Chapter 50: King Against King

Today happened to be the day. On the open ground before the mountain gate of Wuxian Temple, beggars gathered in scattered clusters — three or five here, a pile there — seventeen or eighteen groups in all. Inside the gate it was even livelier. In the square before the main hall, a huge iron cauldron bubbled with large chunks of meat and bone. Off to one side, several dozen trusted followers brought by various faction leaders were crowded together in noisy uproar, waiting for the food to be served.

The Beggar Sect's current Group Head, Huang Qi, sat in the main seat inside the hall, chatting and laughing with ease. Below Huang Qi, seated in order of rank, were two rows of One Line big brothers. Behind Huang Qi, chests thrust out and bellies taut, stood a line of the Dragon Head's personal disciples, known as the "Five Righteous Ones." At Huang Qi's feet lay several baskets of loose silver and copper coins — the monthly dues his subordinates had handed in today.

Huang Qi was in his early forties, his face like the bottom of a wok, eyes like bronze bells, his frame huge and imposingly fierce. When he opened his mouth, his voice boomed like a great bell, his bearing powerful and commanding — every inch the local overlord.

Yet the old hands in the sect sitting there knew in their hearts: anyone who dealt with the Group Head as if he were an honorable hero would, in all seriousness, not meet a good end.

Over a decade ago, Huang Qi had made his name with a body of ironclad hard-style kung fu. In those days, Huang Qi was chivalrous and loyal, ready to take a blade for a friend, immensely popular within the sect. He had a squad of brothers who had drunk chicken blood together, and people called him "Iron Bone Huang."

Then the winds shifted. First, the former sect leader somehow offended people in the authorities. Next, Huang Qi and his brothers suddenly struck, and in a single night they slaughtered the old sect leader's entire household — not a chicken or dog left alive.

The following day, when everyone saw the huge, bulky Iron Bone Huang use the Bone-Shrinking Divine Skill, his face plastered with a fawning grin, stooping and bending his knees as he followed the Criminal Division's Clerk Zhu to "inspect" the murder scene — only then did they realize this Servant actually had another face.

From then on, Huang Qi became Group Head Huang, the copper tobacco pipe passed down through sect generations in his hand as he issued orders. Over the many years since, as those who had helped him conquer his territory vanished or died violently one by one, Group Head Huang's authority and arrogance grew by the day. By now, he had long cultivated himself to the realm where a mere glance was enough to command his underlings.

Just as the crowd in the main hall was idly chatting with their boss, seven or eight beggars suddenly came scrambling and tumbling through the mountain gate, heading straight for the main hall, shouting as they ran: "Grab your weapons! Enemies are attacking!"

At the shout, whoosh — the several dozen trusted men lounging before the hall all sprang to their feet. Huang Qi, hearing the noise, rushed out with everyone from the hall, meeting the frantic messengers head-on. Huang Qi kicked the lead one sprawling with a single blow, then slapped two more to the ground. Once he had steadied the situation, he opened his mouth and barked: "Which outfit? How many?"

"Unfamiliar faces — outsiders. Twenty or thirty of them. They cut down anyone they see. Vicious as hell."

Huang Qi froze for a moment at this, then erupted in fury: "Worthless trash! In broad daylight, these few bird-men dare come to the Head Hall and run wild? Do they think my Beggar Sect has no one? Men!"

"Here!" the men around him roared in unison.

"All of you, go to the rear hall and get weapons. Wait for my command. And remember — leave a few alive!"

No sooner had Huang Qi finished speaking than the crowd burst apart with a roar, splitting around him and streaming into the rear hall to arm themselves.

At that moment, the shouts of battle outside the mountain gate had become clearly audible. The next instant, several dozen beggars burst through from the front hall and the covered corridors on both sides like dogs fleeing a ruined home, drenched in blood, wailing for their mothers, fleeing straight toward the rear of the temple.

And following slowly behind these men was a group of large, knife-wielding men, emerging at a measured pace from behind the front hall, the blades in their hands still dripping blood.

Huang Qi stood before the main hall and gazed out. His heart clenched. With his experience, he could naturally tell these newcomers were not to be trifled with — they even seemed to be wearing soft armor. Their robes bulged oddly, and every one of them wore a strange black sleeveless vest.

"What cursed luck. Just who the hell are these people?" Group Head Huang stared at the approaching men, secretly alarmed.

Fortunately, the next moment, the Beggar Sect fighters — counting the beggars who had fled back from outside the gate, their numbers far exceeding the enemy's — came charging out of the rear hall, weapons in hand. In an instant, swords were drawn and bows bent. Across a distance of thirty-odd paces, above and below the steps, both sides began to face off.

Seventh Master Huang knew: by all reason and custom, it was time for him to step forward.

He swept his hands apart, parting the personal disciples around him. Group Head Huang strode out from the crowd, his voice like a great bell, his presence overwhelming: "May I ask which friends have come?"

"Ha!" A long laugh rang out. A middle-aged man opposite answered in a clear voice: "Let me inform the Great Dragon Head Huang — the man who has come is Zhou Tong of Zhexi. My brothers are here today to settle accounts. Was it not you, Seventh Master Huang, who killed my men in this very Hangzhou City three years ago?"

Hearing this, Huang Qi was jolted. His heart lurched: "There's no peaceful way out of this today!"

In all the Edo, who ever sought revenge like this? The Beggar Sect ruined countless lives every year — who the hell knew which one had died three years ago? Huang Qi's mind was crystal clear in that moment: these men were spouting ghost talk, plainly unwilling to hear any explanation. Today they had come for blood.

All these thoughts raced through Seventh Master's mind in a mere instant. Seeing how things stood, he cast aside all hesitation in the next breath. He jabbed his finger forward and roared: "All together — kill one, three taels of silver, paid on the spot!"

This mobilization order, thick with the Beggar Sect's distinctive battle style, was highly effective. Before Seventh Master Huang's words had even faded, the tide of men around him was already rolling down the steps. Over a hundred fierce fighters, blades in hand, every man charging with valor, all ready to die.

Just as Zhou Tong laughed long and spouted that ghost talk, there was one other person on the field whose heart also lurched — shocked beyond measure.

Who was this person? Hu Zhengqi.

Ever since being knocked unconscious that night and then inexplicably released afterward, he had been in a daze these past few days. The thing those bandits had told him to figure out on his own before leaving — he still had not figured it out.

He drifted through the days in a stupor. For the first time in many years, Hu Zhengqi did not throw the extra silver he had gotten at a Half-Door.

Until today, accompanying his boss to the Head Hall to hand in the dues. Hu Zhengqi, who originally only had the standing to wait outside the mountain gate, had somehow — as if possessed — paid a share of silver and been granted permission to enter the gate and drink a bowl of "bone broth." It must be understood that the "bone broth" of the Beggar Sect's Head Hall originally had absolutely nothing to do with someone like him.

By the rules passed down from the old generation, on the day monthly dues were handed in, the Head Hall would slaughter a pig. The sect's big bosses ate the meat; the followers drank the broth and ate the offal.

Occasionally, someone would pay silver separately just to go in and drink a bowl of broth. Such people were usually "young talents" with ambition, willing to part with that silver to build connections and make a name. Yet Hu Zhengqi, who had always just drifted along waiting to die, had gone mad today and actually bought a bowl of "bone broth" to drink.

From the moment he entered the mountain gate, Hu Zhengqi had been shooed far away by those favored disciples. He dared not say anything, so he forced a smile and made his way to the covered corridor beside the square, found a corner and sat down, cursing himself for being bewitched into throwing silver into the water, while hoping that perhaps something might be left in the pot for him.