Killing and Slaughter

The sun gradually drifted westward, its golden-red afterglow spreading across the roof tiles of World-Aiding Hall and dyeing the entire street in warm hues.

Chen Chong finished refining pills for the day, tidied up the medicine table, and prepared to go home.

These past few days, his large-scale refinement of True Martial Pills seemed to have earned him even greater respect. From the front courtyard to the rear courtyard, from servants to stewards, everyone who saw him took the initiative to greet him, bowing lower than before and piling on fuller smiles.

"Greetings, Chief Steward Chen."

"Thanks for your hard work, Chief Steward Chen."

"Take care, Chief Steward Chen."

Chen Chong nodded in response to each of them, his pace neither hurried nor slow. He carried a saber on him.

A Mountain-Splitting Saber, a little over two feet long. Its sheath was lacquered black and bore no decorations, but the hilt was wrapped in fine hemp cord, making it feel solid in the hand.

It was like a symbol meant to display one's status. Anyone with even a little spare money would acquire weapons to carry on their person. In this world where martial prowess reigned supreme, weapons were calling cards.

A saber at one's waist meant one was a martial artist, a person of standing. Ordinary hooligans would automatically take a detour upon seeing one. The newer the blade and the brighter the hilt, the less confidence its owner had; only a sheath polished bright by wear and yellowing cord around the hilt marked a blade that had truly seen blood.

Chen Chong's saber had been bought only recently, yet the hemp cord around its hilt had already been worn dull.

As he headed out, he happened to run into Li Lang.

Li Lang was somewhat strange today. In the past, whenever he saw Chen Chong, he would pass by with a cold face, his gaze sliding sideways and a trace of mockery hanging at the corner of his lips. But today, he stopped, dipped his head slightly, and forced out, "Chief Steward Chen."

His voice was dry and hoarse, as if he had squeezed the words out through his throat.

His complexion was off as well, pale with a bluish cast, bags puffed beneath his eyes as though he had not slept well for days. He forced his mouth into a curve, but it was stiff as if it had been painted on.

Chen Chong was puzzled, but he still nodded. "Alchemist Li."

Li Lang said nothing more. He stepped aside to make way, his gaze lowered to Chen Chong's saber, where it lingered for an instant. Then he hurried away.

Chen Chong paid it no mind and continued home.

His courtyard gradually drew near. In truth, he could now rent a larger, better courtyard. With his current wealth, he could take his pick of the refined little courtyards in the city center. But he had not.

He was used to living alone.

A larger courtyard meant hiring servants and gatekeepers. People would come and go, making noise. Besides, the situation was growing increasingly chaotic. With more people came more eyes; peace and quiet were better.

As Chen Chong approached his courtyard, his hand had just touched the lock on the gate.

A flash of silver streaked through the sky.

A short blade plunged from above, incredibly fast, tearing through the air with a sharp whistle as it shot straight for Chen Chong's head.

Chen Chong let out a tiger's roar.

"Awooo—!"

The soundwave exploded, condensing into a nearly tangible burst of force that surged into the sky. The short blade halted in midair, as though it had struck an invisible wall.

In that instant.

Chen Chong spun, the Mountain-Splitting Saber Technique flowing into motion. His saber force was heavy and fierce as a mountain: draw, turn, diagonal slash, all in one seamless motion.

A flash of saber light streaked out like a bolt of white silk.

The short blade was knocked flying with a single strike. It slammed into the wall, then bounced down onto the ground.

The scar-faced man flipped down from the rooftop. Before he could steady himself, Chen Chong's second strike had already arrived.

With the Mountain-Splitting Saber Technique, every slash was capable of splitting mountains and cleaving stone. Force traveled from the soles of his feet to his waist and hips, from his waist and hips to his shoulders and arms, from his shoulders and arms to the tip of his saber—linked layer upon layer, without the slightest loss.

The strengthening brought by the True Tiger-Subduing Art had told him long ago that someone lay in ambush. The heartbeat, the breathing, that faint, almost imperceptible killing intent hidden atop the roof—nothing could escape his senses.

The saber light flashed again.

The scar-faced man did not even have time to launch a second move. His limbs had already been severed.

Left arm, right arm, left leg, right leg—four strikes, so fast they seemed to have fallen at once. The cuts were smooth as if sliced by a razor, and blood sprayed out, splashing across the courtyard wall.

The scar-faced man's mouth hung open, but he had yet to scream.

Chen Chong drew out a pill from his sleeve, pried open the man's jaw, and stuffed it inside.

It was a special pill, compounded from aconite, arisaema, and pinellia. It had originally been used to treat numbness and paralysis, capable of clearing the channels and invigorating the blood.

But when ordinary people consumed it—especially ordinary people with deficient qi and blood and obstructed meridians—it would trigger violent itching.

An itch that burrowed outward from the cracks in one's bones. One could not scratch it, could not stop it; the more one moved, the worse it itched, and the worse it itched, the more one moved. It made people want nothing more than to peel off their own skin.

Chen Chong tossed him into the side room in the corner of the courtyard where miscellaneous items were piled, shut the door, and returned to the main house to change clothes.

Howls came from the side room beside him. At first, they were screams of agony. Later, they turned into shrill wails, and later still into hoarse whimpers.

One after another, they grew weaker and weaker, yet never ceased. Chen Chong sat at the table, changing his clothes unhurriedly, washing his face, and taking a sip of tea.

The howls seeped through the wall like an out-of-tune song in the background.

When he opened the side room's door, the light shone in and revealed the scar-faced man in the corner. The blood at the stumps of his limbs had already congealed black. His voice was nearly too hoarse to make a sound, his lips fluttering like a stranded fish.

"It was Li Lang... Li Lang... give me a quick death..."

Chen Chong crouched down, glanced at him, then drew his saber.

The saber light flashed. The howling stopped.

Chen Chong followed the street to a fairly prosperous area.

It was not far from World-Aiding Hall, only a few streets away. Rows of elegant little courtyards stood side by side, with gray brick walls, black-lacquered gates, locust trees and pomegranates planted out front.

This was where several stewards of World-Aiding Hall lived, and Li Lang was among them. Chen Chong passed by every time he went home and knew which little courtyard belonged to Li Lang.

The courtyard gate stood ajar. Chen Chong pushed it open and entered.

The courtyard had been designed with great refinement.

A small pavilion stood in the center, its four corners curling upward, wind chimes hanging from them.

Beside the pavilion stood an old plum tree, its branches twisted and gnarled. Fine white pebbles covered the ground, while blue bricks outlined patterns around the edges. Li Lang sat by the stone table in the pavilion, with a jug of wine and a cup before him.

He saw Chen Chong's figure. He seemed somewhat drunk, his eyelids drooping as he slowly spoke.

"Sit."

Chen Chong said nothing more and sat down.

Li Lang took a fierce gulp of wine. The liquor ran down from the corner of his mouth, dripping onto his lapel.

"Just now, I kept thinking... Scarface is an expert at the Tendon-Vibrating Stage. He shouldn't have failed." His speech was slurred, his tongue thick. "But my heart kept panicking, panicking badly. I never thought... you'd really come."

Chen Chong did not respond.

Li Lang took another drink, set down his cup, and stared vaguely at the old plum tree beyond the pavilion. "I never thought I'd do something like this one day." He gave an ugly laugh. "Maybe it's this world. It's getting more and more chaotic, and it gave me some inexplicable courage."

Chen Chong still did not speak.

Li Lang continued, "The courtyard not far from here was slaughtered by mountain bandits the day before yesterday. A family of six—not one was spared." His voice dropped. "When I was little... when I was little, I lived in the alley over there. Every morning, my mother made noodle soup for me..."

He spoke in a mess.

A sentence here, another there, spilling them out like pouring beans from a basket. Chen Chong listened expressionlessly.

At last, Li Lang looked at Chen Chong's face, remained silent for a long time, then pushed out a chest from beneath the stone table. The lid opened, revealing neatly stacked silver ingots, white and gleaming.

"Will you spare my family?"

Chen Chong lowered his gaze at the chest of silver, then raised his head to look at Li Lang. Li Lang's hand was trembling. He knocked over the wine jug, and liquor flowed across the stone table, dripping from its edge.

Blood filled the chest as well.

Chen Chong left beneath the cover of night.

To cut the grass, one had to pull out the roots. When he passed that courtyard, there was already no sound within.

He did not take the silver, leaving it where it was. On the stone table in the pavilion, atop the chest soaked in wine, the silver ingots glimmered beneath the night.

The night wind passed by, and the wind chimes gave a single tinkling ring. Chen Chong wrapped his clothes tighter around himself and followed the empty street back toward his little courtyard.

The moon emerged from behind the clouds, shining upon his back and stretching a long shadow across the ground.