Xin Yijian, as if intimately familiar with the ways of the martial world, knew his young master well. Never mind the thirty-person sleeping platform — even what the innkeeper called the “finest room” was only fine by the innkeeper’s own modest standards.
And so, having been thoroughly bewitched by tales of distant travelers, mountains and rivers, and local customs, Xie Ximu’s dream of the traveling life shattered the moment he’d seen every room in the inn.
It wasn’t that he was being precious about it — given a choice, he simply couldn’t bear it.
Take just one thing: this inn, having hosted a hundred years of palanquin-bearers, porters, and coarse escort guards passing through, had rooms where the moment you opened the door, before you could even see what was inside, the smell of a military latrine hit you first.
The young Earl didn’t even use a latrine at home — he used a chamber pot, and the old woman who attended to his chamber pot was paid two strings of cash a month, with extra clothes and food as rewards during festivals.
However many times a day he needed to relieve himself, this was such an easy task that people fought over the position and still couldn’t get it — no one would dare be careless with it.
But the Chen family raised their children differently — aside from An’er, the rest of them, himself included, were shown no such indulgence. Once they reached a certain age, they were all sent off to the military camps, the Ministry of Justice’s prison, even further places, to be tempered through hardship.
Having gone with his adoptive father to the military camps many times, he knew — the latrines in the wastelands outside those old camps all smelled exactly like this.
The same eye-stinging, nose-searing reek, the kind that instantly choked you speechless, brought tears streaming before you even registered it, especially unbearable in summer — practically usable as a torture method in an interrogation chamber.
Xie Ximu covered his nose with his sleeve and immediately backed away three steps.
Baogen, honest and simple, watched the honored guest, understanding well enough that such a precious young master wouldn’t actually stay here — he was just curious, wanting a look, so let him look.
But when the honored guest backed away those few steps, though you couldn’t quite read disgust on his face — the young master’s upbringing was too good for that — disgust was still disgust, and this was, after all, his own family’s business.
He blurted out his grievance indignantly: “Young, young master, you don’t know about that lot — grown men, all of them — too lazy to walk a few more steps at night, with such a big courtyard out there, and they insist on relieving themselves right behind the door…”
Baogen spoke in thick local dialect, and speaking quickly, Xie Ximu couldn’t catch most of it, but he grasped the gist — it seemed these guests, especially in the dead of winter nights, didn’t want to go outside, so they simply relieved themselves behind the door… hah… could people really do such a thing?
He’d learned something new today.
He’d thought himself rather naive, believing that what he’d seen over at Ruyi Ge’s place already represented the utmost extreme of poverty, the utmost extreme of hardship.
Yet here was something even more so.
After viewing every room, Xie Ximu trudged with somewhat heavier steps back to the courtyard and slowly sat down beside Xin Yijian.
The night was pitch black, the mountain wind strong; one could hear the distant mountains howling, yet amid the more than twenty bonfires burning in the courtyard, the light was good, and the atmosphere around them was clearly divided into two separate worlds.
Business was good tonight — the innkeeper’s wife had finally been able to leave the big cooking pot by the wall to go supervise the kitchen instead. The moment she left, a crowd of ordinary travelers rushed over eagerly — some fetching water, some soaking their dry rations in the pot — everyone out on the road wanting something hot to eat.
On this side, simple tea and plain food, too poor even to afford a proper sand pit to sleep in, yet the faces here carried a sense of safety, of something to look forward to.
Then looking to the other side — a row of “living coffins” lined up against the wall, burning the very finest split firewood, roasting all manner of fresh game meat — yet the faces of these martial-world men carried an air of something close to despair. Though they tried hard to appear rough and unbothered, tried not to dwell on those disgusting matters, there was still a heaviness weighing on their hearts.
Xie Ximu sat down and studied the faces gathered half-circle around the bonfires — meat roasting, grease glistening on faces, eyes hollow and vacant, yet deliberately putting on an air of wild indifference in their speech. Was this what “martial world men” were like?
That man with the nickname River-Turning Dragon, Zhang Qixing, had a cloth wrapped around his neck, its original color no longer discernible from the bonfire’s scorching heat; he kept using that cloth to wipe his face, his nose, his greasy hair.
In his hand he held a short, thick-bellied knife, its blade sharp, slicing cleanly through the crisp skin of the venison. The meat was hot, so he took off the cloth to hold it while he ate.
Was this what “martial world men” were like?
Xie Ximu studied him quite intently, unaware that from the moment he’d stepped out of the cart, the entire courtyard’s worth of people had been staring at him — not because he was particularly good-looking, nor even for that indescribable air of nobility about him, but for that rare cleanliness of his, so seldom seen in this world.
As people often said, that little young master, so fair and clean, drew people’s fond attention — and so it was.
This young master from some grand place, who washed his face and rinsed his mouth every single day, looked at a glance like a scholar destined for the top imperial examination. Just look at that face, that neck, those clothes — surely made from two whole bolts of fine cloth, not a single patch anywhere on his person, and he even dared travel in thousand-stitched cloth-soled boots for a long journey — just how much money must his family have?
Seeing Xie Ximu sit down, Xin Yijian smiled and turned to ask him quietly: “Well? How is it?”
He asked with an unmistakably delighted blink of his eyes — as if to say, you never believed me at home, always arguing with me, old man here wasn’t about to argue back, but this is simply how the world really is.
Xie Ximu said nothing, but not wanting to admit defeat, pretended not to have heard, and instead looked over at Zhang Qixing across from him.
Zhang Qixing, eating his roasted meat, choked a little swallowing too fast and snorted out some mucus, wiping it off carelessly with the back of his hand. Looking up, he laughed heartily at Xie Ximu: “Little master’s probably not used to that room, eh? Hahaha…”
Xie Ximu said, expressionless: “First Uncle, I want to sleep in the cart tonight.”
The moment he said this, laughter erupted all around.
Laughter has a way of being infectious, and in the end even Xie Ximu found himself chuckling along.
The young martial-world man sitting beside him, who had been leaning against his own coffin lost in thought, never expected to find something amusing before his death. He sat up and nudged Xie Ximu’s shoulder with his own, saying: “Never mind you — even those of us who go out often on the roads, well, there’s only so much a man can bear. We’d rather just curl up by the bonfire for the night than stay in the old inn’s rooms.”
Hahaha… they all burst into laughter again.
Once the laughter died down, Xin Yijian said to Xie Ximu: “Young master, you wouldn’t know this, but in the martial world there are three things we never enter: an unfamiliar gambling den, a dense forest, and an old inn’s rooms.”
Everyone around nodded in agreement, faces full of approval.
Xin Yijian explained patiently: “An unfamiliar gambling den — that’s a betting game set up by strangers in a strange place. No matter how good your luck, the game is rigged, and there will always come a time when you lose your hard-earned money. As for the dense forest, young master must surely understand that already. As for the old inn…”
Xin Yijian looked up at the innkeeper, who was going back and forth pouring wine for the guests, and said with a laugh: “Think about it — at least a few decades’ worth of people relieving themselves behind that door — how could anyone still go in there?”
Everyone laughed again at this, and the innkeeper, standing off to the side attending to them, grew a bit annoyed. He set down the wine jar, bent to add a few good pieces of split firewood to the fire, then said to Xie Ximu:
“Little master, you mustn’t look down on our rooms. For a hundred years, within fifty li in any direction, if you wanted to find lodging in the mountains, ours was the only inn around. Now in late spring, sitting by the fire, one can bear it well enough — but think of those escort guards on long journeys, running into a bitter winter with frost and snow, heh heh, even their noses can’t control their legs then! Our rooms may not be much, but at least they offer a heated bed, warm bedding, and shelter from every direction — practically an immortal’s treatment, wouldn’t you say?!”
Xie Ximu thought it over and nodded earnestly.
If he himself were ever caught in such a predicament — freeze to death, or endure one smelly night — well, he’d rather endure the smell for one night.
The innkeeper, having successfully defended his family’s honor, saw the old guests fall silent and, pleased with himself, reached to pick up the wine jar again. But then, unfortunately, his hapless son decided to speak up too:
“Our, our room’s real good, ah — that old hunter up the front of the mountain got consumption, coughed up so much blood, went to the city and spent a fortune on a good prescription — hmm… and, and went everywhere looking for “human midwhite,” used medicine from I don’t know how many places and none of it worked, hmph, hmph…
In the end it was one of the old guests staying at our inn who pointed the way, saying other people’s stuff surely wasn’t good enough, and that’s how they came knocking at our door. Took a big block of human midwhite, went back, used it in two doses of medicine, and he got better!”
The moment he said this, there was first a stunned silence, and then the whole courtyard erupted into laughter, making the innkeeper’s face flush red then pale with anger. He grabbed a piece of firewood and chased his son around the courtyard, beating at him.
Xie Ximu laughed until tears came out — truthfully, there were plenty of disgusting folk remedies out there, eating insects and the like being only the most basic; some of the others he didn’t even dare imagine.
This “human midwhite” was, for the most part, made from the accumulated white sediment scraped from the chamber pots used by young, robust men, then processed through a special method. Once refined, it was said to be quite effective for burns, festering wounds, and coughing up blood from consumption.
A hundred years’ worth of old chamber-pot grime, caked solid into a block — well, you could judge for yourself how effective this “human midwhite” must be.
Seeing his young master in good spirits, Xin Yijian took out a small knife, selected a well-marbled, crisply charred piece from the belly of a buck, cut off a portion, and once the meat was down, took a flat piece of firewood from beside the fire, still reasonably smooth on top, and served the meat on it, handing it to Xie Ximu. “Try this flavor — I guarantee you’ve never had anything like it.”
Xie Ximu smiled and accepted it, lowering his head to take a sizzling bite. The meat sizzled in his mouth too — tender, fresh, crisp, fragrant, everything present except one thing — salt. Without it, the flavor fell short.
Why hadn’t they added salt?
Puzzled, Xie Ximu looked around more closely, and only then noticed that all these martial-world men carried their own little salt pouches, only carefully pinching out a bit once the meat was in hand, never sharing this particular flavor with each other.
So it turned out that having no taste at all was itself a kind of hardship — one that forced even those sharing out the meat to stop sharing their salt.
Seeing that his young master had caught on right away, Xin Yijian smiled and took out his own salt pouch to offer him, saying: “It’s only been the past two months — there’s a new imperial decree that any place selling government salt will no longer accept inferior iron coins.”
The moment Xin Yijian said this, Zhang Qixing across the fire pulled an iron coin from his waist pouch and tossed it over, saying: “Truly, our distant guest must be laughing at us. But without a taste of salt, a man has no strength in his body, and us brothers need to put in hard labor tomorrow, so we can’t be too polite about it — please do forgive us.”
Xin Yijian quickly waved this off as nothing, then opened his own salt pouch and generously rubbed a layer over the venison, drawing praise all around for his generosity.
In an instant, the sound of people swallowing saliva rose up all around — meat with salt was fragrance upon fragrance.
Zhang Qixing took a big bite, then wiped his mouth and said: “It’s not just the matter of the poor coins. Aside from the trouble at the government offices, the waterway here has been cut off — the brothers down at the docks already tore up the planks, so never mind government salt, even private… cough, right now nothing’s getting through at all…”
He looked up at the sky, his eyes showing a trace of helplessness. “Once tomorrow passes, it’ll be settled, one way or another. By then, at least there’ll be salt for everyone again.”
Xie Ximu didn’t respond to this, but studied the inferior coin in his hand quite seriously. The coin was crudely cast, clearly something wasn’t right about it. Turning something over in his mind, he pulled a cloth pouch from his sleeve and tossed over a bright, freshly-minted coin.
Zhang Qixing caught the copper coin, examined it, and sighed: “Heh! Now this is a good coin — one tael of silver can be exchanged for one thousand one hundred coins like this at the county money-changer’s…” He looked up and winked at Xie Ximu. “Little master’s quite the character — in all my life, old Zhang here has never come out ahead by even a single coin, and you’ve really lost out this time…”
Everyone burst into laughter again at this.
Xie Ximu, understanding he was being teased, held up the iron coin and asked: “And this kind?”
Zhang Qixing laughed again. “This kind? One tael only gets you two thousand of these, and few shops will even take them — that’s the trouble of it. Isn’t it funny how the world works? Old Zhang here, bringing my disciples into the city to deliver goods, gets paid in this poor coin when settling accounts — but then when we turn around to buy food in the city, they won’t take this coin either?
If this coin’s illegal, the imperial court and government offices should simply ban it outright — execute a few, arrest a few, us common folk would welcome that gladly. Yet everyone seems to turn a blind eye to it. Isn’t that curious?”
Xie Ximu imitated his raised eyebrow: “Curious indeed!”
This coin should be shown to Grandfather — the rampant spread of debased currency was already affecting people’s livelihoods; this was no small matter.
He tucked the poor coin carefully back into his coin pouch, then picked up a rather large piece of meat, looking it over from all sides, preparing to take a big bite.
From the moment Xie Ximu picked up the meat, everyone stopped what they were doing to watch him, and once he took a bite and his eyes narrowed with pleasure, everyone around laughed, feeling that some small measure of the local honor had been restored.
These martial-world men, who knew what went through their heads — why did they all let out such a long breath at once?
Zhang Qixing, seeing the little master enjoying his food, pulled up a stick-skewered piece of belly meat from in front of him and tossed it casually across the fire — with just the right force — sending it flying over the flames and landing precisely on the ground in front of Xie Ximu, a few drops of fat splattering as it flew.
The flames leapt up suddenly, and everyone around cheered in unison. Zhang Qixing, unbothered, said: “Little master, traveling this distance with my old brother here — by rights we should’ve laid out a proper spread for you back home, but well— heh! Man-made disasters are sometimes more terrifying than natural ones. Ah well, let’s not speak of unhappy things — let’s just eat, eat.”
Xie Ximu, genuinely hungry, thanked him, pulled a small dagger from his boot, and with quick, deft movements cut up the meat, tucking in with great relish.
But this action of his drew everyone’s attention once again — nothing else, only that the small dagger this young master had pulled from his boot, though short, flashed with a silvery gleam as it moved, cutting cleanly through meat and bone alike, as smoothly as a sharp blade through soft tofu.
Xie Ximu had taken two bites and was chewing when he heard Zhang Qixing across from him say: “Little master uses a fine blade.”
Xie Ximu looked up at this, and seeing everyone watching him, reached out and tossed the sheathed dagger casually across to him.
Zhang Qixing caught it, and looking down, was even more astonished.
This knife was simply too beautiful — a distinctly foreign blade. Its hilt was carved from gold and jade, a shallow relief pattern of a tiger’s head, and both the mouth and end of the sheath were carved with an unfamiliar floral design.
There were twelve flowers in all, connected and coiled by silver vines. When he drew the blade, a fresh, mirror-cold gleam flashed out at him; once his eyes adjusted, he caught sight of his own homely reflection and gave a small start.
With such a fine blade in hand, the urge to strike something was hard to suppress. Zhang Qixing swung it on impulse, and the wooden stump people sat on cleanly sliced off a chunk.
As the sizable piece of wood clattered to the ground, everyone cheered together, praising the dagger, and several wanted a closer look, to admire it themselves.
It was the nature of martial-world men to covet fine weapons. Zhang Qixing reluctantly handed the dagger over, and it made its way around the circle for everyone to examine.
But none of them knew that this was, in fact, the finest weapon present.
If one spoke of weapon-grade materials in this world, only the craftsmanship of the Gaofei people could compare — and this dagger was indeed the work of a top Gaofei master craftsman.
The tiger emblem on the weapon was in fact the royal crest of the Xi’ao royal house of Gaofei, and the flower carved into the dagger was called the pansy — a flower that grew everywhere across Xie Ximu’s own fief in Gaofei.
He also held a Gaofei title: Viscount of Lidu City.
This place called Lidu City, Xie Ximu had never actually visited — it lay to the west of Daliang, and was also the origin of Xie Ximu’s title as Earl of Xicheng.
Consider this: any literate person of Daliang, even playing a game of chess, liked to talk strategy — so what could Xie Wuhao possibly accomplish in a foreign land?
It had taken merely three to five years for that woman named Yi Ni’na to be pushed onto the throne by Xie Wuhao, becoming the first Empress of Gaofei — yet Xie Wuhao himself never became Prince Consort. He now held the title Duke of Paradise Pansy, and had two illegitimate children with the Empress besides…
Setting aside Xie Wuhao’s storied triumphs abroad, as for Xie Ximu himself — his own young stepmother had become Empress, so bestowing a title on him and granting him a large fief was no great matter.
Yet even with a fief of his own, the Emperor of Daliang dared not let Xie Wuhao’s only bloodline leave Daliang’s borders — so all they could do was keep him well-pleased; not even an Imperial Prince received better treatment than he did.
Fortunate indeed that Xie Ximu had grown up within the Chen household, or else he’d long since have been manipulated by others beyond recognition.
He was extremely wealthy — aside from the tax revenue from his fief abroad, as Earl of Xicheng he also held a fief-stipend of a full two thousand shi of grain annually.
This was a genuinely, properly rich man.
That exquisite dagger, having made its round among the martial-world men, finally returned to Xie Ximu’s hands, and he tucked it back into his boot without a second thought.
Watching this, Zhang Qixing laughed. “Little master clearly lives a fine life — makes a man, well, downright envious! To think, back when we wanted to apprentice under a master, even a plain white wax-wood staff was enough to trouble our parents to death.”
Xie Ximu asked curiously: “This one here?” He turned to glance at his First Uncle, and Xin Yijian told him: “Just call him Brother Zhang.”
Xie Ximu accordingly addressed him as Brother Zhang: “Brother Zhang, back then—were weapons very expensive?”
At the ironworks in Yandu, a plain white wax-wood staff, the only thing that could be freely bought and sold without needing to register with iron goods, cost only two or three hundred coppers.
Zhang Qixing laughed. “Not exactly expensive, but times were hard back then — no future in studying, no work for manual labor either. Back then, what did the imperial court even look like? They weren’t doing well themselves!
And among the common folk, it was even worse — chaos everywhere, like a boiling pot. Later on, us fools finally understood: in an age of peace, there’s law; in an age of chaos, the martial world emerges.”
He took a sip of wine, wiped his mouth, and laughed. “Back then, a sturdy, well-fitted white wax-wood staff could sell for over two strings of cash — almost two taels of silver. Just think how chaotic the world must have been then!
People were so poor that even a spell of continuous rain was enough to wipe out an entire family. Push a person to their limit and they become no better than livestock — on the road to ruin, even evil spirits wouldn’t dare come within ten li of your door…”
At this point, the one who’d been sitting quietly beside them, Dou Zhongming, called Roaring Mountain Sea-Quelling, cut in: “Isn’t that the truth. Back then, every trade and profession alike couldn’t put food on the table, nothing was stable, bandits and villains everywhere — any household with money had to hire bodyguards and boxing masters just to feel safe.
Looking back on it now, though, it wasn’t all bad — the imperial court being useless is exactly what gave us martial-world folk our day in the sun. My family had it a bit better back then; my father had medicine, took on disciples, taught them a few years and they’d graduate with money to send back — those days were truly good.”
Once he finished, Zhang Qixing mocked him: “Heh, old Dou, if you had to trade the life you have now for the life your old man lived back then, would you trade or not?”
Dou Zhongming rolled his eyes. “That question’s beneath asking — of course I wouldn’t trade! No amount of gold can buy peace. My father took on disciples every year, and every year some graduated and went on their way, but every single month he was also collecting corpses — who’d want to see that?
These days are tighter, sure, but at least there’s peace now, especially these past ten-odd years — heh, walking the martial-world road doesn’t pay as well anymore, but at least families don’t send someone off standing at the door in the morning only to bring them back lying down that same night…”
He turned suddenly to look at his own coffin and said with a wistful laugh: “Ah, forget it, let’s not talk about unhappy things. Brothers, let’s drink. Since we’ve come this far in friendship, for the sake of this small comfort — tomorrow we risk our old lives, so that those people’s feet won’t set foot on our Yiyuan Commandery’s dock again. When the time comes, we’ll look out for each other on the road, travel together, no one loses out. Cheers!”
Moved by this shared feeling, the group of men raised their bowls and drank as one.
Xie Ximu wanted to join in with a bowl too, but Xin Yijian stopped him — this was a toast arranged among the dead, agreed upon between them; why would he want to join in on that?
Left with no choice, Xie Ximu could only sigh with envy: “Actually, I do rather like the martial world. In the past, reading those legendary tales, those thick martial-world storybooks — riding a thousand li on horseback, commanding the martial world with a single order, dominating all under heaven, that kind of life where you do as you please — that seemed truly exhilarating…”
Before he could finish, everyone burst out laughing again, and once the laughter subsided, Dou Zhongming said: “Heh! What a joke that is. Back when my own son didn’t want to study either, insisted on following in his ancestors’ footsteps, wanted to take up the trade described in those legendary storybooks — I beat him half to death out of anger…”
Turning serious, he said to Xie Ximu: “Let little master know this — there’s no such nonsense as ‘the martial world,’ no such thing as ‘commanding the martial world’ — it’s never existed. The likes of us, making our name and reputation walking these roads, only ever did it to use our fearsome reputation to protect our families. As for what you said about riding a thousand li on horseback — pure nonsense, not to be believed at all.”
“It’s fake?” Xie Ximu was thoroughly astonished, and looked at Xin Yijian, who nodded as well.
Looking around the circle of martial-world men, no matter their age, all nodded in confirmation, proving those legendary storybooks were nothing but lies.
Xin Yijian laughed. “I told you before, young master — those idle books you read are all lies, but you wouldn’t believe me. Now that so many people have confirmed it, you believe it, don’t you?”
Once he said this, Zhang Qixing added: “Little master, let’s not even talk about the rest — take this matter of ‘commanding the martial world.’ Those senior figures of the Jiuzhou Domain, their family’s fame has lasted unbroken for hundreds of years. No matter which dynasty, which emperor sat on the throne, they’ve always been placated with fine words — yet even they never dare claim to command the martial world. Why is that?”
Xie Ximu, puzzled: “Is it… because their conduct isn’t good?”
Zhang Qixing waved a hand, laughing as he spoke: “Walking the martial-world road and still talking about conduct? Without a bit of cunning, who could even survive out here — this has nothing to do with conduct at all, heh~ actually~ it’s that the distances are too great. Whatever order you issue, hah, it simply can’t reach far enough. You understand?”
Dou Zhongming laughed along. “It’s like your Elm Matron over there — such power, such prestige, such conduct in her affairs, who would dare not submit? Even I, old Dou, so far away from Yandu, admire her endlessly. Never mind that she’s a woman — she handles matters with dignity and takes responsibility. The Gong family over at Baiquan Mountain, under her protection, what kind of life do they lead now? A life fit for immortals!”
Everyone around them showed envy, their eyes full of boundless admiration for the Gong family’s sect at Baiquan Mountain.
Zhang Qixing said with a bitter laugh: “And even someone as respected and virtuous as her, with her martial-world order, can only command those in her immediate vicinity. Across our whole land of Daliang, from north to south, over a thousand li of mountains and rivers — it’s not that people don’t respect her, it’s that when she gives an order, we’re willing to follow it out of respect for her — but as for that lost young noble, word left Qingfeng City and reached us here, and how many days has it already been?
Ah, in short, there’s no such thing as commanding the whole realm. Otherwise why would there be separate North and South Guardian-of-Nation Temples? If one Guardian-of-Nation Temple alone had sufficed, back when Master Xuan Shan gave his order, us men here wouldn’t have refused to obey either.
Not to put too fine a point on it, even His Majesty’s imperial edict changes flavor by the time it leaves the capital, let alone some trifling martial-world order. Hmph, and who does this Jiuzhou Domain think it is, wanting to command the martial world? Heh, absolute nonsense, utter—”
Something unseen suddenly dropped from above, and before Zhang Qixing could finish his words, his two front teeth fell straight to the ground, his whole mouth instantly filled with blood, cold sweat breaking out across his forehead.
An old, weathered voice drifted—now near, now far, now left, now right, now above, now below, now ahead, now behind: “A humble household with no one presiding over the hall, and still you need a lesson taught to you—hurry home and reflect on yourselves. Not an ounce of real weight to your name, yet you dare call yourselves righteous heroes? You ill-bred mongrels, badmouthing people behind their backs…”
Zhang Qixing and the other martial-world men all leapt to their feet. He spat out several mouthfuls of blood, reached up to tear open his robe, baring his hairy, muscular chest, his upper gums unable to hold back the whistling air: “Come on then (Good), you got the guts (balls)? Come thith way then, damn you (Come at me, damn you)!”
They searched left and right for the source of the voice, unable to find anyone, their expressions growing more tense by the moment, mingled with shame and fury.
Xie Ximu also wanted to stand up, but Xin Yijian held him down firmly. “Young master, we’re not people of the martial world — we shouldn’t meddle in the martial world’s affairs.”
Xie Ximu sniffed and, eyes fixed on a corner of the courtyard, asked: “And if I insist on meddling?”
Xin Yijian blinked, then pulled a small knife from his boot and slowly aimed it at his own neck, a thin line of blood beginning to well up.
Never mind losing his life over this — how would he, missing even a scrap of skin, explain himself to the young master’s father back home?
Seeing this, Xie Ximu’s mouth twitched, and he asked: “You… who taught you this move?”
Xin Yijian answered without a shred of shame: “Second Young Master!”
In the pitch-black night, as if some wandering ghost hovered above the inn, the voice continued its unbroken scolding—ill-bred, low-born, and so on and so forth—
Everyone searched around in circles without finding anyone, and some, utterly despairing, thought to themselves: so this is the Jiuzhou Domain? Never mind facing them head-on—here were several dozen brothers, with every means at their disposal to search, and they couldn’t even find one old man. Tomorrow, surely, would be the day they died.
At this thought, one man, giving in to despair, sat down cross-legged, casually tore open his own robe, and slapped his bared chest with a resounding smack, shouting: “Jiuzhou Domain, all of you are dogs! Dogs! Damned dogs!! Shameless dogs, every one of you! Come! Come! Come at me, then…”
No sooner had these words left his mouth than another object came whistling over the wall from all directions. Just as this reckless martial-world man seemed about to meet his end, a double-handled iron wok suddenly blocked the object in front of him—only a few clanging sounds were heard as whatever it was got knocked right back where it came from.
Everyone was stunned, and looking closely, saw it was the innkeeper’s wife, who had been busy inside the inn, originally carrying out a wok of stir-fried mountain delicacies to serve the guests—though of course that dish of delicacies was gone now. The innkeeper’s wife looked at her wok, now punctured with two holes, and sighed: “Can’t do business like this anymore—even my wok’s been punched through.”
No sooner had she spoken than the old, weathered voice rang out sternly from atop the wall: “Sly wretch, hiding so deep! Since you’ve chosen to take this matter up yourself, you’d best announce your name and origins properly—this old man’s hand shows no mercy to a nameless ghost…”
The innkeeper’s wife clicked her tongue and looked up at the sky with a sneer: “What nameless ghost—can’t you see the banner at our door? This is the century-old Jian family inn, are you blind?”
Another sharp object came whistling through the air, this time blocked by a piece of firewood.
The innkeeper used both hands to knock the object back into the air, and looked around in surprise: “Well now, this old fellow’s good at hiding, hiding so fast!”
Across the vast courtyard of over a hundred people, now there was only the crackling of firewood striking through the air, and no telling how much time passed before an abrupt, ghostly burst of laughter suddenly rang out.
A young girl’s voice, sweet and delicate, laughed: “Hehe, are you all fools? This is just an old trick of the martial world, and it’s got you all scared like this? Heh~you old men are quite something—strings hanging behind your backs, singing and putting on a show like a bunch of hanged ghosts?”