Er followed Stone's lead to Jiang Chen's small courtyard.