The cleaver came down in a savage arc.
Steel bit into flesh.
A spray of blood burst forth as the edge split the crown of Zhu Dachang's head. The man's scream tore across the courtyard, shrill and panicked, echoing off the wooden beams of the feeding hall. He staggered backward, both pudgy hands clutching the wound, howling like a butchered hog.
No one had expected Gene to actually strike.
When he first picked up the cleaver, most of the onlookers—dozens of stable hands and lowly servants—had thought it was a bluff. A scare tactic. A show of temper to force Zhu Dachang and his cronies to back off. But he hadn't slashed at an arm, or at a leg, or even at the shoulder to warn them. No—he had gone for the head. Straight and unflinching.
Even if the blade had not been sharp enough to split the skull through, the intent was unmistakable.
Ruthless.
And in that moment, Zhu Dachang's companions—those leering, swaggering parasites who moments before had been jeering and kicking Wang Lao-Qi—lost all courage. They shuffled back, wide-eyed, shouting over one another:
"He's mad!"
"He's killed him!"
"Murder! Murder in the feeding yard!"
They hovered at the edges, torn between rushing to their comrade's aid and fleeing outright. Not one dared confront Gene head-on.
Gene's own heart was pounding so fiercely he thought it might burst from his ribs, but his grip on the cleaver remained steady. He advanced a step, his voice low and cutting:
"You told me to strike, Zhu Dachang. You pointed to your own skull and dared me to swing. So I granted your wish. Do you want another?"
He pressed forward, forcing Zhu Dachang and his men to stumble backward, dragging their bleeding companion with them. Zhu's once arrogant face was now twisted into terror, pale beneath the smear of blood. He shrieked incoherently, scrambling to escape.
When the pack of bullies had finally retreated to a safer distance, Gene let the cleaver fall from his hand with a deliberate clang. He turned slowly to face the rest of the stable hands—their faces half-lit by the oil lamps, some horrified, some secretly delighted.
"You all saw it," he declared, his voice steady though his pulse thundered in his ears. "They struck first. They beat Wang Lao-Qi to the ground, ignored my warning, and spat venom. Zhu Dachang himself demanded that I strike him. Remember this when you are called to testify."
His words carried weight, but in the silence that followed, no one answered.
The faces that only a moment before had shown delight at Zhu's humiliation now went blank, carefully avoiding his eyes. Some ducked their heads and began fiddling with their rice bowls as though nothing had happened. Others shuffled back toward the shadows. Fear was etched into their silence.
Gene's stomach sank. He understood immediately.
They won't speak for me. They don't dare.
And when his gaze fell upon Wang Lao-Qi—bloodied, trembling, still huddled on the ground—he found not gratitude but dread in the older man's eyes. The healer who had guided him that morning could not even meet his gaze.
So be it.
Regret did not touch Gene's heart. He had learned long ago that when wolves test you, hesitation only marks you as prey. If you let them shove you once, they would shove harder the next time, until they had you crushed underfoot. Better to bare your fangs early, even if it left you isolated.
The sound of Zhu Dachang's howling soon drew others.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor. Torches bobbed. And then a stern voice rolled across the courtyard:
"What is this ruckus?"
The crowd parted as Aunt Hu hurried in, followed closely by several overseers from the Internal Affairs Hall. Behind them came a figure whose very presence stilled the noise. A tall man in Daoist robes, his hair gathered into a simple crown, his expression calm but edged with unspoken authority.
The Daoist of Heavenly Aspect—Tianxiangzi, master of the hall.
Even servants who had been whispering a moment ago now dropped their eyes and bent their knees. His reputation was one of measured fairness, yet his status meant that every word from his lips could decide a man's fate.
Zhu Dachang, though still bleeding, immediately seized the opportunity. Surrounded by his cronies, he pointed a trembling finger at Gene and bellowed:
"Hall Master! This villain has gone mad! He seized a cleaver and struck at me without cause—he meant to kill me! Look at my wound, proof of his savagery!"
His men echoed his cries with practiced outrage:
"He's violent beyond reason!"
"A tyrant even toward fellow servants!"
"If left unchecked, none of us will be safe!"
Their voices rose in chorus, weaving a picture of Gene as a brutal bully, twisting events until truth was buried beneath their lies.
Tianxiangzi listened without interruption, his eyes hooded. When they fell silent, he turned his gaze upon Gene.
"Is what they say true?" His voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of judgment.
Gene drew a breath, straightened his back, and bowed.
"Hall Master, much of what they claim is false. At noon today, while the servants dined, Zhu Dachang and his friends seized the choicest cuts of meat—the ribs meant for the sect's spirit-beasts. They drank wine and feasted loudly, in defiance of order. I saw it clearly: the meat was served in a copper basin, one with a dent along its rim. It may still be found and examined."
He spoke without haste, letting each word sink in before continuing:
"Not long ago, I heard Wang Lao-Qi's cries for help. I ran here and found him on the ground, beaten and kicked by these men. I shouted for them to stop. Instead, they mocked me and accused him falsely of stealing beast feed. In truth, the meat he ate was mine. I had passed it to him because I thought it improper for me to take it."
He paused to breathe, scanning the faces of the overseers. Their brows were furrowed, their expressions grave.
Gene pressed on:
"Zhu Dachang and his companions ignored my rebuke. They provoked me further, jeering, daring me to strike him. He pointed to his own head and shouted that I should cut. My anger overcame me, and I struck as he demanded. Every word I speak is true. I beg the Hall Master to weigh the matter justly."
When he finished, silence fell.
All eyes turned to Wang Lao-Qi.
"Wang Lao-Qi," Tianxiangzi said, his tone still calm but heavy with command, "speak truthfully. Did events unfold as he says?"
The old man trembled like a leaf. His lips opened, but only a whisper came out: "I… I did gnaw a bone…"
"Did they strike you first?" Aunt Hu pressed, her voice sharp.
"I… I…" His eyes darted helplessly, sweat dripping down his temples.
"Speak plainly," Tianxiangzi ordered.
After a long hesitation, Wang Lao-Qi shook his head weakly. "I… I cannot remember…"
A ripple of disappointment passed through the crowd. Gene closed his eyes and exhaled, a bitter laugh dying in his throat.
When Aunt Hu asked about the bruises on his face, Zhu Dachang leapt to interject:
"He tripped and fell! We were only helping him up, is that not right?"
He glared at Wang Lao-Qi with such menace that the old man could only mutter, "Ah… yes…" neither denying nor affirming.
Some of the onlookers, emboldened by fear, even added false testimony, insisting they had seen nothing but Wang Lao-Qi stumbling on his own.
Gene's fists tightened, his eyes flashing. He memorized the faces of those who lied so easily.
Zhu Dachang sensed his fury and seized upon it, pointing dramatically: "Hall Master, look! His glare alone is proof of his violent nature. If he is allowed to remain, he will surely take revenge upon us all!"
"Enough!" Gene barked, his temper finally breaking. "You twist truth because none dare speak! If the Hall Master questions each servant alone, away from your threats, the truth will shine through!"
Aunt Hu's lips pressed together, as though she agreed, but her eyes slid toward Tianxiangzi. She could not decide this matter; only he could.
The hall master stood in silence for a long while, weighing the scales. At last, he spoke:
"Gene, as assistant of the beast-ward, you drew steel against a fellow servant. Discipline demands a penalty, else order collapses. You shall forfeit three months' pay. Consider it a light punishment and a warning."
The words shocked Gene. He had expected exile, perhaps even death. But only three months' wages? For a servant, wages were meager—but it was still astonishingly lenient.
Zhu Dachang, however, erupted: "Hall Master, this is too light! Too light by far—"
Tianxiangzi's gaze turned cold as winter frost. "Do you wish me to summon every witness, one by one, to tell the truth in private?"
The bluster drained from Zhu Dachang instantly. He faltered, sweat beading on his brow. The meaning was clear enough—Tianxiangzi believed Gene's account, but chose not to expose Zhu's lies outright.
The hall master turned once more to Gene.
"As for the Samadhi True Fire granted you by the Alliance Leader—be cautious. Do not rush. Do not let eagerness kindle flames beyond your control. Temper your practice, lest fire consume its master."
The admonition was gentle, yet it carried a shield within it. A subtle signal to all present: this young man was not without protection.
Gene bowed low, suppressing the swell of relief. "I will remember, Hall Master."
With that, Tianxiangzi turned and departed, his attendants following in silence.
Aunt Hu dismissed the gathering, her face stern. Zhu Dachang and his lackeys slunk away, throwing venomous glances at Gene but daring no further challenge.
Only when the courtyard emptied did Wang Lao-Qi shuffle forward, his face pale. "Gene… I… don't—"
"Enough!" Gene snapped, his patience finally spent. "Get away from me!"
The cleaver's echo still lingered in the night air, and the smell of blood clung to the stones.