Chapter 74: A Heart Like a Tiger (Part 1)

At two ke in the evening hours (around 9 PM), under a sky glittering with early stars, a desolate riverbank on the outskirts of Jiangning lay eerily quiet. A dim glow seeped through the cracks of a boat-house on the water, the faint light betraying activity within.

Consciousness returned sluggishly, a haze obscuring reality as fragments of sounds filtered through from outside. Words came and went in broken snatches, barely comprehensible before the mind could fully engage.

"Drink less…""A scholar with no strength to truss a chicken…""This pig for slaughter…""When midnight comes, Dalang will wait on the mountain with a torch… these matters must be known…""Signals, remember…""Left three turns, right three…""Father, this pig… his shoes are so fine…""No nonsense!""But…""Such pigs… at least thirty if not fifty…""He won't wake before midnight anyway, let him be…""Father, this pig… let him lift it with one hand…""Behave yourself…"

The ache at the back of his head throbbed, and clarity slowly seeped into his thoughts. A wave of unfamiliar, primal hostility rolled over him—a naked malice he hadn't encountered in a long time. Even Tang Mingyuan's prior schemes hadn't held such raw hatred.

As fragmented memories coalesced, the last clear images sharpened: piercing eyes, a raised cudgel. Who were these people?

Enemies? He racked his brain.

Su family? Unlikely. There was no need for internal rivals to act this extreme unless someone plotted to remove both the patriarch and Su Boyong simultaneously.Rivals like the Xue or Wu families? No, such violence was a last resort and not something they would do lightly.The Martial Lieutenants? Preposterous.

This enmity seemed utterly unprovoked. Could it be random banditry? A hostage scheme?

"Meat pig," "midnight"—no, it didn't fit.

The source of this hostility eluded him, but speculation would have to wait. He assessed his predicament. Tied hands and feet. A darkened room. Faint lamplight from the adjacent chamber, where muffled voices murmured. The subtle rocking beneath him and the sound of water confirmed his location: a boat on the river.

The hulking figure before his blackout loomed in his mind—a man over two meters tall, as formidable as a champion fighter. A situation stacked against him.

He closed his eyes, forcing calm. His body tensed and relaxed cyclically as his fingers probed the coarse surface behind him for sharp edges or tools, all while maintaining an unbroken facade of unconsciousness.

Time trickled by, the river's current a steady cadence to his laborious efforts. Gradually, the throbbing at the back of his head eased, leaving sharper senses in its wake. The houseboat rocked gently as the conversations in the adjoining room clarified.

Two men.Two younger voices, perhaps brothers.A woman.A familial group, but not ordinary folk—they spoke casually of their prey as "meat pigs."

Killers. This was no first-time act.

The vision of the giant man swirled in his thoughts. This was no ordinary foe, nor a fair fight. He regulated his breathing, honing his senses. Footsteps creaked outside the room, accompanied by a subtle clinking. The door's lock rattled faintly.

Halfway through, the unlocking stopped.

"Brother, what are you doing?" a voice hissed.

"Just wanted his shoes," another answered, a touch of resentment in his tone. "He won't need them."

"Father said not to mess around. Give me the key!"

"Oh…"

The key exchanged hands, and the footsteps receded. Ning Yi exhaled long and slow, the rhythm of his hand against the wall quickening slightly as he resumed his search for a tool or escape.

Soon after, the soft scrape of metal against the lock returned.

The door cracked open, and a figure slipped inside—a brawny youth wielding a cudgel. He hummed smugly as he pocketed his pick-lock tools, stepping confidently toward the bound scholar in the corner.

To his eyes, Ning Yi was pitiful—a feeble intellectual wholly at his mercy, frail and helpless.

City folk, always the same.

"Piggy, if you've woken up and dare to cause trouble, I'll smash your skull with a single swing," the boy hissed venomously in a low voice. He waited beside the figure for a moment, then set the stick aside and squatted down to remove the scholar's shoes. In the faint light, he admired them fondly before sitting with his back to the scholar, taking off his own shoes. The act of turning his back as he changed shoes was purely instinctive.

One shoe, then the other. They were beautiful and fit perfectly. Just as he was about to stand, the figure behind him silently sat up. In the darkness, hands stretched out, and the rope slipped away from the wrists they had bound. Those hands suddenly clamped down.

Crack.

The boy's head twisted to an unnatural angle.

Barefoot, Ning Yi silently pushed open the door and stepped outside. The corridor of the boathouse stretched before him. Its layout resembled the character "王" (Wang), with six rooms. He had been confined in the room between the living room and kitchen, which had no door. The other three rooms on the opposite side only had windows.

The corridor was empty. Ning Yi crept forward, glancing briefly into the living room before quickly pulling back.

Three men were there, seated at a table under the dim glow of an oil lamp. One was the hulking man who had spoken to him earlier; the other, equally massive, resembled an iron tower. The third appeared to be the eldest son, also over six feet tall.

"Son of a bitch!" Ning Yi cursed under his breath in English.

The iron tower-like man was speaking to the eldest son in a steady, instructive tone.

"...Da Lang, let me tell you, in this world, only those who are truly ruthless and bold can survive. But don't mistake ruthlessness for recklessness. True ruthlessness is used only when necessary. Once, and everyone will fear you. I remember that time with the man named Lei…"

Their conversation was mere noise to Ning Yi, irrelevant to his immediate concern. Blah, blah, blah. What kind of philosophical nonsense is this?

He scanned his surroundings. The only exit was through the living room, but with his poor swimming skills, escaping into the river wasn't an option. Though the current was mild, the noise of the water would give him away before he got far.

Face darkening, he moved toward the kitchen. Inside, a plump woman was cooking. Ning Yi surveyed the area quickly, noting the chimney and other features. Within two seconds, he stepped in and grabbed the knife from the cutting board.

The woman turned to look at him, but in the next instant, a spray of blood shot into the air like a fountain, splattering into the boiling pot with a sizzle. The dark silhouette reflected on the wall, the knife rising and falling repeatedly.

Blood seeped across the floorboards, possibly dripping into the river below. Standing expressionless at the stove, Ning Yi began tossing pork, kerosene, and various oils into the boiling pot. His gaze swept over the kitchen, examining and discarding bundles of paper-wrapped items until the oil was fully heated. Finally, he poured the scalding liquid into a clay pot bound with straw ropes.

From the living room came a call: "Da Lang, go check if your mother's done cooking."

Ning Yi silently pulled the kitchen door shut. In one hand, he held a heavy counterweight; in the other, a sharp boning knife. He pressed himself against the wall near the doorway, waiting. Footsteps approached, drawing closer. The door creaked open, and as the figure entered, Ning Yi blew out the lamp. The flame extinguished with a soft puff, leaving only the faint glow of the stove's fire.

"Mother?" the young man called uncertainly.

Ning Yi swung the counterweight in a vicious arc.

Thud.

The heavy object smashed into the back of the young man's head. As the figure crumpled to the side, Ning Yi caught him before he hit the floor.

"…That Gu fellow, I heard he's been appointed a county magistrate…"

"If Da Lang and Er Lang could get positions under him, that wouldn't be bad. We still have leverage over him…"

"No need to push scholars like him too hard…"

In the living room, Yang Yi and Yang Heng sipped wine and nibbled on peanuts as they chatted. When Yang Heng noticed Da Lang had been gone a while, he frowned.

"Why is Da Lang still—"

"Mother—!" The voice, hoarse and desperate, came from the direction of the kitchen. Both men jerked upright. Yang Yi grabbed a crossbow, rushing toward the corridor, while Yang Heng drew a steel blade and headed for the door.

"Check the pig!"

Yang Heng burst outside, scanning the river for any sign of an escape. A few seconds later, a furious shout came from the corridor behind him.

"Let him go—!"

Yang Yi had charged into the dim corridor, illuminated faintly by the kitchen's glow. He hadn't yet opened the second door to check on the captive when his eldest son stumbled out, blood streaming down his head. His figure swayed unsteadily, barely conscious, only to be shoved forward by someone behind him.

A bloody boning knife rested against Da Lang's throat, held steady in the single hand of the man pushing him forward. Any sudden movement might slit his throat. The one using him as a shield was none other than the "harmless" scholar they had captured earlier, now smeared with blood.

"Let him go!" Yang Yi's roar was filled with rage as he raised the crossbow.

Though Ning Yi wasn't particularly tall, Yang Yi's towering presence loomed like a wall. Both sides froze momentarily. Then, Ning Yi spoke in a tone devoid of fear, laced with cold disdain.

"Shoot."