Chapter 66: A Nocturnal Assault

The Scorpion Boss stood in a corner untouched by moonlight, a hooded cloak shrouding him from head to toe. The long mantle billowed in the breeze, making him look like a phantom bred from the shadows.

He held a comely-looking young man on a leash — one of the young things who had tumbled out of his bed earlier. The pretty youth was clad in snug night gear and wore around his neck a chain to which the leash was attached. It gave him the air of a dog whose cheeks were rosy and whose teeth were pearly white.

The Scorpion Boss reached out his fingers to comb them gently through the youth's hair.

"If we don't give a warning to Valley Master Wen," he sighed, "I fear his formidable personage may fall into the trappings of earthly tenderness so sweet, he'll soon become like the floating white cloud which doesn't envy

immortal fairylands1... And we can't let that happen, can we? If all our champions were so unambitious, who would be left to unmask our last-standing 'great hero'?"

The pretty youth looked second from purring; he squinted his eyes and leaned into the Scorpion's caress, angling for more. Meanwhile, several dark silhouettes rushed into the small inn. Shrieks rose from all around as unsuspecting guests were startled by their dreams.

A door burst open and a teenager in disheveled clothes stumbled out, a Scorpion on his heels.

As the Scorpion Boss observed from the sidelines, he noted that, although the boy looked a laughable mess, the pattern of his steps whilst he ran was actually an exquisite sequence of qing-gong — executed perfectly while he seemed still half-asleep and showed no sign of defending himself beyond dodging left and right.

The teenager soon cried out.

"Mommmmy!" Zhang Chengling wailed, "Why is it you people in black again? You're there when I fall asleep, you're still there when I wake up — I swear I'm not the one who dug out your ancestors' graves!"

His voice broke at the end of his sentence, the word "grave" morphing mid-syllable into a strident screech: the Scorpion after him had flung out a handful of needles as thin as ox hair.

Rather like a dog trying to eat mud, Zhang Chengling dodged by plunging toward the ground face first. Then, after hitting the dirt with a thud, and as if he were a giant fleshy maggot, he wiggled his raised buttocks a few times, before rolling to the side and vaulting back to his feet. There was a wooden pillar nearby; he scaled it for several steps before twisting around with something held in his hand.

Zhang Chengling hurled his clenched fist toward the Scorpion who was after him, and shouted: "I've got needles too!"

Out of reflex, the Scorpion bent backward to dodge.

From the day he was born, Zhang Chengling had always been the one getting scammed. After spending so much time with characters the likes of Gu Xiang, his Shifu, and company, the positive influence of their utter shamelessness had finally rubbed off: he had conned someone else for once. Proud as punch, he proceeded with climbing the pillar like a bear climbing a tree.

"Haha, you're so stupid," he boasted. "That's how my shifu taught me to fleece people!"

"Horseshit," a miffed voice barked back. "When did I ever teach you such a low and despicable trick?"

The poor Scorpion caught on at last. He was about to resume his chase when a gale of wind rushed at him from behind — before he could turn around, his head detached from his neck and rolled to the ground.

Zhang Chengling's giggle got stuck in his throat. He stared wide-eyed at Wen Kexing who had appeared out of nowhere — all he had been able to discern was a shadow flashing through the air a split-second before the Scorpion became headless.

The man now stood by the corpse with his head lowered. Not a single drop of blood maculated his robes, though four fingers on his left hand dripped with gore.

He wielded no saber, sword, or any other sharp weapon. Yet, he had "chopped" the Scorpion's noggin clean off using some unknown method. Was it possible he could condense the energy at his fingertips and produce a blade made of pure qi? His entire person looked like a demon who had clawed its way up from hell: his expression wasn't particularly grave or fierce, but the aura emanating from him irresistibly made people want to bolt.

Hugging the pillar, Zhang Chengling opened his mouth a few times. No sound came out.

At that moment, Gu Xiang, Cao Weining, and Gao Xiaolian also showed up and joined in the melee. Zhou Zishu followed unhurriedly; he halted by the door. The belt around his waist was still loosely tied — he wasn't carrying his Baiyi sword. He corked open the vial of medicine the Great Shaman had given him, and popped a pill into his mouth, gulping down the little sphere dry. Then, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and surveyed the scene, his gaze skipping past Wen Kexing and company, to zero in on the patch of darkness where the Scorpion Boss hid.

The Great Shaman had pushed open the window of his room a while ago. He didn't jump into the fray, though; content to watch from inside. When his eyes fell on Wen Kexing's silhouette, his brows knitted.

Lord Seventh draped his outer robe around himself. "What do you think of his kung-fu?" he asked from behind the Great Shaman.

The Great Shaman hesitated for a moment.

"If we set the criterion on skills alone, Lord Zhou may have been his match when he was at his peak. Still, if they were to truly come to blows, our friend would lose for certain."

Lord Seventh started faintly.

"What about you, then?"

"If not as a last resort," the Great Shaman said, shaking his head, "I'd never cross blades with him."

His eyes somber, he gazed at the man who stood in the middle of the courtyard: Wen Kexing appeared to give a faint snort before he lifted his hand and gingerly licked at the blood drenching his fingers. It left his lips stained with crimson.

Although within jianghu, the Great Shaman and Zhou Zishu were two bonafide masters of exceptional abilities, they still had learned their kung-fu from someone — first from their shifus, then from others — before they had polished it off by themselves.

Indeed, if the saying went "a disciple's skill depends on their own effort", it was prefaced with "a master helps his apprentice across the threshold". Moreover, both men's motives for practicing martial arts had only ever been to become capable so they could pursue their own aspirations. So, although the average bystander may not detect it, there still existed within their kung-fu an undeniable mark of rote learning that they couldn't shake off.

But Wen Kexing was different.

That man's skills had been honed through decades spent suspended between life and death, bathed by tempests of blood. He knew no mnemonic rhymes, nor method to speak of, and had only, time after time, made choices that meant surviving another day — or not.

His was the most formidable brand of kung-fu on earth.

The Scorpion Boss parted his lips slightly. His breath shook, whether because of terror or excitement. He clenched his fist, pinching the pretty youth in his grasp. The latter frowned, pain scrunching his face, but he did not dare budge.

"If you told me now he isn't the Devil Lord," the Scorpion whispered, "I wouldn't believe you."

All of a sudden, he let go of the leash securing the pretty youth. Patting him on the back of the head, he said, "Go meet the ever-so-lucky child over there. Play with him for a while: us adults need to talk."

The youth huffed his assent and took off at speed — his qing-gong was actually rather good. The Scorpion Boss stuck his fingers into his mouth and whistled. At the signal, every Scorpion who was still alive retreated from the battleground, to line up in a neat row beside him. Thereupon, the Scorpion Boss walked out of the shadow and came to stand in front of Wen Kexing.

"Gentlemen, we meet again," he said, cupping his fist.

"Have you come to look for death?" Wen Kexing replied, his eyes murderous and his tone beyond testy.

Meanwhile, the pretty youth landed a few steps from Zhang Chengling. The Scorpion Boss appeared to have lost interest in them, though; he paid them no more mind. Zhou Zishu, however, shook out of his stillness: he gazed up at the two young people who were already engaging in battle and shifted on his feet slightly. But then he seemed to think again, and did not interfere.

The pretty youth's attacks were vicious; as their duel began, they forced Zhang Chengling to flee like a rat scurrying for its life, arms, and feet in disarray. Yet, Zhou Zishu could see that, if there was a discrepancy between their abilities, the gap wasn't so large. And since he knew Zhang Chengling was the type to progress when pushed to his limits, he let them be.

Besides, with so many people present, the brat risked no real mishaps.

"I daren't, I daren't," the Scorpion Boss replied to Wen Kexing with a simper. "Your humble servant is someone who quite appreciates life. And since the target is now under the Valley Master's protection, had we eaten a bear's

heart or a panther's guts2, we still wouldn't dare beard the lion in his den3."

Wen Kexing glared at the fellow impatiently, the promise of a prompt decapitation if he spoke further nonsense glinting in his eyes.

"I came here only," the Scorpion went on, "to deliver a message on someone's behalf, for the Young Master Zhang."

Wen Kexing threw a glance towards the two youths who had removed themselves to the roof and were re-tiling it presently. Loath to bother with the Scorpion anymore, he turned his heel and walked back towards Zhou Zishu, his expression thoroughly foul.

Only when he reached the other man's side did he wipe off the nastiness from his face? "Have you taken the medicine?" he asked in a low voice with his eyes dropped.

Zhou Zishu gave a quiet grunt and looked over at the Scorpion.

"What message?"

The Scorpion didn't answer immediately. He clasped his hands behind his back and raised his head to peer at the boy who had been ducking left and right mere moments ago but could now (though it still all looked rather pathetic) return a few blows. A surprised " huh? " escaped his lips:

Zhang Chengling had produced a sword made of lousy metal from somewhere — unmistakably the kind used for practice. He gesticulated with it seemingly at random, yet one could detect, upon closer examination, the forms of two brilliant sword patterns concealed within all the floundering about. The first pattern was serene and forthright, it spoke of nobility and peerless talent. The second was nimble and unrestrained; if deployed to its fullest measure, it'd evoke the elegance of drifting clouds and running brooks.

As he barged on, the boy combined the two in an incongruous attempt at switching from one to the next, in a decidedly grotesque way, yet seemed weirdly fitting at the same time.

The Scorpion Boss could tell, Zhang Chengling would have neutralized his own child's mighty-looking assaults within ten moves.

"Famous teachers do produce outstanding disciples," he sighed, before raising his voice and calling out: "Young Master Zhang, would you like to know who is the true culprit behind your family's massacre?"

Zhang Chengling froze. Distracted, he didn't see the pretty youth hurl the chain around his neck toward him — it wound itself around the sword he held. His weapon was a cheap gewgaw, to begin with; under the torsion imparted upon it, it instantly snapped in two. His opponent pressed his advantage forthwith. He raised his dark-colored,

long saber and slashed it across, aiming for Zhang Chengling's waist.

Zhang Chengling took a roll to the side. Left with no better alternatives, he lifted his foot and aimed a kick at his opponent's "family jewels". The pretty youth barely twisted out of the way, shocked and livid in equal measure.

An odd expression came over the features of every onlooker present.

Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing exchanged a glance. In identical "this has nothing to do with me" tones, they spoke as one:

"What a great disciple you've taught."

Wen Kexing glared. "He is clearly your disciple."

"Bullshit," Zhou Zishu retorted, sure of being in the right. "How could I ever produce a disciple who knows nothing but shameless, despicable tricks? He is clearly of the same breed as you."

Zhang Chengling vaulted back up to his feet; he trod the Nine Hall Steps at full speed with the pretty youth leaping after him.

The Scorpion recovered from his shock. "What an... unconventional child," he chuckled. "Let me tell you the truth, then. The one who killed your father, the one who murdered Taishan's Grandmaster, the one who disposed of Shen Shen in secret, and the one who blamed everything on Sir Gao... are but the same person. "

"Who is it?" Zhang Chengling shouted.

"Who do you think?" the Scorpion replied. "Who can still, at this juncture, quietly hold on to the Crystal Armour, while spurring all the heroes to war with the Devils in the name of righteousness? So he can exterminate anyone who knows the truth, and reunite the Armour with the 'Key' from the Devil's Valley."

At that, Zhou Zishu let out a faint "ah-ha! ". He turned to peer pointedly at Wen Kexing.

"The 'Key' from the Devils' Valley," Zhou Zishu repeated. "No wonder... the Valley Master alone showed no

surprise when Long Que made those revelations to us." "You don't seem shocked," Wen Kexing said.

Zhou Zishu chuckled. "Why should I? The Devil's Valley has dwelt in peace for many years — why should a traitor surface out of the blue? One who has set his target on the Crystal Armour, no less. For someone to take such

a high risk... What'd be shocking to me is if they had come to 'capture the white wolf bare-handed'5, so to speak."

Wen Kexing hesitated for a long moment. Then, he explained in a low voice:

"You are right. The ten most heinous Devils within the Valley have been locked in an unending struggle since forever. Sun Ding and Xue Fang led the two largest factions. But recently, the Mourning Groom has, through some unknown means, convinced most of the Demonic Fellowship to side with him, turning the tides in his favor. They were oppressing the remaining minority with their numbers, and within the Valley, if you aren't as powerful as your opponent, you are bound to die. Xue Fang made the perilous move out of desperation... or perhaps had he planned such a day would come long ago — he stole the Key."

Zhou Zishu nodded his head a few times. In a slow voice, he asked, "Oh? And in what way did he..."

Of the Five Clans of yore, only one head of the clan was left standing. Were Zhang Chengling truly stupid, he'd still have figured out to whom the Scorpion was alluding. In that instant, he felt as if his heart had stopped beating. He gave a great angry roar.

"You're lying! It can't be true!"

Zhou Zishu snapped his head back up. "Brat, your mind must be strong if you want to achieve greatness," he said in a deep voice. "If you know something to be true, then you mustn't deceive yourself. But if you think he is sprouting mouth-farts, nothing prevents you from letting it into your left ear and out of your right."

As he spoke, Zhou Zishu's silhouette seemed to oscillate in the air. He came to stand by Cao Weining's side before anyone saw him move. Casually, he plucked the young man's sword from him and tossed it out.

"Catch," he called out. "Didn't you say you wanted to go with Gu Xiang? If you can kill that pale-faced, fake girl, I'll allow it."

Zhang Chengling surged through the air to catch Cao Weining's sword. He unsheathed it with a " sha-shing " sound and gave a ferocious bellow. No longer holding back, he swung toward the pretty youth whilst wielding his

a weapon like it were the Gold-Ringed Sabre6, his poise so towering, and his aura so oppressive, it seemed to weigh down a thousand pounds upon his enemy — a stance that nobody had taught him.

Startled, the pretty youth broke into a panic. He threw in a hasty parry and hobbled backward, revealing in his frenzied retreat a limp that wasn't usually apparent. A cryptic smile surfaced on the Scorpion's lips.

Zhang Chengling too spotted his opponent's stagger. His eyes sharpened all of a sudden as a vicious hatred twisted his features. He hacked his sword straight down, cleaving the pretty youth in two from head to chest.

Warm blood splashed Zhang Chengling's face. He twisted his head back and looked the Scorpion in the eyes. "You're saying it's Uncle Zhao?"

The suicide assassins had started turning up after Uncle Zhao brought him to Dongting — why did his Uncle let Zhou Zishu, a stranger of unidentified provenance, take him away so easily at such a juncture?

... Because it suited his Uncle's purpose to no longer have him by his side: only then could he let the assassins finish him off without worry.

The people who knew what had happened with Rong Xuan all those years ago were now all dead. Uncle Zhao alone remained. And he had been wounded whilst upholding the honor of wulin's orthodox clans, proving himself as a man of virtue and valor whose reputation was now unrivaled.

The truth, that was it.

Notes

1. " from opera The Immortal Palace, by Hong Sheng.

2. The concept behind the saying is that certain food can confer great courage/bravery.

3. "not dare to dig on Taisui's head". Taisui is both the ancient name of Jupiter (the planet) and a mythical creature/god (something similar to mandrake from western Dolores). It became colloquial for someone stronger than oneself. Digging holes in its/their head would thus bring about calamity.

5. Meaning someone who comes unprepared for a difficult task.

6. "gold-threaded, great rings saber". The weapon wielded by "The White Browed Hero", the titular hero of the wuxia novel by Shan Tianfang, written as a sequel inspired by Sanxia Wuyi, a compilation of stories dating from the Qing dynasty.