A way out of the dilemma

"Out with the bad luck!"

Half an hour earlier, blades had flashed and swords had gleamed. Half an hour later, all was calm.

Several Divine Dragon Cult disciples beamed as they carried wooden buckets and wielded hog-bristle brushes, scrubbing blood from the threshold and the gaps between the bricks.

"Some young branch leader! One stroke of the cult leader's sword scared his soul clear out of his body. What a disgrace to the Beggars' Sect. If I were him, I'd wash my hands in a golden basin and retire from the jianghu for good."

"He deserves a golden basin? A wooden bucket to wash his hands in, at most."

"A chamber pot would do, too. His hands were filthy to begin with, hahaha..."

"Tie He counts as quite a heroic figure here in Gusu. How did he end up taking in such a worthless foster son?"

"They aren't melons grown on the same vine, after all."

Outside Divine Dragon Hall, at the far end of the courtyard, a new plaque hung on the octagonal pavilion.

-Flower Reverence Pavilion-

Viewed from either side, the three large characters showed no real method in their brushwork. Never mind "Jin Gaozong," with his sinews of Yan and bones of Liu; they fell far short even of Ge Zhixiong's graceful small regular script.

"The West Canal Gate has joined forces with the Beggars' Sect. They'll be a formidable enemy."

Fu Rong sat on a stone stool. Seeing that this upheaval had raised the disciples' morale rather than lowered it, she felt both worry and joy. As she gazed at the man's straight-backed figure, worry ultimately dominated her expression.

"Chen Youchun himself is nothing to fear, but the Beggars' Sect stands behind him. The Gusu Branch alone has several hundred disciples, with plenty of skilled fighters among them. Their branch leader, Tie He, is a heroic figure himself."

"A five-pouch disciple doesn't necessarily represent the entire Beggars' Sect."

Li Yu stood at the railing. Behind the pavilion grew two camellias, which had drunk their fill of June's rain and dew and basked in July's blazing sun. Now they were in full bloom. He held his yellow-skinned gourd, his gaze likewise somewhat grave.

"At least he represents the Gusu Branch."

Born and raised here, Fu Rong knew the inner workings of Gusu's jianghu well.

"Tie He had an excellent reputation in the jianghu in his younger days. But in recent years, apparently because age has weakened him, he's entrusted the whole Gusu Branch to his foster son Chen Youchun, the so-called 'young branch leader.' However much a man values chivalry, an outsider can't come between family."

"You're right."

Li Yu turned around and said, "We can't count on someone reasonable in the Beggars' Sect stepping forward to uphold justice. To forge iron, you must be strong yourself. Otherwise, even if justice comes, the grass on our graves will already be several feet high."

Throughout the ages, one truth had always stood unshaken: only when your standing was equal would your opponent observe the rules with you.

The world blew hot and cold with people's fortunes. How could the jianghu be any exception?

Fu Rong smiled bitterly. "When you're weak, everything you do is wrong. Only when you can win a fight is there any justice to speak of."

Ultimately, Chen Youchun had been the one to wreak havoc in Divine Dragon Hall and break Luo Xia's right leg, yet all their retaliation had fallen on Man Zhan of the West Canal Gate. There was something of bullying the weak and fearing the strong about it.

But the ordinary disciples already found it immensely satisfying. None of them, Fu Rong included, dared imagine the consequences of truly following jianghu rules-taking tooth for tooth and blood for blood, and cutting off both legs of the Beggars' Sect's young branch leader.

Whether it was the Beggars' Sect or the Gusu Murong Clan, such an imposing reputation, which none dared offend, had been won through fighting.

For a jianghu gang, victory was the finest tonic.

Absorbing the Black Flood Dragon Gang had been mere play in South Canal's little puddle. The night raid on Red Flower Villa had only been beating a drowning dog. Yang Le could hardly count as anyone of weight, and in the end, the West Canal Gate had reaped the lion's share of the benefits.

The Divine Dragon Cult needed a real battle to establish its standing.

Li Yu looked at the red flowers outside the pavilion, urgency rising in his heart. He said gravely, "The battle at Apricot Grove is crucial. If we win, Chen Youchun might not dare act rashly. This is called... throwing one punch to open the way, so a hundred punches won't come our way!"

Everyone knew the jianghu was more than fighting and killing.

But the most important thing in the jianghu was-always fighting and killing!

Win this battle, and everything could be discussed.

Lose, and jackals, wolves, tigers, and leopards would swarm them. Everything would be over.

Fu Rong asked worriedly, "Cult Leader... are you confident?"

"No."

Li Yu gave a helpless smile.

"Ge Zhixiong made his name more than ten years ago. His movements are unpredictable, his internal strength formidable, and he's a seasoned fighter with extensive experience. Even among second-rate experts, he's a particularly difficult opponent."

After their exchange that night, he had known Ge Zhixiong was the strongest opponent he had encountered since coming to Jiangnan.

Had that sword strike from behind been aimed at him, he absolutely could not have dodged it.

Ge Zhixiong had not only dodged it, but counterattacked in time. Clearly, both his lightness skill and internal strength had reached profound levels.

Challenging someone above his level was not impossible, but he needed something solid to rely on.

Although he had cultivated the Minor Formless Skill, he had practiced it for too short a time, accumulating only three years' worth of source internal strength.

The Soul-Losing Finger was tremendously powerful, but he had yet to truly master it.

"If only there were some way for this dilemma to resolve itself. There's still a month until the fourteenth of the eighth month..."

Li Yu pondered for a long while but still found no answer. He raised the yellow-skinned gourd and took a great swig. Ordinary strong liquor was like kindling: it could stimulate his internal strength for a moment, but could not truly increase its source.

He thought of Mu Wanqing, who had suddenly left that night.

Looking at it now, perhaps that was a good thing.

A month from now, the outcome of the battle at Apricot Grove would be uncertain. There was no need to drag another person into it.

Fu Rong looked around, steeled herself, and said, "We might as well burn down Green Willow Manor and take all our weapons, armor, provisions, and fodder out onto the lake. We can recruit men from the Seventy-Two Peaks while fighting a guerrilla war."

That was another option.

Lake Tai was vast. Even if the West Canal Gate had men and boats, and the Beggars' Sect could mobilize many experts, unless they turned over every inch of those hundreds of miles of water, there would always be somewhere for them to hide.

Li Yu lowered his wine gourd and shook his head. "It hasn't come to that yet..."

Before he finished, he saw Guo Xie hurrying over. The youth had not become excessively despondent over his close friend's grave injuries. He entered the pavilion, saluted them both, and said, "Reporting to the Cult Leader: I have news about the matter you asked me to investigate."

"Tell me."

Usually composed, Li Yu was genuinely a little impatient now.

"Pine and Crane Tower in Wuxi is said to have a jar of fine wine called 'Hegemon Wine,' also known as 'One Sip and You Can't Lift Your Feet' and 'Half a Bowl Sends You Rolling Downstairs.' Those who can't hold their liquor get drunk just smelling it. Many years ago, it even led to a court case over a death..."

"Strong enough!"

Before Guo Xie could finish, Li Yu slapped the stone table, making the half-empty gourd jump. Perhaps it was the influence of the Wine Worm in his dantian, but he had a vague feeling that this was precisely the "aged brew" he was looking for.

"One sip and you can't lift your feet, half a bowl sends you rolling downstairs... is this fine wine or knockout powder?"

Fu Rong spoke in astonishment.

She knew the cult leader drank not merely to satisfy his craving, but because it aided his martial practice. That was nothing unusual. Shaolin, for instance, had "Drunken Fist," while the Xiahou Family of Hebei had a supreme art called the "Drunken Dream Killing Sword."

Li Yu smiled. "Whatever it is, go on."

"Yes."

Guo Xie continued.

"After someone drank himself to death that time, the proprietor stopped offering the wine to guests. He told outsiders... there was none left."

He told outsiders there was none left.

Then that meant... there was more.

After pondering for a long while, Li Yu said, "Starting tomorrow, I'll enter secluded cultivation and receive no visitors."

"Yes."

Both understood his meaning.