Stepping outside, I happened upon a fallen schoolteacher.

Those with virtue, possessing grand ambitions and a heart for the world, must occupy the highest seat within the halls of power to achieve their purpose. Though they may act for the common good, they still harbor private desires. As for the wicked, they are not always as depraved as rumor suggests; there are still lines they dare not cross, some lives they will not take. Thus, humanity is not entirely extinguished within them—a spark of goodness remains, waiting to be kindled by the actions of others.

Good and evil cannot be judged in absolutes. Lost in his thoughts, Zhang Ling contemplated these strange teachings he had heard in a past life. He did not practice them, but simply reflecting on them seemed to calm the turbulent energy within his body.

After escaping from the bandits of Golden Dragon Stronghold, Zhang Ling suddenly dismounted without warning, spitting out another mouthful of blood.

Since being severely beaten by the masked assassin and then poisoned by the Cloud Gauze Toxin, these ordeals had served as rare temperings for the Vajra Body Technique gifted by Yang Xiao. With this latest trial, Zhang Ling was now convinced that the method described in the book—cultivating by healing injuries—was indeed effective.

Song Linjie saw Zhang Ling fall and immediately dismounted to check on him. But seeing Zhang Ling’s smiling face, he couldn’t help but say, “Are you stupid? You’re still smiling after coughing up blood.”

Zhang Ling endured the searing pain in his chest, stood up with the help of his horse, and said, “It’s nothing. Spitting out the clotted blood makes me feel better.”

He added, “Misfortune and fortune often come hand in hand. I’ve just broken through another internal aperture, though all the remaining internal energy has now dissipated. Still, at least I know my method of tempering the body is viable.”

Song Linjie understood and replied, “So you’ve been practicing a secret body-forging technique. That explains why you kept asking about it these past few days.”

Zhang Ling shook his head. “That’s not the only reason I’m smiling. What truly pleases me is that martial prowess gained through my own cultivation brings peace of mind. The inner energy from Liao Yingdong was enough to open two apertures, but in the end, the Azure Falcon Gang still owes me a life for what happened to Treading Snow. That debt, I will collect.”

Song Linjie grinned, “Want me to help you collect it?”

Just as Zhang Ling was about to thank him, a lean, dark-skinned man suddenly sprang out.

His hooked nose twitched, and his small eyes tried to open wide, but he stammered for a long moment before blurting out, “H—hand over your money!”

Song Linjie was about to kick him aside, but Zhang Ling glanced behind the dark-skinned man and quickly stopped him.

In the distance, a burly, honest-faced man hurried over, followed by seven or eight other men, all fairly robust, though none as imposing as the first.

The burly man immediately kicked the dark-skinned one, sending him rolling before he staggered to his feet. The big man scolded harshly, “Wu Blackie, how many times have I told you, our Breezewood Stronghold has principles. We never rob commoners, and if we rob the rich, we only take half. Do that again and I’ll tan your hide!”

Wu Blackie glanced at Zhang Ling and Song Linjie, then turned timidly to the burly man. “B—boss, look at them. They’re dressed in fine clothes—definitely not commoners.”

The burly man listened with some difficulty, then turned to scrutinize Zhang Ling and his companion.

Their silken garments were stained with mud and their faces smeared with ash. Zhang Ling, in particular, still bore traces of blood from moments earlier, leaving the big man somewhat baffled.

Zhang Ling pulled Song Linjie behind him, affecting a look of terror as he held a short sword before him. “Who are you people?” he demanded warily.

To his surprise, the burly man replied frankly, “My name is Hou Liu, chief of Breezewood Stronghold on the western slope of Ox Mountain. But don’t worry, though we’re bandits, we have our code—we never rob ordinary folk.”

Zhang Ling feigned relief, bowing with scholarly grace. “Chief Hou, I am Zhang Ling. This is my younger brother, Zhang Fool.”

Hou Liu studied them carefully before asking quietly, “What brings you here?”

Zhang Ling paused to gather tears, then replied sorrowfully, “Our parents were once people of the martial world. After retiring, they bore the two of us and saved a little money. But my brother was born feeble-minded, so only I could attend private school. Not long ago, our parents’ enemies found us…”

He lowered his head, pretending to wipe away tears. In truth, he couldn’t cry, so he furtively rubbed some pungent powder taught to him by Zhang Jingqian under his eyes. When he looked up, his eyes were red and brimming with unshed tears. With added sorrow, he continued, “Our parents were killed by their enemies. I barely managed to escape with my brother. These swords and horses are all we have left of our parents. If you must take them, Chief Hou, I only beg you spare my brother’s life.”

Song Linjie played along, tugging at Zhang Ling’s sleeve and whining, “Brother!”

Their performance moved even the bandits behind them, who now shared in the sadness. Hou Liu thumped his chest and declared loudly, “Rest assured. Since these are your parents’ keepsakes, we of Breezewood Stronghold would never seize them by force.”

Zhang Ling blinked hard, letting the powder-induced tears fall down his cheeks as he bowed low. “Thank you, Chief Hou.”

Zhang Ling then produced a small piece of silver from his sleeve and handed it to Hou Liu. “This was meant to pay for today’s lessons at private school. If you do not mind, please take it.”

Hou Liu waved his large hand, refusing. “I’ve already said, we at Breezewood Stronghold will not take a single coin from you. In fact, since you have nowhere to go and you’ve attended private school, why don’t you come teach at our stronghold?”

The other bandits quickly echoed their chief, and even Wu Blackie, at a loss, joined in urging Zhang Ling and his brother to head to their mountain lair.

Zhang Ling tried to think of an excuse, hastily saying, “Chief Hou…”

But Hou Liu clapped him on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. “Zhang Ling, you’re a learned man—no need to call me Chief Hou. Just call me Hou Liu. From now on, you’ll be our teacher at Breezewood Stronghold. When word gets out, everyone will know even we bandits have culture. That’s something to be proud of!”

Zhang Ling tried again. “Brother Hou, my brother and I—”

Before he could finish, Hou Liu interrupted with another laugh. “Don’t worry. Since you’ll be teaching for us, your brother Fool is one of us too. As long as I’m here, no one will dare bully you.”

He turned to the others and bellowed, “Understood?”

The seven or eight bandits responded in unison with wide grins. Two stepped forward to lead away the horses, another took charge of Song Linjie, and the rest surrounded Zhang Ling, leaving him no chance to protest as they herded the pair toward the stronghold.

What a stroke of luck—to find themselves a teacher just by stepping out today!