Chapter 353: Conversation with Fan Wuchang

On this road, those who rise to the top crawl up from blood and bones. Today they may be surrounded by followers; tomorrow they could lie dead in a street corner. Life… who can say what will happen in the next second?

In the car, Fan Wuchang held a cigarette, muttering to himself, bearing the air of one who has seen through life's ups and downs, his expression showing a hint of weariness and self-mockery.

Pangzi shook his head, his face showing reluctance, and asked him: "Is it really necessary to be this harsh?"

Fan Wuchang gave a light smile, still holding the cigarette in his mouth, his eyes carrying an inexplicable emotion, his tone tinged with a hint of fatigue,

"The underworld—do you know what the underworld is? You think it's just like the movies say, casually bringing a bunch of people, shouting a couple of lines, strutting down the street with swagger, and that's the underworld?"

The three of us froze there, unsure how to reply, after all we're not part of the underworld, and we could hardly know what kind of life the underworld entails.

"Let me tell you a story," Fan Wuchang said, gripping the steering wheel, his tone flat as he began to relate this tale to us.

Once, in Dongqian Street of Aomen, there was a ruffian called Tu Dao; he was the hall master of a certain faction, and Dongqian was his territory.

Although Tu Dao was a hall master of a faction, he was not ferocious; on the contrary, he possessed a kindness that did not match his name. In fights, he always ended peacefully—talk if possible, avoid fighting if possible.

Because Dongqian had little else—just many bars and mahjong parlors, easy for moving and distributing goods (drugs)—this favorable environment led another faction head involved with drugs, Du She, to conceive the idea of seizing Dongqian, and he sent his men to cause trouble all over Dongqian. At that time, Dongqian's territory, from the teahouse parking lots down to bars and restaurants, was all under Tu Dao's people.

Du She's actions naturally dissatisfied Tu Dao; later the two began negotiations, and when talks broke down, each brought his men to fight in Dongqian's streets. In the end, Tu Dao had the upper hand—not only repelling the rival faction but also capturing its hall master, Du She, alive.

Yet, in his victory, Tu Dao committed a fatal mistake. Acting on his belief in harmony, he prepared a generous gift and sent Du She back.

Such conduct would be considered the manner of a benevolent ruler in ancient times. But in the modern era, especially for the underworld, this approach is surely suicidal. Letting go of a cunning, treacherous enemy means you must be ready—when you least expect it—to be viciously bitten by that poisonous snake.

On a night of dark winds and high clouds, Tu Dao drank himself into a stupor at a bar, then returned home only to find a large group of strangers inexplicably gathered in his house,

The leader was precisely the Du She that Tu Dao had released. After that battle, Du She bore a grudge; unable to openly defeat Tu Dao, he took advantage of Tu Dao's absence, secretly kidnapping Tu Dao's wife, waiting for Tu Dao's return to send both husband and wife to the Western Paradise.

That night, Tu Dao's young son hid under the bed, personally witnessing his father and mother being killed. He saw his father roar at Du She: "Du She, do you still observe the brotherhood of the rivers and lakes? Misfortune should not extend to wife and children." Then a dagger pierced his heart.

That night, he shed tears, desperately covering his mouth to keep from crying out; he vowed to avenge his father and absolutely could not let these people discover him.

Before Du She's people left, they set a fire in the house. He wanted to run to his father's corpse and call out "dad," but as his hand touched his father's face, he was burned on the arm by the flames bursting forth.

To survive, an eight-year-old opened the window and climbed down from the second-floor window along the drainpipe; his hands and legs were already covered in wounds from the climb.

With nowhere else to turn, the boy sought refuge with his father's top lieutenant, whom his father had always had him call "uncle" while alive. Although a lieutenant, his father had treated him like a brother.

But what the boy did not expect was that this lieutenant followed his father only for his father's power. Now that the boss is dead, the lieutenant has already switched allegiance, pledging himself to the murderer of his father, Du She, and even helped Du She reclaim Dongqian's major and minor remnants. Du She's reward for this lieutenant was allowing him to control one-third of Dongqian's territory.

That night, Tu Dao's son encountered the pursuit of his father's sworn brothers; he was hacked with twenty-three knives, each cut to the bone, yet the boy did not give up. He kept biting his tongue to draw blood, stimulating his dazed mind, fleeing all the way until he finally flung himself into a cesspool……

The boy, mired in the pile of feces and urine, recalled his father's teaching: in all things, value harmony; yield three parts to others, and they will respect you seven parts.

But now? The stark reality overturned the boy's previous understanding; faced with cruel reality, his father's teaching seemed ridiculous and ignorant.

After finishing the story, Fan Wuchang exhaled a puff of smoke, paused a moment, then fixed his gaze ahead and said in a deep tone: "This is the underworld—on this road, you either are ruthless toward others, or others are ruthless toward you. Mercy and kindness are worth nothing on this path; what can bring people together is either pure interest, or your own ruthlessness. When you rise to power, you appear formidable from all sides, surrounded by followers; secretly, who knows how many wish you dead. When you fall low, even those who daily call you brother may step hard on you at that moment."

Fan Wuchang spoke very plainly, yet within those plain words he expounded a cruel and indisputable fact. The life of the underworld, the nature of the underworld—they are merely pitiful souls walking this road. You may say they are unforgivably evil, and that's true; you may say they are pitiable, and that's also true. After all, everything they do is solely for survival.

After hearing the story, Pangzi and Yuan Qiu involuntarily sighed, sighing for that pitiful child. Pangzi couldn't help but press Fan Wuchang: "Then that child…"

Before the word "child" could even leave his mouth, I stopped him with a glance, because I had once casually glanced in the mahjong parlor and seen that Fan Wuchang's arm bore not only knife wounds but also scars from burns I had inflicted. In the story, who is the son of Tu Dao? It's about to become clear.

I admit, at this moment my attitude toward Fan Wuchang carries both aversion and sympathy, perhaps sympathy outweighing aversion by a bit.

However, this does not prove he is blameless. At least while he was injured, he also harmed countless others. Many people often act this way—because of a momentary grievance, because of past hurt, they become extremist in their resentment of the world.

But harm is not an excuse for you to harm others, nor is it a license for you to do as you please.

Then I suddenly recalled a saying: "Once you enter the underworld, it's as deep as the sea; from then on there is no turning back."

Perhaps some have, they just haven't found it.

……………………

The car crept forward, Fan Wuchang said nothing more, and I kept wondering why his blade could harm a spirit.

I made a request, wanting to see his blade.

"You want to see my wife?... Sure, let you have a look." Fan Wuchang readily agreed.

With a swish, a flash of cold light passed, and the Junleng blade appeared in Fan Wuchang's hand.

It is a slightly curved weapon, its blade edges emitting wave-like ridges; even from a distance I could feel the cold radiating from its edge.

This blade gave me a familiar feeling; its yin chill was like when I used a command flag to draw talismans and deploy troops, except that besides the chill, the blade also gave me a heart‑pounding sensation—a flash of bright cold swept across my eyes, and the blade sang a clear, ringing tone as Fan Wuchang lightly stroked it… This feeling was like a child seeing his father, so delighted he could hardly contain himself.

I instinctively reached out, wanting to touch the Junleng blade.

Fan Wuchang had no intention of stopping me; he merely smiled faintly, lightly gripping the hilt, allowing my hand to slowly approach the edge.

With a ding…… this time I truly heard the sound issuing from the blade's edge. Yet the sound was so sharp it made my heart jump; for some reason I sensed from the blade a feeling of protest, of refusing my touch. So when my hand contacted it, the blade protested, causing my hand pain, and I instinctively jerked it back.

This is actually a killer……

I was greatly startled, finally discerning the nature of this Junleng. It is indeed a killer, and moreover a killer on the verge of developing sentience. A series of sensations told me that its edge was stained with the blood of countless souls, and its hostility directly affected my mind.

It is well known that among those whom ghosts and spirits dare not invade are Confucian scholars filled with righteousness, soldiers blessed by imperial aura, cultivating Daoists, and butchers brimming with killing intent—these people ghosts and spirits do not necessarily dare to approach.

And weapons also come in several kinds, for example, the pig‑slaughtering knife……

Such an incident also occurred during the Qing dynasty, and it mentions the pig‑slaughtering knife.

It is said that during the Jiajing reign of the Qing dynasty, in a small mountain village in the north there stood an evil locust tree; whenever the first and fifteenth days of the lunar month arrived, the tree would emit a wuu‑wuu sound, like an infant's cry, and whenever the tree cried, people would soon see a child dead beneath it.

The local villagers all felt the tree was evil, an ominous thing; after discussion they decided to cut it down.

But when the villagers took their knives and began chopping at the tree, something strange happened.

Every person wielding a knife, without exception, vomited white foam and collapsed. Their blades had only shaved off some bark, inflicting no real harm on the locust tree.

Later, a market‑going butcher who disbelieved in superstition grabbed the pig‑slaughtering knife at his waist, spat twice, and charged forward, swinging hard at the locust tree.

At the time everyone thought he had gone mad, deciding he would surely be punished by the spirit‑endowed locust tree just like the others.

But nothing extraordinary occurred; the butcher emerged unscathed, and indeed he actually wounded the locust tree.

Under the butcher's relentless chopping, something even more extraordinary happened.

The parts of the locust tree that were cut bled bright red like a stream, the blood as vivid as human blood.

Then, after a long silence, the wailing sounded again—pitiful like an infant's cry, carrying a faint, seeping gloom, and evoking compassion.

Only then did people realize this was a spirit‑cultivated locust tree; on every first and fifteenth day it emerges to work its mischief, mercilessly taking a child's life.

Yet why do others faint when they chop with a knife, while the butcher remains unharmed? Because the butcher's knife has slaughtered countless livestock, their grudges infusing the pig‑slaughtering knife with killing intent; even a spirit‑cultivated locust tree cannot resist that killing intent.

If a baby in someone's household is disturbed by ghosts and spirits due to bad luck, letting the pig‑butcher bring his knife home and point it at the air while cursing a couple of times can also scare away the headless wild spirit troubling the baby.

The pig‑butcher's pig‑killing knife is what we call an evil weapon, but the one in Fan Wuchang's hand is truly a killing weapon. The difference between an evil weapon and a killing weapon is that an evil weapon may take the life of beasts, whereas a killing weapon takes only human life.

A chill emanates from the blade, a cold that seeps into the heart, constantly filling people with dread; looking at the edge is like seeing the Grim Reaper.

At that moment I suddenly felt a hint of disgust toward Fan Wuchang. Because he has taken too many lives, whether he kills good people or bad, he has already accumulated countless killings.

Although I felt disgust, I still knew how to endure, but I forgot that Pangzi is very blunt and sincere. After analyzing the nature of this killing weapon, he immediately frowned and said to Fan Wuchang, "This is a killing weapon; the blade bears the resentment of countless wronged souls. Such a thing should not remain in the world—hand it over to me so I can perform a liberation rite…"

Having said that, he lunged to snatch the knife from Fan Wuchang's hand.

I and Yuan Qiu were startled, and we pulled back Pangzi's outstretched hand with all our strength.

What are you joking about? This is a killing god who lives by the blade—where the blade is, he is; if the blade falls, he falls. Trying to take his knife is as foolish as the Longevity Star hanging himself just to complain his life is too long.

Fortunately, Fan Wuchang did not get angry; instead, he gave a self‑mocking smile without lifting the corners of his mouth, and then sheathed the knife.

The car started up again; this time Fan Wuchang didn't chat with us much, but held a cigarette in his mouth and focused on driving the Audi.

Through the front car's rearview mirror, one can see four differently colored small cars steadily tailing the Audi. When another vehicle approaches the Audi, one of those four cars pulls out, moves to the inner lane, and steadily blocks any vehicle about to cross the line.

From this angle, only two cars can be seen clinging closely behind, going forward, and nothing else is discernible. Yet I and Yuan Qiu both know that this car is protecting the Audi we are riding in, guarding against any vehicle that might intend us harm.

The car crept forward, pulled up outside a high‑end residential compound, and then Fan Wuchang told the three of us to get out.

"Are we going to see Zheng Ge now?" Yuan Qiu asked Fan Wuchang, puzzled.

Fan Wuchang shook his head: "No, you must pass my test before I can take you to see Zheng Ge."

A test? What the hell, I thought to myself, haven't we already gone through the test? Why are we pulling this out again.

Fan Wuchang shook his head and said, "All you've passed is my test; you still haven't passed Zheng Ge's."

Pangzi wondered and asked him, "What kind of test did Zheng Ge set for us?"

Fan Wuchang said, "Follow me and you'll find out." Having said that, he stepped into the residential compound.

The residences here generally have a Western look, with some buildings constructed in a classical Western style; such apartments are not uncommon inland, but only the wealthy or noble live there.

Sometimes, standing beneath these massive structures, one feels as tiny as an ant. If I had to describe my current feeling, it would be like a mole cricket gazing up at a giant, or you could say I feel like a country bumpkin entering the city.

I, Pangzi, and Yuan Qiu were very curious about where Fan Wuchang said Zheng Ge's test was held, what its relation to this building was, and halfway there he suddenly asked us, "Did you bring all your eating utensils?"

This only deepened my curiosity—was he bringing us here to catch ghosts, or to examine the feng shui?

Ten minutes later, Fan Wuchang answered my question with his actions.

He led us to the far end of the compound, where there was a large open area mostly planted with vegetation; only two three‑story buildings stood on the plot, facing each other with a gap of over fifty meters between them. The buildings were identical in size and number of floors.

Fan Wuchang's lips curled again into two arcs, his right index finger pointing at the two buildings; he said nothing, but the gesture was full of meaning.

Gazing at those two buildings and at Fan Wuchang's meaningful point, three words suddenly popped into my mind: "Feng Shui bucket."