Chapter 149: Chapter 149
The West Market wharf.
The sun hung low, its dying light painting the water a sheet of red.
A few sandships sat moored along the bank. Onshore, a wine-stall sheltered beneath an awning — long tables inside, a crowd of off-duty boatmen and dock-hands gathered in twos and threes, drinking cheap wine, gambling at finger-guessing, and bragging. The racket carried a long way.
“One heart’s respect! Both in luck! Three sworn brothers! Four fortunes more!”
“Ha ha ha — I win! Drink! Drink up!”
A one-armed man sat cross-legged on a bench among them.
He held his bowl high, his voice boomed at the guessing game, and the filthy jokes rolled off his tongue — the crowd roaring and slapping their thighs.
Not far off, two Raging Waves enforcers leaned against a pillar.
The thin-faced one nudged his partner and muttered.
“That one-armed fellow — who is he? Never seen him before. Doesn’t look like he’s from around here.”
The other man chewed on a grass-stem, unconcerned.
“How should I know? He’s been in a couple of times already. Buys everyone drinks each visit. Who cares where he’s from? If he’s spending coin, let him have his fun. Don’t borrow trouble.”
The thin-faced man was about to reply when his gaze snagged — and he froze.
His companion followed the look and went rigid too.
At the top of the stone steps, a figure in blue was descending with unhurried grace.
Seventeen or eighteen years old. Straight-backed as a pine. A long sword at his waist. His blue robe was freshly laundered, its hem drifting in the river breeze.
And recognizing that sharp, handsome face, both men sucked in a breath at the same time.
“The S-Six Prodigies of Changyun!”
“Shen Xiuhan!”
In recent days, this outer-city-born prodigy’s name had thundered through every corner of Changyun County.
Even bottom-rung gang thugs like themselves had watched the man tear through the feast platform with their own eyes just last month.
And now this celebrated inner-city genius was walking toward them. Their scalps prickled. They had no idea what to do.
Fortunately —
CLATTER!
Behind them, a bamboo screen was flung aside, and a barrel-chested figure strode out.
The newcomer was broad-backed, heavy-set, his face a slab of layered flesh. A pair of triangular eyes glinted — plainly not a man to cross.
Zhong Kui — the Raging Waves’ third chief.
The two enforcers nearly wept with relief.
“Third Boss!”
Zhong Kui ignored them. His gaze found the blue-robed figure, and his gut clenched. He ground his teeth.
‘Damn it — what’s he doing at the wharf?’
He’d been right there beneath the platform when Shen Xiuhan dismantled Luo Qiance. He’d watched every second.
Against Luo Qiance he wouldn’t have lasted ten moves. Yet Shen Xiuhan had dominated the fight. The gap between them was a chasm.
Worse, the inner city was buzzing with talk that this boy had entered the Dragon Blood Essence Pool and emerged at Hidden Strength…
Zhong Kui was Sinew Tempering. Facing a man like this, the pressure was immense. He could only paste on a smile and step forward.
“Master Shen — what a surprise! Zhong Kui, at your service. Third chief of the Raging Waves, managing the wharf and fish exchange. A pleasure.”
He pitched his manner as low as it would go. But Shen Xiuhan barely glanced at him before his eyes moved on. Two words.
“Clear the place.”
Quiet. Flat. And absolute.
Zhong Kui’s face twitched. He opened his mouth to negotiate —
But seeing Shen Xiuhan’s gaze fixed on the one-armed man, something clicked. He said nothing more and jerked his chin at the two enforcers.
They caught the signal, bolted into the stall, and started bellowing.
“That’s it — everyone out! Piss off, all of you! Drinking’s done for today — move it!”
“Put the bowl down! Get going, get going!”
The boatmen, startled, scrambled to their feet and scattered.
Bowls clattered, chairs toppled, wine and food splashed across the ground.
In moments, the stall was empty but for the one-armed man sitting alone amid the wreckage.
“Goddamn buzzkill…”
The man cursed under his breath, snatched up the wine-jug, and took a long, fierce pull.
Murky liquor gurgled down his throat, spilling from the corners of his mouth into his collar, soaking a wide patch of his grey shirt. He didn’t care.
“Come all this way for a quiet drink, and they can’t even let a man be.”
THUD.
The jug hit the table. The one-armed man hauled himself to his feet, swaying, and fixed Shen Xiuhan with a gaze that was three parts drunk and seven parts cold.
“Kid, I was having a perfectly fine time. And you’ve gone and ruined my mood…”
His words trailed off.
Through the haze of alcohol, the blue-robed figure sharpened into focus.
Shen Xiuhan stood ten paces away, expression flat, dark eyes resting on him without inflection.
The one-armed man jolted. Half the drunkenness evaporated on the spot.
“You?!”
Shen Xiuhan didn’t answer. He studied the man for a beat, then spoke at last — slowly, deliberately.
“Bold of you… Since when does Chenjian Wu’s Fifth Chief dare waltz into Changyun for wine and games?”
The words dropped, and at the edge of the stall, Zhong Kui and his two men went stiff as boards.
Chenjian Wu’s Fifth Chief?
The same thought detonated in three minds at once — the rumor from the inner city weeks ago.
Ji Ning, the Ji clan prodigy, had unleashed a single flash of sword-light on Yunyi Island and cut through a string of enemies — among them Chenjian Wu’s Fifth Chief, who lost a right arm to the blade.
Three pairs of eyes dropped to the man’s empty right sleeve, flapping in the breeze.
“Tang — Tang Jin!”
“It’s Chenjian Wu’s Tang Jin! The bastard dares show his face in Changyun?”
“Has he lost his mind? Doesn’t he know the County Magistrate could have him strung up and burned?”
The words were fierce. The feet, however, shuffled very honestly backward until all three were safely behind Shen Xiuhan.
Tang Jin paid the insects no mind. His stare never left Shen Xiuhan, and across his pale face, storm-clouds gathered and broke.
The horrors of that battle surged back.
Tu Xiaotian, Pang Yi, Chen Xin… dead, one after another.
And that black-clad youth!
The blinding white gleam. The searing agony of his arm being severed.
And then — stripped of his chair by Duan Xiao, banished to oversee the farming.
Shame. Pain. Hatred. It all boiled up at once, like magma, scalding his organs into spasms. His features twisted visibly.
“Little bastard!”
“I hadn’t even come looking for you, and you dare show up at my door… Oh, I see — you’ve broken through to Hidden Strength!”
Tang Jin snarled, eyes flooding red.
His remaining hand curled slowly into a fist. Knuckles popped and crackled. The killing intent rolling off him was almost a physical blade.
“But boy… do you really think opening one measly aperture lets you bully this broken body of mine?”
“Bully you?”
Shen Xiuhan’s lips curved — a smile with nothing warm behind it.
He sank his weight, dropped his center. His right hand went behind his back. His left extended — five fingers curled like iron hooks, joints defined, tips condensing force.
The opening form of the Heavenly Vulture Twisting-Wind Hand.
“Today, I’ll show you exactly how many jin you’re worth.”
As he spoke, his gaze lingered pointedly on Tang Jin’s empty sleeve.
The message couldn’t have been clearer.
You’ve lost an arm. I’ll fight you with one hand.
Tang Jin’s face spasmed twice. Killing intent congealed across his features. His teeth ground audibly.
“Little bastard! How dare you mock me!”
Two gazes collided in midair. The tension between them snapped taut — even the river wind seemed to freeze.
In the next instant —
Tang Jin’s left hand flipped, setting his stance. His spine dropped like a cliff-face, one knee slightly bent. The muscles of his left arm bunched and swelled, veins crawling beneath the skin like earthworms.
BOOM!
A muffled detonation. Mud erupted. Filthy spray lashed several feet high.
Tang Jin’s left fist, wrapped in vicious wind, launched his massive frame forward like a siege-crossbow bolt — driving straight for Shen Xiuhan’s throat.
Red-Rump Fist — Red Rump Probes the Forest!
The fist hadn’t arrived, but the biting Hidden Strength force was already raising gooseflesh across Shen Xiuhan’s neck, every fine hair standing on end.
Shen Xiuhan’s gaze went cold. His left arm snapped out like a viper’s tongue — sudden, whip-fast.
Five fingers pressed together, tips curled like a hawk’s beak. Striking second but arriving first, he tapped — lightly — at Tang Jin’s left wrist.
Heavenly Vulture Twisting-Wind Hand — Vulture-Beak Seizes the Serpent!
HISS!
The fingertip split the air with a nerve-scraping screech — half viper’s hiss, half iron awl through stone.
The Hidden Strength it carried was like a cluster of white-hot steel needles, driving deep into Tang Jin’s meridians.
“Hmph!”
Tang Jin grunted. His entire left arm shook violently.
Beneath the skin, it felt as though a hundred needles were boring outward from within. Qi-blood seized up, and the arm went heavy as if filled with molten lead — barely able to lift.