Chapter 70: Heart Must Be Black, Hand Must Be Poisonous

Master Kongkong was startled and uncertain.

Yes, the middle-aged man who openly frequented brothels and was slashed three times by Chen Guanlou in a dark alley that night was none other than Master Kongkong in disguise.

On what basis had he recognized the disguise?

Chen Guanlou could only say there was no basis—just a feeling, a strange, uncanny sensation. Seeing the man’s silhouette, he simply knew it was someone specific. Since practicing the Sheng Tian Lu, his senses had grown increasingly sharp.

“May I ask, sir, are you an old acquaintance?” Master Kongkong, unsure of the man’s origins or identity, could only probe with words.

Chen Guanlou would not let him uncover his identity; without wasting words, he struck again. Master Kongkong, still far from his peak, could only dodge desperately.

He had a faint suspicion in his mind, but that didn’t make sense—that man had no martial lineage; he couldn’t cultivate internal arts. Yet this man before him was clearly a martial expert, his depth unreadable, likely an Yin Mai.

An Yin Mai has returned to the martial world?!

Master Kongkong was greatly alarmed.

“Elder, spare my life! As soon as the city gates open, I’ll leave the capital. I swear I’ll never return to stir trouble here again. If I break this vow, take my head without mercy.”

Chen Guanlou snorted coldly, “Better keep your word. If you’re still in the capital before sunrise, you’re dead.”

With those words, he was already far away.

Master Kongkong felt a great weight lift; he hurried back to his hideout, packed his belongings, and prepared to leave the city.

Chen Guanlou returned home, counted his gains, sat quietly under the moonlight, and relived the sensation of his clash with Master Kongkong. A second-rank martialist’s strength, slightly diminished, was already easy for him to slay.

The second chapter of the Sheng Tian Lu truly transformed him—his progress was lightning-fast, his power surge astonishing. Perhaps he truly was a martial prodigy, though there was no way to verify it.

When he fully mastered the second chapter, what terrifying strength would he reach? Could he even fight a third-rank martialist?

The Sheng Tian Lu had only nine chapters total. If all nine were fully mastered, how terrifying would that be? He could not imagine it—he had never seen anything stronger than a third-rank. Yet he already yearned for it, his heart thrumming with excitement.

Strong!

Become stronger!

Even stronger!

Humanity forever pursues greater strength.

Luo Jingtian, a social element, a minor boss of a lively gang—where on earth had he gotten the Sheng Tian Lu, such a powerful internal art?

Too bad the Luo family had been exiled to the northwest. Luo Jingtian’s underlings had long scattered.

Now, if he wanted to ask around, he had no leads at all.

In a few days, it would be the anniversary of Luo Jingtian’s death. Since the man had given him such a great gift, he decided to burn some paper money on that day to show his respect.

…

At the third watch, Lu Datou sneaked back to Tianlaomiao. The jailers of the Bing Zi Large Small Jail had been waiting; after receiving him, they said nothing, silently returning to the Bing Zi Large Small Jail.

The cell, empty for two days, now held a new prisoner.

Xu Fugui stood outside the cell, scrutinizing closely: “Cleaner now.”

“Rest assured, Xu Tou. Come back tomorrow—you won’t find any difference from the other prisoners.”

Cleaning a man thoroughly was hard, but making him filthy, reeking, and unbearable? That was far too easy. The jailers knew exactly how to torment a man—and how to turn a clean man into a “true” prisoner in short order.

Xu Fugui pulled Lu Datou aside and whispered, “Can you trust him? Don’t let him scream at the execution.”

“Xu Tou, rest easy—he’s 100% reliable. He volunteered for the medicine.” Lu Datou beamed with self-congratulation.

“Where did you find him?” Xu Fugui asked curiously.

Lu Datou only grinned, silent—clearly, this matter could not be spoken of.

Xu Fugui was satisfied. “Good. Don’t speak. Whoever asks you, say nothing, know nothing, understand nothing. Have you covered all the aftermath? Any hidden risks?”

Lu Datou gave his usual assurance: “The man’s a sickly wreck, half-dead, dragging his family down. Their life was miserable—I, Da Tou, even felt sorry for them. I gave them silver, made up some excuse, and they were grateful beyond words. When he learned he could earn silver to improve his family’s life, he agreed willingly. To be safe, we dosed him on the way back—he won’t utter a single word.”

The job was done perfectly. Xu Fugui was ecstatic—the heavy, life-threatening pressure on his chest instantly halved.

He warned: “See the rest through properly, make it solid. Make him look exactly like Kongkong the Thief. After the execution, I’ll reward you with merit. I won’t ask how much silver you spent—your merit is yours, your silver is yours.”

“Thank you, Xu Tou!” Lu Datou had completed his task and earned more silver—he was overjoyed, practically giddy. If not for the urgent situation and the many tasks ahead, he’d have opened a gambling table, bet big, and lived wildly for once.

Though jailers earned well, they were all broke—no one had even a single tael in their pockets. Money earned today, spent today—never saved. If they had cash, they gambled; if not, they watched others gamble. Starvation was common.

Someone like Chen Guanlou, who understood saving and long-term planning, was a rarity among jailers. This was also why jailers had such a bad reputation—they were all gamblers. What good reputation could gamblers have? No decent woman would marry a gambling addict.

The jailers’ wives were all fierce and brutal. Not because they were born that way—but if they were gentle even a little, they couldn’t survive! Only with ferocity could they control their gambling husbands and drag out a few copper coins for daily life. Day after day, the wives turned into tigresses.

Xu Fugui left, satisfied—but inside, he muttered: Five hundred taels? Lu Datou stole at least half. Damn scoundrel, what a greedy appetite. Once this is over, I’ll find an excuse to squeeze that silver out of him and teach him some manners. The Bing Zi Large Small Jail doesn’t belong to a Lu.

Lu Datou had no idea Xu Fugui was already eyeing his silver. If he knew, he’d quit right now.

He’d just survived the most dangerous, hardest part. Xu Fugui wanted to kick him away after crossing the river? That’s not how you do things.

Now he knew nothing, and he was enthusiastically transforming the “prisoner,” determined to make him a stinking, loathed version of Kongkong the Thief—so the executioner wouldn’t dare come near. What could stink worse than shit, piss, and farts?

Nothing!

Then bring on the shit, piss, and farts!

The jail’s specialty: roll three times in the filthiest cell, then twice in the torture chamber—smell added, blood splatter added, the vacant stare of a man broken by torture added. Then feed him two meals of swill, until his mouth reeks worse than feces—open it, and you’ll knock someone ten paces away.

Cleaned inside and out, thoroughly, to be convincing—for everyone’s heads.

Final meal: a good one. Speak gently, comfort him, urge him to accept his fate, don’t dare think of backing out.

All done. Now, just wait for the execution.