Chapter 53: 52 Freshly Baked Rules

52 Freshly Baked Rules

It was already very late when Tang Zhao left Guan Lei's small courtyard. It was the time when the Golden Crow had set and the Jade Rabbit had yet to rise; only a few dim stars hung in the sky.

Torches were lit on the martial arts practice field, and many Disciples were taking advantage of the night to practice.

The Grape Courtyard originally had a curfew, but the Black Spider Villa had just gone through a great upheaval and was in urgent need of replenishing its Disciples. The assessment was to be held in just a few days, and since these Disciples were called out to undertake various tasks during the day and returned to practice at night, the instructors in the courtyard had already tacitly permitted it.

The Disciples on the field were practicing diligently, sweating like rain. Tang Zhao watched silently for a moment and thought to himself: It is not easy for anyone to live, and I am not the only one with a deadline approaching.

The deadline was a true "death" line, for Tang Zhao and for the other Disciples as well. Given the style of the Black Spider Villa, the assessment was not merely an assessment; it would be no exaggeration to call it a trial of life and death. The fate of the losers was not something one wanted to think about. These Disciples worked their lives away for the villa during the day, yet they still lived in constant insecurity, and in the blink of an eye, they faced the danger of death again.

If only the villa, due to a shortage of manpower, would widen the holes in the sieve and let a few more pass through.

Just as he was about to return to his room, he heard someone on the practice field shout: "Gao Mo, stop!"

Tang Zhao was startled. Conflicts among the Disciples of the Grape Courtyard were common, and private fights or even death matches were not strange. Tang Zhao had seen corpses dragged away; it was only rare for people to shout and scream. Everyone was as silent as a spider, harboring malice in that silence.

The Disciple on the field named Gao Mo said coldly: "Where did that dog barking come from? Is it that dog surnamed Zhang?"

The Disciple surnamed Zhang on the opposite side rushed over in a rage. Tang Zhao suddenly thought: Among so many people, is he the only one surnamed Zhang? Aren't you just firing a map-wide attack?

When the two were five or six steps apart, they stopped at the same time, confronting each other with some wariness.

The one surnamed Zhang said: "You surnamed Gao, did you kill my Bead?" He held an object in his palm, which appeared as a dark lump under the torchlight.

From quite a distance away, Tang Zhao could not see clearly what it was, but there was no need to see clearly—what else could it be?

A spider.

Even Disciples who had not yet finished their training kept spiders here, but it was impossible to keep them on a large scale. It was good enough for one person to have one or two; they were all prepared for the future. It stood to reason that the death of a Disciple's spider was no small matter.

Gao Mo said: "I killed it? Do you have proof?"

The one surnamed Zhang said loudly: "What proof do I need? I saw it with my own eyes!"

Gao Mo sneered: "Since you saw it with your own eyes, why are you still wasting your breath?"

The one surnamed Zhang barked: "It really was you! I want you to pay with your life!" He threw a punch.

In an instant, the two were trading punches and kicks, fighting together.

Tang Zhao watched coldly from the sidelines. Although the conflict was a bit strange at the beginning, the subsequent development was ordinary. No matter what the conflict was, it ended in a fight. And never mind whether it was a big deal or a small one, or who was right or wrong; whoever won in the end was in the right.

Here, the Jianghu was not about human sentiment and worldly wisdom; it was about killing and fighting.

He originally did not want to watch the fight, but remembering that Guan Lei had said someone might come to provoke him, he watched the battle with a critical eye, intending to see exactly what level these people were at.

Both youths were using the Black Spider Villa's basic skill, the "Poison Sand Palm."

The martial arts of the Black Spider Villa followed a sinister and devious path, especially famous for their poisons and the "spider silk" exotic weapon. Their frontal moves were not famous; spider silk was something only high-level figures could use, and the Disciples below learned the common skills of the Five Poisons Society. Guan Lei had said that the Poison Sand Palm moves were unremarkable; what was formidable was coating the palms with poison, and outsiders who were unprepared would surely suffer a great loss.

But coating with poison was more laborious than practicing the palm itself. It was not about applying poison to the palms, but rather keeping one's hands in poison sand year-round, slowly steaming the poison into the skin, and gradually adapting oneself to the poison to develop resistance, so that one could harm others without harming oneself. These young Disciples had neither the time nor the resources for poison, so they just practiced the basic moves.

Since these two young Disciples were of similar age, similar strength, and similar moves, unless one had extraordinary talent, they would not be able to determine a winner, and in the end, it would basically depend on "fighting ruthlessly"—whoever dared to strike first would win.

Fighting ruthlessly?

Tang Zhao's gaze sharpened. Were these two fighting ruthlessly?

Although everyone threw punches fiercely with a gust of wind and cursed with their mouths as if they had deep hatred, the moves were not aimed at the opponent's vital points, let alone being sinister or vicious.

This was hatred? It didn't even compare to a typical Grape Courtyard sparring session!

Moreover, as they fought, they were getting closer and closer to his side.

Tang Zhao reached behind him without changing his expression.

When Si Liyu had ambushed him before, he had carried his Art Tool with him, but after Si Liyu finished the lesson, there was no need to carry it every day. Especially since he had gone to drink with Guan Lei today, he really did not have an Art Tool on him.

Actually, he had learned palm techniques now, so fighting empty-handed was fine, but out of habit, he still wanted to find a weapon.

Reaching out, he touched an object, pulled it down, and dragged off a wooden door bolt about a foot long.

At the same time, the two had approached Tang Zhao. Suddenly, the one surnamed Zhang reached out and threw his poor, miserably dead spider over!

Tang Zhao swung the door bolt and knocked the spider away. The two fighting stopped at the same time and lunged at Tang Zhao!

Tang Zhao blocked with the door bolt, catching the punch of the one surnamed Zhang on the right. As they exerted force against each other, Tang Zhao felt a slight resistance, and the opponent immediately took two steps back. With a crack, the door bolt was bent.

This clash of strength was actually a slight victory for Tang Zhao. The opponent had lunged actively, while Tang Zhao had fought in a rush, putting him at a natural disadvantage; ending in a draw meant Tang Zhao had won. Moreover, a fist and wood were not to be mentioned in the same breath; Tang Zhao felt nothing when the wood broke, but that punch was enough for the other side to endure.

At this moment, the attack from the left also arrived. The opponent struck with a palm, and Tang Zhao reflexively countered with his left palm.

As the Ant Moving Mountain Palm reached midway, a thought flashed through Tang Zhao's mind. He forcibly retracted his palm, lowered his body, and almost squatted on the ground to avoid the strike. With his center of gravity difficult to recover, he rolled on the spot and rolled out from the side.

Just now, facing two against one, the exchange happened in an instant. Tang Zhao had not suffered, but the posture of his final escape was not very graceful, and immediately, two laughs came from the side.

The atmosphere in the Grape Courtyard was oppressive, and almost no one laughed out loud; these two mocking laughs were almost equivalent to a roar of laughter.

Tang Zhao had no time to pay attention. He kicked off the ground, jumped up in place relying on the leg strength trained by the Grasshopper Jump, and landed upright. He had forcibly retracted a punch and suffered the backlash, making his chest feel uncomfortable, but he was not out of danger yet and could not care about it. The door bolt in his hand was completely bent, and he urgently needed to change to another weapon.

He heard someone say: "There is a sword on the left."

Tang Zhao glanced out of the corner of his eye and indeed saw the weapon rack on the left. The top shelf held long swords. Without time to think about who the slightly familiar voice that reminded him belonged to, he reached out and grabbed it; the long sword was in his hand.

This was a real sword!

Poor Tang Zhao had practiced with the sword for so many days, but except for the Authority Sword and the Dharma Artifact, he had never touched a real sword; he had always used a wooden sword. Although this was not a good sword, holding iron in his hand was naturally different; the weight felt right, and what's more, it was sharpened, its cold light flickering under the torchlight.

Seeing that he had a sword, the two on the opposite side had misgivings and stopped at the same time. The one surnamed Zhang barked: "Do you understand the rules, damn it? You actually use a weapon?"

Tang Zhao said: "What rules? Ambush? Two against one?"

The one surnamed Zhang did not even stutter and immediately said: "That's right, the rules of the Grape Courtyard: ambush is allowed, two against one is allowed, but using a weapon is not!"

Tang Zhao said: "You shoot poison arrows every day, and there are such rules?"

The one surnamed Zhang sneered: "Poison arrows are fine, but swords are not. Everyone knows that using a sword is base."

Tang Zhao was amused by his righteous indignation and said: "Since when were these the rules? Did they start with you?"

The one surnamed Zhang said: "They have always existed. If you don't believe me, ask someone else."

Tang Zhao was, of course, not foolish enough to ask others. In fact, he felt that the conversation with the one surnamed Zhang was very stupid. Was he supposed to argue logic with the other party? Clearly, the other party was thick-skinned and spoke whatever came to mind. If he continued, he feared more rules like "the one surnamed Zhang can hit the one surnamed Tang, but the one surnamed Tang cannot hit the one surnamed Zhang" would be born endlessly.

Furthermore, the Grape Courtyard was not a place to reason. Those with loud voices occupied the initiative, and those with hard fists won in the end.

There was already snickering coming from behind, and someone laughed: "This Xiaobai is a fool; he actually wants to reason right and wrong with Zhang Dazui? It would be faster to hit his head against a wall."

Gao Mo said, "Stop wasting breath on him, grab your weapons and attack—" After saying this, he actually pulled a blade from the weapon rack.

Although this move was a direct slap in the face to the one surnamed Zhang, the one surnamed Zhang was not embarrassed in the slightest and said, "Gao Mo, you go first."

Gao Mo glared at him, then slashed his blade toward Tang Zhao with a swish.

Tang Zhao focused his mind and calmed his Qi, stepping forward with his left foot; his long sword arrived after the attack but struck first, thrusting toward Gao Mo's face, forcing Gao Mo to circle his blade back to block. Clang—the blade and sword clashed.

At this, Gao Mo and Tang Zhao retreated simultaneously. Gao Mo retreated three steps, while Tang Zhao retreated only slightly by one step. He knew that in terms of strength, Gao Mo was a bit stronger than the one surnamed Zhang, yet still a notch below himself.

As the blade and sword clashed, it was clear that Gao Mo had studied a complete set of blade techniques and was more fluid. Tang Zhao had only practiced Basic Sword Arts, but his sword technique was extremely pure, and his moves were fast and accurate; within a few exchanges, he had already gained the upper hand.

Suddenly, Tang Zhao thrust his sword out, arriving after the attack but striking first, aiming straight for Gao Mo's wrist. Gao Mo had no choice but to let go of his steel blade and turn to run. Tang Zhao took a step forward, but suddenly felt something; he swiped his sword horizontally, knocking away a cold arrow that had been shot at him.

Once upon a time, he would have been completely oblivious to sneak attacks from poison arrows and cold arrows, but now he could block hidden arrows at any time.

Turning his head back, he looked coldly at Zhang Dazui: this brat kept his word; he said a cold arrow wasn't against the rules, so it wasn't against the rules.

Zhang Dazui did not make another move, but pointed at Tang Zhao and said, "Good brat, we'll remember today's business. Just you wait." He turned and sprinted away.

Tang Zhao pondered for a moment and did not chase after them. Judging from the recent exchange, it wasn't impossible to win one against two, but since he didn't have an Art Tool in hand, he didn't have absolute certainty after all. Furthermore, the surroundings were full of Disciples from their cohort; even if they weren't all accomplices, who knew if there were ambushes?

This farce began abruptly and ended just as sloppily.

"Disperse," someone said.

Tang Zhao was familiar with this voice; it was the same person who had warned him earlier. Turning his head to look, it was the Grey Spider King, also known as the Chief Disciple here, Jiao Feng.

Jiao Feng's words were more effective than an imperial decree; the watching Disciples dispersed silently, and he himself turned and left.

Tang Zhao said from behind, "Many thanks for the warning."

Jiao Feng paused slightly and said, "You are still quite cautious, knowing not to trade palms with him."

Just now, Tang Zhao had urgently changed his palm strike to a dodge; it was indeed a sudden intuition, not because he had discovered anything, but more like a premonition of danger, feeling it was better not to trade palms. At this, he frowned and asked, "Has he mastered a poison palm?"

Jiao Feng hesitated slightly, pointed at his fingers, and said, "He was wearing something."

Something? Like a poison needle or something similar?

Tang Zhao felt a lingering fear; with his eyesight, he might not even be able to see such a thing during the day, let alone at night. This time, he had truly escaped a disaster by relying on his intuition.

This was far too premeditated.

Tang Zhao had originally thought the two were instigated by outsiders to provoke him, just a case of hot-headed targeting, but such props were not available in the Grape Courtyard and must have been prepared by outsiders. Was this a must-kill mission?

He whispered, "Who wants to harm me?"

Jiao Feng did not answer and said, "Don't you only have a few days left? Just find a place to hide safely. If the King of Hell wants you dead, it is futile even if the minor ghosts cannot catch you." After saying this, he walked away directly.

Tang Zhao sheathed his sword, his gaze sweeping over the Grape Courtyard shrouded in the dark night. Anger surged like an undercurrent, and he thought: The King of Hell? Minor ghosts? Are you even worthy? Have you never seen a Judge?

The threat was already closing in; from this day on, he certainly could not be without his Art Tool.

With an Art Tool in hand, even minor ghosts were nothing more than clowns.

He walked back to his room, and upon reaching the door, a strange feeling suddenly emerged.

Was there... something he had overlooked?