Chapter 33: The Beggar

“Idiot!”

Slap!

With a sharp slap, Meng Haicheng fell to the ground.

Blood mixed with broken teeth dripped down, dust clung to his body, and the blood-stained bandage around his neck made him look utterly disheveled.

Yet Meng Haicheng dared not even breathe heavily; he scrambled up and knelt on the ground, his forehead drenched in cold sweat.

This was a fairly sizable blacksmith shop.

Outside in the courtyard stood a row of worn-out forges, their fires glowing red, the ground littered with iron slag and coal cinders; a group of men, bare-chested, swung hammers of varying sizes in alternating strikes.

Ding! Ding! Clang! Clang!

Amid the piercing clang of hammering, sparks flew everywhere.

Inside the inner courtyard, a group of men, dressed differently and covered in tattoos, stood or squatted; under the dim candlelight, their faces looked grotesque.

The air reeked of heavy sweat, tobacco, and the sour stench of days-old unwashed clothes, intertwining to make one nauseous.

This was the Iron Knife Gang’s base.

Directly above the inner courtyard’s steps sat a man on a large armchair.

The man was exceptionally tall, with a scruffy beard, dark skin, and brutally coarse features, giving him a fearsome appearance.

Yet he wore a bright red robe, improperly fastened, exposing his right arm and shoulder, where a black tiger was tattooed across his dark skin.

He wore a small cap and had flowers pinned to his ears, making him look absurd.

This man was Zheng Heibei, leader of the Iron Knife Gang.

He had once been a blacksmith in Xianyang, born with extraordinary strength, trained in his family’s Tongbei Fist, and with a fiery temper, he gathered a band of troublemakers who frequently brawled.

After offending someone and spending several days in jail, he finally woke up, bowed his head, and joined Zhou Pan’s sect, then founded the Iron Knife Gang.

The West City was far less prosperous than the East City, but his Iron Knife Gang bullied merchants and monopolized the city’s blacksmith trade, making it extremely profitable.

At this moment, Zheng Heibei sat sprawled in his chair, idly turning a walnut in his hand, coldly eyeing the kneeling Meng Haicheng.

“Do you know where you acted like an idiot?”

Meng Haicheng inwardly groaned: “I shouldn’t have agreed to the death match.”

He was an old hand, but only after leaving did he realize he’d been tricked.

Our side had the numbers advantage—we should’ve just reneged then and overwhelmed Li Yan, killing him on the spot; who would’ve known Li Hu’s son was in Xianyang?

But back then, he’d been truly terrified.

And now, thinking of Li Yan’s eyes, his spine still chilled.

“Hmph!”

Zheng Heibei above didn’t know his thoughts; he coldly said, “A greenhorn just out of the Jianghu has you dancing like a puppet—no wonder you’ve sunk to this level.”

“What’s he worth? Just cut him to pieces and have someone else take the blame. Now look—you turned it into a martial arena fight. Whether you win or lose, you’ve slapped your master’s face!”

Meng Haicheng grew even more frightened; he gritted his teeth and said, “Then let me take men now and flay him alive!”

“Too late!”

Zheng Heibei said calmly, “Everyone on the Xianyang roads is talking about this. If you kill him now, won’t you just make a laughingstock?”

Meng Haicheng had no reply; his inner anguish deepened.

If only he’d pretended not to know the boy from the start.

Above, Zheng Heibei fell into thought, then turned to the side, his tone softening considerably: “Master You, I heard the boy followed an Xuanmen Daoist. Do you know what they’re planning?”

“Just summoning a spirit, nothing more.”

The speaker was a middle-aged man.

His appearance and accent were utterly unlike those of the Guanzhong people—he bore features of the Jiangzuo region, dressed in a black robe, with unkempt hair and a long mustache.

More peculiar still, his forehead bore a Taiji symbol drawn in cinnabar.

This man was You Laosi, a sorcerer from Jiangzuo skilled in dark incantation magic; no one knew who he had angered, so he fled everywhere.

After learning of him, Zheng Heibei secretly took him in.

Over the years, several of his rivals died mysteriously—this You Laosi was behind it; Zheng Heibei relied heavily on him.

The sorcerer You Laosi gently stroked his beard and sneered: “That Daoist is Wang Daoxuan—mediocre at best. All he’s doing is trying to summon a yin spirit to protect them while they take on some brutal jobs.”

“Summoning a yin spirit requires going to the mass grave—likely tomorrow night.”

“And the mass grave is the territory of those Westbound beggars. Boss, send someone to cause trouble during the ritual—those beggars won’t escape death.”

“Once they’re all dead, who cares about some stupid martial match?”

“Excellent idea, Master You!”

Zheng Heibei pondered a moment, then said, “Er Gou, go there. Remember—be polite. Those beggars are strange.”

“Yes, Brother!”

A narrow-faced, monkey-eyed man stepped forward.

“Wait.”

The sorcerer You Laosi suddenly spoke: “Go like that, and you won’t even see them—you’ll lose your life. Let me tell you how to do it...”

“Thank you, Master.”

Er Gou memorized every word, bowed, and left.

…

The Iron Knife Gang’s base was in Xianyang’s East City.

After leaving, the narrow-faced, monkey-eyed man Er Gou mounted a fast horse, passed through Changping Warehouse, rode past the Horse King Temple, and exited Xianyang through the Northwest Gate.

Compared to the southern ancient ferry, this northern gate was far more desolate.

In the autumn rain, a towering archway stood alone in the wilderness; on the muddy road, occasional civilians were from nearby villages.

Er Gou wore a bamboo hat and spurred his horse forward.

Near dusk, he arrived near a small hill.

Or rather, it wasn’t even a hill.

The Guanzhong Plain was surrounded by mountains—whether the Qinling, Zhongnan, Huashan, Lishan to the south and east, or Liangshan behind—all dwarfed this little mound by far.

Yet its notoriety was no less.

Whether from war, famine, plague, or Jianghu killings, Xianyang City produced countless unclaimed corpses daily.

These corpses could not be casually discarded.

Even the executed criminals from the execution ground were buried by someone.

This task fell to the Westbound Beggar Sect.

They wouldn’t bury them properly—mostly just wrapping them in straw mats, unless a kind soul donated a cheap, dog-bitten coffin.

!

They didn’t care about feng shui—just buried them randomly on the hill.

This place was Xianyang’s mass grave.

Years of accumulation had turned the hill into a sea of unclaimed graves, tangled with gnarled old trees, crows flying wildly, and packs of stray dogs roaming.

In the autumn rain and mist, it was dim and gloomy, like the netherworld.

Ordinary Xianyang citizens never dared come here.

Even this Iron Knife Gang man, Er Gou, felt his skin crawl at the sight; he spat in disgust, muttering: “A bunch of pus-ridden cowards, living in this ghost place...”

Of course, he only dared think it.

Xianyang’s Beggar Sect had always been dangerous.

Since the great drought and plague years ago, after the Miler Sect rebelled, the beggars’ nest moved into these hills—and their movements became highly mysterious.

They claimed it was to avoid war, yet even in peace, they never returned.

Some suspected they secretly colluded with the Miler Sect; even a Wuqi Wei of Xianyang secretly sent men to investigate, then led troops to search, hoping to earn merit.

Yet they found nothing.

Gradually, people grew accustomed to the beggars’ nest on the mass grave.

But in the Jianghu, legends about these beggars multiplied.

Like their ability to steal souls, their collusion with human traffickers to kidnap women and children...

Like their mastery of snakes and scorpions, even commanding the wild dogs here...

Several Jianghu swordsmen had died mysteriously after offending the Beggar Sect.

In short, these beggars were deeply sinister.

Now, near dusk, night had fallen, and autumn rain and mist made the light extremely dim.

Er Gou’s skin crawled; he dismounted, lifted a lantern, and crept forward cautiously, constantly glancing left and right, alert to every sound.

Gazing at the countless unclaimed graves around him, even though he was a man who’d faced three cuts and six punctures without blinking, his scalp tightened and every hair stood on end.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!”

As soon as he stepped onto the path, the wild dogs howled.

In the dark, misty gloom, pairs of blood-red eyes appeared.

Clang!

The man startled, instantly drawing his waist sword.

The wild dog packs of the mass grave were legendary horrors in Xianyang.

These beasts fed on corpses, brimming with ferocity; some claimed they’d attacked wolf packs—and eating a man was nothing to them.

Remembering You Laosi’s warning, Er Gou, though terrified, quickly sheathed his sword and raised his fists, calling out loudly: “We drink from the same river, share the same eternal green—I, Lu Er Gou, come to pay respects. I beg you all to appear!”

The words had barely left his lips when a reprimand echoed from afar.

Amid the sound of beasts running, those pairs of red eyes vanished swiftly.

ErGou watched with silent unease—these beggars truly could command wild dogs.

Soon, another dark figure emerged through the rain and mist, no lantern in hand, hunched and stooped, speaking in a low voice: “Where do you noble guests come from?”

“The old capital of the Qin Prince.”

“Do you know the weight of the Jianghu?”

“Precisely four jin, twenty-three liang, five qian, four fen, nine li, and eight hao!”

“What are fen, li, and hao?”

“The Four Seas, the Nine Rivers, and the Eight Rivers.”

“Where do your fellow travelers make their fortune?”

“I dare not claim that—I merely follow Master Zheng for my meals.”

“Let’s go.”

After exchanging these Jianghu coded phrases, he had roughly sized them up—the figure ahead finally lit a lantern, revealing an old beggar in tattered clothes, unkempt and filthy.

ErGou exhaled in relief and followed closely behind.

Along the way, he kept feeling something watching him from the darkness, yet dared not look back, thinking to himself—these beggars were truly uncanny.

Finally, after entering the mountains, a faint glow of fire appeared ahead…

(End of Chapter)