Clear distinctions between gratitude and resentment

The Ministry of Personnel’s residence was home to a dozen retainers, three of whom held the rank of second grade. There had once been another, Shen Yunfeng, but unfortunately he had been inexplicably killed by Zhang Ling. Apart from Han Yan, Lu Hongyan’s attitude toward his other retainers was cool and indifferent; even when they left, he never tried to persuade them otherwise. Thus, on this day, when one of the second-grade retainers suddenly volunteered to kill an innkeeper who might know of the Lu family’s schemes, it was not surprising to Lu Hongyan. In fact, this was the third time that month the retainer had proactively requested assignments, each time venturing farther from Jinyu City. Lu Hongyan merely assumed the man felt neglected and wished to prove his abilities, so he simply waved him off, unconcerned with his destination.

South of Jinyu City, after traveling over a hundred li and passing through two villages, the retainer stopped at an inn bustling with travelers, its business thriving. Outside in the courtyard, an ancient banyan tree stood, its leaves yellowing, occasionally shedding in the autumn breeze—a scene of unique charm, each visitor finding their own meaning in it. He ordered a pot of tea and sat inside from daylight till dusk, his gaze fixed on the aged tree. He thought, after killing this man, he could leave without delay. When Lu Hongyan had spoken of the imperial martial demonstration months ago and described two participants’ appearances, a chill had crept over him. He did not know if it was those two, but better safe than sorry; if either rose to the first grade, they might well seek vengeance. Though not a mortal feud, his cautious nature, honed by years in the martial world, dictated that he depart at a reasonable moment.

The innkeeper stood behind the counter all day, eating and drinking well, naturally cultivating a layer of fat. His round eyes watched the sky darken outside, until the daylight faded and the flow of guests ceased. Only this peculiar customer remained, seated for an entire day. The innkeeper, guided by the principle that every visitor is a guest—never raising his voice or driving away even a beggar—would always find them a corner, treat them kindly, and even offer a free drink. Thus, his inn’s reputation flourished. Yet seeing this guest sit all day unsettled him. He approached cautiously, lowered his head, and said, “Sir, the inn is closing. If you have no business, you may return home. If your journey is long, stay here. If funds are lacking, you can put it on the account. If you have neither money nor place to go, you may work here; you’ll have food, lodging, and wages.”

Lu Xun, the retainer, curled his lips in a subtle smile. Suddenly, he drew his plain saber from beneath the table and laid it across the tabletop, startling the innkeeper, who stumbled back, bumping against the counter. His knees bent, trembling, barely able to stand, he exclaimed in terror, “Sir, what are you doing? I don’t recall offending you! If you lack money, we can discuss it, no need for such unlawful acts. If blood is spilled here, how could you escape unscathed?”

Lu Xun tapped the scabbard with two fingers—its sound betraying a fine blade. He slowly rose and approached, prompting the innkeeper to hide behind the counter. With a sigh—whether in sorrow for another’s fate or genuine regret, it was unclear—Lu Xun lamented, “Not long ago I passed through here. Your inn is well-run, and you treat people thoroughly. That time, I had a craving for wine but lacked funds, and you gifted me a pot. Alas, from now on, those who wander will have one less haven.”

The innkeeper’s final sound was barely audible, not disturbing even the guests upstairs. A faint blush remained at his neck as he slid behind the counter, lifeless. Lu Xun turned, his expression showing a hint of remorse, and spoke with magnanimity and righteousness: “I gave you a swift end—consider it repayment for your kindness with the wine.”

Lu Xun walked out the inn’s main gate and, just as he reached for the reins of his horse, sensed a sudden disturbance. Two unfamiliar faces rode hard toward him. Lu Xun remained composed and addressed them, “The inn is full, gentlemen, you would do well to leave.”

The two unexpected visitors revealed their aura, and Lu Xun felt their hostility. He frowned and asked, “Are you here for vengeance? I don’t recall offending you. If there’s a misunderstanding, let’s discuss it off the horses.”

The two dismounted, but instead of explaining, they tore at their faces—actually pulling off two masks. The unfamiliar visages became familiar in an instant, and Lu Xun understood. Yet his expression remained calm. “So you found the right person.”

They were none other than Zhang Ling and his companion, who had privately declared their intent to kill. To avoid suspicion, they had borrowed two human-skin masks from Wu Zhi before setting out. Zhang Ling handed his horse to Song Linjie to secure, then began reciting Lu Xun’s crimes, word by word: “Wan Ruyi, the governor of Jiu’an County; Li Yu, magistrate of Leyue County; Ma Ye, magistrate of Kuqu County; as well as several minor officials—sixteen unsolved or false cases in total. You killed them all. But tonight, your guilt is irrelevant. On Mangniu Mountain, you slew two bandits—not for their sake, but because I promised one to teach him some martial arts afterward. He died, so now I come for you. Oh, and your young master—I’ll send him after you as well. If Minister Lu doesn’t know his place, I won’t mind letting him join you too.”

Lu Xun drew a sharp breath, speaking quietly, “How did you learn what even the court failed to discover?”

Zhang Ling sneered, “Who are you to deserve an answer?”

Lu Xun released the reins, calmly replying, “If you’re to kill me, at least let me die knowing why.”

Zhang Ling said, “You don’t look like someone ready to surrender. Don’t think you can stall for time. If I came to kill you, I guarantee you won’t escape.”

Lu Xun stepped back, probing, “From your aura, you’re just a second grade and a third grade. Do you really believe yourselves geniuses? Disciples of grand sects with little real skill, your methods in the martial world are shallow—you might well lose your lives here.”

Zhang Ling’s pupils flashed gold. He’d observed Lu Xun’s subtle movements closely—the way his saber reflected in the light proved he was ready to fight to the death. Zhang Ling replied calmly, “I already said, you have no chance to live. Had you fled months ago, I’d still come for you, perhaps with more companions. Now, with just the two of us, it’s enough.”

Lu Xun drew his blade and charged, sneering, “I’d like to see what skills you have to kill me.”

Zhang Ling tapped his toe and retreated explosively, leaving only a fleeting shadow. Lu Xun moved to follow, but was suddenly intercepted by Song Linjie, whose Forged Sky Blade sliced across, forcing Lu Xun back.

From a distance, Zhang Ling, now clear of danger, called out, “It’s not me who will kill you—he alone is enough.”