"Fool!"
*Slap!*
With a resounding slap, Meng Haicheng crashed to the ground.
Blood mixed with broken teeth spilled out, and dust clung to his body, adding to his wretched appearance alongside the blood-soaked bandage on his neck.
Yet Meng Haicheng didn't dare breathe heavily. He scrambled up, knelt, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
This was a sizable blacksmith's shop.
The outer courtyard had a row of dilapidated forges, their fires glowing red, with iron and coal slag scattered across the ground. A group of bare-chested men hammered away with large and small hammers.
*Clang! Clang! Bang! Bang!*
Sparks flew amid the piercing sound of metal striking metal.
In the inner courtyard, a group of men with varied attire and tattoos either stood or squatted. Under the dim candlelight, their faces looked menacing.
The air was thick with the stench of sweat, tobacco, and unwashed clothes, mingling into a nauseating blend.
This was the Iron Blade Society's stronghold.
At the top of the steps in the inner courtyard, a man sat on a grand chair.
He was unusually tall, with a scruffy beard, dark skin, and rugged features, exuding a fierce aura.
Yet he wore a garish red robe, slung carelessly with his right arm and shoulder exposed, revealing a black tiger tattoo on his dark skin.
He wore a small cap with a flower tucked by his ear, looking utterly incongruous.
This was Zheng Heibei, the leader of the Iron Blade Society.
Originally a Xianyang blacksmith, he was born with immense strength and learned his family's Back-Through Fist. With a fiery temper, he gathered a group of troublemakers and often brawled.
Once, after offending someone, he was jailed and roughed up for days. That woke him up, and he kowtowed to join Zhou Pan's sect, later founding the Iron Blade Society.
The west side of the city was far less prosperous than the east, but his gang dominated the market, nearly monopolizing the city's blacksmith trade, raking in hefty profits.
Now, Zheng Heibei sat sprawled in his chair, toying with walnuts, coldly eyeing the kneeling Meng Haicheng.
"Do you know where you went wrong?"
Meng Haicheng groaned inwardly, "I shouldn't have agreed to a life-or-death arena fight."
A seasoned martial world veteran, he realized only after leaving that he'd been played.
His side had the numbers; he should've reneged right then, swarmed Li Yan, and killed him. Who would've known Li Hu's son was in Xianyang?
But back then, he was truly scared.
Recalling Li Yan's eyes, a chill still ran down his spine.
"Hmph!"
Unaware of his thoughts, Zheng Heibei said coldly, "Outwitted by a greenhorn fresh to the martial world, no wonder you're in such a sorry state."
"What's he worth? Hack him to death and have someone take the fall. Now you've made it a martial arena fight. Win or lose, it's a slap to Master's face!"
Meng Haicheng grew more terrified, gritting his teeth, "How about I take some men now and skin him alive!"
"Too late!"
Zheng Heibei said flatly, "The streets of Xianyang are buzzing about this. Kill him now, and you'll just be a laughingstock."
Meng Haicheng had no retort, his heart sinking further.
If only he'd pretended not to know the kid.
Zheng Heibei, after a moment's thought, turned to the side, his tone softening, "Master You, I heard the kid's with a mysterious path Daoist. Do you know what they're up to?"
"Just inviting a deity, nothing more."
The speaker was a middle-aged man.
His appearance and accent were entirely unlike those of Guanzhong, bearing traits of Jiangzuo. He wore a black robe, his hair loose, with a long, splayed mustache.
Oddly, his forehead bore a vermilion taiji symbol.
This was You Laosi, a sorcerer from Jiangzuo skilled in nightmare curses, hiding from some unknown enemy.
Zheng Heibei had secretly taken him in.
Over the years, several of his rivals had died mysteriously, thanks to You Laosi, earning him great trust.
You Laosi stroked his mustache, sneering, "That Daoist, Wang Daoxuan, is mediocre. They're likely inviting a yin deity to protect them while taking on dangerous jobs."
"Inviting a yin deity means heading to the mass graveyard, probably tomorrow night."
"The mass graveyard is the turf of the Western Journey Beggars. Have someone pass a word to stir trouble during the ritual, and they'll be doomed."
"Then, with them dead, what arena fight?"
"Brilliant idea, Master You!"
Zheng Heibei pondered, "Ergou, go make the trip. Be polite—those beggars are a bit uncanny."
"Yes, Big Brother!"
A sharp-faced, monkey-cheeked man stepped forward.
"Hold on."
You Laosi suddenly spoke, "Go like that, and you won't even see them—you'll lose your life. Let me tell you what to do…"
"Thank you, Master."
Ergou listened carefully, clasped his fists, and left.
…
The Iron Blade Society's stronghold was in Xianyang's east city.
After leaving, Ergou, the sharp-faced man, rode a fast horse, passing through Changping Granary and the Horse King Temple, exiting via the northwest gate.
Compared to the ancient ferry port in the south, the north gate was far more desolate.
In the autumn rain, a tall archway stood alone in the wilderness.
The muddy official road saw occasional villagers from nearby.
Ergou, wearing a straw hat, galloped on.
By dusk, he reached a small hill.
Or rather, it could hardly be called a hill.
The Guanzhong Plain was ringed by mountains—Qinling and Zhongnan to the south, Huashan and Lishan to the east, Liangshan to the north—all dwarfing this mound.
Yet its notoriety was no less.
Be it war, famine, plague, or martial world killings, Xianyang produced countless unclaimed bodies daily.
These couldn't be abandoned carelessly.
Even executed criminals from the execution grounds were buried.
This task fell to the Western Journey Beggars.
They didn't bury them properly, often wrapping them in straw mats or, if a kind soul donated, using cheap, flimsy coffins.
Without regard for feng shui, they buried them haphazardly on the hill.
This was Xianyang's mass graveyard.
Over countless years, the hill was dotted with unmarked graves, tangled with gnarled trees, crows flocking, and packs of wild dogs roaming.
In the autumn rain's dim haze, it felt like the underworld.
No ordinary Xianyang folk dared come here.
Even Ergou, a tough Iron Blade Society man, felt uneasy, spitting and cursing inwardly: *A bunch of filthy cowards, choosing to live in this ghostly place…*
Of course, he only dared grumble in his heart.
Xianyang's beggars were never to be trifled with.
Since the great drought and plague years ago, when the Maitreya Cult rebelled, the beggars had moved their den to this hill, their movements eerie.
Some said it was to escape the chaos, but they never returned even in peaceful times.
Rumors swirled of their ties to the Maitreya Cult. A Xianyang military officer once sent men to investigate, leading troops to search for merit.
But they found nothing.
Over time, people grew accustomed to the beggar's den in the mass graveyard.
In the martial world, tales about these beggars grew.
Some said they wielded soul-bewitching arts, colluding with human traffickers to abduct women and children…
Others claimed they tamed snakes and scorpions, even commanding the wild dogs here…
Several martial world blade-wielders who crossed them died mysteriously.
In short, these beggars were deeply sinister.
It was nearly evening, the sky dark, with the autumn rain and mist dimming the light.
Ergou's nerves were on edge. Dismounting, he raised a lantern, moving cautiously, constantly scanning his surroundings.
The countless unmarked graves around him made even a man who'd faced three stabs and six holes without blinking feel his scalp tighten and hairs stand on end.
"Woof! Woof! Woof!"
As he started up the hill path, wild dogs' roars echoed.
In the dark, misty haze, pairs of blood-red eyes appeared.
*Clang!*
Startled, Ergou drew his waist blade.
The mass graveyard's wild dogs were a terrifying legend in Xianyang.
Feeding on corpses, they were fiercely savage, some even seen attacking wolf packs, let alone humans.
Recalling You Laosi's instructions, Ergou, though terrified, sheathed his blade and shouted with clasped fists, "Drinking from the same river, sharing eternal green, I, Lu Ergou, come to pay respects. I hope you'll show yourselves!"
As his words fell, a scolding voice came from afar.
With the sound of beasts running, the red eyes swiftly vanished.
Ergou's heart tightened—those beggars could indeed control wild dogs.
Soon, a dark figure emerged from the misty rain, hunched and bent, without a lantern, saying in a low voice, "Where's the guest from?"
"The old capital of the Qin King."
"Do you know the weight of the martial world?"
"Four jin, twenty-three liang, five qian, four fen, nine li."
"What's the four fen, nine li, eight hao?"
"The four seas, nine rivers, eight streams."
"Where does your kind make their fortune?"
"No great claims, just eating under Master Zheng."
"Come."
After this exchange of martial world code, the figure's background was roughly clear. The man raised a lantern, revealing a ragged, filthy old beggar.
Ergou exhaled in relief, following closely.
Along the way, he felt something watching from the dark but dared not look too much, thinking to himself how eerie these beggars were.
Finally, entering the hill, a faint glow appeared ahead…
*(End of Chapter)*