Clang, clang, clang!
"Blind Third is dead!"
The gong's ring, paired with shouts, shattered the calm of Li Family Village.
Not everyone had suffered from the wolf, but everyone loved a spectacle. In the village, even a neighbors' spat drew gawkers.
Folks were grabbing hoes for the fields when word spread that Blind Third was slain. They swarmed to see.
"Well, look at that—Blind Third?"
"That's the beast, seen it myself!"
"Thought it'd be some monster, not this. Scared you lot silly…"
"Fugui, spare us your nonsense. Where were you when it was alive? All talk now it's dead."
"Didn't have the time…"
"My pig! Scared to death!" wailed a woman, collapsing in sobs.
Black Egg's mother, seeing the wolf's corpse, let her buried grief spill out, weeping on the ground.
Black Egg's father, Li Baoquan, arrived too. Learning the details, his face flushed red. He swung his hand, slapping Black Egg hard, cursing, "You little brat, who told you to act on your own…"
He seemed furious, glancing at the villagers, gritting his teeth."Tiger was a brother to me. If Yan got hurt, how could I face him?"
"Forget it, it's over now."
People nearby quickly tried to calm him.
But Li Baoquan, still angry, raised his hand to hit Black Egg again.
Li Yan stepped in, blocking with a calm glance. "The fee's paid. One chicken."
"Chicken?"
Li Baoquan froze, hand dropping, rubbing it sheepishly. "Well, damn, what a mess."
No wonder Black Egg's father acted this way.
Swordsmen lived by their word, keeping promises, but those who risked their lives weren't soft-hearted.
Some fought for justice, but many killed for coin.
And their price was never cheap.
Of course, Li Yan's father, Li Hu, was bold and generous. When villagers came begging, he'd thump his chest and agree, often letting others take advantage.
But Li Yan's reputation wasn't so kind.
The reason was simple: different values.
As a modern man who'd died once, he cared little for clan rules or feudal loyalties, unbound by others' opinions, acting only to satisfy his heart.
When it was time to strike, his blade never hesitated.
When it came to payment, not a penny less.
No one could take advantage of him.
To him, this was normal, but to others, he was a troublesome ghost.
Yet this time, he'd played the hero.
"Told you, it had to be Yan!"
"Like his father, he'll be a fine man!"
Villagers gave thumbs-up, chattering praise.
Li Yan chuckled, saying nothing.
"The clan leader's here!"
Someone shouted.
From the village's dirt road came several older men, led by a lean elder with a goatee and old-fashioned glasses.
Though Li Family Village had many surnames, the Li clan was dominant, so the clan leader also served as village chief.
This generation's leader was Li Huairen, the village's only landlord, from a family of scholars and farmers, a licentiate who valued reputation and was well-regarded.
He circled Blind Third's corpse, listened to the story, stroked his beard, and nodded. "Good. With harvest time near, removing this menace lets folks farm in peace. A fine deed."
"Merit deserves reward. Zhou Juezi, your pig died. I'll buy it and give it to Li Yan's family, a token from the village."
Li Yan smirked. "Much obliged, Patriarch."
Martial training burned energy, like a bottomless pit. These days, his stomach craved fat, and a big pig would last a while.
This was the perk of a fierce reputation.
The chief knew he was tough to deal with, never assigning Li Yan's family hard labor, and ensured they got their due.
Zhou Juezi was overjoyed. He'd raised that pig for market, not his own table.
The chief's decision was a happy surprise.
Eager to lock it in, he hustled Li Yan off to butcher the pig, keeping the meat fresh and the deal firm.
"Easy, you're like a kid at a feast!" Li Yan teased, but called Black Egg to haul the pig.
After they left, Chief Li Huairen sighed in relief.
A loafer in the crowd, envious, smacked his lips. "Chief, Yan's wolf kill deserves reward, but tossing this corpse is a waste. Skin it, eat it—satisfies hunger and hate."
"You glutton!"
Someone snapped before he finished. "This beast ate people. You'd eat it? Burn it, I say."
Black Egg's mother wailed again, others sighing.
Chief Li Huairen stroked his beard, thoughtful. "Long ago, Guanzhong had wolves aplenty. Old soldiers killed them and hung them on the village's crooked tree to deter others, keeping peace for a while."
"Pillar, take some men, hang Blind Third at the village entrance!"
"Yes, Chief!"
Several men stepped up to drag the corpse.
"No! Don't!"
A feeble woman's voice rose from the crowd.
All turned to see a middle-aged woman at the back, face sallow, hair disheveled, reeking so badly people stepped away.
Widow Wang.
Her story was a sad one.
Her husband, an outsider, was a no-good thief, shunned by all. Even she was bought from a trafficker.
But even married, he never settled, carousing in Chang'an with lowlife friends, coming home drunk to beat her.
Last year, drunk and brawling, he died on the road outside Chang'an, leaving Widow Wang and her four-year-old daughter.
Normally, if she remarried, villagers wouldn't object—some even hoped for it.
A widow and child had it rough, and the village had bachelors.
But after his death, she fell ill, waking addled. Her home turned to filth, and she stank.
Her poor girl suffered, locked away.
Better an ugly wife than a lazy ghost.
The village bachelors lost interest, even mocking her privately.
No one dealt with Widow Wang.
Seeing the stares, she shrank back but whispered, "Blind Third's corpse is unclean, tainted with bad luck. Burn it, hold a ritual…"
"Silence!"
"Enough!" Li Huairen's face hardened, voice sharp. "No more of your nonsense. Your daily incense is bad enough. If you're tangled with the White Lotus Mother, dragging the village down, I'll show no mercy!"
His words turned faces grim.
Witches and shamans roamed, city god temples burned bright, and the court held grand rites led by Taixuan priests.
But forbidden cults were crushed.
The Maitreya sect, with many branches, was notorious.
Two years ago, a village secretly spread its teachings. The court sent soldiers, slaughtered them, and burned the village.
Over a thousand died, leaving a ghost town.
Widow Wang, filthy and muttering, burning incense daily, seemed like those cult fools. Though unproven, Li Huairen was wary.
The crowd's gazes grew cold.
Widow Wang dared not speak.
Li Huairen snorted, ordered the corpse dragged off, and left hurriedly with his men.
As clan leader and chief, he was busy. With Grain in Ear nearing harvest, he had village and family matters, plus grain inspectors from Chang'an.
Blind Third was a minor episode.
With no spectacle, the crowd dispersed to the fields.
Only Widow Wang stood, staring at the dragged corpse, fear in her eyes, then hurried home.
Back in her yard, she slammed the wooden door shut.
In the dim, murky room, her timid look vanished. She lit three incense sticks, pressed them to her forehead, knelt, and prayed to the main hall, murmuring:
"Third Aunt, trouble's coming…"
…
Zhou Juezi worked fast. In an hour, the pig was cleaned.
Li Yan pressed a few pounds on Black Egg, sending him to share with neighbors.
Done, he slung half the pig over his shoulder, heading home.
His home was at the village's east end.
A classic Guanzhong farmyard, wide, its packed earth not for crops but lined with stone weights and spheres.
Li Family Village, once a fort, had families keeping old martial traditions. Li Yan's was one.
Uniquely, his gate bore a wooden plaque: "Hundred Battles, Mighty Valor," in bold, vigorous strokes.
By the threshold sat an old man.
White-haired, hunched, face wrinkled like orange peel, eyes cloudy, puffing a long pipe.
His right pant leg hung empty.
This was Li Yan's grandfather in this life, Li Gui.
Seeing him, Li Yan grinned. "Grandpa, the chief gave us a pig. Noon—meat sauce noodles or spicy oil noodles?"
But Li Gui didn't look, face dark, puffing smoke.
Li Yan chuckled, said nothing, and carried the pig to the kitchen.
Half a pig was too much for them to eat quickly. Some to salt, some to render lard—a time-consuming task.
Li Yan wasn't rushed. Setting the pig down, he went to the yard.
The sun climbed. Stripping to his undershirt, he bared lean, corded muscles, warmed up, steadied his breath, and set his fists at his hips, standing rigid as a spear.
Then, one palm rose as if lifting a cauldron, slowly lowering.
Red Fist's Ten Core Forms: Overlord Lifts the Cauldron.
Guanzhong Red Fist, ancient and varied, had unique branches in every village and martial hall.
His was a family art, passed from an ancestor taught by a legendary general, famed in tavern tales as a match for armies.
His grandfather, Li Gui, a battle-hardened soldier, refined it in blood.
His father, Li Hu, a swordsman of the wilds, wove in brutal street moves, sharpening its edge.
But the Ten Core Forms were the foundation.
Red Fist valued "support and mend as root, hook and hang as skill, shift as wonder, strike as method." Moves were endless, but without a base, they were nothing.
Soft and hard forms—Li Yan never missed a day, rain or shine.
His method stood apart.
Fighters knew a body was gold, needing slow progress. Rush it, and you'd break.
Li Yan seemed beyond that.
One palm up, stretched to breaking, as if lifting a bronze cauldron, his frame taut, creaking like a bow.
He stilled his mind, focusing.
In his dantian, a stone statue slowly rose…