News of Yang Da

When night settled over Three Trees Village, the Yi Family's little courtyard fell quiet too.

Jiang Yuexin was asleep, her even breathing drifting out of the room.

Yi Yang rose from his wicker chair and entered the kitchen. An old woodcutting saber hung by the wall, its handle polished bright from use, its edge slightly rolled.

Yi Yang took down the saber, fetched a whetstone, and sat before the stove.

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

The whetstone rasped across the blade, scattering fine iron dust onto the floor.

He sharpened it slowly. Moonlight slipped through a crack in the window and fell across the blade, lending it a cold white gleam.

Yi Yang raised the saber and studied it for a moment. "Old friend, I'll have to put you to work again tonight."

The saber made no reply, but its blade rested quietly beneath the moon, quiet as an obedient companion.

Yi Yang changed into old gray clothes and covered his face with black cloth, leaving only his two aged eyes exposed.

He concealed soot from the bottom of the cooking pot in his sleeve, tucked a short dagger at his waist, and changed into soft-soled cloth shoes.

Once that was done, he pushed open the rear window and climbed out through the backyard.

An old woodcutter nearing sixty vanished into the night in the blink of an eye.

In southern Cloud Pattern Town, the Shengcang Martial Hall stood at the end of a flagstone street.

Five successive courtyards lay within white walls beneath gray roof tiles, a faded plaque hanging above the entrance.

The two characters for Shengcang were still fairly upright, but the plaque's corners had cracked and its paint was peeling, revealing a shabby air of outward strength masking inner weakness.

The main gate was shut, the two lanterns beside it long extinguished. Only the door rings swayed gently in the night wind.

Yi Yang crouched on the rooftop opposite, his entire body pressed into the shadow of the eaves.

The courtyard wall stood roughly ten feet high, nothing troublesome for someone at the Qi-Blood Second Level.

But he did not move immediately. He strained his hearing.

There were no footsteps in the front courtyard. Faint, intermittent snores came from a side courtyard-the apprentices' dormitory.

A light still burned in the third courtyard, and people were talking inside. There was also a woman's coquettish laughter, soft and cloying, with a frivolity that seemed to carry the smell of wine.

Yi Yang narrowed his eyes. He had found them. He slipped down from the roof ridge and landed outside the Martial Arts Hall's side wall.

He planted a palm on the wall and tightened his core, vaulting close over the top. The first two courtyards were spacious, with wooden training posts arranged in two rows.

Several posts had been freshly oiled. The apprentices must have used them for fist practice during the day.

Yi Yang crept through, his feet avoiding broken tiles and dry leaves.

Light seeped through the door of the main room in the third courtyard. Three shadows moved across the window paper.

Yi Yang pressed himself beneath the window, every word inside reaching his ears clearly.

Lu Cheng reclined halfway on a couch, his chest bare, a young woman nestled in his arms. Her clothes hung half open, makeup covered her face, and she held a wine cup to his lips.

Whenever Lu Cheng drank, his hand slid around her waist. She squirmed away with a coy protest, though she never truly escaped.

Across from him, Peng Qing sat upright drinking. He was thirty-seven or thirty-eight, with a long face and thin lips. His clothes were neat, and the saber at his waist hung within easy reach.

Compared with Lu Cheng's monkey-like impatience, he certainly looked like someone who could keep accounts.

Lu Cheng swallowed his wine and frowned. "Senior Brother, can we really get into Yang Da's good graces this way? What if we run ourselves ragged and he can't even be bothered to remember our names?"

Peng Qing drained his cup, his thin lips curling smugly. "What's your hurry?"

"I've checked thoroughly. Yang Da isn't even in the county seat right now."

Lu Cheng sat a little straighter, and the woman in his arms stopped moving. "He's not there? Where did he go?"

Peng Qing set down his cup and lowered his voice. "Word came from our teacher in the county seat. Yang Da left on the Commandant's orders to investigate a major case involving the great lineages of the inner city."

"He took his entire crew of constables with him."

"So he's still in the dark about Yang Er's death and Wang Yue not coming back."

Lu Cheng's eyes shifted as he muttered, "The Commandant? Great lineages? Damn, that sounds like a fat prize."

"Whether it's fat or not has nothing to do with us."

Peng Qing glanced at him and said with some envy, "What matters is that our teacher said if he solves this case, Yang Da won't just get promoted. The Three Great Lineages will reward him with Treasure Medicine to break through to the Qi-Blood Third Level."

Lu Cheng drew in a breath, his hand tightening harder around the woman's waist.

The woman whimpered in pain but dared not get angry. "The Qi-Blood Third Level? Tendon Refining?"

Lu Cheng's throat went dry. "Won't Yang Da soar into the skies after that? Little Cloud Pattern Town won't be able to hold him anymore."

Peng Qing nodded, a sharp gleam in his eyes. "Yang Da and Yang Er depended on each other to survive. Their brotherly bond ran deep."

"When he returns in five days, his strength and standing will both have risen. The people trying to curry favor with him will stretch from the county office to the city gates. Small fry like us won't even be able to squeeze forward to serve him tea."

"But what if we've already found his brother's killer before then?"

He tapped the table, looking pleased with himself. "A major achievement, safely in our hands."

Lu Cheng's face flushed with excitement. He hugged the woman and laughed. "Then could I land some minor official post in the county seat too? Forget everything else-once I'm wearing an official's skin, who back in town would dare throw their weight around with me?"

Peng Qing sneered. "Put your dreams aside. Don't rush off to sleep yet."

"Go back to Three Trees Village tomorrow and summon the village chief. Investigate every household. Don't miss anyone who ever had a grudge against Yang Er."

"Those stubborn-mouthed women especially need questioning."

Lu Cheng curled his lip. "Country wenches. One beating will make them behave."

Peng Qing continued, "And that old man Yi."

Outside, Yi Yang's eyelids lifted slightly when he heard his name.

Peng Qing rubbed the rim of his cup, looking puzzled. "That old woodcutter who came back from the mountain alive-I keep feeling there's more to him."

Lu Cheng scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. "Senior Brother, now you're going too far. What could an old stick with one foot in the grave possibly do? If he rolled down the mountain and survived, his ancestors must have burned some fine incense."

"You just think too much."

Peng Qing did not argue. He only said, "A little caution never hurts."

"Wang Yue hasn't come back, the snake wasn't brought back either, and Yang Er died strangely. Something about this stinks."

Lu Cheng reached for the wine jug, growing impatient. "Then wash the stink out. Drag all those lowborn villagers from Three Trees Village over tomorrow and beat them one by one. Keep beating them until they talk."

The woman laughed softly. "You're so imposing, Master Lu."

The flattery left Lu Cheng feeling light in his bones, and his hands grew even bolder.

Yi Yang listened outside the window, not a flicker of emotion in his eyes.

Five days.

Yang Da would return in five days.

And he would receive Treasure Medicine to break through to the Qi-Blood Third Level.

The news was worse than he had expected. Yi Yang tightened his right hand around the woodcutting saber.

With a creak, the door opened.

Lamplight revealed a thin, dark figure. All three people inside turned to look.

The woman screamed first. The wine cup slipped from her hand, spilling over Lu Cheng's chest.

Before Lu Cheng could curse, Peng Qing was already reaching for his saber.

Yi Yang gave them no chance to finish a sentence. He stamped forward.

Nine Peaks Saber, First Peak: Heavy Peak.

The woodcutting saber swept out horizontally, its path low and heavy. Yi Yang leaned forward, bearing down on Lu Cheng, the closest target, with the brutal force of a mountain sprawled across his path.

Lu Cheng was still a martial artist at the blood qi first stage. Wine and women had hollowed him out, but his instincts remained.

He shoved the woman in his arms forward and rolled off the couch, snatching a short saber from beside the bed with his right hand to block.

Clang!

The woodcutting saber struck the short saber.

Sparks scattered wildly.

Lu Cheng's entire right arm went numb up to the shoulder. The web of his hand split, blood trickling down the hilt.

He stared at the dark figure in the doorway, his voice turning shrill.

"Who are you!"

Yi Yang did not answer. Wasting words on a dead man only slowed things down.

The second strike followed immediately. Nine Peaks Saber: Sharp Peak.

The blade's tip abruptly changed course from the horizontal slash, darting toward Lu Cheng's throat-short, vicious, and treacherous.

Lu Cheng tilted his head to dodge, but he was half a beat too slow. A long gash opened along the side of his neck, blood spraying onto the white wall, glaringly red.

Lu Cheng staggered back with a hand clamped over his neck, broken gasps leaking from his throat.

"Senior Brother! Kill him!"

Peng Qing had already drawn his saber and charged.

His saber technique was far more disciplined than Lu Cheng's. His footing steady, he slashed diagonally at Yi Yang's back.

Yi Yang did not chase another strike. He turned aside and raised his woodcutting saber in a backhand block.

Clang.

The two blades collided.

Peng Qing's arm sank, and his expression finally changed.

"The muscle training realm?"

Yi Yang still did not answer.

Lu Cheng clutched his neck, blood welling between his fingers. But the flesh of a blood qi martial artist was tough; he would not die just yet.

He circled in from the flank, thrusting his short saber low toward Yi Yang's waist and ribs.

Peng Qing pressed him head-on, his saber work ferocious, every strike aimed at a vital point.

It was now two against one.

Yi Yang retreated three steps.

His back touched the doorframe.

In the corner, the woman huddled around her clothes, teeth chattering, too frightened even to cry freely.

Peng Qing demanded in a low voice, "Who are you? The Shengcang Martial Hall hasn't offended any expert in the muscle training realm, has it?"

Yi Yang did not answer. He deliberately raised his woodcutting saber high, exposing an opening beneath his ribs.

Lu Cheng immediately lunged at the sight, his short saber thrusting along Yi Yang's waistline. The words "greedy for credit" might as well have been written across his forehead.

Peng Qing shouted, "Don't rush!"

Too late.

Yi Yang sharply contracted his abdomen and stepped diagonally forward.

Nine Peaks Saber: Perilous Peak.

The woodcutting saber swept upward. The instant its edge crossed the short saber, Yi Yang flicked his left sleeve.

A handful of pot soot flew into Lu Cheng's face.

Black ash plastered his eyes.

Lu Cheng screamed, dropping his short saber.

"My eyes!"

This was the difference between a seasoned old hand and a Martial Arts Hall disciple.

Martial Arts Halls taught saber work, emphasizing forms, rules, and elegance.

Killing in the mountains was only about staying alive.

Pot soot, lime powder, mud, sand, broken branches-anything would do, so long as it won.

Martial honor?

Could that stuff fill your belly?

Yi Yang stepped in and brought his woodcutting saber down across Lu Cheng's chest.

He did not stop.

He did not hesitate.

The blade cut diagonally from Lu Cheng's left shoulder to his right chest.

Clothes tore, flesh split, and white bone burst into view.

Lu Cheng's body stiffened, a muffled breath squeezing from his throat.

He tried to raise his hands.

Those hands, still smeared with the woman's makeup, twitched twice and grasped empty air.

The short saber clattered to the floor.

He fell onto his back beside the couch.

Blood crept outward along the seams between the floor tiles.

Only a brief moment had passed from opening the door to killing him.

The scent of wine dissipated inside the room.

Only the reek of blood remained, enough to turn anyone's stomach inside out.

Peng Qing stood beside the table with his saber clenched, veins throbbing at his temples.