Chapter Six: Probing to the Very Root

Cold gold pressed against his palm, but Bai Li Feihong’s heart burned with fervor. Each gold ingot weighed ten taels, totaling thirty taels of pure gold. Gold was precious, gold was wealth. Bai Li Feihong grinned widely, unable to contain his joy.

Then, remembering something, he quickly covered his mouth, afraid his exuberant smile might tear his lips. “What a remarkable woman, what a pitiful soul,” he mused. Now, looking upon Ji Xiaoqian, the white-robed ghost, he felt no fear, nor any sense of aversion. Instead, a faint sympathy stirred within him.

“The Plum Blossom Pavilion, Huang Cuihua?” He frowned. “What a rustic name. This must be the real name of Ji Xiaoqian’s enemy. Anyone who frequents the Plum Blossom Pavilion is a man of taste. Imagine, you’re enjoying the company of a beauty, only to learn her name is Huang Cuihua—what a letdown, all anticipation dashed, and the refined mood is gone.”

Stroking his chin, Bai Li Feihong fell into thought. He never imagined one day he would be hired by a ghost in white to avenge her death. After all, Ji Xiaoqian was already dead—whatever happened, she bore no consequence. But for him, it was different.

Vengeance was an art. His conversation with the white-robed ghost served as a reminder: murder is a crime. The laws of the Yuan Dynasty were strict and ruthless. There existed many cruel punishments he considered inhumane—beheading was commonplace, but there was also flaying, slow slicing, quartering, and burning at the stake, each enough to make one’s blood run cold.

Should he fall into the hands of the constables, their methods would ensure that, even without evidence, not even three gold ingots could buy his way out. Bribery might only bring greater disaster. Corruption among the officials was an old disease. In Dongbin City, the hub of overseas trade, there were rules both overt and hidden—how much for each affair, all standardized. But such rules did not apply to someone of Bai Li Feihong’s humble status. They would only suspect the source of his gold, surely resorting to torture to extract the truth. Once they learned where it came from, they would let him rot in prison, seizing the treasure for themselves.

He had witnessed dockworkers who became rich overnight, only to be found floating in the river the next day, bodies bearing clear marks of torture. “If the target is the leading courtesan of the Pavilion, that’s troublesome. But if it’s just an ordinary girl, a small punishment without taking her life, the constables would turn a blind eye.”

The brothel was a den of both dragons and snakes. Rarely did the constables come to investigate—unless summoned for pleasure, then they never failed to attend.

Holding his gold, Bai Li Feihong returned to his room, changed clothes, and tried to sleep. Yet his rest was uneasy, always alert, half-expecting danger, nearly sleeping with his eyes open.

The white-robed ghost, Ji Xiaoqian, did not appear again. She had been wounded by his vital energy and needed time to recover.

[Four Seas Fist Technique: Peak. Note: Consumes 5 skill points to upgrade.]

He had already cultivated the Four Seas Fist to its peak. Practice a hundred times, and its meaning reveals itself; practice ten thousand times, and you become a master. “Too fast,” Bai Li Feihong smiled wryly. Ten skill points had made him a formidable martial artist. Yet, the fist technique was already perfected. From here on, progress would require slow, meticulous effort—using secret medicines to refine his energy, step by step advancing toward the Nine-Blood level.

Ordinary practice and accumulated experience could no longer elevate his martial skills. Looking at the Horse-Stance Integration technique, it too had reached its peak, now fused into the stance work of the Four Seas Fist. But the skill level was still too low to offer much help. “How do I obtain skill points?” he wondered. “Must I master even stronger techniques to advance my vital energy?”

The Blood River Blade—an exclusive technique of the Four Seas Martial Hall—might just help him reach the Nine-Blood level. However, it would be unwise to return to the Martial Hall so soon; his rapid progress would draw unwanted attention. Though Master Wu Sihai was a good man, one could never be too careful. Especially in a place as complicated as the Four Seas Martial Hall.

“Has Feihong not returned?” Wu Sihai inquired.

“Master, Bai Li Feihong hasn’t come to the Hall for three days now,” replied Sixth Brother Zhang Qianshan, his tone full of regret.

Bai Li Feihong had extraordinary talent—the fastest among the disciples in learning the Four Seas Fist. Had he continued, mastering the Blood River Blade, he would surely have become the Hall’s most powerful martial artist.

“He’s strong, but his background is poor. The martial path is hard for someone like him. It’s just as well he doesn’t return. In these days, I’ve taught him all I could of the Four Seas Fist; how much he comprehends depends on his own talent and effort now.” Wu Sihai didn’t seem to mind. Zhang Qianshan quickly agreed, yet he couldn’t help but feel regret at such talent leaving the Hall.

“Well, there’s no forcing the martial path. I hear the Demon Suppression Bureau is recruiting at the D-rank, requiring candidates to be at least at the Three-Blood level and under twenty-five years of age. I just meet the requirements—I should try my luck.”

The Demon Suppression Bureau rarely recruited from outside, but now, the Guardian himself had called for one hundred young talents from Dongbin City. The entire city was abuzz.

Though its influence had waned in recent years, the Bureau remained the empire’s most exceptional institution—“Slay demons, exorcise devils, special imperial authority.” Eight words that defined its power. Moreover, joining meant access to superior martial arts techniques, whereas martial halls only taught basic skills for health and strength.

“Once I join the Bureau…” Zhang Qianshan clenched his fists. All his worries would dissipate once he entered.

“The Bureau is recruiting?” Bai Li Feihong was first startled, then overjoyed. By their standards, he was qualified. “Heaven helps me! I have been fretting over how to gain higher cultivation methods, and now fortune smiles upon me. I must seize this chance.”

The recruitment would be held in half a month. “But I must hurry to avenge the ghost. Last night, Ji Xiaoqian crept out from the well again, standing by my bedside.” Bai Li Feihong was troubled, yet each time she left behind a gold ingot, his pain was mixed with delight.

These days, he had not been idle. He had found an old man who had served tea at the Plum Blossom Pavilion for over twenty years, but now, due to age, had retired.

“With money and a broker, you can learn anything.” Bai Li Feihong winced at the memory of the silver he’d paid for this information.

At dusk, Bai Li Feihong returned to the slums of Changsheng Street. The filth and squalor remained unchanged. The worst was the people relieving themselves everywhere, the muddy alleys forcing him to cover his mouth and hurry through the crooked lanes.

Knock, knock, knock—

He arrived at a ramshackle house and gently tapped the battered door.

“Who’s there?” a feeble voice called from within.

“Is this the home of Zhang Daniu?”

“It is. Who are you?” The voice was wary.

“I am Huang Qiying, seeking to inquire about matters related to the Plum Blossom Pavilion.” Bai Li Feihong did not use his real name. As for Huang Qiying, he had borrowed the name of Wong Fei-hung’s father—a reference no one in this world would recognize.

“It’s late. Not convenient to receive guests. Please leave.” The old voice was weak, politely refusing.

“If you have news, you can earn a silver coin. Surely, you wouldn’t refuse money, old man?” Bai Li Feihong was certain Zhang Daniu would not resist the lure of silver. He’d learned that Zhang Daniu lost his wife in middle age, and his son and daughter fell to demons. He had survived serving tea at the Pavilion, but now, old and sick, he could no longer work. His savings were exhausted by illness.

Creak—

The door opened.

Bent-backed, scant white hair, cloudy eyes fixed on Bai Li Feihong. “Is it true?”

“Elder, do you have anything left for me to cheat you out of?” Bai Li Feihong replied.

Zhang Daniu considered, then stepped aside to let the young man—Huang Qiying—enter.

“Mr. Huang, what do you wish to ask?” The term “Mister” had been adopted from the West, no longer reserved for teachers alone.

He offered no seat; there was only a bed inside, no chairs. Bai Li Feihong caught the thick scent of medicine in the air. In the weak candlelight, he saw Zhang Daniu’s sallow face, knowing at once that the old man’s days were few.

As a martial artist with refined energy, Bai Li Feihong could sense the life force of others. Zhang Daniu’s was barely a thread.

Wheezing, Zhang Daniu sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Huang Qiying. “Have you heard of Ji Xiaoqian and Huang Cuihua from the Pavilion?”

At the question, Zhang Daniu’s face was first confused, then agitated. “Huang Cuihua—that venomous woman—I know her well.” He paused, gnashing his teeth, before regaining composure. “Is that your first question?”

“It is.” Bai Li Feihong understood: the old man wanted to see the money before speaking further.

He tossed a silver coin onto the bed. Zhang Daniu, hands trembling, snatched it up, clutching it tightly.

“How did Ji Xiaoqian die?”

“She drowned herself by the sea.” Zhang Daniu’s eyes turned inward, as if recalling the distant past. “Back then, the Pavilion’s three top courtesans all bought their freedom to marry wealthy men as concubines. They put forward Ji Xiaoqian and Fuxiang to compete for Flower Queen. Who knew, Fuxiang was ruthless—she slit the corners of Ji Xiaoqian’s mouth with a wicked trick.”

Zhang Daniu’s breath grew heavy, his anger at the memory clear.

Another silver coin landed in his hand, and only then did his chest unclench. For a moment, Bai Li Feihong worried the old man might die from agitation before answering.

After all these years, he still remembered Ji Xiaoqian.

“When did Ji Xiaoqian die?” Bai Li Feihong noted the implication that this had happened long ago.

“Twenty years ago—no, twenty-two.” Another silver coin was given.

Twenty years. That complicated matters.

“Huang Cuihua—your Fuxiang—where is she now?”

“She married into another family, changed her name, and became the official wife of Master Zhang of the Canal Transport Guild. It’s said Master Zhang rose in rank thanks to her affair with the Guild’s leader,” Zhang Daniu replied, breathless, anger once more stirring his failing strength.

“It’s her!” Bai Li Feihong’s brows knit, his gaze like cold steel. The wife of Master Zhang—he knew her well from his days as a dockhand. She ran gambling dens, lent money, and if debtors defaulted, she seized their homes. If they had wives or daughters, the older ones were sold to brothels, the young to pleasure houses. Countless families had been destroyed by her.

So Madam Zhang—so it was you.

A remarkable woman, indeed. Ruthless and cunning.

This silver was well spent.

Bai Li Feihong flicked another coin into Zhang Daniu’s hand.

Coughing fitfully, the old man’s voice followed him out the door, but soon faded. Zhang Daniu was old and gravely ill, beyond the reach of medicine. His life ebbed away, the coughing finally ceasing, all falling silent.