Early morning, two days later.
The mist had yet to clear from the Yi Family's little courtyard. Dew clung to the tips of the old locust tree's leaves, dripping onto the dirt.
Yi Yang stood in a corner of the courtyard, the old billhook in his hand. He had just taken his stance, ready to run through the Nine Peaks Saber again, when hurried footsteps sounded outside the gate.
"Grandpa Yi! Grandpa Yi!"
A young lad rushed into the courtyard, sweat covering his head and mud spattered on his trouser legs.
It was Aunt Zhang's son, Zhang Xiaohu.
The boy was usually mischievous enough to spend half a day arguing with the yellow dog at the village entrance. Today, however, his face was pale, and he was so breathless his words came out in fragments.
Yi Yang flicked his wrist, hiding the billhook beside the woodpile behind him. His expression once again became that of an old man who had barely escaped the mountains alive.
"What are you running for? Got a wolf chasing you?"
Zhang Xiaohu braced himself against the doorframe, squeezing the words out of his throat.
"Aunt Yang... someone beat Aunt Yang!"
Yi Yang's eyelids lowered. The courtyard's lingering morning chill suddenly felt sharp and abrasive.
"Where?"
"At my house! Mother's putting medicine on her. Sister Yuexin's there too, crying her eyes out. Mother sent me to fetch you."
Yi Yang asked no more questions. Pretending his injuries had yet to heal, he dragged his injured leg as he walked outside.
Zhang Xiaohu tried to support him, but Yi Yang waved him off.
"No need. Run back first. Tell your mother not to go calling everyone over."
Zhang Xiaohu nodded and dashed away.
Quite a crowd had already gathered outside Aunt Zhang's house in the west of the village.
Spectators, news-seekers, the genuinely concerned, and those merely pretending all mingled together, murky as a pot of soup with its scum left unskimmed.
Yi Yang had barely reached the doorway when Jiang Yuexin's uncontrollable, tearful voice came from inside.
"Aunt Yang, don't fall asleep. Look at me..."
Yi Yang entered. The smells of medicine and blood mingled in the room, choking enough to make his chest tighten.
Yang Hui lay on Aunt Zhang's plank bed, her hair loose, a large patch of her cheek swollen. The corner of her mouth was split, half a sleeve was soaked in blood, and purple bruises crisscrossed her arm.
Usually, her voice could drown out half the village. Today, her silence was painful to behold.
Jiang Yuexin knelt beside the bed, clutching the hem of Yang Hui's clothes with both hands as tears pattered down.
Aunt Zhang sat on the edge of the bed, a medicated cloth in her hand, cursing nonstop.
"What heaven-damned bastard hit her so hard? Beating a woman like this-even his ancestors' coffin lids would shudder with shame!"
Zhou Liang stood in a corner of the room, his hunting bow beside him.
He was wiping an arrowhead with a cloth, very slowly, fire smoldering in his eyes.
Yi Yang approached the bed and glanced at Yang Hui.
Her eyes were half-open. When she saw him, she actually tried to raise her voice.
"Uncle Yi... why are you here...? I'm fine..."
Before she could finish, she coughed up streaks of blood.
Aunt Zhang slapped her thigh in anger and worry. "Will you shut up? Still putting on a brave face in this state! Are you made of iron, or just all mouth?"
Jiang Yuexin's shoulders trembled as she cried.
"Grandpa..."
Yi Yang reached out and rested a hand on her head, neither comforting nor scolding her.
"Tell me what happened."
Jiang Yuexin raised her face, her eyes as red as if she had stayed awake for three nights. "Two martial artists from Cloud Pattern Town came this morning. They said they wanted to investigate Yang Er's death."
"They seemed perfectly normal when they entered the village, but once they reached Yang Er's house, they became terribly upset and said they would avenge him."
"Aunt Yang was nearby. Seeing them like that, she said, 'Yang Er bullied people while he was alive, and now he's dead, there are still people wailing over him.' They attacked her as soon as they heard that."
At this point, she bit her lip, trembling with hatred.
"One slapped Aunt Yang to the ground, and the other kicked her several times. She was already coughing up blood, but they still said... said the lowborn scum of Three Trees Village had filthy mouths, and nobody would care even if they beat them to death."
No one in the room spoke. Even the onlookers outside shrank back.
To the people of Three Trees Village, the words "martial artist" alone were a formidable hurdle.
Aunt Zhang wiped the corner of her eye. She kept cursing, but her voice grew quieter.
"Those two beasts said they'd come back tomorrow. They want the Village Chief to gather everyone who ever had a grudge against Yang Er so they can question them one by one."
Fear showed in every villager's eyes. That beast Yang Er had made enemies of almost everyone in the village. When those martial artists returned tomorrow, none of them would be able to stay out of it.
Zhou Liang finished wiping the arrowhead and crumpled the cloth into a ball.
"Where did they go?"
"To the Village Chief's house."
Aunt Zhang said, "That old fool's legs went weak with fright. He kept serving them tea and snacks-he practically wanted to call them his ancestors."
Zhou Liang's face twitched, but he said nothing.
Aunt Yang suddenly turned to Zhou Liang and asked, "Uncle Zhou, didn't you get to know people in the city when you were young? Could you help everyone?"
"Other than Yang Da, you're the most capable person in the village."
The surrounding villagers voiced their agreement. They had no idea what would happen when the two martial artists returned tomorrow. If they had beaten Yang Hui so viciously over a single remark, how could anyone not be afraid?
A flicker of difficulty crossed Zhou Liang's face. He had indeed spent time trying to make his way in the city when he was young, and he knew a few servants from Martial Arts Halls and friends in the porters' trade.
But those friendships were stale sesame seeds and rotten grain from years ago.
When it really came to confronting martial artists, who would be willing to stand up for a village woman?
Yet Jiang Yuexin was crying so hard, and Yang Hui still lay on the bed with half her face swollen.
Zhou Liang's throat worked. There were things from his past he had never told anyone.
When they were young, before Yang Hui married, she had stood by the river washing clothes and cursed away three loafers who were sneaking looks at her.
Zhou Liang had passed by with his hunting bow on his back. He had gone a full half-mile out of his way just to hear her curse a little longer.
She truly was fiery.
And she truly was beautiful.
Later, Yang Hui married, and then her husband died. Zhou Liang had never dared speak.
With some people, a missed chance was gone for good.
But now, seeing her beaten like this, his chest felt painfully clogged.
"All right."
Zhou Liang slung his hunting bow over his back, his voice hoarse.
"I'll go to town and look up some old acquaintances. I can't promise it'll work, but I'll make the trip."
Jiang Yuexin nodded through her sobs.
"Thank you, Uncle Zhou."
Not daring to look at Yang Hui on the bed, Zhou Liang turned and left.
Yi Yang watched from the side without stopping him. After leaving Aunt Zhang's house, he did not return to his courtyard.
Using his billhook as a walking stick, he made his way to Village Chief Yang Shuyu's house.
Two village men stood outside. When they saw Yi Yang approach, one said quietly, "Old Master Yi, what brings you here? Those two martial artists from town only just left. They're awfully overbearing."
Yi Yang coughed twice. "I have a few questions for the Village Chief."
Inside, Yang Shuyu sat in a chair with an ugly expression. Tea had spilled across the table.
Seeing Yi Yang enter, he knew why the old man had come and sighed first. "Uncle Yi, why put yourself through this? Don't stick your head out at a time like this."
Yi Yang sat on a little stool beside the door, his back bent. "I only want to ask where those two martial artists came from."
Yang Shuyu rubbed his hands and cautioned him, "I'm not sure myself. They didn't bring any official documents, and they aren't Yang Da's men."
"They said they were from the Shengcang Martial Hall in Cloud Pattern Town. They called Yang Er a famously good man and said they couldn't stand aside now that he was dead." "Uncle Yi, I know you're close to Yang Hui, but you've only just survived the mountains. Don't get mixed up in this."
Yi Yang did not answer the Village Chief's advice. He merely asked, "The Shengcang Martial Hall?"
"Yes."
Yang Shuyu swallowed. "They're both very young. One's surnamed Peng, the other Lu, and both carry sabers at their waists. The moment they entered, they said Yang Er was a friend of their Martial Arts Hall, and whoever killed him had made an enemy of the Shengcang Martial Hall."
"They also said they'd return tomorrow. Anyone who knows anything about Yang Er's killer must tell them, or they'll find things very difficult."
At that, Yang Shuyu's face turned bitter. "Brother Yi, what do you make of this mess? Yang Er harmed people while he was alive, and even dead, he's still dragging trouble into the village. But with martial artists at our doors, even I, the Village Chief, can't stand against them."
Yi Yang nodded and rose. "I understand."
Meanwhile, Zhou Liang had already gone to Cloud Pattern Town.
First, he sought out Old Ma, who had once waited outside Martial Arts Halls for work alongside him.
Old Ma now worked as a guard for a grain shop. After hearing the story, he shook his head like a rattle drum come to life.
"Liang, it's not that your brother won't help. Those are martial artists! This old life of mine would be too tough and stringy even to fill the gaps between their teeth."
Zhou Liang then went to find Xu San from the porters' trade.
The moment Xu San heard the name Shengcang Martial Hall, he stopped drinking his tea.
"Leave, now. Don't bring bad luck to my doorstep. That bunch at the Shengcang Martial Hall won't listen to reason. Cross them, and my shop will be smashed up tomorrow."
The third person, then the fourth.
Every one refused.
Some were reasonably polite and offered him a bowl of water.
Others slammed their doors outright, nearly catching his nose between the panels.
By the time the sun reached its zenith, Zhou Liang stood at the town entrance with his hunting bow on his back and bitterness in his throat.
In the mountains, he feared neither wild boars nor wolves.
But people were sometimes far harder to deal with than mountain beasts.
That afternoon.
Yi Yang changed into an old set of clothes, smeared ash on his face, and went to the restaurant on Cloud Pattern Town's west street.
Zhao Gang was still in the private room upstairs. There were no lavish fish or meat dishes on his table, only tea and two plates of pastries.
When Yi Yang entered, Zhao Gang raised a hand to dismiss Ren Hao. "Old Master Yi, what a rare visitor."
Yi Yang sat down, lifted the tea, and sniffed it.
"My granddaughter wants to learn martial arts. I came to ask about the Martial Arts Halls in town."
Zhao Gang glanced at him and said with an inscrutable smile, "Martial arts? Your granddaughter?"
"Yes."
"Then you'll need to choose a clean place. Don't send her into a wolf's den."
Yi Yang set down his teacup and asked casually, "What about the Shengcang Martial Hall?"
Zhao Gang tapped his fingers on the table. "Why ask about that one?"
"I heard someone in the village mention it."
Zhao Gang did not press him. Those who walked the martial world knew best when to leave a hint at that.
"The Shengcang Martial Hall is a little establishment on the south side of town."
"A dozen or so apprentices. Three who've actually reached blood qi cultivation."
"The old hall master is surnamed Lu. He's at the peak of the blood qi first stage. Had something of a reputation when he was young, but he's getting on in years. He went to Yunlin County to retire a couple of years ago. Two disciples look after the Martial Arts Hall now."
"One is Peng Qing, the other Lu Cheng. Both are at the blood qi first stage."
Yi Yang took a sip of tea. It tasted a little astringent.
"What are those two like?"
Zhao Gang scoffed, his disdain plain. "Ask about their martial skills, and I can say a few things. Ask about their character, and the answer won't be nearly so respectable."
"Peng Qing loves putting on airs. Around poor people, he lifts his nostrils high enough to touch the rafters. Lu Cheng is even filthier-booze, women, gambling, all of it. And he never knows when to hold back."
"They're keeping an empty shell of a Martial Arts Hall going, collecting a little tuition and taking private jobs. Yang Er did give them silver before, to have them back him up."
Having finished, Zhao Gang leaned back. "Old Master Yi, you didn't come to ask about a Martial Arts Hall for your granddaughter, did you?"
Yi Yang did not answer. He only asked, "Does the Shengcang Martial Hall have anyone backing it?"
"The old hall master has a few old acquaintances in the county, but nothing you could call a powerful backer."
Zhao Gang looked at him, his voice dropping a little.
"Still, Martial Arts Halls are best left alone if you can help it. Beat the young ones, and the old one comes back. Beat the old one, and his old friends start asking questions. That's the trouble with the martial world: tug one string, and out comes a whole chain of grasshoppers."
Yi Yang nodded.
"Thank you."
Zhao Gang pushed the teapot toward him.
"No need for thanks. My offer from last time still stands. Come work for me."
"If you want resources, I have them. If you want information, I have that too."
Yi Yang smiled, the wrinkles on his aged face bunching together. "Boss Zhao, are you selling tea or favors?"
Zhao Gang laughed. "Both, so long as you're buying."
With the information he needed, Yi Yang rose. "The tea's good. The favors are too expensive. This old man can't afford them."
Zhao Gang was not offended. "The door's open, and the tea's hot. If you ever want to buy, we can still negotiate the price."
Yi Yang left the restaurant.
Before you continue