Two quarters past eight¹, morning stars twinkled above. On a desolate riverbank outside Jiangning, night wind moaned across the water past a houseboat with lit windows.

He woke groggily, not fully conscious yet. No light. Outside sounds faded in and out—his brain couldn't process the broken conversation fragments until it started working properly.

"Drink less..."

"A scholar who can't even tie up a chicken..."

"This time's meat pig..."

"At midnight, Dalang will take torches up the mountain to wait... should know about these things by now..."

"The signal, you know..."

"Left three circles, right three..."

"Papa, that meat pig... nice shoes..."

"Don't you dare!"

"But..."

"These meat pigs... if not fifty then thirty..."

"At least he won't wake before midnight, let him be..."

"Papa, this kind of meat pig... let him use one hand..."

"Be good..."

The back of his head throbbed. His thoughts took forever to come together—an indescribable, complex feeling.

He hadn't felt such naked hostility in a very long time. Even with Tang Mingyuan, it hadn't been like this.

He struggled to remember what happened. That look, the swinging club... who was doing this?

Su family, Xue family, Wu family... shouldn't be them, made no sense. The Su family had no reason to do this unless someone wanted to kill the Old Master then take out Su Boyong and his daughter. The Xue and Wu families likewise had no need to move against him—all he had was some literary fame. For merchants of their level, this kind of action was a last resort. Once you tore off all pretenses like this, everything spiraled out of control. They wouldn't target him first...

Ardent Wu Army? Even less likely. If it were them, it wouldn't be like this...

Who exactly? Who had he offended...

He was pretty sensitive to goodwill and malice—if there'd been signs, he would've noticed. This really seemed to come from nowhere. He filtered through suspects one by one. Xue Jin was one possibility, but that guy didn't have this kind of determination or courage. Even with a broken brain, impossible. Besides him, nobody came to mind. Random kidnapping for ransom?

Meat pig, midnight... didn't seem like it either.

He couldn't figure out where this hostility came from, but now wasn't the time for deep thinking. His hands and feet were tied, the room dark. Next door, several people ate and drank while lamplight seeped through wall cracks. The room swayed slightly—flowing water sounds. They were on the river...

He recalled the man from before he'd passed out—over two meters tall, built like a heavyweight boxer, with accomplices. This would be tough... He closed his eyes, tensed slightly, relaxed. Behind his back, his fingers never stopped searching for any edge he could use. Outside in the corridor, footsteps occasionally passed...

Inexplicable, incomprehensible, damn it, can't figure it out, why, who the hell... Anxiety and agitation welled up—having no clue annoyed him most. He suppressed it immediately with cold self-control. His fingers kept searching slowly, inch by inch, silent.

A year of systematic training, plus that bad feeling when he saw those eyes—when the club swung, he'd made a slight dodging motion. Maybe they'd misjudged the timing because of that. This might be his only chance. No point thinking or complaining—solve the immediate problem first, think later. The opportunity might not come, but stay calm. Don't rush, don't rush...

Time flowed like the water below. As the burning in his head faded, the darkness grew quieter and his surroundings clearer. Conversation, drinking, eating sounds—next door were two adults, two children (probably grown), and a woman. A family, maybe.

Meat pig... not their first time. There'd been murders for sure. That big man—completely different weight class, impossible to handle. An ordinary scholar would go weak just looking at him. Ning Yi regulated his breathing, analyzing. Then—slight sounds at the door. He cracked his eyes open. Someone was unlocking it quietly.

Halfway through unlocking, it stopped: "Little brother, what are you doing?"

"Brother, that meat pig's shoes... he won't need them anyway."

"Dad said don't mess around. Give me the key!"

"Oh."

The brothers kept their voices low, then left. Ning Yi had sucked in a breath—now he let it out slowly. Behind his back, his hands sped up their rubbing against the wall.

Not long after, small sounds came from the door again.

The door cracked open. A stocky youth squeezed through, gave a satisfied snort. Club in hand, he tucked a wire into his clothes.

The youth walked to the corner, saw the tied-up scholar on the ground. Weak-looking, not even as sturdy as him—practically skin and bones.

All those rich people in the city were like this.

"Meat pig, if you wake up and try anything, I'll smash your skull..." The youth hissed viciously but quietly. He waited a moment, set the club aside, squatted to remove the scholar's shoes. Admiring them in the dim light, he sat with his back turned to change shoes—an unconscious habit.

First shoe, second shoe, both nice and well-fitting... As he started to stand, the figure behind him sat up silently. Hands stretched out in darkness, rope falling from wrists. The hands snapped together.

Crack—

The head turned in a different direction.

He didn't bother with shoes, just pushed the door open silently and stepped out. The houseboat's corridor was shaped like "王" with six rooms—he'd been locked between the living room and kitchen, no other door. The three rooms opposite only had windows. Empty corridor. He crept over, glanced into the living room, pulled back fast.

Three people, one table, one lamp. The big man who'd spoken to him, another built like an iron tower, and the third—probably the big man's eldest son, also over 1.8 meters.

Three lotus pods floating in the green pond...²

In the room, the iron tower man was talking to the big man's eldest son.

"...Dalang, uncle will tell you, in the jianghu³, only by being truly ruthless, truly bold but careful, can you establish yourself. But don't think being ruthless means fighting and showing off. True ruthlessness comes out only when really needed. Just once, and everyone will fear you. Back then, that Lei fellow..."

The words washed over Ning Yi—blah blah blah, philosophical nonsense... He looked around. Door by the living room—how to get out? His swimming sucked. The current outside sounded calm but loud. If they heard him, he wouldn't get far.

Face dark, he walked to the other side at normal pace. In the kitchen, a fat woman cooked. Ning Yi scanned around—chimney, everything. Two seconds later he walked in, picked up the cleaver.

The woman turned. Next moment—swoosh—blood fountained up, spraying into the pot with a hiss. Dark shadow on the wall as the cleaver chopped down again and again.

Blood seeped through floorboards, maybe dripping to the river below. The dark figure stood at the stove, face blank, pouring pork, kerosene, every kind of oil into the boiling pot. Eyes constantly moving, scanning the kitchen. Taking down paper packages, opening, discarding. When the oil boiled completely, he poured it into rope-handled clay jars.

Then from the living room came a voice: "Dalang, go see if your mother's done cooking..."

Ning Yi quietly closed the kitchen door. Scale weight in one hand, sharp boning knife in the other, he hid beside the door. Footsteps approached. Door opened. As the person entered, Ning Yi blew out the lamp—like wind had done it. Stove fire still flickered. The young man paused: "Ma..."

Ning Yi swung the scale weight with a bang against the back of his head. As the body toppled sideways, Ning Yi caught him.

"That Gu fellow this time, I heard he's become an official, going to be a county magistrate..."

"If Dalang and Erlang could follow him as constables or something, might not be bad. We have leverage on him..."

"These scholar types, no need to push too hard..."

In the room, Yang Yi and Yang Heng were talking, occasionally drinking wine and eating peanuts. Realizing Dalang had been gone a while, Yang Heng frowned.

"Why hasn't Dalang..."

"Ma—" The voice suddenly came from the kitchen, mournful and hoarse. Both men jumped. Yang Yi grabbed a crossbow and rushed to the inner corridor while Yang Heng drew his steel blade and headed outside.

"Watch the meat pig!"

Yang Heng burst out the door to check if anyone was escaping in the river. A few seconds later, Yang Yi's fierce shout came from inside: "Let him go—"

When Yang Yi rushed into the middle corridor, it was dim with only faint ghostly light from the kitchen. Before he could open the second door to check on the meat pig, his eldest son was pushed out, head covered in blood, swaying unsteadily. Obviously he'd been woken slightly earlier but was now beaten like this again.

A bloody boning knife rested against his throat, held one-handed—any sudden movement might slice open his windpipe. Hiding behind his son and pushing him along was the meat pig he'd kidnapped. The originally harmless-looking scholar was now faintly covered in blood.

"Let him go!"

Yang Yi's teeth nearly cracked as he raised the crossbow and shouted.

Ning Yi's body actually wasn't short, but Yang Yi was just too tall, blocking the way forward like a wall. Both sides paused briefly. Then a voice came across—not as loud as Yang Yi's shout, just conveying deep disgust, simple and plain.

"Shoot."