Chapter 2: The Embroidered Uniform Guard is on official business!

The 23rd year of Jiajing, Shuntian Prefecture, night.

A torrential downpour.

There were no pedestrians left on the street, only a few flickers of moonlight outlining dim shadows on the ground.

At the mouth of a dim alley, two people raised their hands and tossed a man covered in blood next to a pile of debris.

Occasionally, lightning flashed, illuminating his dilated pupils and his unrecognizable face.

Clearly, he had been beaten into this state; his limbs were bent at unnatural angles, and his chest no longer rose and fell—he was thoroughly dead.

The two who tossed the man clapped their hands, spat at him, and cursed: "If you're looking for death, at least check the weather! You've made us soak through for nothing!"

After they finished cursing, one of the younger-looking ones was about to head back directly, but was stopped by the older one.

"What are you doing!?" he asked irritably.

"You're going back already?" the older one said.

"Otherwise what? Look at all this water!" the young thug shook his hair.

"Are you stupid? Brother Da De told us to throw him far away. We were lazy and just tossed him in this broken alley, and now you want to go back so soon?" The older thug frowned: "Are you afraid Brother Da De won't notice we were slacking off?"

The young thug realized what he meant. Thinking of the scene where Brother Da De smashed his fists into this man, breaking his tendons and bones, sending blood and flesh flying, he couldn't help but shiver.

"Then what do we do?"

"What else can we do? We wait a while before leaving." The older thug scanned the surroundings and found a corner sheltered from the rain and wind to squat in.

The young thug cursed a few times, but had no choice; he covered his head with his outer garment and squatted down beside the older thug.

In truth, "Brother Da De" might not necessarily care much about this corpse. Over a dozen beggars died in Yanjing City every day; even if left on the road, it wouldn't cause much trouble.

It was just that they really didn't want to walk far in the rain; in this era, catching a cold could cost you half your life. But they didn't dare disobey Brother Da De's orders, so they could only linger here for a while before returning; he likely wouldn't ask too many questions.

After ten minutes or so, the two stood up, shook the rainwater off their bodies, and prepared to return to report.

Just then, faint sounds came from the end of the silent street. Before long, the sound of horse hooves arrived—clearly not just one or two horses, but a troop.

The young thug hadn't reacted yet, but the old thug's pupils constricted.

It was long past the curfew; if it were just one or two horses, it might be a wealthy family ignoring the rules. But an entire troop of men must be "official" figures.

It would be bad if the corpse were discovered.

In these times, countless people died in the shadows every day, but they couldn't die in front of important people.

The old thug retreated, grabbed the corpse, tossed it into the pile of debris, and pulled a bunch of items over to cover it, ensuring no limbs were sticking out.

Only then did he pull the young thug into the alley to hide, away from the road.

Although the light was dim and the rain was heavy, the probability of passersby noticing them was minimal. But the old thug was a veteran of the Jianghu who had been scraping a living in Yanjing for over a decade; he had long understood that caution prevents disaster.

In front of the corpse in the debris, they were masters. In front of true masters, they were mere insects.

Being careful not to appear in the eyes of anyone who shouldn't be provoked was their rule for survival.

Unfortunately, he understood this principle, but the young thug did not.

Most people in this line of work were brave and fierce; only after being slashed a few times did they learn the value of life.

The young thug was already dissatisfied with his cautious appearance, but didn't dare speak out; he just symbolically shook off the older thug's arm.

A slight pushing sound was made, exposing half an arm.

In a sedan chair in the middle of the troop, a man who looked to be in his early thirties with a weary face glanced outside and knocked on the sedan's beam.

In an instant, the entire troop stopped.

Several young men in black tight-fitting outfits dismounted and came to the sedan. The man pointed toward the alley where the two thugs were hiding; the men nodded, turned, and walked over with vigorous strides.

"It's over." The old thug looked at the men walking toward them, his face pale.

Because the distance between these men remained constant as they walked, faintly forming a formation, they were clearly trained government runners or experts. Plus, their target was clear—they were coming straight for the place where the two were hiding.

Knowing he couldn't escape, he didn't hesitate; the old thug stepped out and bowed to the men walking over in the rain.

"Officers, we are..."

Bang!

Before he could finish his sentence, an elbow strike smashed into the back of his head, knocking him flat onto the ground.

Immediately, a boot stepped on his back, squeezing the air out of his lungs, stifling all the excuses he hadn't finished saying.

The old thug struggled to open his eyes, which were seeing stars, and heard the young thug's curse choked off in his throat, followed by a thud as he was pressed down in front of him.

A young man looked around the alley for a while, his gaze stopping on the pile of debris.

He stepped forward, uncovered the pile, dragged out the corpse, examined it, and placed it on the ground.

Turning back, he stepped over the two thugs pressed to the ground and walked to the sedan window, saying: "Thousand-Household, a dead man, beaten to death. These two are Yan Xiaosheng's underlings, they have criminal records."

"Bring them along," the weary-faced man in the sedan replied.

"Yes."

The young man responded and waved his hand behind him.

Crack! Crack!

With a few crisp sounds, the men pressing on the two thugs directly broke their arms. The two thugs opened their mouths to cry out in pain, but were each kicked in the mouth, knocking them unconscious.

The men picked up the unconscious thugs and followed the slowly moving troop, leaving the alley.

————————

A tavern just a few hundred meters from the alley was brightly lit.

Ordinarily, it was already dawn, and the curfew had long been in effect; gathering for revelry was forbidden.

But if anyone were to enter now and see the people sitting in this tavern, they wouldn't think the mere curfew was something worth mentioning.

Standing at the door with a fleshy face was "Da De," who had recently made a name for himself in Yanjing City; he was brave and fierce, and his Wu Gong was considered to have entered the ranks.

Looking at the undried blood on the floor, it was he who had just smashed a man into a lump of soft flesh with his fists; he was a man who killed without blinking.

Sitting inside were Hu Shuang, the "One-Armed Sword" hall master of the Cao Gang; Gu Jiao, the "Clear Wind Sword" deacon of Huashan; the great thief "Frost on Snow"; the lone eccentric "Tie Qiuyi," and others—all figures who had made a name for themselves in the Jianghu.

And sitting in the main seat was Yan Xiaosheng, the "Vajra Iron Palm," who had been the leader of the Yanjing underworld for over a decade.

Tonight was his fortieth birthday; after holding a banquet at home, he was entertaining his "unseen" friends here.

The Jianghu was not just about fighting and killing; even the famous righteous sects needed to eat and drink. To scrape a living in Yanjing, Jianghu people couldn't bypass him, the leader.

It was just that the righteous sects cared about their reputation and didn't want to be publicly linked to him. Wanted criminals like "Frost on Snow" and "Tie Qiuyi" couldn't swagger in either. Thus, he entertained them here; it was a tavern open for business anyway, and even if checked by government runners, he could just stuff some silver in their hands and say he didn't know the guests' backgrounds.

By now, the wine had gone three rounds, and aside from a hot-headed kid who came seeking revenge and found trouble, it was a pleasant evening for both host and guests.

Yan Xiaosheng looked kind and had a potbelly, looking just like a gentle wealthy man. At this moment, he smiled and raised his wine cup, about to say a few polite words.

Just then, a loud "Bang!" was heard.

The main door was smashed open, and two people were thrown in sideways, rolling on the ground a few times before lying in the middle of the room.

One of them was covered in blood, barely lifting his head to look at the livid Yan Xiaosheng: "Leader... Leader, it's the government runners..."

Yan Xiaosheng looked closely and recognized these two as the underlings who had just gone out to dispose of the body, his face becoming even uglier.

Suddenly, over a dozen men in black tight-fitting outfits entered from outside, their steps uniform; in just a few breaths, they blocked the entire door. Footsteps continued to sound outside, clearly surrounding the entire tavern.

Wanted criminals like "Frost on Snow" and "Tie Qiuyi" in the hall saw that the newcomers looked like government runners and were about to stand up and fight.

And the people from the Cao Gang and Huashan Sect also stood up, wanting to say a few polite words.

Just then, a man walked in slowly from outside.

This man looked to be in his early thirties, with a handsome face, wearing a black cloak, with ape-like arms and a wasp-like waist; he could be considered imposing. It was just a pity he had a weary face and a lazy posture, looking like he hadn't rested well recently.

He entered the door, and someone behind him closed it and took off his rain-soaked cloak.

He ignored everyone, lowered his head to pat the rainwater off his body, raised his head to scan the diverse crowd in the tavern, and casually cupped his hands: "Gentlemen, greetings."

He reached out to take off the waist tag hanging from his side, held it up, and drew a listless semicircle in front of him. The people in the room only needed to see the shape of that tag to change color instantly.

Several guests from the green woods and the underworld felt their legs trembling uncontrollably. A Huashan Sect disciple opened his mouth to speak, but was glared at fiercely by "Clear Wind Sword" Gu Jiao, and didn't dare make a sound.

"I am Li Miao, a Thousand-Household of the Embroidered Uniform Guard."

"The Embroidered Uniform Guard is on official business; those who don't want to die can kneel now."

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 3 =====