Chapter 400: 374 Listening to the Song

Aqiang is a hoodlum, a young yet seasoned hoodlum.

He is not old, but he has been a hoodlum for many years, and has been drifting for many years.

A long time in the game does not mean he is a successful hoodlum; he is just a hoodlum among hoodlums, or perhaps a hoodlum of hoodlums.

That is why he would take half a string of cash on a deep winter night to run errands for a hoodlum several years younger than himself, and why he was in no hurry to find anyone after coming out, but instead swayed and staggered, walking crookedly, wishing a dog would suddenly dart out onto the road for him to kick a couple of times.

Just like that, a small alley took him the time of three alleys to walk, and he finally arrived before that low, dilapidated shack.

Seeing this crooked shack, Aqiang really did not want to go in; in such a broken place, he wouldn't even bother kicking the doors when he was out patrolling the streets, let alone go inside and dirty his feet.

He stood before the door, just about to open his mouth to shout and tell Lao Xiazi to come out himself, when he heard the faint sound of silk strings coming from the darkness.

The silk strings squeaked and groaned; to call it music, the melody was not a melody, the tune was not a tune, slightly tinged with vibrato, and heard in the dark night, it sounded like moaning, like sighing, like trembling, as if several claws were scratching at the bottom of his heart, making one's hair stand on end.

Even though Aqiang was not lacking in courage, he was startled, and the voice he had opened to call for Lao Xiazi was instantly stuck in his throat; he even felt like running away.

But...

Could the unpleasant sound of strings be a reason for him, a dignified semi-senior member of the Eight Legs Gang, to be scared into fleeing in a panic?

Perhaps it was just Lao Xiazi being bored, playing his Stringed Instrument in his bedding? His Stringed Instrument was unpleasant to begin with, so it was not strange to hear such a noise.

That said, Aqiang did not dare to kick the door open directly, but instead crouched down and pressed his eyes to a crack in the door. The shack's firewood door leaked wind everywhere, and there were several large gaps, giving a clear view from the outside.

Inside the room, there was an aged, hunched figure, wrapped in a tattered cotton-padded jacket, clutching a stringed instrument.

It really was Lao Xiazi playing the Stringed Instrument.

He was not playing it himself in his bedding, but sitting on a rare, intact stool in the shack, holding the Stringed Instrument, playing and singing, talking for a while and singing for a while, his back straight, a pair of blind, gray, cloudy eyes rolled upward—he was already in a state of performance.

It was a human voice, so that was fine.

But... why was it so unpleasant?

This was Aqiang's first thought.

He and Teng Liang were both regulars at a small restaurant, and he had heard the String Song of Lao Xiazi, whom Teng Liang called over, more than once. Although he did not understand why this thing was worth the brave, fierce, and heartless Brother Teng calling for it over and over, he felt it was decent enough to listen to while eating.

How could it have this underworld flavor?

Immediately after, he discovered the clue: although the old man seemed to be sitting upright, his whole body was trembling slightly, his white beard shaking until it was somewhat blurry, and his fingers were shaking even more violently, so much so that the sound of the Stringed Instrument rose and fell, worse than fluffing cotton.

He seemed to be sitting in a pot, performing for a man-eating tiger, and the next moment he would be a sheep entering a tiger's mouth.

In that case, the fierce tiger was...

His gaze shifted, and he saw a figure.

There was only one person.

From his angle, he could actually only see half a profile, and could not see the face clearly; he only saw that the other party was not sitting, but standing in the shack, his head almost touching the roof. Although strange, it made this person look tall and imposing, full of pressure.

Other than that, he could only see that the person was wearing a cloak; not to mention skin, not even a piece of clothing was exposed, and he could only tell that the hair was black, appearing to be a young man.

This person... was the man-eating big tiger?

This must be a martial arts expert!

Aqiang had at least drifted in gangs, heard plenty of legends of the pugilistic world, and often listened to storytelling and singing; in those stories, experts were elusive, like dragons and tigers, killing a person every ten steps, and those blind little villains who offended the experts died miserably.

Although in Aqiang's dreams, he always substituted himself as an expert, living that unbridled pugilistic dream, he knew what kind of person he was; if he really met such an expert, he would be killed casually without the other party even knowing his name.

Slip away, slip away!

Taking advantage of the unpleasant Stringed Instrument sound masking his footsteps, he slowly turned around, but before leaving, he glanced at the side one more time.

This glance made him see a pile of black charcoal at Lao Xiazi's feet.

That's quite a lot of charcoal?

Charcoal prices were expensive this year, and even his own family had switched to burning firewood; Lao Xiazi's family was actually wealthy, storing so much charcoal.

Wait, why did the shape of that charcoal look wrong...

That fork looked just like a person's finger...

"Ah—"

Suddenly realizing something, Aqiang screamed.

His scream disturbed the person in the room, and the person inside turned around abruptly, his gaze like cold stars!

A "zi" sound came to his ears, and immediately after, a flash of brilliance appeared before his eyes.

Plop!

The next moment, he had already fallen headfirst. He plunged into a foul-smelling ditch.

A foul-smelling ditch?!

The foul-smelling ditch had already frozen over, but fortunately, the ice layer was still thin; his head passed right through the thin ice and plunged to the bottom.

Aqiang scrambled up, covered in sludge, and climbed out. Opening his eyes, he saw that he had actually moved to the ditch beside the cross street, already out of the small alley, at least a hundred paces away from the shack just now.

G... ghost!

Aqiang wailed, not caring that he was soaked and stinking, and ran for his life, sprinting all the way home; the shack, the drinking, and the half string of cash were all thrown to the back of his mind.

Over here, the brilliance dissipated, and the cloaked person stood with his back to the door, facing Lao Xiazi, who was so frightened he was clutching the strings and lying on the ground, seemingly indifferent to what happened behind him. He said calmly, "Who are you? Are you the leader of those hoodlums? Did I poke an ant nest of hoodlums? They come one by one, and now even the ant king has come?"

Tang Zhao used a Sword Image to send away the hoodlum whose life was hanging by a thread, pried open the crooked firewood door, and stood at the entrance without entering the shack. From this angle, he could perfectly block Teng Liang, and said, "No. I don't know them."

That person still did not turn his head, saying calmly, "Since you don't know them, why block me?"

Tang Zhao looked with disgust at the charred remains by Lao Xiazi's feet and said, "Life is like grass; who wouldn't stop it?"

The person gave a short, cold laugh and said, "Life? Just scum. Even if a hundred died, it wouldn't be worth a penny. Your martial arts are not weak, yet you use them to save such dregs; it is truly laughable."

Tang Zhao said, "They are dregs, but are you doing this to eliminate harm for the people? If you were truly drawing your sword to uphold justice, that would be one thing, but you are merely relying on..."

His gaze moved to the sword the person had just drawn; it was that sword that had just fired a bolt of lightning. Although the electric light was only as thick as a strand of hair, it was enough to roast one or two people into charcoal.

"Just a Dharma Artifact."

He had firmly identified this sword artifact.

Using a Dharma Artifact as a sword, he is not a Sword Guest. Even if a Sword Guest has a Dharma Artifact, their first choice when attacking will always be their own sword.

However, having only a Dharma Artifact does not necessarily mean one is not strong.

A Dharma Artifact carries a Sword Law, which is an existence superior to Sword Art; if used well, it might be able to injure a relatively weak Sword Guest, because Sword Guests do not have Sword Law. Especially with Sword Law of a rule-based nature, one can even kill with a single strike if the conditions are met.

The Sword Law carried by this Dharma Artifact should be Thunder. Although Thunder may not be as unreasonable as rule-based Sword Law, it is extremely powerful, has a very high burst, and is extremely fast.

There is a chance to win in a single strike.

It is just that there are not many opportunities.

When all is said and done, the gap between an ordinary person and a Sword Guest is comprehensive; there might only be one opportunity, and once trapped in a prolonged battle, the outcome will surely be decided.

Therefore, while Tang Zhao was on guard, he was also very restrained and had no intention of launching an active attack. He wanted to observe the fluctuations of the Dharma Artifact; if he could induce that one and only opportunity, he would already be in an invincible position.

"Moreover, you are wantonly killing in this old artist's room, forcing him to sing for you, and scaring him like this—what are you trying to do? Do you really want to listen to the Stringed Instrument?"

The old artist, who had already curled into a ball, moved as if wanting to open his mouth to call for help, but immediately closed his mouth and curled up even tighter instead.

Tang Zhao wanted to nod in greeting, but the old artist could not see. And even if he spoke directly, because it was an unfamiliar voice, the old man might not dare to believe him in his state of urgency.

That person still had his back to Tang Zhao and did not even turn his head, saying: "Recognizing a Dharma Artifact, you are not bad yourself. I have come to listen to the Stringed Instrument. As long as you are not like those few people just now who kicked the door in and made a racket, disturbing my interest, I will not hold it against you. If you are here to save someone, you have already taken them away, so let us part ways here."

Tang Zhao was surprised by the other party's arrogance—knowing that a master had arrived, he did not even turn his head back; was he particularly confident or particularly stupid? Or perhaps both?

He could leave, but seeing the old Lao Xiazi curled up, wanting to call for help but not daring to, his expression sank slightly, and he said: "What if I say that I have also come to listen to a song?"

That person turned his head abruptly, his gaze flaring intensely.

Under the only bit of oil Lamp light in the room, Tang Zhao saw the person's appearance clearly.

This was likely a young man of twenty years, with a fair and clean appearance, looking like a wealthy young master, but his brows and eyes were full of the killing intent unique to people of the jianghu.

This was the killing intent of a jianghu wanderer.

Having roamed the jianghu for a long time, whose hands were not stained with blood, and whose body was not congealed with baleful aura? Regardless of whether one is male or female, old or young, monk or layman, once the heart to kill arises, they all exude a pressing, fierce aura.

Tang Zhao stood steadily with a calm expression; even though the light was dim, casting a Shadow on his face, his expression did not appear ferocious.

It was as if he had truly walked into a teahouse, waiting to listen to a song.

That person's killing intent surged crazily, his figure turned slightly, indeed half-sideways, facing Tang Zhao with his profile, and he said word by word: "Are you also here to listen to that story?"

Tang Zhao said: "I am fine with listening to anything. Old man."

Old Cripple did not realize for a moment that he was calling him, so Tang Zhao called out again, and Old Cripple said: "This master..."

Tang Zhao knew he was scared silly and said: "Liangzi... Teng Liang came with me." As he spoke, he pulled Teng Liang behind him.

Teng Liang had just been dazzled by the brilliance and was trembling all over from the stimulation of the killing intent; fortunately, Tang Zhao blocked him, and a gentle stream of internal energy melted over, causing the cold air to dissipate immediately, so he was not yet lost in his senses. Hearing Tang Zhao speak, he hurriedly replied: "Lao Xiazi, it is me."

Hearing Liangzi's words as if they were celestial music, Old Cripple crawled up, his blind eyes streaming with tears, and called out: "Master Liang, Master Liang, save me!"

That person's expression was displeased, and as his hand moved, Tang Zhao stepped forward at the right moment, just enough to form a pincer formation with him.

That person's momentum rose, but Tang Zhao remained unmoved, even having the spare energy to block the aftermath from hitting Old Cripple, allowing Old Cripple to crawl to Teng Liang's side, where Teng Liang pulled him up.

That person struck several times but could not move Tang Zhao, finally developing a sense of wariness, and said: "Fine, fine, since you want to go head-to-head with me, I will yield to you, you..."

Tang Zhao asked directly: "Old man, what song did this person come to listen to in the middle of the night?"

That person's facial features moved slightly, his killing intent congealing again, as if he were about to erupt to stop Lao Xiazi from speaking, but in the end, he did not move.

Lao Xiazi calmed down slightly and said: "Just that one... Cloud Song, an old piece kept at the bottom of the trunk, it has not been performed for many years and is almost lost."

Tang Zhao was thoughtful and said: "May I listen to it?"

That person's sleeves trembled, and the veins on the hand holding the Dharma Artifact bulged; Tang Zhao said: "Very well, it sounds like a good song. Old sir, let us change to another place, and you can give us a private performance, can you?"