Chapter Thirty-Seven: Wang Cheng and Wang Zhuo

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At the entrance of Pig Market Street stood the flourishing Shengcai Gambling House, thick with smoke and the din of crowds jostling and shouting their bets. With each call to open the treasure box, some lost their silver and beat their chests, cursing their fathers, mothers, and even the heavens; others, having won, smugly tucked their winnings into their robes.

The door curtain lifted, and a scrawny, furtive fellow slipped inside. The attendant at the door recognized him at once, seized him by the collar, and barked, “Street rat! You ungrateful wretch, how dare you show your face here again? Careful, or I’ll break your legs!”

The street rat grinned obsequiously, “I wouldn't dare, sir. This time, a few gentlemen sent me here. Please have mercy and let me pass.” The attendant slapped him hard and cursed, “You worthless dog, you can’t even lie properly. Who’d send someone like you?”

This street rat was the most infamous lowlife of Pig Market. Lazy by nature, fond of drink and gambling, he wandered all day, picking locks and sneaking about, stealing whatever he could to trade for cash and bet at the gambling house. When he lost everything, he’d steal again; sometimes, desperate, he’d even dare to rob the gamblers themselves, only to be half-beaten to death and thrown out by the attendants. Everyone in Pig Market steered clear of him.

From a table in the corner, a few men called out, “Don’t beat him; we’re the ones who sent for him.” The attendant released his grip, smiling apologetically, “Of course, gentlemen, let him through.” Then he turned and scolded, “Get over there, quick!”

These men were the toughest rogues in Pig Market, known as Ox-Eye, Doghead, and Flower-Club. Flower-Club beckoned, “Street rat, get over here!” The street rat crept over, trembling, fearful that these three devils would find fault and beat him ruthlessly. Ox-Eye tossed some loose silver on the table. “Street rat, we need you to do us a favor.” The street rat bowed and scraped, “I wouldn’t dare refuse. Whatever you need, just say the word.”

Ox-Eye said, “Old Liu Fourth from Pig Market owes us gambling debts. We hear he has a good piece of land outside the city. Go and steal the deed for us, and there’ll be a reward.”

The street rat was puzzled. “Old Liu Fourth never gambles. How could he owe you money? Besides, if he does, you could just go and collect. Why do you need me? I never heard he owns land.”

Doghead leapt up and punched him in the chest, sending him sprawling. “Enough with your nonsense!”

The street rat scrambled up, protesting, “I’m not making excuses. Old Liu Fourth sold his house for a hefty sum and moved away with his family. I envied his luck, but where would I even find him?”

Doghead raised a fist, but Ox-Eye stopped him. “Street rat, Liu Fourth may be gone, but the house is still here. Go search his old place—if you find the deed, bring it back; if you find any money, it’s all yours. Whoever bought the house must be rich, so there should be plenty of silver.”

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The street rat's eyes lit up. Boldly, he swept the loose silver from the table into his pocket, clutching it tightly as he hurried away.

Night fell. The homes in Pig Market were dark, the whole street cloaked in shadow, save for the faint glow from Liu Fourth’s dilapidated house. White Snake sat at the table, Ghost Sword lounged in a distant chair, idly playing with his dark sword. White Snake surveyed her eight sturdy servants. “To prosperity and peace,” she said.

The eight responded, “We await your orders!” While most servants bore auspicious names like Fortune or Joy, hers were named after the shades of the underworld: One, See, Prosper, Wealth, Heaven, Below, Great, Peace. She instructed, “One and Prosper, guard Zilan well. Serve her carefully—she’s a disciple of Tianshan Sect, and daughter of Zi Wuzhu. If not for the urgency of obtaining the Sacred Armor, we wouldn’t have abducted her and risked offending Tianshan. See, continue caring for Mueller—his wounds are nearly healed. The rest, rotate your watch. Be vigilant these days; our informants report chaos at Shaolin Temple, with many masters descending the mountain. I suspect it’s connected to the Sacred Armor. Once this matter is settled, we’ll leave.”

The eight servants replied in unison, “Yes!”

Ghost Sword suddenly tightened his grip on the sword hilt and said coldly, “Someone’s entered.” Heaven and Peace darted out, quickly seizing the street rat as he crept along the wall and dragging him inside. The street rat howled in pain. White Snake interrogated him herself; he dared not conceal anything and revealed Ox-Eye’s scheme in full. Seeing he would not lie, White Snake signaled Below, who silently twisted his neck.

Ghost Sword peered out the window. In the distance, he saw a temple window slightly open, several pairs of eyes peering in. He sneered, drew his dark sword, and leapt toward the temple. Behind the window were Ox-Eye, Doghead, and Flower-Club. In the night, a shadow descended like a phantom. These city bullies, accustomed to preying on the weak, had never encountered a true master. In a flash of swordlight, all three were decapitated. Ghost Sword searched the surroundings; finding no one else, he vanished.

Once calm returned, a trembling figure crawled from a hole beneath the altar table—it was Little Winter from Wang’s Herbal Shop. He stumbled out, but Heaven and Peace had already scaled the wall and entered. Terror-stricken, he hid motionless in the weeds. Heaven and Peace stuffed the corpses into his former hiding place, fetched water to wash the ground clean, and left only after tidying up. Little Winter, half-paralyzed by fear, fled back to Wang’s Herbal Shop, babbled the story, and promptly fainted.

His survival was pure luck. Ghost Sword Han Qinghua prided himself on his profound internal strength; he could hear even the faintest breathing, so he did not bother searching but merely listened. Anyone nearby would have been discovered. By heaven’s grace, Little Winter had grown up beside the Luo River, long used to diving and holding his breath. Terrified, he immediately held his breath when Ghost Sword killed the trio, so Ghost Sword detected no breathing and assumed no one was there. It was a rare lapse, and he departed. Heaven and Peace, thinking Ghost Sword had already searched, paid no further attention, only hurried to clean up—thus Little Winter escaped with his life.

Brothers Wang Cheng and Wang Zhuo, hearing Little Winter describe a black-robed priest wielding a dark sword killing the three, were both startled and delighted. The lost Xuanming Sword of years past was just such a blade. They’d already heard of White Snake and Ghost Sword’s return to the martial world and concluded the black-robed priest must be Ghost Sword Han Qinghua. Yet how the Xuanming Sword had come into his hands baffled them. The sword was stolen when Han Qinghua had already fallen from a cliff months before. Was it possible Ghost Sword had feigned his death to steal the sword? Both found the idea far-fetched.

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After some deliberation, the brothers decided to first capture Ghost Sword and then question him about the matter. They donned nightclothes, took up their blades, and leapt onto the rooftops, heading straight for Pig Market. For twenty years, they had visited countless famous masters and learned many renowned martial techniques, believing this task would be easy.

Wang Cheng and Wang Zhuo were shrewd businessmen, but nearly clueless when it came to the martial world. White Snake and Ghost Sword were not the sorts to be easily taken. Though the brothers had indeed learned many famous techniques, they failed to realize that the masters of each sect hoped the Wang family would forge legendary weapons for them, so they generously taught their skills. These techniques were precious, vital for survival, and rarely passed to outsiders. Out of politeness, the masters altered some moves and taught the brothers, who, knowing nothing of martial arts, could not detect the changes. During sparring, the masters deliberately lost and heaped praise on their supposed genius, claiming the brothers had swiftly mastered the essence.

After several rounds of this, Wang Cheng and Wang Zhuo came to believe themselves peerless experts. Whenever they traveled the martial world, local heroes would greet them, invite them into their homes, and lavishly entertain them. Whenever they sought information, these heroes urged patience, sending their disciples to investigate while the brothers feasted and discussed martial arts.

The heroes, shrewd as foxes, saw at once that the brothers’ skills were flashy but useless, but who would dare expose the truth?

No one dared, instead offering extravagant praise. In their leisure, the brothers would forge fine weapons for these heroes, delighting everyone. Months later, the disciples would report finding nothing. The brothers would move on, repeating the cycle. Eventually, discouraged, they settled in Luoyang, opening a herbal shop and investigating quietly while running their business. What opponents could merchants encounter?

Only the occasional street thug causing trouble, easily dispatched with a few blows. Against such crude men, the brothers’ martial arts sufficed. The street thugs came to revere them as gods, never daring to cause trouble and even bestowing the nickname “Luoyang’s Twin Guardians.” Thus twenty years passed—not only did they fail to find the killer, they never discovered how truly inept their own martial arts were.