Chapter Seventy-Two: The Weasel Demon

Hu Shi, Bald Wolf, Fat Wolf, Ten Thousand Swords, Wang Han, Ma Chao—six ninth-rank martial masters had already been subdued, leaving only four more to complete the family progress.

Night had fallen, and Su Yang returned home to prepare for bed.

Inside the room, the delicate fragrance of women lingered in the air. Qingzhu, Wang Chunxiao’s personal maid, had cleaned the chamber early on.

“Young master, you’re here,” Qingzhu greeted Su Yang as he entered the courtyard. Her attire was emerald green, her figure tall and slender, standing around one meter seventy-five. Among all the girls in the courtyard, Qingzhu was the tallest.

Even Black Lotus and Wang Chunxiao, both tall themselves, reached only about one meter seventy or seventy-one. Qingzhu’s height certainly made her stand out. Her features were serene and refined, reminiscent of bamboo in an ancient forest, especially those long, slender legs—the longest he had ever seen. She was somewhat flat-chested, which felt natural; had her figure been more abundant, it would have seemed oddly mismatched. As she was now, her form was just right.

Much like Golden Bottle, whose petite frame barely reached one meter fifty, frail and light, she possessed a unique charm of her own.

“Where is your mistress?” Su Yang asked.

“She’s in her room,” Qingzhu replied, and with that, Su Yang entered. Wang Chunxiao sat in an inner chamber chair, beside her a flickering candle casting its wan glow, bathing her in its radiance.

Her graceful form was indeed enough to stir the imagination.

“We’ll do as before—I sleep on the floor, you on the bed,” Su Yang said once Qingzhu had departed. He tossed his bedding onto the ground and, not bothering to undress, lay down to sleep, leaving Wang Chunxiao on the chair, her brows furrowed in displeasure as she stared at him.

“Tonight, you will sleep on the bed,” Wang Chunxiao walked over and spoke.

“That’s not proper,” Su Yang hesitated. “I’d better sleep on the floor. After all, it’s your bed; it wouldn’t be right for me to take it.”

“Just do as I say,” she insisted.

“If I sleep on the bed and you on the floor, isn’t that even less appropriate?” Su Yang countered.

If Wang Chunxiao truly insisted, he’d be happy enough; who would prefer a cold, hard floor to a soft bed?

“What’s inappropriate about it?”

“I told you to sleep on the bed—do it,” Wang Chunxiao’s stance was firm. Su Yang rose and prepared to settle onto the comfort of the bed.

“Tonight, I’ll sleep on the bed as well,” Wang Chunxiao declared the next moment, causing Su Yang to freeze, staring at her in disbelief. “Miss, have you lost your mind?”

“I’ll sleep on the floor, thank you,” he said, ignoring her attitude, and lay back down. He had no intention of sharing a bed with a woman like Wang Chunxiao—a torment, a disaster.

He didn’t know what scheme she was plotting, but he sensed nothing good would come of it; better to return to Silver Lotus and indulge her gentle, obedient nature. That soft, pliant body, ever docile, doing whatever he asked, clingy as a kitten—she was a hundred times more sensible than Wang Chunxiao.

So Su Yang lay on the floor.

Whether Wang Chunxiao grew angry or not was of no consequence—he had many women, so why hang himself on a single, unattractive tree?

Seeing Su Yang ignore her, Wang Chunxiao felt powerless and saddened. She bit her lip and returned to the bed alone, her heart awash with bitterness.

Once, she had looked down on Su Yang, the live-in son-in-law. Yet, as time passed, his actions had convinced her he was at least adequate, if not exceptional. She had hoped to use tonight to soften their relationship, to grant him a chance.

But now, he seemed utterly indifferent to her.

Of course—with so many women, each more gentle than herself, why would he care about her?

The thought felt as if her favorite toy had been stolen. Lying in bed, watching Su Yang on the floor, she was full of unwillingness and helplessness.

Outside, Liu Wenxiang had been eavesdropping for a while but, hearing nothing, sighed and returned to her own room.

…

Under the shroud of night.

Outside the Wang family’s compound.

An elderly man, hunched and diminutive, dressed in earthy yellow, leaned on a cane. His beady eyes measured the height of the wall and, like climbing a tree, he scaled it, his withered claws leaving bits of brick beneath his nails.

“I’m in,” Steward Huang murmured, sniffing the air as he wandered about the Wang family courtyard. Most rooms were unoccupied, so he detected little.

“Ah, found it…”

After wandering for a while, Steward Huang’s wrinkled face lit up with excitement. Following the faint scent in the air, he approached step by step.

Over the wall, slipping inside.

“This is it, this is it…”

Carefully, Steward Huang entered through the window. Inside, two figures appeared: Su Yang sleeping on the floor, and Wang Chunxiao on the bed.

The source of the scent was Wang Chunxiao.

Fixing his gaze on her, Steward Huang crept toward the bed, his shadow stretching long under the moonlight. Soon, he was at her side, reaching out to grab her.

Suddenly, a fierce gust of fist wind swept from behind. Steward Huang’s expression changed; he quickly turned, shielding his chest with his slender but tough arms.

A dull thud sounded. Steward Huang gritted his teeth, “You’re a seventh-rank martial artist? How did you notice?”

“With all this stench in the room, it’s obviously from you. How could I not notice?” Su Yang retorted, throwing another punch, which this weasel demon caught as well.

“Boy, I won’t tangle with you,”

Sensing Su Yang’s power, Steward Huang leapt out the window, intent on fleeing. Their strengths matched; a fight could go either way. Better to return and let his master handle it.

“Trying to run? Where do you think you’re going?”

A glint flashed in Su Yang’s eyes. The figure by Wang Chunxiao’s bed was no human, but a demon, with power equal to his own. Yet with the Wild Ox Long Fist technique, he stood a fair chance. If he couldn’t win, he could always alert the authorities—there was time.

If he could defeat the demon himself, the corpse would be a great boon for a martial artist, rivaling rare medicine. If he could stew this weasel…

And with his three hundred incense points, he was well on his way to sixth rank.

Sky Silkworm, Sky Bean