Chapter 13: Zhu

The New Year was drawing near.

The heavy snow showed no sign of stopping, falling continuously for a day and a night, diluting the festive atmosphere considerably.

The streets were nearly empty of pedestrians, yet the number of patrolling constables had increased severalfold compared to usual.

“The Divine Weapon Talisman—Jiang Lin? Jiang Lin? She’s actually Jiang Lin’s daughter; otherwise, how could she possess a Divine Weapon Talisman?”

In a long-abandoned courtyard in Qinghe City, Xu Hua was no longer the dashing, elegant man he once was; his face bore several bloody scratches, but the most striking sight was his left arm—gone, leaving only a sleeve flapping uselessly in the wind.

He was in a pitiful state.

Though the Divine Weapon Talisman hadn’t killed him, it had severed one of his arms.

Had it not been for the Ghost Ming Sect’s intervention, he would surely have died beneath Han Qin’s Falling Petals Sword.

He cast a cold glance at the Zhu family compound nearby.

“How dare you touch what’s mine!”

Xu Hua had returned to the abandoned temple he’d visited before; the secret technique he’d brought from Huaqing Sect and hidden in the Buddha hall had vanished without a trace.

He had come back to Qinghe City.

He intended to reclaim what was rightfully his.

“Then I’ll find them one by one!”

Li Rui’s life returned to normal.

Training, tending horses—that was all.

Zhu’s eldest son didn’t even stay until New Year’s Day; he left the same day with Han Qin and the others, returning to Huaqing Sect without a hint of reluctance.

It was said that shortly after they departed Qinghe, Huaqing Sect’s experts arrived, met with the County Magistrate, and now patrolling constables could be seen everywhere on the streets.

But all of this had little to do with him.

What could a seventy-year-old man possibly do?

Without Jiang Yan spying on him, Li Rui felt far more at ease.

Between achievement and life, which was lighter and which heavier? It went without saying.

“Xiao Zhao, if you’re tired, go rest—you don’t have to push yourself.”

Li Rui looked at Wang Zhao with concern.

He had only two disciples; Ma Yang was already dead. If Wang Zhao also fell ill and died, he’d surely earn the reputation of a cursed loner.

He must protect this last seed at all costs.

Wang Zhao was a sincere boy, raised by Li Rui’s own hands; he had truly treated this disciple as his own son, and he certainly didn’t want anything to happen to him.

“Master, I can still do plenty.”

“.”

Li Rui felt his disciple’s reply was evasive.

Wang Zhao glanced at the dark streaks at the roots of Li Rui’s silver-white hair.

If not for Li Rui’s age, most people would assume he was barely fifty; others who knew him little might not notice, but Wang Zhao had watched with his own eyes as Li Rui had reversed aging.

“Did a demon eat my master, and now the one standing before me is a demon in disguise?”

A ridiculous thought surfaced in Wang Zhao’s mind.

In short—his master was not normal!

Only after Li Rui ordered him firmly did Wang Zhao finally leave the stable.

He was alone again.

Li Rui skillfully shoveled dry hay into the horse trough.

“The Dayuan horses really do eat more.”

Thinking of those four Blood-Sweating Steeds, the old horseman who had raised horses his entire life couldn’t help but feel a restless ache.

Just as he lifted another shovel of hay—

A shadow appeared beneath his feet.

“Did you kill Ma Yang?”

A sudden question—but Li Rui’s shovel halted perfectly, then he spun around in feigned alarm: “Second Master, don’t joke like that—Young Yang died of illness; many saw it.”

“Besides, I treated Young Yang like my own son—how could I ever commit such a patricidal act?”

The man standing in the stable was none other than Zhu’s Second Master, Zhu Lie, younger brother of the patriarch Zhu Ping.

If Zhu Ping was a smiling tiger, Zhu Lie was a wolf.

None of the Zhu household servants feared him less—especially with the foot-long scar on his face, terrifying to behold.

A saying had long circulated in the Zhu household.

“Fear not the wailing ghosts—fear the Second Master’s smile.”

When Zhu Lie smiled, his scar twitched, more horrifying than any demon from the inferno.

Zhu Lie stared at Li Rui with a cold, humorless grin: “Better not be you.”

Li Rui played the role of timid caution to perfection, nodding repeatedly: “Second Master, you must believe your old servant.”

Life is a stage.

At such moments, showing appropriate panic was the most natural reaction—not calmness or unyielding dignity.

Zhu Lie snorted coldly: “Bring me the horses.”

Li Rui looked troubled: “Second Master, you know the stable’s rules—only with the Master’s written order may horses be taken.”

“Old fool!”

Zhu Lie flew into a rage, but held himself back.

He didn’t know what madness had seized his elder brother—these days, he’d been unusually attentive to this old horseman, constantly checking on his well-being; he couldn’t act freely.

“Worthless!”

He cursed inwardly.

He cursed Ma Yang for dying at the wrong time—why hadn’t he killed this old horseman first?

Zhu Lie had been bluffing just now, hoping to intimidate Li Rui into handing over the horses—but he hadn’t expected Li Rui to be unmoved. As for whether Li Rui had killed Ma Yang—

He didn’t even believe it himself.

A seventy-year-old man, nearly in his grave, struggling to urinate—how could he possibly kill anyone?

“Let’s see how long Brother can protect you!”

Zhu Lie glared fiercely at Li Rui, spat a threat, and left.

Li Rui shook his head.

Every household has its own hard-to-recite scripture.

Though the Zhu family was thriving, their business reaching Anning Prefecture, the mansion had never known peace.

In their early days, before the Zhu family grew so large, the two brothers had built their fortune through shady dealings; later, Elder Brother Zhu Ping wanted to go legitimate, but Zhu Lie refused, and the brothers split.

Even now, Zhu Lie remained closely tied to the people of Hengmen.

Hengmen was also known as highwaymen; and highwaymen, of course, needed horses.

Zhu Lie wanted horses—clearly for illicit purposes.

Over the years, Li Rui had angered Zhu Lie many times over this, but even if it meant offending him, he could never lend the horses—if Zhu Lie were caught, Li Rui would be dragged down with him.

Just surviving in the cracks.

Ma Yang had dared to move against him not only because his character was weak, but also because Zhu Lie had incited him.

“This debt will be settled eventually.”

Li Rui’s progress in swordplay had accelerated rapidly.

In barely ten days, he had grasped a hint of the White Ape’s Cloak Sword’s essence; had the original creator of this sword—Huaqing Sect’s master—still been alive, he might have taken Li Rui as his final disciple.

If age didn’t matter.

“Exhilarating!”

Li Rui swept his longsword through the snow, releasing his sword intent, clearing all the gloom from his heart.

After finishing his sword practice,

He did not bring the blade back to his quarters; instead, he buried it in the snow. It was the twelfth lunar month—no worry of melting.

Keeping the blade in his room risked someone seeing it, inviting trouble.

It could also implicate Yang Yong.

After burying the blade securely, Li Rui returned to his room in the Zhu household.

But as he reached the doorway, he saw Yang Yong pacing anxiously outside; the moment Yang Yong spotted Li Rui—

“Old Li, something’s wrong—Wang Zhao’s been beaten!”

(End of Chapter)