"We can't worry about that bastard," Deng Qing said. "Let's get over to Senior Brother Fan."
But even as he spoke, Deng Qing was studying the battlefield for a chance to slip away.
He had considered killing bandits to earn merit, but he had no intention of putting his own neck on the line.
With blades flying and death close at hand, staying alive came first if the chance arose.
The three of them seized an opening and headed after Fan Sheng.
They had barely taken a few steps when Monk Tang came charging back from behind.
One man carried the might of a hundred. His Buddhist Staff whirled wildly, sending stones flying like hidden weapons and forcing the soldiers inward from every side.
Deng Qing and the other two were caught in the crush, nearly unable to move.
Deng Qing sprang up and grabbed a vine on the cliff face.
It was dangerous, but far safer than being trapped helpless in the crowd.
Quite a few others followed his example and clung to the cliff.
Deng Qing frowned. Alone up there, he would not have made much of a target. With so many others copying him, weren't they inviting Monk Tang to attack?
Sure enough, Monk Tang swept along the cliff with his whirling staff and reached them in the blink of an eye.
Deng Qing's thoughts flashed like lightning. If he jumped back into the crowd, he would likely be knocked this way and that.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed off the cliff with both feet, spun through the air, and landed about ten feet in front of Monk Tang.
Monk Tang had already cleared that patch of ground.
Startled, Monk Tang roared, "You're courting death!"
Before his shout had faded, he swung his staff down at the crown of Deng Qing's head.
Deng Qing had watched Monk Tang for some time. He turned aside, sprang a step closer, and a cold glint appeared in his eyes.
"Die!"
Monk Tang swung his staff again. Deng Qing shifted his feet, his gaze fixed on the sliver of an opening exposed as the staff fell.
Suddenly, he tapped his waist. The Blacksteel Soft Sword sprang out without a sound and slipped beneath the side of the staff.
The blade flashed like death's kiss.
The savage grin had not yet left Monk Tang's face when a bead of blood appeared at his throat.
The next instant, it burst.
Clutching his throat, Monk Tang staggered back two steps with his eyes wide, then crashed to the ground.
An uproar swept the battlefield.
Someone cried, "Monk Tang is dead!"
"Who killed Monk Tang?"
"Deng Qing of the Celebration Hall!"
Wang Wei and Zhou Tie shouted the answer.
Deng Qing had long since gotten over the discomfort of killing. Nor did he realize he had become the center of attention. He had already crouched over Monk Tang and swiftly felt through his belongings.
At the same time, he now had a firm grasp of what the Seven Forms of Settling Solitude could do in a fight.
All that searching yielded only a few bits of silver, much to his disappointment.
Then his eyes settled on Monk Tang's Buddhist Staff. He snatched it up. It was extraordinarily heavy. This ought to fetch a good price.
No sooner had he gripped the staff than the soldiers Monk Tang had forced into a huddle rushed off after the main force.
Deng Qing raced after them with the staff, ignoring the bewildered looks on Wang Wei's and Zhou Tie's faces.
The two hurried to follow, but when they rounded a narrow pass, Deng Qing was nowhere to be seen.
They assumed he had charged ahead. Little did they know he had taken the chance to slip down a side path.
Killing Monk Tang had been a matter of necessity.
Deng Qing had never thought Monk Tang could beat him.
After mastering the Seven Forms of Settling Solitude, his eye for combat had improved tremendously. To him, Monk Tang's sweeping, ferocious style had been riddled with openings.
The Blacksteel Soft Sword had struck, and one move had ended Monk Tang's life. That was exactly how Deng Qing had expected it to go.
But being able to win did not mean he wanted to keep taking risks.
Staying among those disorderly soldiers while constantly looking after Wang Wei and Zhou Tie, those two burdens, was too dangerous. Once an opening appeared, he naturally slipped away.
He wound this way and that through the woods until he reached the bottom of the Mountain Ravine.
Before long, he found a stone cave. Lush plants concealed its entrance well.
He ducked inside, checked it quickly for danger, then set down the staff, sat cross-legged, and began circulating the Violet Palace Method.
Without his noticing, more than an hour passed. The fighting should be just about over.
He was weighing whether to leave when a voice suddenly called out, "Young master, spare my life, and I'll give you a wondrous opportunity!"
Deng Qing parted a clump of thatch and peered out.
A young man in white leaned against the cliff. Blood had soaked half his clothes, and one hand was pressed hard against his abdomen.
His face was deathly pale, his breathing labored. He looked wretched.
The man facing him was Li Cheng.
"You are my wondrous opportunity," Li Cheng said coldly.
He tapped the Bamboo Tube at his waist.
Its lid sprang open, and a black shape shot out.
It unfurled in the wind: a bat with ghostly markings on its face.
Its wings spanned more than a foot, its skin membrane was grayish white, and its tiny scarlet eyes were fixed on the young man in white. A sinister chill seemed to seep from its body.
Li Cheng whistled. The Ghost-Faced Bat shrieked and swooped straight at the young man.
The young man jerked his hand from his abdomen. All five fingers were smeared with blood, which he flung forward in a spray of droplets.
As though it had encountered something it loathed, the Ghost-Faced Bat snapped its wings inward, veered sharply in midair, and skimmed past the cliff.
The young man had driven it back, but he swayed and nearly fell.
With no hand pressing on his wound, blood kept welling between his fingers. The last trace of color drained from his face.
Yet the Ghost-Faced Bat refused to retreat. It circled him relentlessly, sometimes diving from the left, sometimes skimming the ground. Its piercing shrieks echoed through the narrow ravine, chilling the heart.
The young man kept his eyes locked on it. Each time it approached, he had to take more blood from his wound and fling it out.
After several passes, a pool of blood had formed at his feet, and his breathing grew weaker still.
Standing more than a hundred feet away, Li Cheng said coldly, "Zhou Fei, you're one of Blood Butcher's prized disciples. You've killed to cultivate and piled evil upon evil. Did you ever imagine retribution would come for you too?"
"Retribution?"
Zhou Fei panted, his eyes full of contempt. "A pampered young master like you, who's never worked a day in his life and can't tell one grain from another, dares lecture me about retribution?"
His voice rose, fervor burning in his eyes. "One day, my Eastern Radiance Holy Church will sweep across the land and take the Imperial Court's place!"
Before Zhou Fei had finished speaking, the circling Ghost-Faced Bat folded its wings and shot toward his face like a black arrow.
Zhou Fei was ready. He flung out another spray of blood, and the Ghost-Faced Bat fled with a shriek.
Li Cheng watched Zhou Fei sway on his feet, the coldness in his smile deepening.
Zhou Fei saw Li Cheng's plan too. He knew he had reached the end of the road. If this dragged on, he would bleed to death even if the Ghost-Faced Bat never struck him.
"Fine!"
Zhou Fei suddenly threw back his head and howled. "Who would have thought I, Zhou Fei, a hero all my life, would die at the hands of a petty villain!"
With that, he reached inside his robe and drew out a thumb-sized porcelain bottle. A flick of his thumb sent the stopper flying, and a pill as red as blood rolled into his palm.