A glance invites trouble

Song Yutian led Zhang Ling into the Song family compound. As Zhang Ling glanced around, some of the Song family’s younger members looked over as well—some with confusion, some with curiosity, and others, after a fleeting glance, simply returned to their own affairs. Once Zhang Ling had settled his steed, Treading Snow, an elderly man led him to a guest room. This old man was none other than Song Jingguo, the second uncle of the Song family’s head, Song Yutian. With a kindly smile, the old man addressed Zhang Ling, “I am Song Jingguo. The family competition starts tomorrow. If you have nothing to do, feel free to look around. I won’t disturb you any further.”

Zhang Ling nodded, and the old man turned to leave. After placing his bundle in the room, Zhang Ling stepped out.

He wandered east and west, familiarizing himself with the layout of the Song estate. The eastern section was mostly for the disciples’ lodgings, while the elite disciples and the few elders enjoyed lakeside pavilions. Before entering the Song residence, Zhang Ling had glimpsed the City Lord’s manor from afar, and by comparison, the Song estate was in no way inferior in size or grandeur. When Zhang Ling spoke to the other disciples, some, having seen him personally invited by the family head, maintained a respectful and courteous tone, even trying to discreetly inquire about his background. The elite disciples, however, remained haughty, no matter his status, regarding him as nothing more than an equal. Faced with these scheming and self-important young men, Zhang Ling felt no desire to linger and decided instead to stroll around the city.

Stepping through the grand gate, Zhang Ling took a deep breath, and the oppressive feeling in his chest instantly lifted.

The alleys were not just shrouded in perpetual gloom, hidden from the sun and moon; they were rife with filth and violence, scenes of bloodshed too numerous to count.

A young woman, barely past her eighteenth year and in the prime of beauty, shrank back in terror, retreating until there was nowhere left to go. She stared in fear at the predatory man before her. The man wore a belt of fine white jade and luxurious robes, attire far beyond the reach of ordinary wealth—clearly not someone from a common background. Though terrified, the woman dared not make a sound. She knew this man was Mu Shaoyang, the only son of the City Lord of Liufeng City, whose power was unmatched. Even if others saw what was happening, none would dare intervene.

Mu Shaoyang pressed closer, a playful, triumphant smile on his lips. “Miss Gu, even if you were to be my concubine, that’s a fortune countless women could only dream of. You really don’t know what’s good for you.”

The woman, her beautiful face pale with fear, tried to suppress her terror, but tears welled up uncontrollably. Her voice trembled as she pleaded, “Young Master Mu, I am already betrothed to Song Huaishu of the Song family. If they find out, do you not fear their retribution? Others in Liufeng City may fear the City Lord’s manor, but the Songs do not.”

Mu Shaoyang burst out laughing, as if he’d heard the greatest joke. “And who is Song Huaishu? Just a frail scholar. Song Yutian is far too shrewd to stir up trouble over something this trivial. You’d gain more following me than you ever would with him—I promise you a life of luxury.”

Just as he was about to act, Mu Shaoyang’s gaze shifted to a nearby figure.

Following his gaze, he saw Zhang Ling, who had been wandering and now paused to look over. “Sorry to intrude,” Zhang Ling said, “I’ll be on my way.”

He turned to leave, but Mu Shaoyang called out, assuming an arrogant air. “Since you’ve spoiled my fun, get over here and kowtow. If you do, I might be merciful and let you go. On a different day, if someone annoyed me, they wouldn’t leave with all their limbs intact. You should feel lucky.”

A surge of anger flashed through Zhang Ling, but he suppressed it, replying calmly, “Are you sure about that?”

Mu Shaoyang snapped impatiently, “Hurry up! I have little patience. If you’re late, you won’t even have a chance to beg for mercy.”

Zhang Ling shrugged and approached slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I just wonder if you can handle it.”

Before Mu Shaoyang could react, a massive fist shot toward his brow. He was sent flying, staggered to his feet, only to receive another punch to the other eye, both quickly swelling from red to purple.

“You know who I am—” Mu Shaoyang began, but a kick to the gut sent him sprawling, cutting him off before he could finish. Zhang Ling straddled him, raining down punches until Mu Shaoyang could only groan in pain, unable to utter a coherent word.

After a thorough beating, Zhang Ling straightened, his mood lightened. For good measure, he landed one final heavy blow, causing Mu Shaoyang to spit a mouthful of blood.

Standing over him, Zhang Ling remarked, “No wonder so many wish to train in martial arts—the feeling of pummeling someone without resistance is exhilarating.”

He regarded the battered Mu Shaoyang coldly. “So, were you not going to make me kneel? If you can’t back it up, best not to threaten people. Otherwise, you’ll get worse next time.”

Mu Shaoyang, his face bruised and swollen, muttered something unintelligible. Zhang Ling chuckled, “Speak up if you have something to say; don’t let a beating scare you into silence.”

Noticing the lengthening shadow on the ground, Zhang Ling suddenly looked up. An old man was descending from above. Zhang Ling immediately leaped back. The elder didn’t pursue, instead hurrying to help Mu Shaoyang up, shielding him protectively. “Forgive me, Young Lord,” the old servant apologized. “I was late.”

Mu Shaoyang glared at Zhang Ling, his words slurred, but his tone vicious. “Yu Guanqian, seize him for me. I’ll take his arms and legs myself and turn him into a wretch, so he’ll spend his life repenting for what he did today.”

Zhang Ling’s eyes grew cold at Mu Shaoyang’s cruelty. Mu Shaoyang shuddered briefly under that stare, but emboldened by his servant’s presence, quickly regained his composure.

The old servant, Yu Guanqian, regarded Zhang Ling evenly. “Boy, I advise you to surrender now, or you’ll only suffer more pain.”

Zhang Ling looked at the old man as if he were a fool and raised his left hand, extending a single finger. “Is it you who’s insane, or both of you? He wants to turn me into a cripple, and I’m just supposed to wait for you to catch me?”

Yu Guanqian said no more and charged at Zhang Ling, his fingers curled into claws aiming for Zhang Ling’s throat. Zhang Ling drew his sword, brandishing it to force the old man back. Yu Guanqian twisted aside, attacking from another angle, his claw now a fist. Zhang Ling, unable to dodge, dropped his short sword to block at his waist. Yu Guanqian’s punch landed squarely on the blade.

Zhang Ling was knocked back seven paces, digging in with his right foot to steady himself. Yu Guanqian pressed the attack, giving Zhang Ling no time to regain his breath. Zhang Ling parried with his sword, but after another punch and a swift kick, he was sent flying, crashing to the ground. The old man leapt high, ready to finish him off.

At the moment their fists were only inches apart, a short dagger flew in from the alley, forcing Yu Guanqian to retreat and break off his assault.

A figure vaulted past Zhang Ling, snatched up the dagger, and lunged at Yu Guanqian. The old man, regaining his footing, dodged the fatal blow and threw a powerful punch. The newcomer met him head-on, and after the clash, both staggered back. Yu Guanqian retreated to Mu Shaoyang’s side, while the newcomer fell in beside Zhang Ling.

Rising to his feet, Zhang Ling looked at the youth beside him. He quickly realized he’d seen him before. The youth glanced back, pondering. “You look familiar. Have we met somewhere?”

Zhang Ling smiled softly, “Your voice is familiar too.”

The youth suddenly understood. “Oh, it’s you! My name’s Song Linjie, a disciple of the Song family. You left in such a hurry last time, I never got to ask your name.”