Chapter Seventy-Seven: A Heart Like a Fierce Tiger (Part Four)

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

In the darkness, the collapsing boathouse reeked faintly of alcohol, charred wood, and blood. The river flowed with a gentle murmur, blood spreading across the water beneath the silhouettes of figures, painting symbols in deep crimson. Gu Yanzhen stood alone for a long moment, his head tilting abruptly, unsure where to look.

The wind swept through the trees and hills behind him, a low growl echoing in the gloom.

The door had been broken down, tiles and fragments of the roof continued to tumble from above, and by the faint starlight, the blood on the floor was nearly dry. Three corpses lay in the room—among them, the brothers Yang Yi and Yang Heng, those two fierce giants who had always struck him with unspeakable intimidation. Now, they lay dead, and the scene before him made it clear: the entire boathouse had perished.

It should have been a simple affair. After crossing the hills and forests, he felt nothing but calm, his mind preoccupied only with what would happen once he reached Leping. Old Six was by his side; at the boathouse, the two formidable brothers were there. Though fugitives, at least they stood on his side. There was Ning Liheng, captured, and the Yang brothers’ family.

But in that instant, Old Six gently pushed the door. The wooden beam crashed through, the roof collapsed, the floorboards trembled, and dust rained down. In that moment, he realized that everyone he had imagined to be here was dead.

It was as if the entire world pressed down upon him. Blood spread below, darkness surrounded him, eerie and silent. Water, wind, trees—the whole world was filled with nothing but this, leaving only himself.

“Old… Old Six…”

He swallowed, murmuring the name. The dead silence around him made his voice seem especially loud, yet arrows from behind pierced him without mercy. The corpse in the water, aside from the blood that still flowed, was utterly motionless—it barely looked human. How could a body, so completely dead, bleed so quickly? Moments before, he had been full of life; how could death be so absolute?

Almost as if expecting the body to move, he called again, faltering: “Uncle Six.”

The river carried a dark red silk across its surface—there would be no answer. Gu Yanzhen wandered blankly in circles, then slowly began to walk toward the bank.

About halfway there, he saw a figure in the woods.

The figure made a sound—retching, as if vomiting. From a distance, only a vague outline could be seen. The person sat in the dark bamboo grove, slightly hunched. Gu Yanzhen almost instinctively stopped, wanting to flee into the river. The water was not deep, but looking back at Old Six’s body pierced by arrows, he refrained from jumping in, instead quickening his pace forward. The figure in the bamboo grove stood, carrying something, and walked toward him. The night wind carried a faint, strange melody—odd, slow, weakly sung, as if from someone exhausted:

“Left~ three times… Right~ three times… Neck~ twist… Hips~ twist… Early to bed, early to rise, let’s… do some exercise…”

The figure came into view.

Under the starlight: Ning Yi, Ning Liheng.

He looked weak, his hands wrapped in bandages, stained with spots of blood, but there was an indescribable aura about him. Gu Yanzhen hesitated only two seconds before bolting along the riverbank toward the opposite woods.

…

…

When Old Six was struck by the beam and sent into the river, Ning Yi had already been waiting in the darkness for a long time.

Pain surged in his left hand, shoulder, and chest, each wave more sharply tugging at his nerves. He sat there slowly chewing leaves, the bitterness and astringency keeping his senses keen. He held out until midnight, when the torchlight drew people near, but his stomach cramped and he vomited once.

Now, seeing the unfamiliar scholar, he couldn't help but retch again, then picked a few more leaves to chew, grabbed his crossbow, and, humming the absurd song that had become a code, walked out of the bamboo grove.

The scholar ran, sprinting to the other side of the bamboo grove, and Ning Yi followed at a steady pace with the crossbow. He no longer cared to recall the lyrics precisely, so he sang as he went: “Shake your feet… Shake your feet… Practice deep breathing… Be happy and you won’t grow old…”

The fleeing figure tripped over a rope, snapping it and causing a bamboo pole to spring up—though the force was weak, it was a failed trap. Ning Yi noted this, but the scholar still fell in panic. Ning Yi watched as he struggled to get up and run again, only to trip over the same rope twice and fall once more.

“How did it come to this?” Ning Yi raised the crossbow, aiming at him, then closed the distance by a few meters, peering at the scholar’s face by starlight, finally certain he didn’t recognize him. “Who are you? Recently… cough… have I done something… unspeakably evil again?”

His voice was hoarse, lazy, and weak. The wind seemed especially fierce, shaking the woods behind them. The scholar looked at him in terror, a long time passing before he stammered, “Gu… Gu Hong… Gu Yanzhen…”

The wind suddenly ceased. Ning Yi froze, his mouth slightly open, a look of surprise on his face. He had heard the name, certainly—of course he had—but… blinking absurdly, after a moment, his mouth opened wider, his brows knitted, as if rolling his eyes. He wiped sweat from his upper lip with his crossbow hand, his gaze now averted from Gu Yanzhen, turning as if to pace away. Gu Yanzhen relaxed a bit, but suddenly Ning Yi spun back, stepped close, raised the crossbow, and pulled the trigger. The string snapped.

“You damned lunatic…”

Gu Yanzhen barely had time to react. In Ning Yi’s muttering, his body shuddered, and he stared in disbelief at the arrow buried in his abdomen, the shaft standing up under the starlight. His jaw trembled, his expression a mix of tears and incomprehension, blood seeping out, burning hot, his hand instinctively pressing the wound.

“Ha… ah… ha…”

He looked as if he were crying, though no tears fell, his voice small and frantic. Ning Yi threw aside the crossbow, watching, then took a deep breath and crouched down.

“Press with both hands—come, bring this hand over too, press here, that’s right, don’t move, don’t shout too loudly, or you’ll bleed too much and we won’t be able to save you.” Gu Yanzhen pressed both hands against the arrow wound in his abdomen, trying to stem the bleeding; Ning Yi added his own hand, speaking calmly, gently, as if soothing a child. Gu Yanzhen seemed to weep, watching him through tears.

“That’s right, like that. With luck, this arrow hasn’t severed your intestines. Don’t get agitated, don’t cry. My voice is low, I’m tired too. We should calmly talk… So, did you do something to Nie Yunzhu?”

Gu Yanzhen shook his head almost instinctively. Ning Yi looked into his eyes, then nodded with a faint smile. In truth, his face was pale as paper, sweat streaming.

“A good start, Brother Yanzhen, thank you. Now… besides the dead, who else knows you came here? Who knows what you’ve done?”

This time, Gu Yanzhen hesitated for a long time.

“I—I am a government official… If I die, you…”

He stammered through his words. Ning Yi’s gaze grew cold; he drew a steel blade from his back and slashed down onto Gu Yanzhen’s thigh.

A scream tore through the night, startling the birds in the riverside woods. Gu Yanzhen’s face was soaked with tears, his trousers wet, blood pouring from his thigh. After a while, Ning Yi spoke.

“Come, use one hand here, press it, that’s right. I’m sorry, we should try to understand each other… Look, Brother Yanzhen, Official Brother, now we can repeat the question from before… or you can repeat your answer…”

As flames roared through the boathouse, Ning Yi turned and walked toward the woods, his body exhausted, nerves trembling.

The bodies of the Yang family, Gu Yanzhen, Old Six—all shrouded in the fire. By the time they were found downstream, who knew what state they’d be in.

A disaster without cause.

He had encountered many things in his life, good and bad alike. In his youth, he’d fought for his life, survived grave wounds and near death. But never had he faced something so inexplicable; no wonder he’d felt nothing beforehand. He’d wracked his brain over this, never imagining such an absurd reason.

That Gu Yanzhen.

Damned lunatic.

He hadn’t even known him before all this.

He loathed these senseless thugs most of all.

Cursing inwardly, he forced himself to keep his mind sharp. He had to get away, as far as possible. There were still one or two who knew at the place Gu Yanzhen mentioned, but now was not the time for murder; perhaps later, or ask Lu Hongti for help—then the debt would be settled, for this was no small matter.

With these thoughts, he grew ever more weary, the road before him shifting from clear to blurry. At some moment, the call of birds sounded in his ears—strange, faintly familiar. Soon after, struggling to focus, he saw a figure racing down the narrow path ahead, coming swiftly to his side and supporting him.

“What happened to you?”

It was Lu Hongti’s voice.

His strength let go, and he fainted.