Chapter 75: A Heart Like a Tiger (Part 2)

Outskirts of Jiangning City, Riverside, Boat House.

"Shoot."

"Let him go!"

"Shoot!"

"You'll die miserably!"

"Who are you? Why did you abduct me?"

"Er Lang!My kid's mom!"

"…"

"What did you do to them?!"

"Step back."

The dim boat house hallway was shrouded in darkness. A faint light flickered from the kitchen and the oil lamp in the living room, casting a stifling atmosphere. A burly man held a crossbow, radiating a murderous aura he could no longer contain. Opposite him, a shadowy figure several meters away seemed disproportionately smaller, yet his hand calmly held a sharp knife against a hostage's throat. Blood dripped, and the hostage looked barely alive as water seeped beneath their feet.

The burly man barked threats, his rage boiling over. Yet the response was calm, steady, and unflinching, carrying an air of resolute finality. The voice was succinct and deliberate, like a pillar standing firm in the rushing current. Each threat was met with a swift, concise reply, devoid of hesitation or embellishment. The overpowering fury of the burly man was gradually stifled.

Gritting his teeth, the burly man growled, "What have you done to them?"

"Guess."

"What did you do—"

The deafening roar echoed through the hall, but the reply cut through it, cold and deliberate: "If you like, guess again."

The burly man's jaw tightened, his eyes glaring daggers at the shadowy figure as if to devour him whole. Finally, he drew a deep breath and took a step back.

"I misjudged you…"

"That's good."

The only way out was through the living room. Watching the retreating steps, the scholar coldly replied, pushing his staggering hostage forward. In response, the burly man retreated another step.

"If they're alive, we can talk."

"Fine."

"As long as they're not dead."

"Fine."

"…Otherwise, I swear I'll wipe out your entire family!"

"Fine."

"I'll flay you alive and make your death unbearable!"

"Fine."

"Ning Yi! Ning Liheng!"

The exchange, no more than a few sentences and a few paces, seemed casual and perfunctory. Yet the burly man, now near the threshold of the living room, was visibly enraged. The lamp's light cast twisted shadows over his face, which contorted with fury. On any ordinary day, a mere scholar would cower in terror at the sight of him.

Behind the hostage, the scholar—who had been cautiously peeking through one eye—turned his head slightly. His cold gaze met the burly man's. But it wasn't the shouted name that drew his attention. Instead, his expression was calm and commanding, his words cutting through the tension:

"Keep retreating. Keep talking. Don't. Stop."

Yang Yi slowly turned, stepping over the threshold into the living room.

The flickering lamplight stretched his massive shadow across the door. Nearby, Yang Heng gripped a steel blade tightly, waiting for the moment to strike. He had stayed hidden by the door since hearing the first words, choosing not to charge into the hallway but to lie in wait.

The scholar continued to press his hostage forward. Neither side could see the other directly in the dim light.

"Who sent you?"

"Every trade has its own rules!"

Yang Yi snarled, kicking over a chair as he backed up.

"You won't get away!"

"Mm."

"This is outside the city. No one will save you!"

"Oh."

"Even if you leave this house, you'll still die!"

"Fine."

"I admit I misjudged you, but you're just a scholar. You'll be afraid! One wrong step… and you're dead!"

Ning Yi's figure emerged at the doorway, his expression cold as he repositioned his hostage, the knife still pressed firmly against their throat. Yang Yi shook his head.

"I, Yang Yi, can admit defeat! As long as my family line continues, we can negotiate."

The dim lamplight seemed to make the room darker as the tension thickened. By the door, Yang Heng pressed against the wall, gripping his blade, his eyes vigilant. He watched the scholar move closer, his knife still at the hostage's throat.

At the far side of the table, Yang Yi's expression softened slightly. "I, Yang Yi, am a man of my word."

The scholar took another step forward, his tone suddenly shifting, slightly casual yet pointed:

"How do we negotiate?"

At that very moment, the tension in the standoff seemed to reach its lowest point. Against the wall, Yang Heng's left hand moved slightly, fingers twitching as if preparing to rise. Then, a sudden, thunderous shout tore through the air.

"Watch the club—!"

"Careful—!"

The brief lull erupted into chaos in an instant. It was the first time Ning Yi, the scholar, had shouted so forcefully. Shadows flickered in the lamplight as a whistling sound cut through the air. A black object came hurtling toward Yang Heng. He raised his blade to slash upwards, cutting the rope in midair.

The clay pot spun and hurtled closer to Yang Heng. On reflex, he raised his elbow.

Boom!

"Ahhhh—!"

"You bastard—!"

"Shoot him—!"

"I'm going to kill you—!"

"You're dead, you're so dead!"

"Pull the trigger, pull the trigger, pull the trigger—!"

In the dim, flickering light, the clay pot shattered, sending shards flying in all directions. Hot oil splashed onto Yang Heng's upper body. A sizzling sound accompanied his anguished screams as blistering heat seared his flesh. Yang Yi immediately raised his crossbow, any semblance of hesitation gone. He was ready to charge in an instant.

Ning Yi shoved the hostage forward, darting into the room and pulling the man toward a corner.

The room was a cacophony of shouts and screams. Yang Heng's arm and upper body shielded him from much of the hot oil, sparing his head. However, one eye was still affected, and the thin fabric of his summer clothing did little to protect him. Blisters formed rapidly on his face and body, turning his expression grotesque and monstrous. He roared in pain, swinging his blade and smashing a nearby chair.

Yang Yi shook his head furiously, crossbow still aimed.

"I don't believe you'll let him go—!"

"He won't kill Dalang! He won't dare!"

"Come on, try it! Why don't you pull the trigger?"

"I won't let you leave."

"Kill him!"

"Come closer. No matter what happens, the first thing I'll do is slice through his neck…"

"You're not leaving this room alive!"

"Block the door!"

"His windpipe will be torn open. Blood will gush from his throat, frothy at first. Your son will feel pain, of course, but then he'll realize he can't breathe…"

"If he dies, you die!"

"Imagine not being able to breathe. Picture it. Picture it! Like a fish out of water. He'll convulse, his arms and legs thrashing. His neck will already be cut open. He might even claw at it, covering himself in blood, more and more blood, until he loses all feeling. You might even have time to sip a cup of tea while you watch! Come on!"

"You'll die worse than him!"

"But he's your son!"

The three men in the room circled each other like predators, each maintaining a careful distance. Their words came rapid-fire. Yang Yi stood firm at the door, his crossbow trembling slightly as he tried to aim for Ning Yi's vital spots. Yang Heng, his face twisted in fury, looked ready to pounce at any moment.

Ning Yi's voice remained low and quick, his eyes coldly fixed on the two hulking figures before him. Yang Heng feigned an attack, forcing Ning Yi to adjust his position. Seeing this, Yang Heng retreated, continuing the deadly dance.

"I won't negotiate anymore. You won't let my son go!"

"He doesn't have the guts!"

"If you move, I'll move!"

"No one's leaving today."

"Let's see who lasts longer—me, or your son…"

"Ahhh—!"

Yang Heng suddenly roared and surged forward with his blade. Ning Yi, his left hand concealed behind his back, swiftly drew out an object. Sparks flickered in the dim room.

"Come on!" Ning Yi barked.

It was a firestarter he had taken from the kitchen.

Yang Heng, his face twisted in fury, halted in his tracks. "Throw it!"

"Oh, I will."

"Then do it!"

"Why don't you come over and see?"

Yang Heng took a step forward. Ning Yi flicked his wrist, and Yang Heng immediately retreated. But the firestarter remained in Ning Yi's hand. This back-and-forth played out several more times as the iron-tower-like man tried to press closer. He seemed convinced that Ning Yi wouldn't dare kill the hostage until the last possible moment.

At one point, Yang Heng exchanged a glance with Yang Yi. Seizing the moment, Yang Heng lunged forward.

The tension in the room, already at its peak, snapped. All three men moved simultaneously, their actions a blur. Ning Yi hurled the firestarter at Yang Heng, who charged with abandon.

Yang Yi, quicker still, kicked a chair into the air. The firestarter was struck mid-flight and knocked away. With nothing left to hold back, Yang Heng barreled toward Ning Yi.

Ning Yi reached for the oil lamp mounted on the wall—but it didn't budge. The lamp had been nailed to the pillar, something only the Yang brothers would have known.

Yang Heng closed the distance, his massive hand grabbing for the blade pressed against his nephew's throat. At the same time, Yang Yi rushed forward, clearing obstacles with a kick.

Ning Yi's left hand darted into the oil lamp, splattering kerosene outward.

For a brief moment, the room dimmed. Yang Heng's left hand fiercely gripped the dagger, yanking it away. In the next instant, the dimmed flame reignited between Ning Yi and Yang Heng.

Boom!

Flames erupted and surged in two directions!

In that instant, Ning Yi used the wick and kerosene to ignite Yang Heng's body while also setting his own left hand ablaze.

Amid the soaring flames and Yang Heng's agonized screams, his hand still managed to pull the dagger away from his nephew's neck. Ning Yi yanked the blade free, and blood sprayed in the firelight. On the other side, Yang Yi approached, raising a crossbow toward him. Ning Yi released the hostage and dashed aside, slashing the blade directly toward Yang Heng's head.

"Ahhhhhh!"

"Yaaaah—"

"Ahhh—"

The crossbow bolt zipped past Ning Yi's back. Yang Heng's screams, as his burning body writhed, mixed with Yang Yi's cries and the sound of Ning Yi's fierce strike. Their shadows intertwined in that chaotic moment, the flames raging wildly. Yang Yi seized the opportunity to shove his son aside and reached for Ning Yi, only to grasp at empty air. Ning Yi, who had charged at Yang Heng with the blade moments before, had instead pushed Yang Yi's son to the other side of the room.

Yang Yi froze in shock as he saw his brother's body engulfed in flames, a dagger deeply embedded in his head. When he turned to pursue Ning Yi and his son, he suddenly realized a rope had been tied between the two.

The blood-soaked scholar nearly shoved the boy to the far side of the room before spinning around. From behind his back, he drew an iron spike and pressed it firmly against the boy's throat, casting a cold gaze toward Yang Yi.

Yang Heng stumbled back a few steps before collapsing in the flames. The fire itself wasn't fatal—if he had leaped into the river, he might have survived. However, the blade that Ning Yi had ruthlessly swung down on his head during his moment of panic proved lethal.

Everyone had been calculating their moves. Yang Heng and Yang Yi had revealed a small opening earlier, baiting Ning Yi into throwing the firestarter. If Ning Yi hadn't approached the oil lamp at that precise moment, he likely wouldn't have thrown it so easily. After all, this room belonged to the Yang brothers—they knew the oil lamp was fixed in place, while the scholar likely did not. Yang Heng had risked his life to force a decisive confrontation during that fleeting hesitation. Who could have predicted that the scholar's reaction would be so vicious? He had directly set his own hand ablaze to ignite his opponent.

Now, on the other side of the room, Ning Yi still had the hostage pinned in front of him. His left hand, which had been gripping the boy's chest, was still burning fiercely. When Yang Yi turned his grief-stricken, furious gaze toward him, Ning Yi coldly locked eyes with him. His burning left hand slapped against the hostage a few times, then patted at himself. The kerosene had soaked into his arm and wrist, making it impossible to extinguish the flames. Yang Yi watched as Ning Yi's hand waved briefly in the air before clenching into a tight fist and swinging backward with great force.

Boom!

Behind him was a large black earthenware wine jar. The jar was thick due to heavy firing, and it was unclear how much strength Ning Yi had put into the blow, but it shattered with a single punch. His hand likely suffered fractured or broken bones in the process. As the wine gushed out, Ning Yi plunged his left arm into the liquid, extinguishing the flames with a loud sizzle. His entire arm trembled slightly, clearly rendered useless.

Yet the cold gaze he directed at Yang Yi, coupled with the iron spike held steadily against the boy's throat, did not waver. Only his furrowed brow twitched several times.