Chapter Sixty-Five: Picking Up a Bargain

Su Yang sat atop the roof, quietly observing as events unfolded.

The fire had started.

The Dongmen Estate was ablaze, chaos reigned, and the sounds of combat were sharp and piercing. From a distance, it was difficult to make out the details. Su Yang climbed down from the rooftop and silently drew closer.

A pair of patrolling constables noticed the turmoil at the Dongmen residence and hastily retreated, intent on reporting the incident to the magistrate’s office. After all, Master Dongmen Qing was a sixth-rank martial artist; matters stirred by such a figure were beyond the jurisdiction of mere junior constables—the wise course was to alert the authorities without delay.

The battle had reached its climax. Only now did Su Yang dare to infiltrate the estate. Dressed in black night garb and carrying no visible weapon, he moved inconspicuously, avoiding attention—and so, no one troubled him.

The household servants and maids were hiding in the rear courtyard with the womenfolk. If their master should fall, the women would escape with gold and valuables through the back door, leaving their fates to chance.

All through the Dongmen Estate, constables and family retainers clashed violently.

Passing through a clearing, Su Yang saw Dongmen Qing and Wu Song, surrounded by numerous constables and family retainers—the true heart of the battle.

Dongmen Qing, with seven seventh-rank martial artists at his side, was besieging Wu Song.

Wu Song’s skin glowed red, his muscles bulged menacingly—he resembled a blood-drenched demon or a steel-skinned colossus brought to life. His hair hung loose, his upper body bare and as hard as forged iron, each punch whistling through the air and causing the very atmosphere to tremble.

Though Dongmen Qing was also a sixth-rank martial artist, he was far inferior. In single combat, he would stand no chance against Wu Song. Perhaps his body had been hollowed out by years of indulgence, or perhaps his strength was solely the result of crude medicinal supplements—whatever the reason, he was no match for a true warrior tempered by countless battles.

If not for the seven seventh-rank martial artists assisting him, Wu Song would already have crushed Dongmen Qing beneath his feet and slaughtered his entire clan.

Even so, Dongmen Qing could gain no advantage—he, a sixth-rank martial artist flanked by seven seventh-rank allies, was being suppressed by Wu Song alone.

Elsewhere, two more of Dongmen Qing’s seventh-rank retainers were ganging up on one of Wu Song’s own seventh-rank followers. Soon, their opponent faltered, and with a single cleaving strike, his skull was split in two—a spray of white matter and blood splattered the ground, sickening in its brutality.

Having dispatched their foe, the two Dongmen retainers immediately joined the fray against Wu Song.

With a roar of fury, Wu Song beheld the corpse of his fallen comrade. A terrifying battle-lust erupted from within him, an animalistic aura thickening around his form.

His muscles swelled further, deadly claws sprouted from his massive hands, sharp fangs jutted from his mouth, and his entire body pulsed with surging blood and qi. Su Yang felt, for a moment, as though Wu Song might tear him to shreds with a single swipe.

With a sudden, beast-like leap, Wu Song charged, his savage fist crashing toward one of the seventh-rank martial artists. The man, unable to dodge, hurriedly raised his saber in defense. Wu Song’s fist struck the blade, bending it instantly, and the residual force slammed into the man’s chest.

A dull, crushing sound echoed—the seventh-rank martial artist felt his internal organs shatter as he was thrown backward, spitting blood in midair.

Wu Song seized the opportunity, grabbing the airborne foe and yanking him back, then smashed his fist into the man’s jaw. Bone and flesh burst apart in a spray of gore—merciless and brutal.

Witnessing this, Dongmen Qing was shocked and quickly rallied his subordinates to dogpile Wu Song, hoping to wear him down. The other seventh-rank martial artists were terrified, but had no choice but to press the attack.

Dongmen Qing possessed the strength of a sixth rank, but could not bring it to bear—perhaps his body had indeed been ruined by excess, rendering him as helpless as a novice. Any true sixth-rank martial artist would have overwhelmed him with ease.

Wu Song, on the other hand, was a warrior honed through endless hardship—a monster in his own right. It was little wonder he served as head constable. Among his peers, he was nearly unrivaled in one-on-one combat.

After all, the three great families boasted several sixth-rank martial artists.

Wu Song was likely the closest in all Yanggu County to reaching the fifth rank in terms of combat prowess—a veritable bloodthirsty fiend.

Su Yang watched for a moment more, then slipped away without further delay, heading for Dongmen Qing’s storeroom.

As a sixth-rank martial artist from an old and wealthy family, Dongmen Qing was sure to have a trove of rare medicines. If Su Yang could secure a haul, it would greatly benefit both himself and his followers.

He harbored no hope for the most precious elixirs—they were likely hidden or long since secreted away. Even some lesser treasures, such as a White-Flesh Lingzhi, would suffice.

Within the Dongmen Estate, every able-bodied martial artist had been summoned to battle. Thus, only a single seventh-rank guard remained at the storeroom, accompanied by a few anxious eighth-rank martial artists, pacing before the door.

Su Yang quickly found a dead retainer, donned the man’s uniform, and staggered toward the storeroom, gasping for breath and shouting, “Something’s wrong! Something’s terribly wrong!”

The seventh-rank guard, with his eighth-rank companions, hurried over. Su Yang feigned a stumble and collapsed onto the lead guard, who instinctively reached out to steady him.

In the next instant, a flash of red gleamed—the sharp Black Serpent Dagger plunged into the guard’s chest.

The seventh-rank martial artist’s expression twisted in shock as he tried to defend himself, but unprepared and caught off guard, he could not withstand Su Yang’s full-force assault.

“Stop him! Kill him!” the surrounding eighth-rank martial artists cried, drawing their sabers and charging at Su Yang.

Clashing steel rang out, but with the seventh-rank guard dead, the remaining underlings were no threat. After a brief struggle, Su Yang dispatched them all.

He kicked open the storeroom door, withdrew a sack, and—exhilarated—began to fill it. Old medicines were stored in boxes; some, of lesser value, Su Yang could not even identify, but he did not hesitate to toss everything into his bag.

As the boxes took up too much space, he opened each one and poured the contents directly into the sack. Not daring to linger, he left as soon as the bag was full.

In the darkness, a man dressed as a Dongmen family retainer hurried away, a bulging sack slung over his back, and another set of clothes—stuffed full and used as another bag—clutched in his hand. Bent low, hunched like a rat, he darted through the night.

A bountiful harvest.

An immense haul—today was a stroke of fortune.

With this windfall, he could thoroughly train an entire cadre of followers.

Even if Yanggu County fell in the days to come, he was confident in his ability to survive.

Behind him, the Dongmen Estate blazed in a sea of fire.

Along the way, Su Yang glimpsed several other shadowy figures heading toward the estate—likely others with the same idea.

But they were already too late.

No doubt the magistrate’s men had already surrounded the grounds.