On the other side of town, while Qiao Zhi was finally coaxing Gu Yangjin into the bath, the restaurant that had been at the heart of the earlier chaos was slowly returning to order. The smell of blood still lingered faintly beneath the fragrance of freshly boiled tea, but the smashed furniture had been cleared away, and the battered signboard once more hung in its place. The finishing work was almost done.
The followers of the Yuexuan Sect had proven their worth in the fight. Their martial strength was solid—after the melee, several were injured, but, remarkably, none had lost their lives.
Others had not been so fortunate. Of the forces Gu Xun had brought with him, nearly one hundred lay dead. Among the remaining three thousand soldiers, close to a thousand had perished, their lifeless bodies carried away beneath rough linen shrouds. Even the martial artists, who had fared better, had lost almost fifty people, with the rest carrying wounds of varying severity.
