Chapter 13: Li Cheng

Liu Qiaolian had been a traveling merchant, frequently shuttling between the north and south.

In the days that followed, with Liu Qiaolian guiding and accompanying him, Xia Daoming no longer had to worry about which path to take, nor did he need to endure wind and rain, sleeping under the open sky.

Every day, Liu Qiaolian meticulously planned their itinerary.

Whether for meals or lodging, and even if Xia Daoming hadn’t objected, she would have replaced their two horses with a carriage.

Riding a horse, with a beautiful woman attending to him, Xia Daoming felt like a wealthy young master out for leisurely sightseeing.

Moreover, Liu Qiaolian, with her plump and graceful figure, was nothing like Ji Wenyue—naive and inexperienced; she exuded allure, unafraid of Xia Daoming’s sharp gaze, and instead offered him sultry smiles, revealing her fine form, as if inviting him to take her at will.

Yet with every other man they encountered, she turned icy and cold, showing no warmth, as if they were all dead men.

Alone together for seven days and nights, on a stormy evening after drinking a little wine, Xia Daoming could no longer resist his baser instincts—he stripped the willingly embracing Liu Qiaolian bare and played cards with her.

The next day, Liu Qiaolian acted as if nothing had happened, continuing her duties as a maid, though her gait was slightly stiff, and occasionally, when glancing at Xia Daoming’s back, a faint, indescribable emotion flickered in her eyes.

Xia Daoming, however, felt deeply guilty—he had just taken her virginity, and especially after seeing Liu Qiaolian carefully cut out and preserve the bloodstains on the bedding, he felt terrible.

He had assumed she was a widow, perhaps having suffered some misfortune, so when she threw herself into his arms, he felt no guilt and went along with her.

But then he discovered she was still a virgin—and the situation had spiraled out of control!

To take responsibility? He was like a drifting weed, with no intention of marrying or settling down, and he’d only known Liu Qiaolian for a few days—there was no romantic bond, at most, he’d merely desired her body.

To abandon her? That would make him seem like a scoundrel.

So, still unsure how to handle the aftermath, Xia Daoming could only try to please Liu Qiaolian, volunteering to do chores, at least ensuring she didn’t think him the kind of man who’d turn his back after getting what he wanted.

But Liu Qiaolian showed no gratitude, continuing her duties as a maid with perfect precision, utterly unlike the seductive tenderness she’d shown the night before.

Once, when Xia Daoming’s attentions grew too fervent, she burst into tears and knelt before him, insisting she could never violate the master-servant hierarchy.

This left Xia Daoming with a strange feeling—he now felt like the kind of scoundrel who’d enjoyed a one-night stand, claimed it was over afterward, yet still clung to the woman afterward.

Several days passed, and another stormy night arrived.

Perhaps because Xia Daoming’s gaze had been too piercing that day, or perhaps because Liu Qiaolian, having tasted forbidden fruit, now desired more—after the lamp was blown out, she slipped quietly into his bed.

The next day, Xia Daoming still felt guilty and wanted to make amends.

But she still refused outright to accept his gestures.

Gradually, Xia Daoming grew accustomed to Liu Qiaolian’s dual role as both maid and concubine.

The two would play cards every few days, turning this journey into a sensual adventure.

Winding mountain paths, detours to avoid checkpoints guarded by bandits—after another ten days or so, they finally reached Li Cheng.

Li Cheng sat in a flat basin surrounded by mountains, its towering walls far surpassing those of Heishi City.

Dark brown, dried bloodstains marred the massive stones of the walls, silently recounting the city’s turbulent history.

Armed soldiers patrolled the ramparts in constant rotation.

Xia Daoming and Liu Qiaolian paid the entry fee and entered Li Cheng.

The main street leading from the gate was wider, busier, and more prosperous than any in Heishi City.

Men and women in varied attire jostled shoulder to shoulder; taverns, teahouses, brothels, gambling dens, pharmacies, grain shops—all lined the streets, with countless street vendors scattered throughout.

The cries of merchants, the thronging crowds—glancing around, Xia Daoming nearly thought he’d stepped into a golden age of prosperity.

But once he truly merged into the crowd and walked the streets, he saw the grim tragedy beneath the surface.

Beggars, emaciated and ragged; parents selling their children; women selling themselves to bury their fathers; corpses dumped like dead dogs onto carts, dragged toward the city gates…

Narrow alleys branching off the main street were dark, cramped, and slick with filth.

In one alley, men in uniform gang attire slashed at someone with knives—but the bustling crowds on the main street paid no attention, as if it were routine.

Xia Daoming’s lips curled into a bitter smile.

Mangzhou was a remote frontier land, overrun with bandits and strewn with starving corpses—how could it ever be a golden age?

Under Liu Qiaolian’s guidance, they soon reached a street that appeared clean and free of beggars or refugees.

The houses on either side were neither new nor dilapidated; though no grand mansions were visible, most had small courtyards—far better than the crumbling hovels Xia Daoming had seen along the way.

“This must be Li Cheng’s middle-class residential district,” Xia Daoming thought to himself.

“Sui Mian Alley is one of two streets under Yunyun Ward; Yunyun Ward is controlled by the Simu family,” Liu Qiaolian said as they walked.

“The Simu family that the young man at Chiyang Valley mentioned?” Xia Daoming asked, surprised.

“Yes, that Simu family. The Xu family is Li Cheng’s only martial arts master clan; Xu Shixiong is the Xu family’s most promising heir, a seventh-rank Great Martial Artist himself, naturally looking down on the Simu family.”

“But Simu Zhongliang, head of the Simu family, is a sixth-rank Great Martial Artist—already a formidable force in Li Cheng. Moreover, the Simu family has close ties with the Ji family of Yongqing Ward, always standing together.”

“With the Simu family holding sway here, ordinary gangs dare not cause trouble. I chose this place for its quietness; six years ago, when I fled here, I bought this house to settle in,” Liu Qiaolian said.

“The Ji family? You mean the Ji family of Changchun Hall?” Xia Daoming’s expression turned subtle.

“So Master has heard of the Ji family of Changchun Hall!” Liu Qiaolian showed a hint of surprise.

“Damn, what a coincidence!” Xia Daoming muttered inwardly, then nodded. “I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know much.”

“The Ji family is far stronger than the Simu family in wealth, manpower, and connections. The Ji patriarch is a seventh-rank Great Martial Artist, but he’s aged, and none of his descendants are outstanding—the best have only reached fifth-rank Great Martial Artist; so far, not a single one has broken into sixth rank.”

“But the Ji family is a major merchant of medicinal herbs, immensely wealthy, having hired and trained many skilled fighters, even securing three sixth-rank Great Martial Artists as retainers—making them a force to be reckoned with in Li Cheng,” Liu Qiaolian explained.

As they spoke, they arrived at a house with two large locks hanging on the gate.

Liu Qiaolian took out a key and unlocked them.

“Creeeak!”

The gate swung open.

Before them lay a courtyard mostly paved with brick and stone, scattered with stone weights, iron poles, and sandbags for training.

On either side of the courtyard stood a side room; directly opposite the gate were three main rooms and two ear rooms.

Clearly, Liu Qiaolian had been away a long time—grass grew in the cracks between bricks and in the corners, and dust coated the windows and doors inside.

The familiar scene stirred memories she had deliberately suppressed these past days.

Before her eyes, a young woman in emerald robes smiled proudly as a boy sweated profusely, lifting stone weights.

But in an instant, the boy’s face twisted into a pockmarked visage, shoving her toward a Bloodfeather Hawk—then the scene shifted again: that same familiar pockmarked face pushed her toward a fat, leering man.

Tears silently rolled down Liu Qiaolian’s cheeks.

“Let’s stay at an inn tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll buy a new house. This one—we’ll clean out the belongings, then sell it,” Xia Daoming stepped forward, gently pulling Liu Qiaolian into his arms, speaking softly.

“Thank you, Master. I’m fine now. I’ll go gather some clothes, then join you at the inn,” Liu Qiaolian wiped her tears and smiled sweetly at Xia Daoming.

Several days later.

Taiwu Ward, Qianjiao Martial Arts Hall.

Xia Daoming, dressed in a dark blue training suit, followed a burly, bearded man through the spacious outer training yard, passed under an arched gate, walked along a winding corridor, and arrived at the inner training yard, shaded by greenery and cool with breeze.

Unlike the bustling, fiery outer yard, the inner yard was quiet.

Only one man, seemingly even younger than Xia Daoming, sat cross-legged in the shade, circulating his qi and martial energy.

On a slightly elevated spot to the south of the yard stood a pavilion.

Behind the pavilion grew a massive tree, its canopy completely shading the structure.

Inside the pavilion, a silver-haired, imposing man in his sixties sat with eyes closed, resting.

Hearing footsteps, he slowly opened his eyes and looked toward Xia Daoming.

His gaze was stern and piercing—Xia Daoming’s heart tightened; he knew this man was Liang Jingtang, head of Qianjiao Martial Arts Hall, a sixth-rank Great Martial Artist.

The young man circulating his qi also sensed the stranger’s presence, opened his eyes to glance coldly at Xia Daoming, then closed them again, resuming his practice.

“Master, I’ve brought him,” Yu Chi Xiao bowed before Liang Jingtang.

Liang Jingtang gave Yu Chi Xiao a slight nod, his gaze shifting past him to Xia Daoming.

“Xia Daoming bows before Master Liang,” Xia Daoming stepped forward, bowing and clasping his fists in respect.

“I hear your martial art was inherited from Chou Zhiheng?” Liang Jingtang asked, a flicker of nostalgia and sorrow in his eyes.

“Yes, Master. I began training under Master Chou at age twelve,” Xia Daoming replied, bowing.

Hearing Xia Daoming had trained under Chou Zhiheng since age twelve, Liang Jingtang’s gaze softened with the tenderness of an elder.

“I’m three years older than your Master Chou. We trained together, played together, took missions together—we were close. But his talent was limited, and he offended a direct heir of the Shi family. Thirty years ago, he was forced to flee north.”

“Since then, we’ve never met again. I never imagined I’d see his disciple today! How is he now?” Liang Jingtang asked.