Zhou Minghu stood frozen, blood splattered across his face and chest. In his fist dangled something grotesque—an arm, torn clean from its socket. At his feet, the younger twin writhed on the ground, screaming, the earth beneath him slick with blood.
Wan Qingping sucked in a sharp breath. Zhou had ripped a man's arm off with his bare hands. The sheer strength it took was beyond comprehension.
But there was no time to marvel. Tonight's feud had already gone too far. There would be no settling this. If the twins lived, vengeance would follow. Kill or be killed—that was the only path forward.
A cold glint flickered in Wan's eyes.
When the fight had first started, he'd followed the unspoken rules of street brawls—no killing blows, just bruises and blood. But now, with the younger twin maimed, the elder would never let this go. Tonight, death was inevitable.
All around, the petty thugs who'd only ever seen drunken scraps before now stared in horror. Some scrambled to their feet and bolted down the alleys. Others collapsed where they stood, weeping and begging for their lives.
Wan ignored them. He sprinted toward the elder twin, shouting, "Minghu! Minghu!"
Zhou seemed to stir at his brother's call, finally noticing the elder twin charging at him with murder in his eyes. Lost in shock, Zhou froze—but instinct took over. His head snapped aside just in time, and the twin's nunchaku whistled past, striking only air.
Before the man could strike again, Wan arrived. He seized the moment, dagger flashing. The blade thrust forward in the classic "Serpent Strikes from the Cave"—straight for the heart.
Killing felt almost… deliberate. Wan felt the dagger bite bone, pause, then slide between ribs until the hilt pressed against flesh. When he pulled back, he felt resistance, like the weapon was being pushed out by a surge of blood.
A geyser erupted, spraying across his face. The elder twin collapsed, eyes wide, body twitching as a hiss escaped his lips.
"Even… in death… I'll never… let you…"
The words broke apart as the last of his strength drained away.
On the ground, the younger twin still howled. An arm torn away was agony, but not immediately fatal. His cries were a knife in the air.
Wan didn't hesitate. He darted forward, driving his dagger into the man's chest. As the blade sank deep, he thought grimly: Mercy. Better one clean death than endless pain.
Two men dead in mere moments.
Chen, the middle-aged fighter who'd arrived with reinforcements, stood frozen, face pale. In his chest churned something he couldn't name—fear, awe, even a flicker of excitement.
Wan wiped his blade, jammed it back into his belt, then grabbed Zhou by the shoulder, shaking him back to his senses. His voice dropped to a deadly growl as he glared at the remaining thugs.
"Anyone who breathes a word of this—start digging your graves. Your families will be the ones picking up your bodies."
The threat hung heavy in the air.
Then he yanked Zhou toward the alley.
"Brothers! Brothers, wait!" Chen's voice rang out suddenly, urgent and uneasy.
Wan whirled, eyes murderous, dagger flashing in his hand again. "What? You mean to stop us?"
Chen waved his hands frantically. "No, no! Misunderstanding! You can't just walk out like this. Covered in blood, you'll never make it past the city gates alive!"
Wan's grip tightened on his weapon. His pulse still raced, his mind fogged with the savage rush of killing. "Then what do you suggest?"
"If you'll trust me," Chen said quickly, "I'll take you to one of my properties—the Wanshan Martial Hall. Safe, quiet. My men will clean this place up."
Wan hesitated. He had no illusions—this was a risk. But covered in blood, he and Zhou were trapped. Chen was a local power, a man who knew the city. If they wanted to live, this was their only chance.
"Fine," Wan said coldly. "Help us, and we'll owe you. Betray us… and my brother will walk free one day. You'll regret it then."
Chen's expression hardened. "I swear it. In our world, loyalty still counts for something. I won't sell you out."
Wan gave a sharp nod. "Then I thank you, Brother Chen."
"Wan Ren, Zhou Yi!" Chen barked at his men. "Give these brothers your clothes. Xiao Wu, get the bodies inside—dump them in the well."
His men obeyed, stripping off their summer tunics and handing them over with wide-eyed respect. Others hurried to drag the corpses into the shadows.
Wan and Zhou quickly changed, though Zhou's massive frame strained the seams.
"Now—this way," Chen urged, already jogging ahead. "We need to move fast."