“Bang!”

Under the moonlight, on the hazy open ground of Baiquan Mountain, a body was sent flying by the blow of a spear shaft, slamming into a bluestone slab that shattered into pieces, kicking up a cloud of dust… A moment later, Qiqian’er crawled slowly out of the rubble, her face heavy with strain, an iron collar fastened around her neck.

Before learning to hit others, one must first learn to take a beating — that was Xin Bo’s understanding of martial technique. Whatever lineage, whatever forms, whatever combination of internal energy and skill — none of that flashy nonsense existed in Xin Bo’s world.

The Beggars’ lineage had, since ancient times, taken more beatings than it dealt out, scraping by under the sticks and curses of others. By Xin Bo’s generation, he had come to understand how to minimize damage during a fight through sheer body technique alone.

As for that so-called “Thirty-Six Forms of the Moon Virtue” manual Qiqian’er owned, it proved entirely useless under Xin Bo’s tutelage. Old hands of the martial world never fought move against move — it was simply give and take, attack and block, press and counter, chop and parry, long since reduced to its simplest essentials.

What Xin Bo taught Qiqian’er was simple: to hit others, first learn to take a beating, and only be allowed to dodge, never to strike back — and dodging only through footwork, never through any light-body technique.

And so, the Little Immortal Maiden’s reputation before Zhou Wujiu and Xie Liuhao was thoroughly demolished.

Before, when Qiqian’er struck them, the gap in skill had simply been too vast — like a three-year-old attacking a grown adult; no matter how many moves the child threw, one hand was enough to pick them up and swat them down like a naughty monkey.

But now she faced Pang Tu, an equal opponent, and her scrappy little tricks would put her at a severe disadvantage — Pang Tu was no stationary target.

Brute strength alone would cost her dearly.

Zhou Wujiu and Xie Liuhao were both proper disciples of the southern school of martial arts — otherwise they’d never have caught Jiu Si Tang’s eye and been made junior officers from the start. Naturally they knew some spear technique, though only the basics. On that first night, after Xin Bo had set them down from the tree and explained the situation, their first instinct had been to run — yet somehow, whatever the old beggar said to persuade them, by the time Qiqian’er reverently arrived up the mountain bearing wine and dragging a sheep, she found a pair of guardian spirits standing ready, spears in hand, faces set with grim resolve…

Ten days remained until the third of the third month…

Qiqian’er crawled out of the shattered stones, wiped a smear of blood from her nose, spat out a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva, and sat cross-legged on the ground, gazing up at the moon, launching into her umpteenth round of muttering.

“Am I out of my mind? I’m the lady of the house! Am I tired of sitting pretty as a proper wife? I’ve got the keys to the money chest, the household storeroom, the granary — Madam here could be sitting comfortably in the sun with an embroidery frame, living the good life! Is it because I don’t have land? Or don’t have shopfronts? Why am I out here bringing wine and meat just to get beaten up?!”

Xin Bo, half-reclining on a tall stone platform nearby, held back a laugh as he sipped his liquor and muttered along, “Such a benefactor, such a benefactor… unbearable to watch, unbearable to watch… Little Immortal Maiden! Shall we take a break?”

Xie Liuhao kicked Zhou Wujiu and said, “Boss, can she really stop Pang Tu? If my five older brothers find out I got mixed up in this, they’ll beat me to death for sure!”

Zhou Wujiu glared at him. “Just keep your mouth shut and no one will ever know. Whether she can stop Pang Tu or not, I don’t know — but I do know she’s better than me. A thousand times better. Better than you, ten thousand times better.”

Xie Liuhao nodded in agreement. “That’s true enough. I sure couldn’t take a beating like this.”

After a moment, Qiqian’er took a breath, staggered back to her feet, and psyched herself up. “I— I still need one more!”

With that, she stood back out in the open, glaring at Xie Liuhao, and shouted, “Come on!”

Zhou Wujiu looked at the blood blisters on his palm, then at the little immortal maiden whose divine aura had been thoroughly wrecked, spat, and said to the miserable-looking Xie Liuhao, “You — go first!”

Xie Liuhao wrapped his hands with cloth bindings, reached down and picked up the awl-spear stuck in the ground, gave it a sharp shake in the air, and pointed the tip at Qiqian’er. “Well then, Immortal Maiden — here I come!”

Without waiting for her nod, he launched straight into one of the martial world’s most overused of the sixteen spear forms — the Phoenix Nodding Head, also called the Great Neck Wrap.

This move used the recoil force of a spear thrust, sending the spearhead in small circles to strike at the opponent’s head and neck.

In warfare between armies, spearmen made up ninety percent of the fighting force, their purpose being to kill the enemy from as far a distance as possible through any means necessary… hence the many varieties of spear that developed, among which the awl-spear was the most vicious kind of all — once it struck home, it left no chance of survival.

Shaped like a wheat ear, its tail carried a bladed tip designed so that once thrust in and hooked back out, it would drag something along with it; its two side edges, also shaped like the barbs of a wheat ear, carried thin blades on either side — truly a viciously cruel weapon.

And it was from this that Pang Tu’s nickname, the First-Rank Spear, had come — he excelled at the Phoenix Nodding Head, wrapping around the neck; a few rounds of the Great Neck Wrap and his opponent’s throat would be left with a bloody line across it, cut clean through, with no chance of survival whatsoever.

On the training ground, Qiqian’er dodged with great difficulty — and that alone was progress! The first two days, she’d basically just stood there and taken the blows, and in the earliest sessions she’d even crouched down covering her head, which had nearly made the other three’s eyeballs pop out in shock.

Soon, the awl-spear’s iron blade crossed with the neck guard Qiqian’er wore, sparks flying briefly. Just as she managed to struggle free from the wrap, she felt a cold gust sweep across her waist, and with a “Bang!” she was sent flying once more, tumbling far away…

How could a seasoned veteran of the martial world possibly limit himself to just the Phoenix Great Wrap? He would surely be quick and efficient, freely combining thrust, parry, hook, burst, roll, smash, shake, entangle, block, deflect, and ward into one seamless technique.

And so, Zhou Wujiu and Xie Liuhao began coordinating their attacks together, striking from different angles at once.

Watching Qiqian’er go flying again, Xin Bo slowly sat up and scratched his head. “Little Immortal Maiden, you’re only watching the spearhead — but us poor souls who take beatings for a living, what we always watch is a man’s eyes. No matter how deeply he hides his intentions, he’ll always glance first at where he means to strike. Once he’s sized it up, the shoulder moves before it connects through to the hand holding the weapon…”

He demonstrated, pointing in sequence — from the eyes, to the shoulder, to the hand.

Qiqian’er stood up, touched her waist, then her neck, and nodded at Xin Bo.

Xin Bo continued, “It’s not that I’m flattering you, but everything follows a pattern. Little Immortal Maiden, your eyesight and hearing are sharp, and your bones and sinews are surely sound — your foundation is truly excellent! I’ve crossed paths with that Pang Tu a few times myself — oh, he wouldn’t recognize me! I’m just someone who goes along to beg and watch the show whenever there’s a big challenge match, with plenty of rich folks and their ladies around.

Trust me, you’re naturally three parts stronger than him. He’s old now!

Watch closely — from the eyes, to the shoulder, to the weapon in hand. If you can’t dodge it and you’re bound to take the hit anyway, might as well go along with his intent instead, and turn it to your advantage… Lean into it! Stick to it! Cling to it! Just these three things — watch me…”

With that, he hopped down off the stone, stood facing Xie Liuhao and Zhou Wujiu, and nodded.

Xie Liuhao helplessly reached out and gave another shake-and-thrust toward Xin Bo, the spear whistling through the air as the tip trembled forward… Zhou Wujiu came in from the side simultaneously, his spear sweeping horizontally with a whooshing gust of wind…

Xin Bo let the spear blades graze along his neck, deflecting the force, running through three rounds of the well-worn, universally known “Peering Through Leaves at the Blossom Beneath” technique. As the third round of the Great Neck Wrap came through, he stepped his right leg back in a lateral shift, twisting his body free from the wrap entirely — a man in his seventies, yet his body moved with the flow of the spears, executing a graceful arching lean that wasn’t particularly flashy, just perfectly timed, his upper body sliding sideways into the gap between the two spears as they swept harmlessly past…

It wasn’t a particularly complicated technique — only three moves in total — yet Qiqian’er had endured three days of beatings over it…

“Again!”

“Bang!”

“Bang, bang…!!”

“Bang, bang, bang…!!!”

Nine days remained until the third of the third month…

After a full night of pounding, Qiqian’er came down from Baiquan Mountain wearing a veiled hat. Her sinews and bones had been tempered through this ordeal, so the pain from the beatings faded quickly, and she recovered fast — yet still, she cried.

She thought to herself, this was far more painful than anything Madam Qiao had ever put her through. Truly painful! A beating was a beating — how could she not cry over it?

Once the others had all left, she gathered her things, put on her hat, and walked silently down from Baiquan Mountain, tears falling without a sound.

She walked very slowly, as though carrying three millstones on her back. By now the sky was just beginning to lighten. Half of Qingfeng City lay in ruins, its four gates standing wide open unattended, ox carts and donkey carts hauling water slowly making their way in and out.

Qiqian’er had walked for a while when she spotted an early-morning flatbread stall. The vendor gave his palms a hard clap, and while the sting of it still lingered, pulled a hot, freshly baked flatbread from the glowing embers and set it down on the counter.

Seeing Qiqian’er approaching from a distance, the vendor called out cheerfully in greeting, “Ah, Young Mistress is here!”

Qiqian’er walked over and nodded, pulling two pieces of broken silver from her purse and handing them over. “Trouble you, uncle, for one with bean paste to eat here, and make two hundred more to take with me.”

“Right away! Young Mistress, just wait a moment!”

Lately, this young mistress came every day to buy two hundred flatbreads — quite the generous customer.

As the vendor busied himself, the curtain at the back of the stall lifted, and a disheveled woman emerged yawning, a basket in hand and a child of four or five in her arms, swaying sleepily.

Reaching the stall, the woman, seeing it was their generous customer, immediately called out cheerfully, “Good morning, ma’am! Sending more flatbreads up to the temple again?”

With that, she set the child down and reached under the counter to fish out some coins for vegetable shopping.

Qiqian’er nodded in acknowledgment, though her eyes remained fixed on the other family’s child, unable to look away.

Fortunately she wore her veiled hat, or else, given the naked hunger in her gaze, she surely would have been mistaken for a child snatcher.

Set down on the ground, the small child, shy around strangers, clung to his father’s leg, peeking out cautiously to study Qiqian’er from behind his small frame.

“Grab five or six extra coins, get the missus a basket to carry the bread in.”

The vendor instructed without looking up from his work, and the woman acknowledged with a sound, took five or six coins, and left with her basket.

Qiqian’er thanked them and continued watching the other family’s child.

She’d only noticed these past few days — the flatbread vendor’s son bore a striking resemblance to her own An’er, especially around the eyebrows and eyes, truly identical, the finest and roundest, brightest eyes in the world.

Growing more accustomed to her, the boy would venture a little further out from behind his father, stomping his feet to try and look fierce and scare her, then quickly scurrying back into hiding… utterly, unbearably adorable.

Seeing Qiqian’er watching his son, the vendor laughed. “He’s a mischievous one.”

Qiqian’er shook her head and praised him, “Young master has a broad, full forehead and a well-proportioned jaw, handsome features and clever, bright eyes. Send him to study early, and he’s sure to earn honors that will bring glory to your family.”

Delighted to hear this, the vendor pinched off extra-large pieces of dough for the flatbreads, laughing, “Not quite as fine as Young Mistress makes it sound, ha ha, but I’ll take your good words, I’ll take them!”

By the time the sky had fully brightened, Qiqian’er had already left the city carrying a large basket of flatbreads. At the city gate, she picked up the donkey cart the young beggar boy had been watching for her, and left him fifty flatbreads as thanks.

The young beggar boy happily went on his way.

To cover her tracks, Qiqian’er had sent every single person in the household up the mountain to attend to the old madam, without exception. She Jixiang and his wife oversaw everything, while the young manservants helped the carpenters — since there wasn’t room to stay in the nunnery itself, they rolled up their bedding and lodged with the carpenters in makeshift sheds instead.

To demonstrate her piety, Qiqian’er drove her donkey cart up the mountain every day delivering one hundred fifty flatbreads, to feed the nuns, the elders, and the carpenters doing the heavy construction work.

Flatbread was fine wheat flour, after all — this made her quite the generous patron.

As for her and the old madam, each morning they would simply catch a distant glimpse of each other, one on the mountain, one below — the old madam, seeing her set off wearing her veiled hat, felt reassured enough.

After all, this was the area surrounding Yandu, heavily garrisoned, and the distance from home wasn’t far at all — barely ten-odd li outside Qingfeng City.

The old madam had no notion whatsoever that Qiqian’er’s outings might be dangerous — she herself had always run about freely, and besides, as long as her granddaughter-in-law wasn’t bullying anyone else, that was good enough; with such natural brute strength, who could ever hope to control her anyway?

Today, of all days, on her way back from Qingque Nunnery to Qingfeng City, she found herself blocked right at the city gate.

Outside Qingfeng City it was bustling — several hundred people had gathered, banners from various trade guilds and escort agencies flying high, decorating horses with festive colors right at the gate.

“Festive horses” meant tying colorful silk into flower-shaped bundles around the animals’ necks.

Curious, and unable to pass through anyway, Qiqian’er pulled her donkey cart aside to watch.

“This is an old custom of the escort guilds,” came an aged voice from behind her. Qiqian’er turned to see it was Xin Bo, gnawing on half a flatbread, shuffling over to sit cross-legged beside her donkey cart.

“Escort guards live by their toil, traveling the martial world on hard-earned bread. They cross mountains and ford rivers escorting cargo carts, and to ensure safe passage, they naturally curry favor everywhere they go — no dock, no matter how minor, dares to be offended… However many peaks Yuegong Mountain claims, however many disciples travel abroad under its name, these folks eating the dust of the road all have to pay their respects.”

A few sharp whistles sounded, and several burly men bearing escort-agency banners mounted their horses, each calling out in turn:

“Flying Swallow Escort Agency, five hundred li, welcoming the immortal!”

“Four Seas Escort Agency, five hundred li, welcoming the immortal!”

“Yandu Ma Family Escort Agency, five hundred li, welcoming the immortal!”

Once they finished calling out, dozens of strong young men cracked long whips into the open space — crack! crack! crack!

With a long whistle, several lead horses, harnesses ringing with fine bells, galloped off through the city together in a chorus of neighing.

Xin Bo chuckled softly. “In about an hour, five more horses will pass through, and this’ll happen ten times in all, every single day, until the man himself arrives. This is called ‘calling the name’ in the martial world — only those above grandmaster rank get this kind of treatment. Five horses together is nothing much — this old man’s seen twenty ride out together before! This is exactly what Liuhao and the others dream of, the lifelong ambition they’d give anything for!

Heh — young folks these days, they’d rather not even own a single donkey than die without ever having had this kind of send-off. Even a wild goose passing overhead leaves behind a few honks. But this — oh, they think it’s beautiful, this taste of glory! All those men, young and old, cheering you on so grandly — such splendor! Not to make Little Immortal Maiden laugh, but back in my reckless youth, this old man enjoyed a taste of it too…”

The old man took another bite of flatbread, then asked quietly, “Does Little Immortal Maiden envy it?”

Qiqian’er blinked, fighting off drowsiness, and said, “No!”

This old woman’s one lifelong wish was for a son named An’er — she wouldn’t trade that for the throne itself.

Hearing this, Xin Bo chuckled with delight. “Then do you know who’s about to receive it?”

Qiqian’er nodded. “I know. Pang Tu!”

“Afraid?”

Qiqian’er grew furious. “Afraid of him, my foot! He’s standing in the way of me going home to sleep!”

Xin Bo spat out a mouthful of flatbread crumbs in shock, turning back with some alarm. “Little Immortal Maiden is clearly a lady from a good family — you mustn’t go picking up crude language like Xie Liuhao’s!”

Qiqian’er nodded and said nothing more.

She watched the young onlookers around her, their eyes gleaming with a strange light, gazing at the distant festive horses with intense envy, and thought to herself… ah! So this is the martial world.

And that only made her angrier!

How old was that Choutou of hers, really? Twenty-one at most, and he barely even knew what the martial world was! And this Pang Tu — how old was he? How long had he been famous? The moment he stepped out, the sheer scale of it showed he was no ordinary figure!

Why did he have to travel all this way to Yandu just to bully Chen Dasheng? Whoever stood in the way of her An’er’s future, master or no master, she’d crush them regardless.

By now, she knew quite a bit about the martial world, yet the only people she’d actually come to know personally were Xin Bo, Zhou Wujiu, and Xie Liuhao.

Whatever skill Xin Bo possessed, couldn’t he have made a comfortable living off it himself? Yet last winter, he’d used his own aged body to shelter orphaned beggars — he clearly knew of that elm grove, yet out of some promise, refused to set foot even one step into Baiquan Mountain.

And then there were Zhou Wujiu and Xie Liuhao — in their own words, it was a new dynasty now, things were different! People had to use their heads. They were all part of the martial world too, but they couldn’t afford to let His Majesty and the court grow to resent them — they had to accomplish something real, to bring honor to the martial world’s reputation.

While everyone was working diligently and conscientiously, here came the rest of the martial world, blocking the common people’s city gates at the crack of dawn.

The new Emperor had just ascended the throne — whose face was this slapping? Utterly foolish.

Going by Xin Bo’s own reasoning, that people had to be judged individually, perhaps the martial world was simply divided between people like Xin Bo and those flaunting themselves so brazenly.

The sound of horse bells finally faded, and the city gate cleared at last. Xin Bo stood and said to Qiqian’er with a smile, “No need for the sheep this time, can’t afford such extravagance. Tomorrow, if it’s no trouble, buy more of the bean-paste flatbreads — the little ones love them, they’re growing fast!”

Qiqian’er smiled at him. “Deal! I’ve got some elm-bark flour at home too, want some?”

Xin Bo nodded. “Of course I want it! In this early spring, with nothing much else around, anything that fills the stomach and keeps you alive is a good thing.”

With that, they parted ways easily.

Qiqian’er drove her donkey cart home, and from a distance she could already see Madam Qiao still busy at the ancestral hall entrance with a group of other women.

Seeing her return, they called out cheerfully from afar, “Young Mistress is back?”

“Back!”

“Is the old madam doing well up on the mountain?”

“Doing very well! She looks like she’s even put on some weight!”

“We were just talking about going up to the nunnery to burn incense in a few days, to see the old madam!”

“Well then, thank you, aunties…”

The donkey bells jingled crisply as the cart passed by, as though belonging to an entirely different, quiet and peaceful world.

Madam Qiao kept her head down, neither asking nor speaking. She had grown used to living this way by now.

By the time Qiqian’er got home and unhitched the donkey, she stood in the courtyard and coughed a few times.

Before long, a small white porcelain medicine bottle came flying over the wall from next door.

Qiqian’er went into the side room and tossed back a large chunk of smoked meat in return.

Both parties satisfied.

With heavy steps, she made her way back into her room, let out a long breath, and sat down on the edge of the kang, slowly peeling off her outer robe, then her padded jacket, finally revealing a strange garment beneath, covered head to toe in long rectangular pockets.

As the dull clink of metal pieces sounded, various parts of the garment were tossed onto the kang one by one. Finally, she untied the cloth shoes on her feet, revealing two gleaming gold cakes tucked inside the thick soles.

This outfit alone must have weighed several hundred jin.

Xin Bo wouldn’t let her strike back, wouldn’t let her use lightness skill — only dodge. So Qiqian’er, unable to control her strength at first, kept accidentally hitting Zhou Wujiu and the others. Eventually she’d come up with a clumsy solution: since gold was heavy, wasn’t it, she’d gone back to the Plague God Temple, dug out a good amount, hammered it into thin rectangular gold plates, and sewn them into the heaviest garment imaginable.

This time, she’d finally managed to restrain her own strength enough to simply stand there and take the beating.

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that the hidden treasure from the Plague God Temple, barely touched until now, would end up being used for something like this.

With the heavy weight removed, Qiqian’er finally felt the full ache of her injuries, and began silently crying again, weeping as she tended to her own wounds with medicine.

Several hundred li away from Qingfeng City, beneath Xiaonan Mountain, several martial-world fighters dropped their weapons, a single red line drawn across each of their throats, their heavy bodies collapsing to the ground before the blood came gushing forth.

A middle-aged man, still clinging to his last breath, glared at the figure before him, blood foaming and gurgling from his mouth, before his body suddenly stiffened and he died with his eyes wide open, unable to close them.

In an instant, the two watching factions reacted differently — one side erupted in unified cheers, while the other quietly began donning mourning clothes, silently leading over several horse-drawn carts bearing coffins.

These people neither wept nor raged — they walked silently to the bodies, cut open their clothing where they lay, and while the bodies were still warm and pliant, staunched the wounds and dressed them in burial garments before lifting them together into the coffins.

Once the coffins were sealed, a middle-aged man dressed in plain, close-fitting attire turned toward the main road and, suppressing a heart full of grief and fury, cupped his hands and proclaimed loudly: “The Five Manors and Twelve Sects of Xiaonan Mountain sent seven capable young men to try to stop Sect Master Pang of Yuegong Mountain from entering the capital for the duel — in vain! Let all good people bear witness, let this be known to every household!!”

He repeated this proclamation a dozen or so times, then turned back and cupped his hands toward the man seated on a low couch, wiping down his spear. “With that, we take our leave!”

The man kneeling on the low couch appeared to be at most in his mid-forties, his hair jet black, his temples prominent, with a hawk-like nose and a long beard, his eyes gazing tenderly at his own killing spear.

This was none other than Pang Tu, the First-Rank Spear of Yuegong Mountain.

He took a mouthful of strong liquor and sprayed it three times over the spear tip to cleanse it of ill fortune, then said to the middle-aged man, “Martial-world matters are martial-world matters. Since when have people like you become the court’s lapdogs?”

The middle-aged man gave a cold laugh. “When the realm was in chaos, no martial-world folk were to be seen. When the two rivers flooded, still no martial-world folk showed themselves. When the land lay barren for a thousand li and corpses littered the ground from starvation, still no martial-world folk came forward! Everyone scrambled into hiding, retreating into isolation, sealing themselves away, looking only after their own. Other people came out and held up the heavens, stood firm on the earth! Now that the realm has only just found a way to survive, can’t you people grow a conscience? What are you even doing coming to the capital at a time like this! Don’t give me this nonsense about a few deaths not mattering — missing one meal won’t make you any thinner either…”

Unfortunately, before he could finish, a spear came flying from the cheering crowd’s side; the middle-aged man instinctively dodged, then, with a cold laugh, turned to meet it head-on instead — there came a soft thud, and the spear pierced clean through his chest, pinning him to the ground.

Before long, a young man in bright red robes, handsome of face, emerged from behind that group, walked coldly up to the middle-aged man, planted a foot on his body, and pulled the spear free…

Blood sprayed out in a great arc, and Xiaonan Mountain lost another sect leader.

The other side once again silently came forward to collect the body, lifting him away without a word.

The young man in red walked over to the low couch and sat down, picking up a wine bowl and taking a few gulps — three mouthfuls, also to cleanse away ill fortune.

Once he’d finished spraying it out, Pang Tu, unhurried, began wrapping red silk around the tip of his awl-spear, saying, “Fanjiang, that was reckless. So many of their people have died already — why couldn’t you let the man finish speaking?”

This young man in red was none other than Pang Tu’s senior disciple, Shen Fanjiang.

Hearing his master’s reproach, Shen Fanjiang gave a soft snort. “How many of them have we passed on this road already, and only this bunch had to run their mouths so much? Why should he get to scold us on top of it?”

Pang Tu set the now-cleaned spear across his lap, kneeling as he gazed at the road ahead. “Living under the Emperor’s very feet, one must speak loudly to make one’s position clear. Everyone has their own hardships to bear — people like us have, since ancient times, earned our keep through skill, and with that comes responsibility. This challenge and duel each carries its own difficulties, with no personal grudge involved. But you, acting so rashly…”

Glancing toward the coffin-bearers in the distance, who were glaring back at them with open hostility, Pang Tu sighed helplessly. “It seems the Xiaonan Mountain lineage has now become your sworn enemy from this day forward.”

Between master and disciple, though, this was merely said in passing.

Shen Fanjiang chuckled softly. “I’m not afraid of them!”

No sooner had he spoken than the distant sound of horse bells rang out.

The master and disciple’s eyes both flickered with interest. Shen Fanjiang stood and listened for a moment, then turned back with a cold smile toward Pang Tu. “Master, now I’ve truly seen it — what they call the decline of public morals and the fading of old virtues. Only five horses? Hmph! Someday…” He raised his spear tip toward the direction of Yandu. “Sooner or later, I’ll run that Meng Dichen through myself! I’ll show this bunch of bastards what it means to judge people by their worth!”