Speaking quietly among themselves, the men hoisted Zhang Ming onto their backs and headed toward the fishing village. It took them several hours to make their way through the forest before the silvery surface of the river appeared beyond the trees, along with thatched huts along the bank. Waving to the locals as they passed, the three of them stopped in front of a large house with a boat resting beside the entrance.

  “Gong Su!” one of the men shouted. “We found something in the forest. You need to take a look!”

  “What is it?” the door creaked open, and a giant with a scar running across his entire face ducked as he stepped outside.

  “Here. We found this man in the forest. Looks like a mountain bandit. We didn’t know what to do, and you deal with people like that…”

  “He may look like a filthy corpse, but he’s still alive,” the second man added.

  “I see,” the giant replied calmly. “Bring him inside.”

  The three fishermen let out relieved sighs. Gong Su’s reaction eased their nerves, it seemed as if nothing unusual had happened, as though wounded bandits were brought here every other week. They carried the injured man into the house, where there had never been a bed, and laid him on a woven mat. Gong Su lit the hearth, poured water into a small pot, and set it over the fire. With an experienced eye, he quickly examined the wounds on Zhang Ming’s body.

  “Did you treat him?”

  “No. We just found him by the stream,” the eldest answered.

  “Mm. You can go,” Gong Su nodded, stepping back outside with them.

  Meanwhile, Zhang Ming writhed in delirium. Fever engulfed his body. The wounds left by the bandits burned like fire, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. To dull the pain even slightly, he tried to circulate his inner energy, but he couldn’t hold his focus for long, slipping into sleep, then jolting awake again. Nightmares gnawed at his mind, conjuring strange hallucinations. He began to hear the voices of Xue and Minzhu, echoing from a past he longed to return to.

  “Then we’ll go… we need to find father…”

  “Old Li will take you to Puyang,” Gong Su’s deep voice seemed to come from far away, as if through water. “Hurry. Bad people will be coming soon.”

  “All right. Thank you for everything,” Xue’s voice echoed in his mind, sounding far too real.

  “Thank you, Uncle Gong Su,” Minzhu’s light, cheerful voice followed.

  Digging his fingers into the floor, Zhang Ming tried to rise, but sharp pain shot through his entire body. He collapsed and lost consciousness. All night long, his awareness struggled as if trapped in thick marshland, dreaming of crushing boulders and the heat of a furnace, until suddenly they were replaced by cool air and birdsong. At dawn, when sunlight brushed the treetops, he opened his eyes. He was drenched in sweat from head to toe, but his wounds had been washed clean, the skin around them carefully scrubbed of grime.

  “You’re awake?” a mighty bass voice made him frown.

  “Mm…” Zhang Ming rasped. “Cough—cough.”

  “Drink,” a hand as large as a shovel lifted his head and pressed a jug to his lips. “They’re already here. You’re from the Earth Dragon Gang, aren’t you?”

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  “Yes…” Zhang Ming wheezed.

  “They don’t know you’re here yet. Should I tell them or not?” Gong Su leaned closer, as if trying to read his thoughts.

  “Yes… I must return. They’re waiting for me. Give me to Tang Gui… while there’s still time…”

  They need to see me wounded, he thought. Otherwise they won’t believe me.

  “All right,” Gong Su said and stepped out of the hut.

  Lying on the mat, Zhang Ming listened to the fading footsteps, then tried once more to circulate his inner energy. The warmth flowed unevenly, unsteady, but it still brought relief. With each full cycle from head to toe, his body slowly recovered. The meditation didn’t last long. Exhaustion took over, and Zhang Ming drifted toward sleep.

  “Do you want to speak with him? He’s been unconscious for two days,” Gong Su’s voice came from outside the hut.

  “He needs to be woken up!” Mo Dushi insisted.

  “That won’t work. He’ll die in your arms.”

  “That bastard is needed alive.”

  “Then pay for the treatment.”

  “How much?” Mo Dushi asked, displeasure and doubt in his voice.

  “Mm… thirty silver coins for a bundle of medicinal herbs. I was recently supplied with very fine stock. Fresh and potent! You won’t find it just anywhere.”

  “Isn’t that too expensive? We already pay your people plenty for the boats.”

  “Boats are one thing. Treatment is another,” Gong Su shook his head. “Besides, I’m no longer the head of the river pirates. You talk to them about transport, not me.”

  “Fine, fine. As you say,” Mo Dushi pondered. “Then we don’t need a whole bundle. One stalk will do — as long as the bastard can talk.”

  “At least two. Six coins per stalk. Twelve total, and your man will speak.”

  “Deal. But his dog’s life isn’t worth that much…”

  Zhang Ming was treated throughout the day. The next morning, he was roughly hauled to his feet, dragged out of the hut, and pulled through the village to a small field tent. Inside waited Tang Gui and Mo Dushi. Zhang Ming was thrown at their feet like a stray dog. Pale and gaunt after days without proper food, he looked more like a corpse or a ghost.

  “What happened here? Answer!” Mo Dushi demanded instead of the commander.

  “I don’t know,” Zhang Ming replied hoarsely.

  “Tell us what you remember,” Tang Gui said gently, smiling though his narrowed eyes gleamed with cold malice. “It’s fine if you forget a few things.”

  “I was attacked by Tu Hama’s people… cough… I ran… to survive…”

  “Hm.” Tang Gui frowned and glanced at his deputy, who nodded, acknowledging the likelihood. “What else?”

  “I was wounded…”

  “Where are Tu Hama and his group?”

  “I don’t know… I ran away.”

  “That’s all? Speak, you bastard!” Mo Dushi snarled.

  “I don’t understand… what you want… to hear…” Zhang Ming rasped.

  “You’re saying you separated from them?” Tang Gui asked. “Right after you went out scouting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see anyone else in the forest besides your group?”

  “No. Wounded, I hid… from Tu Hama… woke up here…”

  “Good. Go.”

  With a careless wave of Tang Gui’s hand, two sturdy men dragged Zhang Ming out of the tent. They seemed ready to toss him into the street, but grudgingly carried him to the nearest group of bandits instead. He wasn’t returned to Gong Su’s hut. His care was handed off to the first men they spotted. Meanwhile, Tang Gui sat inside the tent, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

  “Do you think Zhang Ming is telling the truth?” he asked Mo Dushi.

  “The bastard’s hiding something, but it sounds believable. Tu Hama’s wanted him dead for a long time.”

  “Then why did you ask me to assign him to Tu Hama’s group? You don’t like the boy?”

  “I do not. I can’t stand him.”

  “Why?” Tang Gui raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t know. He’s not like the others. And he’s unruly.”

  “Doesn’t follow orders?”

  “He follows them. That’s what pisses me off most. I never know what he’s thinking,” Mo Dushi ground out.

  “Hahaha! Brother Mo, you suspect everyone. That’s just how you are,” Tang Gui laughed warmly. “Did the scouts return? What did they find?”

  “A village in the forest. Empty. No people, no bodies. Nothing. Signs of a fight, but minimal. Our men were slaughtered like chickens.”

  “Hm. A dark matter. Best not to poke at it for now. A righteous sect cultivator may have passed through… We mustn’t draw their attention.”

  “You’re very wise, sir,” Mo Dushi agreed. “Still, I don’t understand how that bastard survived. Lucky son of a bitch.”

  “Then we’ll turn his luck to our advantage,” Tang Gui smiled meaningfully. “Instead of punishment, we reward him. Condemn Tu Hama, he’s doomed anyway. Show that we’re on Zhang Ming’s side. A grateful dog. A loyal dog.”

  Not a single bandit, nor even the commander of the Brown Boar squad, considered the possibility that Zhang Ming could have killed two dozen men on his own, including Tu Hama, who had reached the second stage of Body Tempering.