Destroying the Gang

When Cheng Yang left Star Tower, the night was already deep.

Cheng Yang walked through the empty streets and alleys. The night wind carried the chill of late autumn into his collar. His pace was unhurried as his mind replayed what had just happened over and over.

He had originally intended to kill Yang Zheng, yet somehow, in a muddle, he had entered Star Tower instead.

He lowered his head and glanced at the iron token in his arms.

The choice could not be called foolproof, but at least where stance skills were concerned, it had opened a path.

As long as he had points, forging a peerless foundation would be within reach.

Thinking of it that way, it was not much of a loss.

Early the next morning, when the sky had only just begun to brighten, Cheng Yang followed his usual routine and held his stance on the stone square behind the martial hall for an hour. Only when his blood and qi boiled throughout his body and his clothes were soaked through with sweat did he finish.

He went to the kitchen, ate two bowls of thick porridge and several pieces of dried meat, then returned to his room to rest briefly before leaving the city that afternoon.

This time, he was not going out to train. He was scouting the ground.

The Bamboo Gang's men were not far from the city. They happened to be entrenched near the area where he had been suppressing bandits some time ago.

Cheng Yang crouched on a small hill by the official road for nearly half an hour, watching them personally stop a merchant caravan and take thirty percent of its goods as a toll.

They handled the entire process as smoothly as though they had done it hundreds of times. The caravan leader wore a bitter expression but did not dare utter a single extra word.

For a moment, he truly wanted to draw his saber and go down there, but he held himself back.

He was not some chivalrous hero who leapt to the aid of the righteous.

As long as the Bamboo Gang did not kill anyone before his eyes, he would not act.

After all, only when sheep were fattened did they have enough meat—and taste better when eaten.

The sun slanted westward, and the sky gradually darkened.

Cheng Yang rested in a ruined temple outside the city until night had fully fallen. Only then did he rise, pat the dust from his robe, and head toward the mountain hollow with his saber in hand.

Thick clouds obscured most of the moon, leaving the official road pitch-black. Only the shadows of dead trees on either side swayed in the wind.

Cheng Yang kept close to the mountain wall, his steps light. When dead leaves sank beneath his boots, they made only the faintest rustling sound, like the night wind whispering.

After traveling roughly two li, he finally saw firelight ahead. Several crooked wooden huts lay scattered across an open patch of ground. A bonfire burned in the clearing between them, where several bare-chested men sat drinking and eating meat. The clink of wine bowls mingled with crude laughter and curses, echoing through the mountain hollow.

Cheng Yang neither hid nor went around them. He simply walked straight over with his saber in hand.

His black robe billowed in the night wind, and a green fanged mask covered most of his face.

The bonfire flickered, casting a long, dark shadow behind him that stretched all the way across the mud before the wooden huts.

Those bandits, red-faced with drink, did not notice someone approaching until he was less than two zhang from the bonfire.

"Who?!"

A bearded man abruptly sprang to his feet, nearly dropping his wine bowl.

The others also turned toward him one after another. Their bowls and chopsticks froze in midair as their bleary eyes slowly sharpened with vigilance.

The leader was a brawny man wearing a dingy short shirt, with a ghost-head saber tucked at his waist. His face was flushed red, and reeked of alcohol. He narrowed his eyes at Cheng Yang for several breaths before speaking in a low voice. "What road are you from? State your name."

Cheng Yang stopped. The tip of his saber lightly touched the ground, and his voice was calm without the slightest ripple. "You're from the Bamboo Gang?"

The brawny man was Yang Tieshan. He frowned but answered with a question instead. "Who are you looking for?"

"You." Cheng Yang tilted his head slightly. The green fangs glimmered with a dark, ghostly light in the firelight. "Never mind who I am. Just know that I'm here to chop off your heads."

The moment his words fell, he moved.

His body dipped low, and he shot forward like a kite skimming the ground, instantly slipping into the densest part of the crowd.

The three Skin Tempering bandits did not even see how he attacked before a cold flash burst beneath the bonfire's glow.

The first slash swept sideways.

The blade passed across the neck of the bandit on the left. A line of blood sprayed out like a thin spring. The man did not even manage a groan; his body stiffened for half a breath before he toppled straight into the bonfire, sending sparks flying.

The second slash followed immediately after.

As Cheng Yang spun, the force of his blade reversed, its back facing upward and edge downward. With one stroke, he cleaved into the gap between the second man's collarbone and the base of his neck, clean and decisive, as though splitting a piece of dry firewood.

The third man finally reacted. With a scream, he jumped back and grabbed an iron rod at his side, smashing it toward Cheng Yang.

Cheng Yang neither dodged nor retreated. He raised an arm to block. The iron rod struck his forearm with a dull thud, yet did not even scrape his skin.

The man's eyes widened as if he had seen a ghost. The next moment, Cheng Yang clenched the iron rod with five fingers and yanked it forward. The man staggered toward him and crashed face-first into the saber hilt. His brow bone shattered, and he fell backward, twitching twice on the ground before going still.

From the first slash to the third man falling, fewer than five breaths had passed.

The bonfire crackled and popped. Sparks shot up and were scattered by the night wind, flickering across the ground.

The remaining Muscle Tempering bandit finally came to his senses. He smashed his wine bowl to the ground, pulled a short spike from his boot, and charged forward with a howl.

He was far more disciplined than the three Skin Tempering fighters. His footwork was swift but steady, and the short spike stabbed directly for Cheng Yang's heart from a vicious angle. Cheng Yang merely shifted slightly. The spike passed beneath his armpit, tearing a hole in his clothes without even grazing his flesh.

His strike missing, the man inwardly cried out in alarm and was about to pull back when Cheng Yang's knee had already driven into his abdomen.

A Muscle Tempering martial artist had decent bodily resilience. Though the blow made him grunt and bend over, it was not enough to rob him of his fighting strength. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself into a side roll, trying to open the distance.

But before he could regain his footing, Cheng Yang's saber arrived.

There was nothing fancy about this strike. It was simply a chop. Too fast, too heavy; the howl of its passage through the air sounded like cloth being torn apart.

The man only had time to raise his short spike to block. The ironwood spike, along with half his arm, was severed in one stroke. The severed limb and weapon spun together into the darkness.

He looked down at his stump, blood gushing like a spring. His mouth opened, but before he could scream, the second slash swept across his throat.

As he sank to his knees, air leaked from his throat with a gurgle of bubbling blood. Then he collapsed face-first into the mud. His limbs twitched a few times before he stopped moving.

The bonfire crackled as it burned, and a dense smell of blood spread through the air.

Yang Tieshan finally stood up.

More than half his drunkenness had vanished. Cold sweat covered his forehead, while the red flush had drained from his face into pallor.

He stared at the black-robed, fanged figure, then swept his gaze over his men sprawled in all directions around the bonfire. His Adam's apple bobbed.

One hand had already reached the hilt of the ghost-head saber at his waist, his knuckles faintly white. "Sir... when did my Bamboo Gang offend you?"

Cheng Yang did not answer. He merely flicked the blood from his saber, drawing a dark red arc across the mud, then stepped toward him.

Yang Tieshan felt his scalp go numb. He was a Bone Tempering Realm martial artist. Though his foundation was shallow, he had run rampant outside Qinglin County for quite some time. Yet he had never seen anyone cripple all his men in just a few exchanges.

The man before him approached with a saber in hand, not quickly, yet every step seemed to land upon the rhythm of his heartbeat, tightening his chest.

Instinctively, he took half a step back. His heel caught on a protruding stone, and his body swayed.

In that instant of swaying, Cheng Yang was already before him, less than three chi away.

Yang Tieshan roared. Deciding to go all in, he drew the ghost-head saber from his waist and brought it down with all his strength.

Three parts wine-fueled boldness, seven parts fear—this slash was even fiercer than usual. The blade tore through the air with a mournful howl, hurtling straight for Cheng Yang's face.

Cheng Yang merely tilted his head. The blade cut off a loose strand of hair at the edge of his mask, passing close by his ear and stirring a chilling gust.

At the same time, his left hand shot out. His five fingers spread, then clamped squarely around Yang Tieshan's saber-wielding wrist as he suddenly exerted force.

Crack.

A crisp sound of bone breaking rang out beside the bonfire.

Yang Tieshan's wrist bones were crushed alive beneath his grip, and the ghost-head saber fell from his hand.

Cheng Yang twisted and pulled, dragging Yang Tieshan forward. At the same time, his knee violently rose and smashed into the man's chest.

The muffled crunch of shattering ribs was heavier than the earlier fracture. Like a sandbag struck by a hammer, Yang Tieshan flew backward in a hunched arc. His back slammed hard into the plank wall of a wooden hut. The boards burst apart, and dust billowed into the air.

He slid down the shattered wall, large mouthfuls of blood pouring from his mouth. A section of his chest had caved in. His breathing was fast and shallow, each inhale accompanied by the faint bubbling sound of bloody froth.

The bonfire crackled as it burned, its flames dancing.

Cheng Yang walked over and stopped before the body that was hunched over and constantly coughing blood. The green fanged mask was half-lit and half-shadowed beneath the shifting firelight.

His long saber hung at his side, its tip suspended three inches above Yang Tieshan's throat.

The night wind blew through the hall, making the bonfire flare sideways and dragging Cheng Yang's shadow long and dark across the broken wooden wall.

Only the faint sound of wind stirring the embers and Yang Tieshan's ragged breathing remained.

"Who exactly are you?" Yang Tieshan forced out one last breath. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared fixedly at the mask, his voice seeming to be dragged by force from the depths of his throat. "Even if I die... let me die knowing why."

Cheng Yang lowered his eyes to look at him. His voice was as calm as a frozen lake. "Star Tower. Night Ghoul."

After a pause, he added, "I'll be taking your head."

With a wet slash.

The blade swept across. A head whose eyes remained open rolled to the ground, its face smeared with mud and ash beside the bonfire.

Cheng Yang bent down and picked up the head, weighing it in his hand. He lowered his gaze at the headless corpse on the ground, then turned around and strode toward Qinglin County with the head in one hand and his saber in the other, stepping through the night.

The firelight behind him gradually shrank into a flickering red speck.

After that came the looting of resources and such.

It had to be said.

The Bamboo Gang was much wealthier than the Golden Tiger Gang.

The entire gang's assets came to nearly a thousand taels of silver.

All of it was in silver notes, so he could carry it easily enough.

After finishing the looting, he put Yang Tieshan's head into a cloth sack and quietly departed.

When he returned to Qinglin County, Cheng Yang carried the cloth sack and briskly crossed three streets before arriving at Star Tower's local outpost.

The branch master happened to be there as well.

He was seated in a rattan chair, flipping through some sort of ledger. A yellowed dossier lay spread across his knees, and an oil lamp sat beside him.

Hearing footsteps, he did not raise his head. Only the corner of his eye swept over the bulging cloth sack in Cheng Yang's hand, and his lips moved almost imperceptibly.

"You're here?"

Cheng Yang set the sack on the table. Its opening loosened, revealing a head whose eyes were still glaring wide.

Most of the blood had already coagulated, gleaming a dark brown beneath the dim yellow lamplight.

"Senior, the Bamboo Gang has been destroyed.

This is the head of their gang leader, Yang Tieshan."

The branch master set down the dossier and leaned forward to inspect it. He reached out and moved the head's face slightly, confirming that the features were correct before nodding. "Clean work."

He leaned back in his chair and raised two fingers. "By the rules, you have two choices: eight hundred taels of silver, or four hundred points.

Choose for yourself."

"Points."

Cheng Yang did not hesitate.

He was not short of silver for the moment.

After wiping out the Bamboo Gang, the silver and valuables he had looted from their stronghold had filled an entire sack—enough to last him for quite a while.

Besides, the Guo Household's remaining payment had yet to be settled. Points, on the other hand, could be exchanged in Star Tower for things silver could not buy, such as cultivation techniques.

"Fine, then points."

The branch master nodded.

Cheng Yang gained another four hundred points.

He spent these points quickly as well.

He selected two cultivation techniques.

One was the Clearwind Saber Technique, while the other was the Tiger-Leopard Stance Skill.

"Kid, you seem quite interested in stance skills?"

Having exchanged for two stance skills in two consecutive days, the branch master could not help asking.

"My senior wishes to forge a solid foundation through Foundation Establishment's Three Gates, so I want to learn a few more stance skills."

Cheng Yang answered.

"With your talent, you truly should seek a higher limit. But don't overestimate yourself either. The more blood and qi you accumulate, the more difficult it becomes to break through. I've seen many geniuses who, because their greed knew no bounds, ended up locked in the Bone Tempering Realm for life..."

The branch master's tone carried the regret of someone who had seen it all.

"Thank you for the reminder, Senior."

Cheng Yang thanked him, but did not take the matter too seriously.

After all, he possessed a Peerless Destiny.

There were no bottlenecks in breaking through realms, so there was nothing to worry about.

When he left Star Tower, it was already late at night. The streets and alleys were empty, and moonlight made the flagstones gleam white.

Cheng Yang returned to the Chen Clan Martial Hall. When he pushed open the door to the room he shared with his master, a strong smell of alcohol rushed at him.

Chen Feiyi sat at the table. Two coarse porcelain bowls were before him. One was already empty, while the other still held more than half a bowl of clear wine.

He held the bowl in midair as though he had been about to drink. Hearing the door open, he turned his head to glance over.

That one glance made Cheng Yang's steps falter slightly. His master, who had still been vigorous and alert during the day, now seemed to have twice as much white at his temples out of nowhere. His eye sockets had sunk deep, and it was as if something had drained more than half of him dry overnight.

"Master, what happened?"

Cheng Yang quickly walked over and sat beside the table.

Chen Feiyi drained the wine in his bowl, set it down, and swallowed. His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against rough wood. "Your Third Senior Brother... is gone."

Cheng Yang had long known the news, but when his master said it aloud, Cheng Yang still saw a flash of shattered light in his eyes. "Third Senior Brother... how could this happen?"

Chen Feiyi waved a hand and did not explain the details. It was as though he had accumulated too many words, and with the help of alcohol, he poured them all out in one breath. "Back then, your Eldest Senior Brother was only one step away from entering the Five Elements Sect. One wrong move in the game, and it all came to nothing.

I waited for years, thinking that at this Ascending Dragon Conference, at least your Third Senior Brother could hold the stage. Yet before he even stepped onto the arena, he was already gone..."

As he spoke, he poured himself another bowl and tipped it back. Wine ran down his chin and into his collar, yet he did not notice at all.

Cheng Yang sat beside him without stopping him, merely listening in silence.

He knew of his master's expectations for Yang Zheng.

His Third Senior Brother was at Copper Bone, with martial skills at Perfection—one of the most promising candidates to claim first place at this Ascending Dragon Conference.

Chen Feiyi had placed all the expectations he had accumulated over the years upon him, like burying a seed in the soil and waiting day and night for it to sprout.

But now that seed had been dug up by the roots, not even a single leaf left behind.

"Come, Master." Cheng Yang poured himself a bowl of wine as well and lifted it. "I'll drink with you."

He did not actually drink. He had not drunk in his previous life, and he had not touched it in this life either.

But tonight, he made an exception.

The wine entered his throat, spicy and searing. Cheng Yang swallowed without changing expression.

Master and disciple drank bowl after bowl beneath a single oil lamp. They did not speak much, but the sound of wine bowls striking the table was especially clear in the deep night.

Cheng Yang stayed with him until the end. Only after Chen Feiyi collapsed unconscious across the table did he rise, help him to bed, and tuck him beneath the blanket.

Cheng Yang cleaned up the mess on the table. He had drunk quite a bit himself, yet felt no intoxication at all.

Peerless Bearing had given him unrivaled digestive abilities; this little wine was nothing to him.

He stood by the window and let the night wind blow over him for a while, recalling that trace of despair in his master's drunken words just now... "Fourth Senior Brother is only an ordinary Bone Tempering cultivator. What can he do at the Ascending Dragon Conference..." His master had already given up hope on him.

Cheng Yang suddenly had the urge to slap the words "I've already cultivated Silver Bone" right onto the table.

But after thinking it over, he decided there was no need.

There was no need to reveal his realm to his master, but at the Ascending Dragon Conference, he intended to give his master a surprise.

A heaven-shaking surprise