Chapter Fourteen: Upholding the Principles of Fairness, Justice, and Transparency

“Express your condolences.”

Zhang Chengyi feigned sympathy as he walked over and said, “Chief Yao, a man of unparalleled wisdom and martial prowess, has been narrowly defeated by this young lady... well, it’s truly heart-wrenching—no, it’s exhilarating.”

Damn it, you’ve been smirking the whole time, never stopping, spouting nonsense that makes no sense.

The bandits of the Qin family’s stronghold grumbled inwardly but quietly listened to the words of the person who held the power of life and death.

“I, a wandering hero of Jinshan, uphold the principles of fairness, justice, and openness. I hereby declare that the victor of this contest is the young lady from the Boundless Sword Sect!”

Zhang Chengyi clapped his hands twice, an abrupt sound in the otherwise silent second floor.

*Cough cough—pfft!*

A singing girl collapsed against the wall, coughing up blood. She staggered over, knelt down, and kowtowed.

One kowtow after another, nine in total, each heavier than the last, before her hoarse voice spoke: “Your kindness, I vow to repay even as a beast of burden in another life.”

?

“Wait, shouldn’t she be offering herself instead?”

Zhang Chengyi recalled a joke from a martial arts novel: if the man is ugly, you become a beast of burden; if handsome, you offer yourself. He immediately felt displeased.

That silenced Su Xinghe immediately.

What’s the meaning of this?

The singing girl, ignoring her grievous injuries, a faint flush returning to her pale face, looked up with a complex gaze.

“Enough, enough,” Zhang Chengyi realized he shouldn’t have said that. Damn it, why are these ancient people so rigid? Everyone treats offhand remarks as sacred law—so annoying.

He turned to Su Xinghe beside him and said, “Old Su, save her.”

As the master of the divine doctor Xue Muhua, this clever gentleman was skilled in music, chess, literature, medicine, and divination; his medical skills would not be inferior to his disciple’s.

Come to think of it, Wuyazi’s medical skills must be excellent, too.

Zhang Chengyi pondered and then said, “You lot, scram.”

The eleven bandits of the Qin family stronghold who hadn’t attacked him were stunned. Were they being toyed with again? Heaven have mercy—after their chief was toyed with so thoroughly and died full of grievance, now this jinx tells them to leave. Who would dare move?

“Do you want me to say it again?”

Zhang Chengyi really didn’t intend to kill them—all rookies. They hadn’t tried to attack him earlier, so there was no reason to kill them. Besides, he wanted them to spread his reputation.

How could a great hero fail to become famous in the martial world? The Tianlong world had no organization like Baixiangsheng; if he quietly killed them all, who would know the good deeds of the Jinshan Wanderer?

As for whether releasing the tiger would lead to future revenge—ha!

Seeing his sincere expression, after a few seconds of hesitation, some began to shift their bodies, then quickly took off like startled rabbits, disappearing cleanly. One near the window bit his teeth, smashed it, and fled through the broken glass.

“Rest for a while, no more fighting,” Su Xinghe withdrew his hand and instructed, then looked up at Zhang Chengyi: “Master Zhang, it’s fine now.”

The singing girl silently nodded, then shyly said, “If... if Master Zhang does not despise me—I am already married, with a daughter—I would also…”

“I’m no Cao thief. Why can’t you tell jokes from serious words?” Zhang Chengyi teased, then said, “Old Su, cripple their martial arts and toss them out.”

Upon hearing this, those pinned by single blades showed shocked expressions. One shouted, “If you’re a man, then be quick about it!”

Being crippled in martial arts wasn’t just losing skill. Even Xuzhu, who had his internal energy dissolved by the Northern Darkness Divine Skill, felt his limbs ache and brain foggy, unable to stand steadily and had to sit down. Being forcibly crippled was tantamount to becoming disabled.

Moreover, these men had already lost their dominant hand, and now their martial arts would be crippled. Could they even survive the return?

Even if they did, how could they survive in the stronghold?

Better to die.

Su Xinghe, loyal to his master’s orders, moved swiftly, striking and flicking. One man was sent flying. His figure moved through the room with ease; struggling was useless—they were worlds apart.

For an unknown foot soldier to be crippled by this clever gentleman’s hand was already them overestimating themselves.

Soon, the room grew quiet.

Zhang Chengyi kicked the money pouch that Yao Boda had dropped, weighed it in his hand, opened it, and said, “Come upstairs, waiter.”

He tossed the bulging pouch over. “Compensation for the damages, plus our meals and drinks these days.”

“Including those eight with you.”

The waiter glanced at the eight well-ordered companions of the Hangu Eight Friends, stood straight at the stairway, and caught the pouch. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Oh, and—” Zhang Chengyi was about to order more food, having enjoyed the spectacle and craving a bite, but caught a terrible stench.

Just now, someone was so frightened they broke through their internal cultivation boundary at once, from internal refining to external release. Though there were some safeguards, some essence inevitably seeped out. With such a smell nearby, how could anyone have an appetite?

He lost interest and said, “Enough. Take me to a private room.”

“And clean this place up properly.”

“Certainly, certainly,” said the waiter, glancing back at the room filled with blood, leftover food, broken tables, chairs, and dishes, his face grim but clutching the money pouch and unable to suppress a smile.

This deal was really going to make a fortune.

Leading the guest downstairs, his steps were noticeably lighter.

Zhang Chengyi reached downstairs; the hall was already empty. With such a raucous fight upstairs, it was only natural.

In this world, martial artists didn’t live in a separate realm from ordinary people. Their daily needs were intertwined. After hundreds and thousands of years, even the dullest peasants knew when to watch and when to flee.

[Looks like these eight followers can’t be shaken off.]

He glanced behind the stairs. With his senses, no matter how cautious the Hangu Eight Friends were, he could detect them easily.

Besides, the eighth of the Hangu Eight Friends, Li Puppet, wore a costume with a trailing hem that revealed a large patch dragging on the ground—anyone paying attention could see.

Zhang Chengyi remained still. The waiter and attendants followed behind.

He said, “You all go upstairs with Old Su.”

“Let me be clear: I don’t accept servants. Don’t greet me every time you see me, and don’t follow me when I go for walks.”

Since they liked to follow, let them. They might come in handy someday.

“Y-yes!” The divine doctor Xue Muhua came out with a forced smile. “Thank you, Master Zhang.”

“Thank you, Master Zhang!” echoed the others.

Indeed, the eight of them were remarkably in sync.

“Ha—ah,” Zhang Chengyi yawned and casually said, “Let’s go.”

By the time they reached the inn, it was evening. After eating and drinking their fill and a long while of merriment, the moon had risen high—it was time to sleep.