Chapter 15: He Swept His Robes and Departed

“Master, Old Li has struck Second Master’s men.”

A middle-aged steward bowed respectfully.

Zhu Ping’s expression remained unmoved: “Just servants squabbling. Give each of them ten lashes. Isn’t Old Li nearly seventy?”

“Yes, Master.”

Zhu Ping seemed to recall something and added:

“Old Li is too old for corporal punishment. Record the sentence, but delay it.”

The middle-aged steward lifted his head in shock.

So in the end, only Zhao Mahzi would be whipped.

The Master’s favoritism is far too obvious.

“Fine.”

The middle-aged steward had served the Zhu household for over a decade—he was no fool. He understood perfectly: the Master meant to use this to reprimand Second Master.

Only Zhu Ping remained in the room.

Zhu Ping’s lips curled slightly: “Old Li, you’ve given me quite a surprise.”

“Old Li, the Master, mindful of your age, has spared you the lashes. Instead, you are confined to your quarters for three days.”

The middle-aged steward smiled warmly, his face showing not a trace of punishment.

Li Rui: “Thank you, Master. Master Zhu, a small token—please accept it.”

He pulled a bulging money pouch from his sleeve.

Master Zhu took the bag without expression, weighed it in his hand, and the clinking of copper coins rang out clearly—his smile widened.

Elders still understand propriety.

“Old Li, you’re a long-serving servant of this household. Keep working hard—the Master sees everything.”

The unspoken meaning: Beat them freely—the Master has your back.

Li Rui: “The Master is truly a benevolent man.”

In this Zhu household, what you do doesn’t matter—only whom you side with does. As long as someone protects you, everything you do is right.

This pouch of copper coins was just bought by Wang Zhao from a shop down the street after Li Rui heard the news.

That’s how gifts work.

A small sliver of silver doesn’t look as generous as a full pouch of copper coins.

He saw off the middle-aged steward.

Wang Zhao finally spoke, pale with relief: “Master, is it over?”

Li Rui glanced at his foolish disciple: “What could possibly be wrong?”

The two Zhu brothers have long been at odds, but the tension remains beneath the surface.

Soldiers against soldiers, generals against generals.

As long as I didn’t strike Zhu Lie, the matter is minor. Zhao Mahzi can only blame his own incompetence—he deserved the beating.

“Go. Don’t neglect the hay for three days.”

“Yes, Master.”

After sending Wang Zhao away, the room held only Li Rui. His eyes gleamed with cold light: “Zhao Mahzi must not be allowed to live.”

Zhao Mahzi, flaunting Zhu Lie’s authority, had abused his power in the Zhu household—raping women, bullying men—and he was careful, never provoking those he shouldn’t.

The Zhu Master turned a blind eye.

But he should never have crossed Li Rui.

“Zhao Mahzi eats in the mess hall. Poisoning him risks harming others—and that could bring bigger trouble.”

If too many died, even the Zhu household might draw the attention of the authorities.

Though this world lacks precise instruments, seasoned constables remain formidable.

“Then make it clean.”

Li Rui made his final decision.

Deep night.

In a dark little room on the west side of the Zhu household, the door stood open; faint moans of agony drifted out.

“Old bastard, when I’m healed, I’ll poison your horse first—see how you explain it!”

Zhao Mahzi lay on his bed.

Bare-chested, under the moonlight, his back bore exactly ten fresh, bloody lash marks.

“Ow…”

Zhao Mahzi thought of his ten lashes and Li Rui’s mere three-day confinement—his rage boiled over.

“Who’s there?”

Zhao Mahzi caught a shadow moving in the corner of his eye.

“Damn it, are you dead? Can’t you walk without making noise?”

He assumed it was one of his attendants coming to change his medicine.

He turned his head—

“Ugh.”

A quilt smothered his head, plunging him into darkness. The suffocation made his limbs thrash wildly; he struggled desperately, but to no avail.

Though he had strength, how could he match a cultivated martial artist?

“Mind your manners in your next life—some people are not for you to provoke.”

Zhao Mahzi’s face, trapped beneath the quilt, turned crimson. His eyes bulged.

It was Old Li!

He wanted to curse “damn you,” but no sound came—only a low gurgle—then his limbs went limp, utterly still.

Li Rui did not loosen his grip even as Zhao Mahzi ceased resisting.

He counted silently:

“Two hundred fifteen.”

“Two hundred sixteen.”

Only when he reached five hundred did he release the quilt. Zhao Mahzi had soiled the bed, his face purple-black, tongue lolling—he was dead beyond doubt.

He gave Zhao Mahzi no chance to feign death.

Li Rui felt no inner turmoil—he even took time to meticulously clean the scene, taking every valuable item from the room.

Finally, he arranged Zhao Mahzi’s body to look like a man who had fallen from bed and frozen to death.

Having finished, he turned away calmly.

He swept his robes and departed.

In this age, there were no surveillance devices. Many murders ended as unsolved cases—let alone the death of a mere Zhu household servant, which the authorities had no interest in investigating.

Of course, the authorities might possess supernatural powers beyond his imagination.

Like the Divine Weapon Talisman he’d heard about from Zhu Yue.

But even if such means existed, the authorities would never waste them on a lowly commoner.

Zhao Mahzi’s corpse was discovered the next day by several guards.

It was the dead of winter; meat hung in the kitchen for half a month without rotting. By the time Zhao Mahzi was found, his body was frozen solid.

Li Rui heard that Second Master, upon hearing the news, flew into a rage, vowing to find the killer.

Zhao Mahzi’s belongings had vanished—clearly a robbery-murder.

But Zhao Mahzi had been involved in many of Li Rui’s secret dealings; he had many enemies, and Li Rui was merely one.

Moreover, Li Rui was currently confined to his room—no opportunity to strike.

Unless he was a cultivated martial artist.

A seventy-year-old man becoming a cultivated martial artist? What nonsense!

The matter would inevitably fade into obscurity.

With Zhao Mahzi dead, the Zhu household servants secretly rejoiced—without his oppression, their lives might improve.

Some stories change flavor as they pass from mouth to mouth.

At first, some whispered Old Li had done it—but that seemed implausible. After seven or eight retellings, it became: Zhao Mahzi had committed too many evils under Second Master’s banner—his death was the vengeance of a vengeful ghost.

Otherwise, how else to explain a strong, living man dying silently, without a sound, while guards in the next room heard nothing?

None of this had anything to do with Li Rui, a seventy-year-old man nearly buried in the grave.

Li Rui returned to his room.

Before his eyes, a string of small characters appeared.

【Congratulations, Host. Achievement Completed: “Famous in the Jianghu—Initial Journey 2.”】

(End of Chapter)