Chapter 57: Inspire Shi Lei! Blood Moon Slashes a Man!

Shi Lei sweated profusely in the courtyard, his fists whipping through the air with a howling wind.

His eyes glowed red, his jaws clenched tight; each punch landed heavier than the last, as if trying to pour out every ounce of pent-up rage and bitterness onto the innocent wooden dummy.

Boom—!!!

A muffled explosion, utterly profound.

The wooden dummy, forged from hard timber and thicker than an ordinary man’s waist, cracked open with a horrifying fissure from his punch.

Wood chips flew in all directions; the post swayed, groaning under unbearable strain.

“Huh… huh…”

Shi Lei gasped for breath, fists hanging limp at his sides, knuckles streaked with blood—he felt nothing.

He only felt a fire burning in his chest, scorching him with restless frustration, driving him to the edge of madness.

Before coming to Fucheng, he had been full of passion, believing he could finally spread his wings, follow Master Liu, and walk farther on the path of martial arts.

But upon arriving in Fucheng, he learned a devastating truth from Master Liu.

The old man who had awakened him in his darkest hour—Jiang Lao—had vanished during that night’s refugee assault…

His body was never found.

He never got to kneel, never got to thank him.

Now, his most respected Master Liu and closest brother Zhao Jing lay wounded, medicated and bedridden, beaten by those so-called “Kanglin Three Wolves.”

And what of him?

Merely Mingjin—he didn’t even have the qualification to fight another soul.

All he could do was stand in the courtyard, venting his fury on a wooden dummy.

The usually composed man now hated his own helplessness.

He glanced toward the study, where dim lantern light flickered, faint muffled coughs drifting through the door.

He took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in his heart, and stopped training.

He feared his noise might disturb his brother and master’s recovery.

He lowered his footsteps, slipping silently out of the compound.

Shi Lei passed through several quiet alleys, finally halting beneath an ancient locust tree, wide enough for several men to encircle.

The place was empty, silent except for the whisper of wind through the leaves.

He assumed the starting stance of Bingshan Fist, lowered his waist, bent his knees, twisted his hips—only a few punches in when faint footsteps sounded behind him.

“Huh?!”

He spun around, fist still extended, eyes sharp with suspicion.

An elderly man in plain gray robes approached calmly, unhurried.

Shi Lei’s gaze locked onto the old man—his heart jolted—“Jiang Lao…”

But in an instant, he shook his head, banishing the absurd thought.

No, not him.

This old man bore no resemblance to Jiang Lao except for his age.

Shi Lei lowered his eyes, about to look away—when the old man passed beside him.

“Young man, your fistwork is impressive. You’ll amount to something great.”

The voice was aged and calm, yet carried a steadying warmth, like an elder’s casual praise.

Hearing it, Shi Lei’s heart jolted again.

Though he knew this man was not Jiang Lao, he felt as if he’d been praised once more by that old man of days past.

For a moment, he was dazed.

Only when the figure was about to vanish at the alley’s mouth did he snap back to reality, bowing deeply toward that direction, voice trembling with emotion:

“Thank you, Old Man, for your praise!!!”

His voice echoed through the empty alley, startling a few birds from the treetops.

The silhouette showed no pause, continuing unhurriedly until it vanished from his sight.

Shi Lei straightened, staring at the empty alley mouth—suddenly, the heavy gloom that had choked his chest for days had lifted, half gone.

In its place, a scorching drive surged through his veins, boiling and alive.

“I will become stronger!”

He drew a deep breath, turned, and resumed the Bingshan Fist stance.

This punch launched—not with rage or agitation, but with unwavering resolve.

Night fell. In a side chamber deep within the Ding family estate, candles burned bright.

Three burly, broad-shouldered men sat around a wine table, clinking cups, reeking of alcohol.

Their faces were strikingly similar—thick brows, wide mouths, heavy jowls—the infamous “Kanglin Three Wolves” of Fucheng’s Hua-jin circle.

“Liu Qingshi looked quiet and unassuming, but turns out he’s got some backbone.”

The eldest downed a gulp of liquor, wiped his lips, and laughed loudly: “Too bad his fists are hard—when faced with us three brothers, he’s only fit to be beaten!”

The second chuckled, his eyes glinting with lust: “Too bad we didn’t kill the old bastard today. Otherwise… hehe, I’d be savoring his wife’s flavor right now.”

He licked his lips, savoring the memory: “You didn’t see her—hmm, a forty-year-old woman, kept herself looking like she was barely thirty, and her figure? More alluring than any girl!”

“Especially that ass…” He gestured with his hands, face twisted in lewd delight, “Big as a millstone—when she sways, it could steal a man’s soul!”

The third, who’d been eating meat, perked up instantly, dropping his bone and fixing his pea-sized eyes with lust: “Really that good? Second brother, you’re drunk and seeing things!”

“Seeing things? My eyes? I’ve never mistaken a woman in my life!” The second slammed the table. “That woman stands there—her ripe, mature allure… hmm…”

The third licked his lips, thrilled: “Then we’ve got to work faster—kill that Liu bastard soon! Then I’ll get my turn to savor his wife!”

The eldest, fired up by his brothers’ words, downed another drink and roared with laughter: “Damn it, you two got me hot too!”

He set down his cup, eyes gleaming with the same lewdness: “The young master’s coming to reward us soon—when he arrives, make him take us to ‘Zuixiang Pavilion’ to cool off! He’s paying!”

“Elder brother, brilliant!” The second and third laughed together, raising their cups and draining them.

At that moment.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A knock sounded—neither loud nor soft, perfectly timed.

“Hey, the young master’s here!”

The third leapt to his feet, grinning as he headed for the door, muttering: “This young master’s finally learned manners—knocking now…”

The eldest in the center frowned, sensing something wrong.

That spoiled brat—when did he start knocking before entering?

“Third, wait—”

His words had barely left his lips.

Creak.

The third had already opened the door.

The next instant.

Shhh!

A piercing, razor-sharp whistle of air exploded.

No young master stood outside—only a blade of blood-red light, slashing straight toward them.

The blade’s glow was ghastly, exquisite—a crescent moon risen from a mountain of corpses and blood, carrying suffocating killing intent, descending without mercy.

Pfft.

A soft sound, like a hot knife slicing through butter—smooth, flawless, no resistance.

The blade sliced cleanly through the third’s crown, straight down—passing his nose, lips, jaw, neck, chest, abdomen—splitting him cleanly from head to crotch into two perfect halves.