Chapter 40: Bloodbath

The female thief suddenly remembered—the animal trap Jia Cong had spotted on the road—originally, he hadn’t fled in panic; he’d planned all along to lure that man into the trap.

But this method was dangerously bold; somehow, the man had actually stepped on the trap. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but the boy did have some nerve.

Jia Cong had just encountered the black-clad man under Zhou Jun’s command, and he knew things had spiraled out of control.

If Zhou Jun used him as bait to accuse the Jia family of colluding with remnants of the Hidden Sect, he would die without even a grave to bury him.

He was merely a despised bastard son of a courtesan in the Jia household; for the safety of the entire Jia clan, they would abandon him without hesitation.

Then, without Zhou Jun lifting a finger, Jia She and others would devise countless ways to kill him.

He was just a frail boy, powerless to slay these two men—but he refused to watch himself be utterly destroyed.

Perhaps he could distract one of them, leaving the female thief to deal with the other—that might still offer some hope.

At least on this point, he and the female thief were tied together on the same rope; their lives and interests were now identical.

So his first thought went to the animal trap he’d spotted on the road.

Though the night was dark, the snow on the ground still reflected faint light—he remembered the trap’s exact location.

Who would ever suspect a half-grown boy of being so cunning and deceitful?

Jia Cong stared fixedly at the two fighting; though the female thief fought desperately, the black-clad man’s swift strikes soon pushed her onto the defensive—she wouldn’t last long.

Almost at the moment the man screamed in panic, the thick, short branch slammed hard into his skull, its branches even gouging out one of his eyes.

Perhaps the pursuer was too cautious—he might notice the trick, avoid the trap, and easily subdue him.

Just as his foot was crushed and he involuntarily screamed—the moment he was least prepared—Jia Cong seized the fleeting opportunity.

He suddenly snatched up the long knife lying on the ground—it had been dropped by the man he’d ambushed in his panic.

He wanted to live. Even if he died, he wouldn’t die at the hands of corrupt officials’ frame-ups and tortures.

Jia Cong had helped her eliminate one opponent; now she had to fight for her life. Clenching her teeth, she swung both curved blades to block the black-clad giant.

The man on the ground, startled by the commotion, flailed his arms wildly, as if grasping for his attacker—but his mind was already foggy.

Then, if the two black-clad men teamed up to capture the female thief, everything would end—in this dreamlike world of the Red Chamber, he would be utterly finished.

If anyone dared ruin this beauty, he would fight them to the death!

Jia Cong shouted at the female thief: “Stop him!”

Fortunately, fate stood by him that moment—the man chasing him, seeing him fall, panicked and scrambled backward on the ground in terror.

As he feigned falling, he’d already groped in the snow for a thick, short branch—he’d used it earlier to shovel snow over the trap, and hadn’t thrown it far.

When the man approached the trap, his first step stepped cleanly over it—Jia Cong’s heart skipped a beat—but his second step landed squarely on the trap.

Jia Cong swung the branch with all his strength—it struck with brutal force.

When he took a slightly longer step and stepped over it, his foot sank, and he fell to the ground.

The black-clad man saw his brother’s foot crushed into bloody pulp, his head drenched in blood, one eye gouged out—he roared in fury and charged forward.

Though she, like the black-clad man, was stunned by the scene, she knew clearly: if she didn’t subdue him, both she and Jia Cong were doomed.

Jia Cong glanced at the female thief, drenched in sweat, retreating step by step—he gritted his teeth, aimed at the man’s swinging arm, and slashed with all his might.

He was a man reborn—no one understood the value of life better than he did.

The dull resistance of the blade cutting through flesh nearly made Jia Cong faint—he forced himself to suppress his body’s revulsion.

The wounded black-clad man’s arm was severed halfway, only a strip of skin still attached; hot blood sprayed across the ground.

A piercing, shrill scream rose—startling the birds roosting in the woods into a frenzy of flight.

The black-clad man watching from afar saw it all—his brother suffering so horribly—he screamed in rage, never imagining this boy could be so cruel.

The female thief, hearing the black-clad man’s furious roar, saw his attacks grow erratic—his rhythm faltered for an instant.

She ignored the scream from Jia Cong’s side, seized the opening, slipped forward like a ghostly cat, and slashed hard across the black-clad man’s waist and abdomen.

The cut was vicious and precise, opening a deep gash in his flank—blood gushed out.

The black-clad man, wracked with agony, bellowed and swung his blade with crushing force—the female thief barely raised her left blade to block, forgetting her left shoulder was already wounded.

The blow, fueled by pain, was devastating—the female thief’s entire left side trembled as if struck by lightning; her left curved blade flew from her grip.

Seeing the female thief in mortal peril, Jia Cong forced down his nausea and swung again, severing the other arm of the man on the ground.

The man had already been near death after losing one arm—but the fresh agony tore from him a bone-chilling scream.

The piercing cry echoed through the secluded grove, shattering the soul, like the wails of demons from hell.

The black-clad man facing the female thief witnessed this bloody horror again—his brother’s screams pushed him to the brink of madness.

This wasn’t a boy of ten or so—it was a bloodthirsty, evil demon!

Over the past few years, these brothers had followed Zhou Jun and carried out many major deeds.

In Dezhou, they slaughtered over three hundred members of the Hidden Sect—they’d seen too much blood. But now, watching their own brother being mutilated before their eyes, what did those past scenes matter?

Was this retribution?

The black-clad man’s waist and abdomen were already grievously wounded; now, his mind was shattered by his brother’s horrific fate—his defenses lay wide open.

The female thief was drenched in cold sweat, her left arm hanging useless—but her mind had never been clearer.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jia Cong standing there, drenched in blood, his knife smeared red, trembling uncontrollably, his face pale as death.

But his gaze was chillingly calm—the blade was already aimed at the neck of the man on the ground.

She knew why he did it—if he hadn’t severed the man’s arms one after another, disrupting the black-clad man’s focus, she would already be dead.

He was still a half-grown boy—how much courage did it take? How much terror did he have to overcome?

A strange, overwhelming surge rose in her heart—like a she-leopard, she launched herself at the enemy without regard for her own safety.

The black-clad man’s eyes locked onto Jia Cong’s raised blade—the edge aimed at his brother’s neck; the next slash would surely sever the head.

Though he knew his brother was beyond saving, he couldn’t bear to see the blade fall—it held his spirit frozen in place.

He regretted ever encountering these two—how arrogant he’d been, thinking to capture the Jia boy and win favor with Zhou Jun.

Otherwise, he’d never drawn the attention of such a terrifying demon—losing even his own brother’s life.

Now, facing the blade swinging toward him, he raised his weapon half-heartedly, only thinking of rushing forward to kill the boy and avenge his brother.

Before the black-clad man’s blade could meet hers, the female thief abruptly retracted her weapon, glided sideways like a phantom, slipped behind his flank, and spun like a top.

The black-clad man, wounded in the waist and abdomen, moved sluggishly—then he saw Jia Cong’s blade, held back but ready, suddenly slash down—his heart and courage shattered, he froze rigid.

With her last ounce of strength, the woman drove her curved blade into the gap at his ribs—the blade pierced deep, all the way to the hilt.

She had no strength left to pull it free; she staggered backward on unsteady feet and collapsed onto the ground.

The fight had drained every last bit of her strength—without Jia Cong, she couldn’t have held on this long; if the black-clad man still lived, she’d have no choice but to offer her neck.

Only when the black-clad man collapsed like a rotting log did she finally exhale a long, trembling breath.

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