The sudden explosions rang out like rolling peals of thunder, sending ripples through the very glow of the evening sunset.

In the market street near the city wall at the southern end of the city, Chen Shuangran abruptly threw back the curtain of her carriage, looking toward the direction of the blast. The carriage driver, and even several pedestrians walking nearby, all stopped in their tracks, looking uncertainly toward where the sound had come from.

“That’s cannon fire…”

“…What’s happened this time, and where?”

The unrest at Houguan County that morning had ended in failure, and had even cost her a portion of her core inner circle’s manpower. Considering that the authorities would surely be conducting intense interrogations of the captured, Chen Shuangran’s side had already responded quickly, relocating some of the personnel still remaining within the city.

Yet with only half a day having passed, the sound of cannon fire rising again within the city sent an involuntary shudder through everyone present—a sense that another group of their people had already been exposed.

One misstep leads to another, and if the authorities kept following the thread this way, the losses from this wave could prove impossible to predict—it was even uncertain whether the entire operation might be rooted out completely.

“Prepare to leave the city.”

Fan Zhong, standing beside the carriage, spoke up.

After the incident that morning, he had already suggested leaving the city at once, but Chen Shuangran, bold by nature, had been unwilling to go. Now, however, she would certainly need to prepare for the worst. No sooner had he spoken than Tunyun, a little further off, had already vanished into a nearby alley; when he reappeared, he was already atop a nearby building, gazing out toward the source of the commotion. After a moment, another muffled blast rang out.

Tunyun made a gesture urging patience.

After a while, he came down from above, his gaze flickering, seemingly deep in thought.

“Northeast—looks like Huaiyun Ward. Fighting hard there…”

“Huaiyun Ward?” Chen Shuangran’s gaze flickered with confusion; she exchanged looks with Fan Zhong, Chen Yan, and the others. “We don’t seem to have… anyone there…”

“Huaiyun Ward is close to Golden and Silver Bridge.” Deng Nian, driving the carriage, cut in. “Sounds like it might be that Four-Chi and Five-Chi pair’s place…”

“This fast?” Chen Shuangran looked to Chen Yan. “…Uncle Yan?”

Chen Yan shook his head. “That can’t be right—we haven’t even sent word yet…”

That afternoon, the group had already decided to notify the authorities about that Sun Wukong fellow’s assassination attempt on Tie Tianying, but compared to relocating the many personnel still within the city, this was hardly an urgent matter—and given how sensitive the current situation was, how could Chen Yan possibly have arranged it this quickly? Sensing the commotion coming from that direction now, Chen Shuangran at once had Tunyun go confirm the situation once more, her mind easing somewhat as a result.

“That would mean Tie Tianying’s people have already identified him…” Fan Zhong said. “That boy’s temperament is twisted and unpredictable—wrapping his face in floral cloth in broad daylight, thinking that would hide his identity. But his build was too distinctive; it’s not surprising they’d have picked him out…”

The group stood there, listening to the rumbling explosions in the distance, and after a while, felt a faint stirring of alarm all the same.

“These two in Huaiyun Ward don’t seem to have any other associates working with them…”

“…Is it really necessary to fire off that many cannon rounds?”

“If Tie Tianying really is gravely wounded, the court doesn’t have many masters left to call on—this must be the Zuo family’s doing, playing it safe… Don’t forget, this morning they used explosives too…”

“Ning Yi in the southwest started this bad habit—the jianghu doesn’t feel like the jianghu anymore…”

“If this is truly a case of the prepared striking the unprepared, both of them ought to have been blown to bits…”

“Both still so young, having trained up such skill, and now this… sigh…”

Everyone had fought fiercely enough that morning, even setting a trap hoping to see the two little mongrels dead, but hearing the distant rumbling now, the group—especially the martial artists among them—couldn’t help but feel a faint, unsettled sense of kinship with the doomed, as though imagining themselves in the same position. The Zuo family’s mongrels had learned this kind of morally bankrupt, honor-be-damned warfare in the southwest; if, someday, these very cannons were turned on themselves, their own side might well find it just as hard to answer.

……

The evening sun swept across the sky in great waves.

Ning Ji ran through the streets beneath this blaze of color.

His own body felt as though it too had caught fire; his restless blood seemed ready to set his whole frame ablaze, but in this moment he was aware of none of it. The streets and figures around him flashed past in an instant; people were all watching the excitement in the distance, and many only cried out in alarm after he had already swept past them like a storm. Reaching a certain intersection, in order to dodge a pedestrian in his path, he swerved so abruptly and suddenly that he even snapped a tree in half, sending a shower of leaves bursting into the air—yet he barely felt any resistance from it at all.

Countless chaotic thoughts flashed through his mind.

This shouldn’t be happening…

The Zuo family had already given their word…

Why would they bring out cannons?

Why is there still fighting?

The Zuo family had promised…

Was it Tie Tianying?

Or Tunyun?

That’s right, Tunyun…

If he’d come charging in, clashing with the Zuo family’s own arrangements, forcing the court to bring out cannons…

That little mongrel wretch…

But even then, there’d be no need to use cannons—cannons couldn’t hit Tunyun anyway, they’d only harm innocent bystanders…

Don’t they understand that…

He had no idea how far he’d run by the time the cannon fire in the distance gradually died down. Ning Ji leapt up onto a nearby rooftop and kept running; his gaze could now make out part of the scene at Huaiyun Ward—smoke still curling in the air, and it was clear that some buildings there had indeed been blown apart…

It looked very much like his own place…

He ran down from the rooftop again.

Reaching the streets near Huaiyun Ward, the crowds along the way had gradually thickened—some had come to watch the excitement, others seemed to be residents fleeing from Huaiyun Ward itself. Ning Ji heard a buzzing confusion of voices all around him; he shook his head, forcibly suppressing his chaotic thoughts, and grabbed two people on the street to ask. “What happened over there…”

The person, thoroughly frightened, fumbled his words. “Ohh… the authorities say… bandits attacked…”

“…They’re rounding up the rebels…”

“Did they catch them?” Ning Ji asked.

“Sounds like they got blown up by the cannons… so scary…”

He hurried on toward the area, and by the time he reached it, the entrance to Huaiyun Ward’s market had already been sealed off by government troops. Ning Ji tried to push through, but several soldiers blocked his way.

“I live in there! My home’s in there!” Ning Ji shouted at them. “I still have family inside…”

“They’re making arrests in there, young man—didn’t you hear the cannons going off?” the soldiers said, trying to calm him. “No one’s allowed in right now. Those bandits are dangerous—your family’s probably already gotten out. Go take a look around the area.”

“Those bandits… what bandits…”

“We don’t know either, we’re just told no one’s allowed in—”

The soldiers’ skill was crude at best, and in his mind Ning Ji had already killed them several times over in an instant, but he forced himself to hold back. He craned his neck to look inside; the site of the incident seemed, vaguely, to be right around the small courtyard where his own home was.

Forcing his way in by violence was, of course, not a wise move. This might not necessarily mean anything had happened to his little mongrel—he had to stay calm. She might have already escaped, might be hiding somewhere nearby, worried about him. Or perhaps… the Zuo family had already made good on their promise, and she’d already been rescued—now he just needed to find out exactly where they were.

He turned and circled around through the nearby shops and crowds, but found Qu Longjun nowhere, nor did he spot anyone who might be Zuo family personnel. His own behavior was, however, clearly conspicuous, and several gazes had already fixed on him one after another—some belonging, naturally, to the authorities.

Ning Ji didn’t care in the least. At this point, whoever crossed him, he’d cut them down without a second thought.

Having searched the area without success, Ning Ji’s patience finally ran out, and he was about to find an alley and leap onto a rooftop to force his way past the blockade when, at the edge of his vision, a figure appeared, moving furtively.

“Ah, Young… young hero Sun…”

Ning Ji looked over to see none other than Meng Biao, one of Pu Xingui’s underlings, appear from among the market crowd. His expression carried both surprise and delight, mixed with anxiety. As Ning Ji approached, he finally spoke. “Young hero Sun, you… you’re still here?”

“What do you mean, still here? Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Ah?” Meng Biao glanced around nervously. “Just now… just now I heard over there, that this operation by the court is meant to arrest the two of you… the two young heroes, isn’t it? Even brought out cannons, and it went on so long, this humble one had assumed something terrible must have happened—never expected young hero Sun would still come out without a scratch… uh…”

Meng Biao looked Ning Ji up and down, and noticing his clothes bore no marks of a fight, only then did it seem to dawn on him. He shrank back slightly. “So then, does that mean the one fighting the court’s masters just now was young hero Long, all alone? Young hero Long really is… truly admirable…”

In their earlier dealings, Yu Hezhang and Meng Biao had always dealt with the lower-skilled “Four-Chi,” while the one called “Five-Chi,” Long Aotian, had always come across as gentle yet somewhat aloof. They only knew, from what Ning Ji himself had told them, that his elder “brother” possessed even greater skill, and that once provoked into action, he generally left no survivors. Such rumors had once seemed dubious, but after today’s events, they now had real evidence to back them up.

Ning Ji’s hand had already reached out and seized Meng Biao by the shoulder.

“What do you mean, fighting the court? What’s ‘admirable’ supposed to mean?”

A sudden, sharp pain shot through him; Meng Biao clenched his teeth, his whole body shrinking a notch. “This-this-this… just now, just now the fighting in the ward was so intense, I-I-I… I was worried about the two young heroes too, young hero Sun… whatever’s become of young… young… young hero Long, this isn’t a place to linger, we should get out of the line of fire first before anything else…”

Amid the now-deepening glow of the evening sun, Meng Biao saw the youth’s eyes before him seem to take on a reddish tinge; the pain in his shoulder intensified further still, his bones aching as though about to crack. He was about to say something more when, suddenly, that hand released his shoulder, and the next instant, the world spun—his entire body was sent flying through the air.

There came a whooshing sound as something sailed across the long street.

Ning Ji’s figure flickered like a phantom.

Meng Biao’s body flew off into the distance, tumbling several times along the ground before scrambling back up. Pedestrians all around fled in every direction; as evening approached, the sky had begun to darken. Not far off, soldiers waved signal flags from high vantage points, and one end of the street had already taken on a grim, severe air. The youth called Sun Wukong stood in the middle of the street; a little more than a zhang further on, a figure appeared before everyone’s eyes, half his body soaked in blood, an iron chain in his hand, at the end of which hung an eight-sided flying mace.

Meng Biao could faintly make out who this was.

—The Little King of Hell, Yue Yun.

And even without understanding who this man was, Meng Biao could tell instinctively that he had, this time, stumbled his way into a level of trouble he had no business being anywhere near.

He could nearly picture the entire chain of events already.

The court had launched an all-out assault today against the two young heroes, Long and Sun, even bringing out cannons to bombard them. This Little King of Hell was clearly among those hunting them down; the state he was in now was, most likely, the result of a counterattack by young hero Long. And with young hero Long’s fate currently unknown, this Sun Wukong had, quite plainly, already flown into a genuine, murderous rage—this was going to be a fight to the death.

Without pausing to think further, Meng Biao took off running into the crowd, hoping only that the court would focus all its attention on this young hero Sun and have no time to spare for himself.

Great crowds of people were fleeing off into the distance.

Shops along the road had their shutters drawn.

Meng Biao’s figure vanished into the crowd.

On the street here, the wind stirred the grass stalks and scraps of paper scattered along the road. The soldiers gathered in the distance, and for a moment, no one moved forward. Yue Yun gripped the eight-sided mace in his hand.

Ning Ji raised a hand and struck himself on the head, once, then again.

Yue Yun bared a bloodthirsty smile, walking slowly closer.

“So it really was you… the one who killed Lord Tie today.”

Ning Ji struck himself on the head again, his head tilted, not looking at the other man.

He spoke, with great difficulty.

“Been fighting bandits in there all this time… it’s not like that, she doesn’t know martial arts… there was no need to fight her, no need for cannons…”

Yue Yun looked at him, gave a chuckle, and then steadied himself.

“I’d originally thought his skill was quite formidable, so… we bombarded him with a few rounds first, and, well… blew him to bits outright. No fun at all…” Yue Yun drew closer, saying, “But it’s fine—I still got you, in the end.”

Ning Ji’s blood-red eyes turned toward him, empty. His mouth opened several times.

“…Tie… Tie Tianying… isn’t dead.”

“…Who told you that?”

“…”

“…”

……

The wind blowing in from the sea swept across the street.

In the sky above, the color of blood spread like a tide, deepening into dark red.

Banners waved through the air.

The gaze looking back at him burned with intensity.

Ning Ji thought of Qu Longjun’s eyes.

In that instant, the iron chain whirled, the eight-sided mace whistling up into the sky, then dragged back around, sweeping across the length of the street. Yue Yun let out a furious roar, “Ahh—,” his inner strength surging forth with a sound like rolling thunder; his fists and body unfurled fully, as though some wrathful heavenly guardian had spread wide his all-suppressing divine form, ready to hurl a thunderous barrage of attacks forward.

And in that same instant, Ning Ji, like an Asura risen in fury, charged straight to meet the attack head-on, the twin blades in his hands slashing down at Yue Yun’s chest like a crashing tide—