The Muddled Zhou Liang

Before dawn had fully broken, Three Trees Village was already bustling.

Beneath the old locust tree at the village entrance, people from a dozen households huddled together. The men wore ragged jackets, the women held their children, and none had even had time to light their cooking fires. Their faces were ashen from a sleepless night.

Some had not slept at all.

Those with deeper grudges against Yang Er had even packed their bundles.

Tattered clothes, half a sack of coarse rice, two pairs of straw sandals, and their ancestral tablets.

If they really had to flee, they would not even have time to worry about the chickens.

"If you ask me, we should leave now, before it gets properly light."

A thin man squatted at the foot of a wall, clutching his tobacco pipe. He had not lit it, but his lips were already trembling.

"Those two martial artists from Shengcang Martial Hall are coming back today. Yang Hui only said a few words yesterday, and look what they did to her. Which of us hasn't cursed Yang Er before? Which of us hasn't argued with him? If they single us out, we'll lose a layer of skin even if we don't die."

The woman beside him tightened her arms around her child, her throat dry.

"Where would we go? You think it's peaceful out there? Run into bandits on the road, and they might even sell your child."

The thin man stamped his foot in desperation. "Stay here and wait to be beaten to death? Better to run! A living man can't let a full bladder be the death of him!"

No sooner had he spoken than an old man beside him spat. "The monk can run, but can his fields run too? You're abandoning those three acres of yours? Your wife's family lives in the next village. They can follow the vine straight to the melon and find them. Wherever you run, it won't help."

"Then what do we do?"

The thin man's eyes reddened.

"Kneel here and wait? Let those two martial artists from town slaughter us like chickens?"

No one answered.

Fear was the most grinding thing of all.

Aunt Zhang stood outside the crowd, unsure whether to scold them or hold her tongue, wiping her hands on her apron in agitation.

"Stop arguing. Can you argue those martial artists away? If you have that much time on your hands, think about what to do for Yang Hui instead. She's still laid up."

At the mention of Yang Hui, everyone wilted again.

They had all seen the state she had been in yesterday.

Half her face had swollen up, her arms were bruised purple, and the bloody froth she had coughed up still stained the front of her clothes.

Usually such a fierce-tongued woman, she had been beaten until she could not even muster the strength to curse.

In the Yi Family's little courtyard, Yi Yang sat in a wicker chair with an old garment draped over him, holding a bowl of hot water.

Jiang Yuexin stayed beside him, her eyes still red.

She had not slept well last night either.

Several walls separated the courtyard from the village entrance, but Yi Yang could hear everything they were saying.

After reaching the qi-blood second level, his hearing had become far sharper than before. Yi Yang lowered his head and blew on the steam rising from his bowl.

The water rippled twice.

With the fire at Shengcang Martial Hall, the town was bound to be in chaos.

It was only a matter of time before the news reached Three Trees Village.

He was in no hurry. When this old man did things, he knew the value of leaving a little blank space.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded outside the courtyard gate, slapping against the muddy road.

"He's back! Zhou Liang's back!"

Zhang Xiaohu's shout rolled over from the village entrance like a handful of copper coins scattered at a market, its clatter stirring the whole village.

Jiang Yuexin sprang to her feet. Yi Yang set his bowl aside and slowly stood up.

"Come on. Let's have a look."

The village entrance was already packed.

Zhou Liang carried a hunting bow on his back. Dew clung to the hem of his clothes, his shoes were caked in mud, and his eyes were bloodshot. One glance was enough to tell he had traveled through the night.

But the news he brought was more alarming than his appearance.

"Something happened at Shengcang Martial Hall last night."

The moment Zhou Liang said that, the crowd fell silent for half a beat.

It was not that no one wanted to speak. For a moment, they had all lost their tongues and did not know what to say.

Zhou Liang wiped his face and continued, "There was a fire at the hall. Half the third courtyard burned down. Those two martial artists who came to our village yesterday, Peng Qing and Lu Cheng, are both dead."

"What?"

The basket slipped from Aunt Zhang's hand, and two wild-greens dumplings rolled onto the ground.

A thin man stared at Zhou Liang, his throat bobbing.

"Dead? Really dead?"

Zhou Liang nodded. "Lu Cheng died inside a room. Peng Qing died in the alley behind the martial hall. The town's a pot of boiling porridge right now. The apprentices at Shengcang Martial Hall are crying for their mothers and fathers, and the old hall master has sent someone to report it to the county."

The crowd scattered in an uproar, then gathered again.

The news was too outrageous.

The martial artists who had been slapping and kicking people in the village yesterday were corpses this morning.

Things moved fast in this world, but when retribution caught up with villains this quickly, the villagers could scarcely believe it.

Someone asked in a hushed voice, "Who did it?"

Zhou Liang shook his head. "No one knows. People in town say an enemy attacked in the night. Others say it was an Evil Cultist."

"An evil cult?"

Someone remembered the black iron token with the ghostly face in Yang Er's house, and his face twitched on the spot.

"Could it be that same bunch again?"

"That's vicious. Killing Yang Er, killing martial artists, even the constables from the County Office..."

The speaker cut himself off halfway through and hurriedly looked around, afraid his loose tongue might invite disaster.

Yi Yang lingered at the edge of the crowd, pretending to listen with curiosity. An old man who had barely escaped the mountains alive would not draw attention wherever he stood.

Jiang Yuexin, however, looked up at Yi Yang.

She kept feeling that her grandfather was too composed. Even when Aunt Yang Hui had been hurt yesterday, he had said nothing. He was simply far too calm.

But she did not ask. Asking certain questions would make her a disobedient girl.

Yang Hui, who had been recovering in bed, also came out with Aunt Zhang supporting her.

Ointment still coated her face, her left cheek was swollen, and her speech was slurred. Yet her eyes remained bright, like embers that had not gone out in a stove.

"Zhou Liang."

Yang Hui stared at him. "You went to town last night to find someone, and this morning two martial artists at Shengcang Martial Hall are dead. Tell me, is it really that much of a coincidence?"

Zhou Liang's back stiffened. All the villagers turned toward him too, and their gazes had changed.

There was shock, fear, and a reverence they could not conceal.

Zhou Liang was normally the head of the hunters. The villagers respected his hunting skills and knowledge of the mountain trails, but no matter how much they respected him, they had never associated him with anyone capable of killing martial artists.

Now it was different.

He had been gone all night, and disaster had struck the Martial Arts Hall that same night. Put those two things together, and people could hardly help thinking more deeply.

Their stares made Zhou Liang's scalp prickle. He really was innocent.

Last night, he had run his legs ragged in town, pleading with everyone he could. He had not even dared get too close to Shengcang Martial Hall's gate.

When he heard about the fire at the Martial Arts Hall, he had been badly startled too.

But could he tell the truth now? Admit that he had accomplished nothing and only been chased away?

How humiliating that would be. More importantly, if no one took ownership of what had happened, the villagers would panic again.

Zhou Liang cleared his throat and deliberately set his face sternly. "There are some things you shouldn't ask too much about."

Yang Hui narrowed her eyes. "Putting on airs now, are you?"

Zhou Liang rubbed his nose. "I did find an old friend in town. Whether he was willing to act wasn't up to me, and I can't go talking carelessly."

That was beautifully phrased.

He neither admitted nor denied it.

He pushed the credit onto his "friend," leaving himself an air of unfathomable mystery.

The moment the villagers heard that, the mood changed.

"Uncle Zhou, you really have a friend like that?"

"No wonder Uncle Zhou spent time in the city when he was young."

"I always said Uncle Zhou wasn't an ordinary man, but you wouldn't believe me."

"Those two martial artists beat Yang Hui, and that very night they were gone. Now that's a loyal friend!"

Zhou Liang's face grew hot as he listened.

This tall hat of praise had come too quickly, and it dug into his head a little when he put it on.

Yet he could not take it off.

Yang Hui stared at him for a while, then suddenly snapped, her face cold, "All of you, shut up."

The villagers quickly fell silent.

Yang Hui braced herself against the doorframe. Her brows twitched with pain, but she forced herself to speak.

"Let this rot in your bellies."

She spat out each word. "If anyone dares tell outsiders that Zhou Liang went looking for help, if anyone dares go boasting about this, then even with only half my life left, I, Yang Hui, will fight them to the death."

Aunt Zhang caught on too and slapped her basket. "Exactly! Nobody says a word."

"The martial artists from Shengcang Martial Hall died because they offended an evil cult. It has nothing to do with Three Trees Village, and nothing to do with Zhou Liang."

The thin man nodded hastily.

"Right, right, right. Nothing to do with us. I heard nothing last night and saw nothing this morning."

Someone beside him muttered, "You were just saying you wanted to run."

The thin man glared at him.

"Can't a man talk in his sleep?"

At last, a little life returned to the crowd. The fear that had weighed on them all night was like filthy water in a cracked basin, half of it kicked out.

Half a basin remained, but at least they could breathe.

Zhou Liang looked at Yang Hui and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Yang Hui did not soften toward him either. "What are you standing there for? Go wash yourself! Covered in mud, like some wild boar spirit dug out of a pit."

Zhou Liang gave a dry chuckle.

"Going now."

Standing outside the crowd, Yi Yang lowered his head and coughed, a trace of helplessness in his eyes. Zhou Liang had shouldered this blame quite naturally.

But Yi Yang could not expose himself now either. Still, he would make sure Zhou Liang stayed safe, as long as they got through this stretch.