Chapter Forty-Two: The Long Sword Drinks Foul Blood

A narrow, dim street, lined on both sides with densely packed, low shacks. The gutters alongside the road reeked with a foul stench, and naked children ran about everywhere. If he hadn’t come here himself, Lu Liaoliao would never have known that outside the city of Chang’an, such squalid and chaotic neighborhoods existed. No wonder Old Man Du could write, “While meat and wine rot behind vermilion doors, the bones of the frozen lie along the road.”

Passing through the shadowy, gloomy lanes, he came upon a small temple whose walls had lost all trace of their original color. Around the temple, dozens of burly beggars patrolled, black clubs in hand, eyes sweeping vigilantly in every direction.

No one knew which goddess this temple enshrined, not even Guo Yan, who led the way. But when the patrolling beggars saw him, they did not move to stop them. Entering the temple, they found the side wings open to the elements, no walls to shield them. A group of ragged, crippled child beggars lay sprawled on heaps of straw, their dull eyes listlessly watching Lu Liaoliao and his party.

Once the dreaded water-bandit chief, Old Hu, could not bear the sight; he pulled out a handful of coins and scattered them onto the straw. Yet not a single child moved to pick them up, their numb eyes remaining fixed on the newcomers.

Guo Yan gently shook his head at Old Hu, signaling him not to do such things.

Pushing open the main hall doors, they saw a clay statue whose features were long since worn away; the two prominent mounds on her chest, indicating the goddess’s gender, had been polished black and shiny from countless caresses. In front of the idol, an old beggar in a patched robe sat cross-legged on a filthy meditation cushion, leaning against the statue behind him, his gaze sharp as lightning as he looked at Lu Liaoliao.

Lu Liaoliao glanced at the eight beggars seated on either side of the old man, some elderly, some in their prime. All sat upright, faces solemn, eyes fixed on the center.

The old beggar’s eyes flickered slightly. Guo Yan bowed his head and led Old Hu out of the hall, closing the door behind them and standing like guardian deities on either side.

“Well, is this a morning court session I see?” Lu Liaoliao sneered.

“So, you’re the representative sent by Old Hu Yun? Young man, your spirit is certainly robust. I’m too old to be bothered by your sarcasm—youth have all the chances in the world to dash their heads and bleed. The Sihai Merchant Guild sent word, threatening to burn our beggars’ den to the ground if we show ourselves in the West Market again.

I am old now, no longer able to sleep wherever I please, under eaves or beneath trees as I once did. But I cannot bear to let them put our only shelter to the torch. What plans does Old Hu have? Will the great one in your temple stand with your Qingyun Society?”

The old beggar spoke in an even voice, radiating the air of an elder master.

“Old Yi, are you taking me for a fool just because I’m young? Who doesn’t know you have a grand estate at the foot of Zhongnan Mountain, wives and concubines aplenty, and a brood of children? This shabby temple—how could it really be your only refuge from wind and rain?”

Lu Liaoliao addressed him as “Old Yi” again and again, showing not the slightest deference.

The old beggar was deep as the sea—his face betrayed not a hint of anger at these words, and his tone remained calm: “I suppose Old Hu Yun didn’t send you to dig into my private affairs, did he? Faced with the Sihai Guild’s threats, you have my Beggars’ Guild’s firm support for the Qingyun Society. Let’s save the empty talk.”

Lu Liaoliao unfastened the sword at his waist, deliberately showing the phoenix pattern on the scabbard. “The great one in the temple said this sword is not just for show. Only when it’s stained with blood will some people understand—though she’s lost her titles, she still stands atop all of Great Tang.”

“Excellent! That’s all I needed to hear. Since the Sihai Guild wants to burn our den, let’s send men to torch their shops first tonight. With so many beggars, let’s see who the authorities can catch—they’ll never get us,” the old beggar beamed, turning to address the others.

“Hah! But I can’t stand the evil you do—abducting children, crippling them. If I could, I’d burn this filthy, heartless den to the ground myself,” Lu Liaoliao retorted coldly.

“Insolence! Even Hu Yun wouldn’t dare speak to Old Yi like that. You impudent pup!” the old beggar Yi Tianci roared in fury.

Lu Liaoliao showed no fear, running his hand over the Qiushui Sword, murmuring, “This blade is thirsty for blood.”

No sooner were the words out than the old beggar’s gray head soared through the air, the severed neck spraying blood in a crimson arc, splattering the clay idol behind him.

The eight beggars sitting on either side stared, dumbstruck, at their fallen master’s headless, blood-gushing corpse, unable to react for a long moment.

Two of the old beggar’s trusted lieutenants were first to recover—they spread their hands, revealing slender stabbing swords hidden within their clubs, shouting, “He’s not with the Qingyun Society—he’s an assassin sent by the Sihai Guild! Together, kill him and avenge the chief!”

But even as they moved, Lu Liaoliao swept the Qiushui Sword twice—both men, swords and all, were cleaved in two. Blood splattered over Lu Liaoliao’s face and hair, transforming him into a death god risen from hell.

Three of the beggars dropped to their knees with a thud. “We have already come to terms with Guo Yan, and are willing to serve him as our chief. Never again will we commit such evil—we will obey his every command.”

The remaining three hastily knelt as well. “We too are willing to serve Chief Guo!”

“For such wickedness, you should all be wiped out. But Guo Yan wishes to spare you, believing you can change your ways. I cannot trust you. Here are six poison pills, a secret of the Five Poisons Sect—if you wish to live, swallow one. The antidote will be kept by Guo Yan and must be taken every six months. As for the consequences—think on them yourselves.”

Lu Liaoliao tossed six colorful pills to the ground.

With a creak, the main doors opened. Lu Liaoliao, soaked in blood, stepped out, grinning at Guo Yan. “See? Just as I said—seven days, and the Beggars’ Guild is yours.”

Old Hu, true to form, nearly fainted at the sight of blood. Guo Yan’s heart turned cold as ice; his face twisted into a stiff smile, but he said nothing.

“What about those children?” Lu Liaoliao gestured at the straw heap, where the little ones still stared blankly.

“They’ll go on begging. What else can they do? The Beggars’ Guild cannot feed them for nothing—otherwise, they’d die all the quicker.” Guo Yan met Lu Liaoliao’s sharp gaze without flinching.

“Hah! I almost wish they’d die now—living is just torture.” Lu Liaoliao laughed, the sound oddly manic.

“But surely, they themselves would rather live, wouldn’t they?” Guo Yan gazed at the children with pity.

Lu Liaoliao was silent. Guo Yan saw the redness in his eyes. “I think you should wash up and go find a woman—don’t you think you’re not quite yourself right now?”

Find a woman—did Lu Liaoliao need that? At home, there was the beautiful Tang Xiaoqi, though she’d just started her monthly visitor. So many lovely, passionate Hu girls in the city’s wine taverns, but his master’s wife had threatened to break his legs if he tried. The authorities couldn’t restrain the licentious Poet Immortal—could they restrain Lu Liaoliao?

He shook his head resolutely. “I’ve only killed three evil beggars—not enough to drive me to vent myself on a woman. A basin of clean water is all I need.”

Guo Yan looked at him, worry in his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else?”

Lu Liaoliao shook his head again, firm.

“I promise you, as long as I live, I’ll look after these poor children, and never let the Beggars’ Guild produce another like them.” With that, Guo Yan turned back into the hall.

On the way home, Old Hu felt uneasy under Lu Liaoliao’s gaze.

“Master, if you really want a woman, take all my silver—just please, stop looking at me like that.”

Lu Liaoliao kicked him. “I never thought you really do faint at the sight of blood—how did you ever survive your old life? To cure you, I’ll tell Zhou Liuzi to make sure there’s blood every time he beats you.”

Old Hu wailed, “Master, let’s just hurry home—I swear you’re not right in the head right now.”

At home, Lu Liaoliao locked himself in for five days. On the sixth night, he crept into Tang Xiaoqi’s room.

Only after three rounds of passion did Lu Liaoliao finally let out a long breath, staring at the dark ceiling in silence.

“You shameless rogue,” Tang Xiaoqi bit his shoulder hard. “I’ve only just finished my period, and you sneak in. Now you’re done, and you don’t say a word.”

Lu Liaoliao didn’t cry out in pain. His voice was hollow. “Xiaoqi, I killed people. Three living men, hacked in two by my sword. Every time I close my eyes, I see them dripping blood.”

Tang Xiaoqi gasped, “You killed someone? Who, and why?”

In a daze, Lu Liaoliao recounted what had happened.

“Those wretched beggars—they deserved worse! You should have killed more! Don’t think of them again. If your heart aches, come lie in my arms. I’ll help you forget.” She pulled him close, and Lu Liaoliao buried his face in her embrace, silent for a long, long time.

Soon after, Lu Liaoliao prepared to go out again. He flashed the sword’s phoenix motif before the old man at home. “I’m doing some tasks for the great one at the temple—it’ll be over soon.”

Lu Manman watched his grandson’s departing figure with deep worry, letting out a long sigh.