Chapter 43 Master Huizhu

Before long, everyone finished their noodles. Li Chongyuan called out, “Shopkeeper, the bill!” The shopkeeper came over and said, “Gentlemen, six bowls of noodles, that comes to one tael of silver.”

Li Chongyuan nearly spat out the tea he had just swallowed. “What! I saw others paying only three coins per bowl, why do we need to pay one tael of silver?”

The shopkeeper responded with indifference, “Sir, you and your companions are not the same as the other guests, so the price is naturally different.” Li Chongyuan asked in surprise, “How are we different from others?”

The shopkeeper replied, “The others are locals. You are outsiders.”

Li Chongyuan retorted, “So what? We didn’t eat any more than the others. Why must we pay extra?”

The shopkeeper explained, “Sir, you must calculate the bill this way: if you don’t pay the silver, we’ll all gang up and beat you. The medical expenses alone would be four or five taels at least. You might not walk for ten days to half a month, which would delay your affairs and bring you much misery. Isn’t it better to spend money now and avoid disaster?”

Li Chongyuan, furious, exclaimed, “So you’re just bullying outsiders, aren’t you! Aren’t you afraid we’ll go to the magistrate and accuse you of extortion?”

The shopkeeper laughed, “The officials won’t bother with such trivial matters. Besides, locals will always side against outsiders. Even if you appeal to the authorities, no magistrate will pay attention to your case for half a year or more.”

Lan Wutong angrily declared, “Aren’t you afraid we might be grandmasters of murder! Watch out, or we’ll burn your miserable shop to the ground!” The monk also rose in indignation, but the shopkeeper was unfazed, sneering, “Little lady, such bold words! Killing for a tael of silver? I’ve never seen such a thing!”

Though enraged, Li Chongyuan did not wish to stir up trouble. He took a piece of loose silver from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. The shopkeeper grinned, “Now that’s sensible. Saves us from scaring the ladies with a brawl.” He pocketed the silver and left.

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the door. A troop of armored soldiers burst in, with their officer shouting, “Old Zhang! Cook dozens of noodles, beef platters too! We’ve just come off duty and are heading to town to try our luck gambling!”

Old Zhang, the shopkeeper, immediately donned a sycophantic smile and hurried over, instructing his staff to bring out steaming oil-braised noodles and heaping plates of beef. Lan Wutong’s eyes sparkled. She whispered with a sly smile, “Look, those who’ll vent our anger have arrived.” With a flick of her jade-like hand, a small bamboo tube appeared in her palm. Under the table, she flicked her finger and the tube shot out, embedding itself into the mud wall opposite.

Moments later, a faint wisp of smoke began to rise from the bamboo tube, filling the noodle shop with a vile stench. Lan Wutong laughed, “This odor is unbearable. Let’s go!”

The group hurried outside as the soldiers, who had just begun eating, were overcome by the stench and started vomiting. The officer hurled his bowl to the floor, grabbed the shopkeeper by the collar, and roared, “You dog! Tired of living, are you? Dare to cook our noodles with dung?” The shopkeeper, terrified, waved his hands desperately, “I wouldn’t dare! Surely some wretch just passed gas, making your meal unpleasant.” The officer bellowed, “Are you saying we’re eating farts?!”

With that, he punched the shopkeeper, knocking him to the ground. The furious soldiers surrounded him, their fists raining down like thunder, leaving the shopkeeper wailing and howling.

Some soldiers, unable to get close, chased after the staff, who fled in panic. Unable to catch them, the soldiers began smashing the shop’s furnishings, quickly reducing the once neat noodle shop to rubble.

Lan Wutong, watching from horseback, was thoroughly amused. The monk, however, looked distressed and pressed his palms together, saying, “These men are brutish and uncouth; they deserve a lesson. Still, your methods are a bit excessive, Lady.”

Lan Wutong replied, discontented, “Monk! They were rude to you earlier. I had them taught a lesson for your sake, and now you blame me!”

The monk said, “Lady, do not be angry. My name is Huizhu, a monk from Shaolin Temple. I was ordered by the abbot to descend the mountain in search of Jianeng. Have any of you seen Jianeng?” With that, he produced a scroll. Lin Qingli craned her neck and exclaimed, “Hey, isn’t that Zhu Shitian from Hengyang?” Huizhu replied, “You’re correct, Lady. His secular name is Zhu Shitian. He once entered Shaolin Temple and became a monk under the name Jianeng. Now he has stolen scriptures from the library and fled. Many Shaolin monks are searching for him. If you know where he is, please inform me.”

Lin Qingli, remembering how he betrayed and killed Qinggao, replied bitterly, “Anyone who dares offend Shaolin must be doomed! If I learn where he’s hiding, I’ll certainly let you know.”

Huizhu pressed his palms together, “Thank you. I must search elsewhere, so I take my leave.” Li Chongyuan, eager to find Zi Wuzhu and Yang Wuji, was also unwilling to linger. They bid each other farewell and went their separate ways.

Just as they entered Hengyang, they noticed a curved bow and arrow drawn at the corner of the city gate—a Tianshan Sect signal, indicating something suspicious to the northwest. Whoever drew the sign had gone to investigate.

Only Yang Wuji and his companions were in Hengyang, so Li Chongyuan immediately turned his horse northwest. Every few miles, he found another sign, leading them ever deeper northwest, until they had unknowingly traveled hundreds of miles.

The three were puzzled: “Could it be that our senior uncles, failing to find Senior Sister Zilan, have returned to Tianshan? That’s unlikely. This matter is important to the sect; if Hengyang had no clue, they would surely contact Zi Wuzhu or Monk Wuxin to decide what to do, not return quietly to Tianshan.” Before they knew it, they had reached the border of Qianzhou, a region of mountains and forests with a complex terrain. The three struggled through the dense woods, but found no more signals.

As night fell, they camped in the woods. Lan Wutong scattered medicinal powder around their camp and smiled, “This stuff may look ordinary, but once it’s spread, not even snakes or insects—let alone wolves or tigers—dare approach. You two can rest easy.”

With that, she curled up beside Lin Qingli, and soon was snoring loudly.

Li Chongyuan, however, could not sleep. With his deep internal energy, he needed far less sleep than ordinary people. Once the others were asleep, he quietly sat up, crossed his legs, and began practicing Hunyuan and Shura skills.

Around midnight, a sudden flare shot up in the northern sky, vanishing in an instant. He thought, “That firework is strange. This place is so remote—why would anyone set off fireworks?” As he pondered, distant sounds of fighting and pursuit echoed through the night. He quickly woke Lin Qingli and Lan Wutong, urging caution. Grabbing his sword, he leapt from the camp and raced toward the commotion.

His speed was astonishing. Within moments, he saw four or five oddly dressed men surrounding a lone fighter. That man’s swordplay was fierce, but his right leg seemed injured, making him slow and precarious; his situation was dire. Li Chongyuan recognized him—it was Du Xin of the Thunder Hall.

He had learned from Monk Wuxin that Du Xin had accompanied Zi Wuzhu and Ji Wuce to Youzhou, but had no idea why he was here.

Without further thought, he shouted and leapt through the air, sword drawn. The men attacking Du Xin shouted and abandoned him to charge at Li Chongyuan. Their martial arts were bizarre, utterly unlike the styles of the Central Plains. One seemed to have no martial skill at all, relying solely on incredible speed to leap and attack. Li Chongyuan, executing Beidou Phantom Moon, plunged into their midst and used Shadowless Before the Lamp to weave among his foes. The assailants saw countless shadows but, when they focused, found him gone.

His sword flashed like a dragon breaking through water, striking left and right. In the blink of an eye, half his opponents lay dead. The rest cried out and fled.

Du Xin, using his last strength, shouted, “Chongyuan! Don’t let any escape!” Knowing the matter was grave, Li Chongyuan dared not be careless. With Beidou Phantom Moon, he bounded after them. A move from his Falling Snow swordplay, “Thousand Leaves Drifting,” sent fierce energy from his sword tip sweeping like autumn wind. Amidst the blood rain, the remaining men fell headless to the ground.

Li Chongyuan dashed over to Du Xin, who was covered in wounds. His right leg was swollen, the skin stretched almost to bursting, and he had already fainted from exhaustion.

Li Chongyuan quickly lifted him and sped back to camp. Lan Wutong and Lin Qingli, anxiously waiting, were startled when he returned with a man in his arms. Once he laid him down, Lin Qingli gasped, “Brother Du Xin! How did you become like this?”

Li Chongyuan checked his pulse and found it dangerously weak, as if he were poisoned. Lan Wutong said, “Move aside!” Li Chongyuan snapped, “What are you trying to do?” Lan Wutong sneered, “His other wounds are superficial—the real danger is a bite from an iron-thread snake. If we act now, he can be saved, but any delay could be fatal.”

Li Chongyuan quickly stepped back. Lan Wutong ripped open Du Xin’s trouser leg, revealing a tiny hole where something wriggled inside. In his panic, Li Chongyuan raised his sword to cut it out, but Lan Wutong shouted, “If you want us all dead, go ahead and use your sword! If you want everyone to live, stay out of the way!”

Li Chongyuan dared not disobey and stood aside. Lan Wutong, an expert in poisons and medicines, took a small jade knife from her pouch and cut open the wound, finding a slender snake fang, curved like a crescent moon, quivering gently.

First, she sprinkled a little red medicinal powder onto the fang, causing black fluid to seep from the wound. Soon, the fang began to move, jumping within Du Xin’s flesh. She produced a jade vial, placing its mouth against the fang. In moments, a fine black vapor emerged from the fang’s venom pore.

Li Chongyuan and Lin Qingli watched closely, seeing that the black vapor was actually tiny flying insects, which seemed attracted to the jade vial. Soon, they gathered into a thin stream and entered the vial.

Lan Wutong carefully sealed the vial, used her jade knife to dislodge the fang, cut away the surrounding rotten flesh, and gently crushed the fang with a jade hammer. She then mixed the powdered fang with snake medicine, waiting until the black fluid stopped flowing, then applied the powder and wrapped the wound with white cloth. Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief and apply salve to Du Xin’s other wounds.

She smiled, “This young man’s life has been saved. The iron-thread snake is terrifyingly venomous, but only its fang, used as a medicinal lead, can counteract the poison. Yet the deadliest part isn’t the venom, but the bone-melting parasites nesting in the fang…”

Li Chongyuan felt ashamed. He had suspected these Miao people were hard to judge between good and evil and feared she might harm Du Xin, but Lan Wutong had acted solely to save him. He stammered, “Um, Lan Wutong, thank you…”

Lan Wutong chuckled, “Hey! I’m the guardian of the Golden Silkworm Cult. Why do you thank me?”

Lin Qingli laughed, “If not for you, we’d have lost a companion. You’ve done us a great favor.”

Lan Wutong rolled her eyes, “We’re all companions in adversity. There’s no need for so many courtesies. Besides, we’re strangers here, so mutual support is essential.”

Lin Qingli nodded, “Indeed. We’re all in this together.”