Chapter 74: A Heart Like a Fierce Tiger (Part One)

Chapter Seventy-Four: Heart Like a Tiger (Part One)

At the second quarter of the hour of the Dog, the morning stars flickered in the sky. On a desolate riverbank outside Jiangning City, the night wind wailed as it brushed past the houseboat moored on the water’s edge. Light seeped from a room within.

He woke in a daze, his mind not yet truly clear. There was little light, and the sounds from outside drifted in, sometimes strong, sometimes faint—broken phrases, their meaning slippery and indistinct before his brain could fully engage.

“Drink less...”
“A scholar who can’t even tie up a chicken...”
“This time’s meat pig...”
“At midnight, Dalang took a torch to wait for someone in the mountains... He must know by now...”
“The signal is known...”
“Three turns left, three right...”
“Papa, that meat pig... His shoes are pretty...”
“Don’t mess around.”
“But...”
“These kind of meat pigs... If not fifty, then thirty...”
“At least he won’t wake before midnight, let him be...”
“Papa, this kind of meat pig... Let him use one hand...”
“Be obedient...”

A dull pain throbbed at the back of his head; it took a long time for his thoughts to gather, steeped in a complexity hard to describe.

It had been ages since he’d felt such naked hostility—even Tang Mingyuan’s incident was nothing like this. He strained to recall what had happened: those eyes, the swinging club... Who had done this?

The Su family? The Xue family? The Wu family? No, it didn’t make sense. The Su family had no reason to act against him now—unless someone wanted to kill the Old Master then target Su Boyong and his daughter. The Xue and Wu families had no need to attack him either; all he had was a bit of reputation. For merchants of equal standing, such direct action was always the last resort. Once you tore away all pretense, there was no turning back—the consequences would spiral out of control. There was no cause for them to be the first to strike...

The Wulie Army? Even less likely. If it were them, it would not be like this...

Who was it, truly? Whom had he offended...

He prided himself on a keen sense for malice and goodwill. Had there been any hint beforehand, he likely would have noticed. This had struck out of nowhere. He sifted through possible suspects in his mind—Xue Jin, perhaps, but the man didn’t have the resolve or courage for this. Even on a mad impulse, it was unlikely. Beyond that, he could think of no one. Could it be a random kidnapping?

Meat pig, midnight... That didn’t fit, either.

No matter how hard he tried, he could not discern the source of this enmity. But now was not the time for careful analysis. His hands and feet were bound. The room was dark, and in the next room over, a handful of people were eating and drinking. The faint glow of an oil lamp seeped through the cracks in the wall. The room swayed gently—there was the sound of water. He was on the river...

He recalled the image of the man before he lost consciousness—a giant over two meters tall, built like a champion boxer, and he had accomplices. This would be hard to handle. He closed his eyes, tensed his body, then relaxed. His fingers behind his back ceaselessly explored for any protrusion he could use. Occasionally, someone walked along the corridor outside...

Baffling, unreasonable—damn it all, why, who could it be... Anxiety and agitation welled up inside him. To be so lost was the most infuriating thing of all, but calm and self-control quickly suppressed it. His fingers continued to probe, inch by inch, as quietly as possible.

A year of systematic training, and the ominous feeling he’d had when he saw those eyes—he’d made a slight evasive movement when the club was swung at him. Perhaps because of that, they’d misjudged the timing. That might be his only chance. There was no room for overthinking or complaint—he had to solve the present crisis to have time to think. Opportunity might not present itself, but he must remain calm—don’t be impatient, don’t be impatient...

Time flowed on like the water below, second by second. As the burning pain at the back of his head gradually faded, the oppressive darkness quieted, and his surroundings grew clearer. The sounds of drinking and conversation in the next room—two adults, two children. The children, likely already grown, and a woman... Perhaps they were a family.

Meat pig... This was not their first time. There must have been murders before. The giant—too formidable, not in the same weight class. A typical scholar would have been terrified. Ning Yi controlled his breathing, analyzing. He didn’t know when it happened, but a faint sound came from the door. He half-opened his eyes.

Someone was quietly picking the lock.

Halfway through, the sound paused. “Little brother, what are you doing?”

“Brother, that meat pig’s shoes... He doesn’t need them, anyway.”

“Father said don’t cause trouble. Give me the key.”

“Oh.”

Their voices were low, and soon, both left. Ning Yi had taken a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. His hand behind his back increased the pace of its silent rubbing against the wall.

Not long after, faint sounds came again at the door.

The door opened a crack, and a sturdy youth slipped in, humming softly with a hint of self-satisfaction. He held a club in one hand, pocketing a piece of wire.

The youth went to the corner, saw the scholar bound hand and foot on the ground—a frail, weak man, looking even more delicate than those he’d met before, utterly defenseless.

These city rich folk were all the same.

“Meat pig, if you’re awake and dare to move, I’ll smash your head in with one blow...” the youth muttered menacingly, keeping his voice low. After waiting a moment, he set his club aside and crouched to remove the scholar’s shoes. Admiring them in the dim light, he grinned, and sat with his back to the scholar, removing his own shoes—an instinctive move.

One shoe, then the other—beautiful and a perfect fit... Just as he was about to stand, behind him, the scholar silently sat up, hands spreading in the darkness, the rope slipping from his wrists. Those hands closed suddenly.

Crack—

The youth’s head twisted sharply.

He didn’t even put on his shoes; he quietly pushed open the door and slipped out. Outside, the houseboat’s corridor was deserted. The boat was shaped like a “Wang” character, with six rooms. He had been confined in the room between the parlor and the kitchen, which had no door. The other three rooms only had windows on the opposite side. Ning Yi moved silently, glanced at the parlor, then quickly withdrew.

Three people, one table, an oil lamp. One was the giant who’d spoken to him, another was equally burly—towering like an iron pillar. The third must be the giant’s eldest son, also over 1.8 meters tall.

Three lotuses float on a jade pool...

Inside the room, the iron tower of a man was speaking to the eldest son.

“...Dalang, Uncle tells you, in the world of the jianghu, only true ruthlessness, true courage and carefulness can let you stand firm. But don’t think ruthlessness is just about fighting and showing off. True ruthlessness is revealed only when it’s truly needed—just once, and everyone will fear you. Back then, that man named Lei...”

The words didn’t register with Ning Yi now—a jumble of empty, rambling philosophy. He surveyed his surroundings. The door was near the parlor. How could he get out? He wasn’t a good swimmer; though the current outside was slow, the water was noisy. If discovered, he wouldn’t get far.

Scowling, he moved toward the other side. In the kitchen, a plump woman was cooking. Ning Yi looked around, eyeing the chimney and other items. Two seconds later, he walked in and picked up the cleaver from the chopping block.

The woman turned. In the next instant, a gush of blood spurted like a fountain into the pot, hissing as it met the boiling water. A shadow flickered across the wall as the cleaver came down again and again.

Blood seeped through the floor, perhaps dripping into the river below. The shadow stood at the stove, expressionless, tossing pork, kerosene, all manner of oils into the boiling pot. His gaze swept the kitchen, opening and discarding paper packets. When the oil was furiously boiling, he poured the scalding contents into a clay jar wrapped with straw rope.

Then a voice called from the parlor, “Dalang, go see if your mother’s finished cooking...”

Ning Yi quietly closed the kitchen door, a weight in one hand, a boning knife in the other, and hid by the doorway.

Footsteps approached. The door opened. As the young man entered, Ning Yi snuffed out the lamp, as if a breeze had blown it out. The fire from the stove still flickered, and the young man hesitated at the darkness, “Mother...?”

Ning Yi swung the weight, smashing it into the back of his skull. As the body slumped, Ning Yi caught him.

“That Gu fellow, I hear, has become an official—going to serve as county magistrate...”

“If Dalang and Erlang can get positions with him, it might not be bad. We have leverage on him...”

“Such scholars, no need to push too far...”

Yang Yi and Yang Heng were talking in the room, sipping wine and eating peanuts. Noticing Dalang had been gone a while, Yang Heng frowned.

“What’s taking Dalang so long...”

“Mother—” The call came from the kitchen, bleak and hoarse. Both men started. Yang Yi grabbed a crossbow and rushed into the corridor, Yang Heng drew a steel knife and headed outside.

“Check on the meat pig!”

Yang Heng dashed out to check the river for a fleeing captive. Seconds later, a shout erupted from the back room: “Let him go—!”

Yang Yi burst into the middle corridor. In the dimness, only the kitchen’s faint glow remained. He hadn’t yet opened the second door to check on the meat pig when his eldest son was pushed out—blood streaming from his head, staggering. Plainly, he’d been struck semi-conscious and now beaten again.

A bloody boning knife was pressed to his throat, held one-handed—any sudden move would slit his jugular. Hiding behind his son, pushing him forward, was the “meat pig” they’d kidnapped. The once gentle scholar was now spattered with blood.

“Let him go!” Yang Yi’s teeth ground together, crossbow raised, voice thunderous.

Ning Yi was not a short man, but Yang Yi’s stature was immense—blocking the way like a wall. Both sides hesitated a moment. Then came a voice—not as loud as Yang Yi’s, but filled with deep disgust, plain and simple.

“Shoot.”

(Two chapters at once—if you think Banana is sincere, please vote with your monthly ticket!)