Chapter 7: The Palm That Slices the Void

Spring Breeze Alley, Second Street.

Second Street was the most bustling thoroughfare in Spring Breeze Alley, and the most prosperous brothel stood at the very end. At this moment, Yang Xing had shed the uniform of De Bao Martial Arts School’s disciples and changed into a coarse, tattered shirt. He had also wrapped a rag around his face. Because there had been a plague in the city recently, no one found it odd to see someone with their face covered; a few women leading children even hurried out of his way.

Yang Xing had long ago taken note of Cheng, a figure from the Blackwater Gang. To evade the ambushes of his enemies, he kept three separate residences, one of which was a thatched hut beside the brothel on Second Street.

From within the hut, Cheng’s coarse curses could be heard.

Bang!

“Damn it! I sent you to buy me wine. No money? Then go sell yourself if you have to!”

Soon, a woman with reddened eyes emerged, clutching a bundle of rags, a child of four or five trailing at her side. She glanced at Yang Xing, then lowered her head and led the child away toward a tavern in the distance.

Yang Xing recognized her as Cheng’s mistress, once a famed widow in Spring Breeze Alley.

“Useless woman, what’s the point of keeping you?” Cheng’s voice continued to thunder from within.

Yang Xing pushed open the door and entered.

“Back so soon?!” Cheng, sitting by the table, turned pale when he saw Yang Xing’s veiled face.

Without a word, Yang Xing kicked the table over with a single blow. Cheng recoiled in terror. “I’m with the Black Serpent Gang—”

Yang Xing didn’t let him finish. He pulled out a brick he’d prepared and smashed it down, knocking Cheng to the ground.

Cheng struggled and shouted, “My brothers will avenge me—”

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Blow after blow rained down, dozens in all, until the brick shattered. Cheng had long since stopped breathing.

Yang Xing dusted off his hands and wiped away the blood as best he could, then left Cheng’s home, making sure to close the door behind him.

Outside Second Street, Yang Xing gasped for breath. He had rehearsed this scene countless times in his mind the night before, but even now, his heart raced with lingering fear. Cheng was a hulking brute, strong as an ox—an ordinary man could never have bested him.

But under Yang Xing’s relentless assault, Cheng had no chance to fight back. The real surprise was the force of his own kick: he’d sent the table flying, something no ordinary person could do. Cheng was surely dead.

Yang Xing felt little fear of the authorities. In these times, death was all too common, as ordinary as seeing a dead cat or dog on the roadside in his previous life. The constables would scarcely put in any effort investigating—unless the body lay in the middle of the street, no one would even bother to collect it. Besides, for a gang member like Cheng, dying in a vendetta was all too common, barely worth a mention.

“A man like Cheng had it coming. What I did was a good deed,” Yang Xing consoled himself, calculating his next steps. “Now, there’s only Cheng’s lackey Liu Biao, and his sworn brother Chang Wei.”

Stealthily, Yang Xing crept to Liu Biao’s house. It was empty, the place ransacked—clearly someone had searched it thoroughly. Had a thief already been here?

Curious, Yang Xing listened as neighbors gossiped nearby.

“The Tiger Gang’s ruthless—Liu Biao was hacked to pieces, they say.”

“Serves him right.”

“Exactly. As soon as it happened, his woman packed her things and ran.”

...

Yang Xing quietly left Liu Biao’s house. To think Liu Biao had already died at the hands of the Tiger Gang—there was no need for Yang Xing to act. Truly, fate is unpredictable in these times.

“One last one,” Yang Xing murmured to himself.

Dusk fell.

Ten Mile Alley, the tavern.

The tavern sold only the cheapest spirits, a haunt for the lowest of the low to while away their evenings. Chang Wei, face flushed, staggered from the doorway, clutching a jug of swill. Though the Black Serpent Gang had suffered under the Tiger Gang’s oppression lately, Chang Wei lived well enough. Not long ago, he’d killed the fishmonger of Ten Mile Alley, then slept with the dead man’s wife. He could still taste the thrill of it.

Thinking of the woman’s plump curves and pale flesh, Chang Wei’s lips curled in a wicked grin. “Heh heh heh... with this wine in me tonight…”

His excitement mounted, a fire burning in his belly.

Bang!

Suddenly, a heavy blow to his head left him reeling, his mind floating on the edge of consciousness.

Thud!

Through his blurring vision, Chang Wei saw a figure with a veiled head approaching. Weakly, he asked, “You… who are you?”

Even in death, he wanted to die knowing.

Yang Xing shook his head and sighed, “Chen Cheng was your brother, wasn’t he? I killed him. I was afraid he’d come for revenge—he forced me to do it.”

Chang Wei’s eyes widened in shock.

—No!
—I don’t want revenge!
—He meant nothing to me!

Chang Wei screamed in his heart.

Bang! Bang!

Two more crushing blows, and Chang Wei faded into oblivion.

Yang Xing snatched Chang Wei’s pouch and hurried away.

De Bao Martial Arts School.

“All paupers!” Yang Xing grumbled, shaking his head at the two copper coins in the pouch.

On the training ground, several disciples were still practicing their stances, most preparing for their first round of body tempering. To temper the body, one needed strong vital energy, and stance training was the way to build it.

Yang Xing practiced his palm strikes a while longer, then tidied himself and left.

Today was the day friends from Spring Breeze Alley would gather.

Zhu Kai, waggling his brows, asked, “Back so early today?”

Yang Xing was usually diligent, never leaving before nightfall, but now it was only mid-afternoon.

Yang Xing nodded. “There’s something I need to do at home.”