Free Web NovelChapter 46: Chapter 42: Scripture
"Get a taste?"
Zhao Chuan’s face darkened. He tore off his leg bindings in a few quick movements.
"I didn’t get a damn thing! Instead, I lost two of my men! Fucking bad luck!"
With that, he rose to his feet and stormed out alone.
As he walked out of the boisterous barracks, his left hand unconsciously reached for his waist, then quickly pulled away as if scalded.
A few of his colleagues watched his hurried departure and exchanged glances.
"Something’s off with Constable Zhao today."
"Maybe he really didn’t get anything out of it... Plus, he lost two of his trusted men. He must be pissed."
"Forget him... To Hongcui Pavilion! Let’s go! Hehehe..."
Laughter erupted once more.
No one noticed the few dark red specks of ’mud’ that had fallen near the leg of the stool Zhao Chuan had just been sitting on.
The color looked just like drying blood.
...
After leaving the back hall, Zhao Chuan didn’t head for the main gate. Instead, he slipped out through a narrow alley behind the stables on the side.
Once he was sure no one was around, his body instantly hunched over. He pressed his back heavily against the damp, cold brick wall, his right hand clamped tightly over the left side of his chest.
The intense pain he had forcibly suppressed back in the barracks now felt like a red-hot iron poker drilling into his heart, making his vision swim with black spots.
He knew very well that he was gravely injured. That thing in the rear hall of the Red Moon Nunnery... it had left more than just a flesh wound. He feared his internal organs had been displaced.
However, he didn’t dare reveal his true condition to anyone.
No one knew better than him that he had climbed over countless corpses to attain his position as a Constable in the Southern Three Guards Patrol Office.
Never mind the people outside whom he had sabotaged with his dirty tricks. Even within the Patrol Office itself, the number of subordinates was too great to count on both hands—men whose rewards he’d skimmed, whose credit he’d stolen, or whom he’d publicly humiliated.
He had no idea how many pairs of eyes were watching him, openly and secretly, just waiting for him to show a sign of weakness.
If he were to collapse in public, forgetting about recovery, it would be questionable if he could even survive for three days.
A metallic, sweet taste surged up his throat, but he forced it back down. His fingernails dug into the cracks in the wall, scraping painfully.
The sound of horse hooves and a Constable’s shout came from the end of the alley. A jolt went through him. He immediately clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, and forced himself to straighten his back and quicken his pace.
He finally put some distance between himself and the Patrol Office grounds, but instead of relaxing, he only grew more tense.
He kept feeling like someone was following him. His peripheral vision constantly darted to every shop sign, every alleyway entrance, every corner...
He scanned the old man selling griddle cakes, the child playing with mud under the eaves, even a lazy yellow dog...
Whether it was paranoia or the instincts of a long-serving constable, the feeling of being secretly tailed grew stronger and stronger.
He deliberately made several turns, weaving through crowded and chaotic markets. He hoped the bustling crowds would cover his tracks and dilute the persistent sense of urgency from behind.
Time ticked by. He was just two streets away from his own alley when he finally couldn’t hold on any longer.
"PFFT—"
He suddenly doubled over, violently spewing a mouthful of dark, clotted blood mixed with minuscule fragments of his internal organs onto the stone-paved road.
The pedestrians nearby cried out in alarm and backed away. A woman carrying a vegetable basket turned pale as a sheet, hastily pulling her child to a safe distance.
Zhao Chuan’s vision went black for a moment, and his ears rang.
He used all his strength to straighten up and wiped his mouth haphazardly with his sleeve. He didn’t dare look at the expressions of the people around him, let alone linger.
Before the shocked and uncertain crowd could gather around him, he surged forward, stumbling into an extremely narrow, junk-filled side path.
Deep within this path was a dead-end alley, terminating in three high walls. Almost no one ever came here.
Leaning on the damp, cold wall, he staggered to the very end. He could no longer support himself and slid to the ground with his back against the wall.
The smell of dust and mildew filled his nostrils, but it paradoxically made him feel a bit safer.
’I’ll just hide here for a moment to catch my breath and recover...’
He thought to himself, but before he could even catch his breath, the light at the alley’s entrance was mostly blocked by a rapidly approaching figure.
The person was moving incredibly fast and was backlit, their features completely obscured in shadow.
"It’s you!?"
Zhao Chuan’s eyesight and instincts were sharp. He didn’t need to see the face; he could piece together the answer from the person’s silhouette and aura alone.
"Che— Nghh..."
Zhao Chuan had just forced out a single syllable when the figure was already upon him.
An ice-cold hand clamped over his mouth and nose like an iron hoop, stifling all his screams and cries for help.
The other hand, with precision and efficiency, pressed down on the grievous wound on his chest, which was already on the verge of collapsing... It didn’t seem to take much effort, just a simple push.
SQUELCH...
A dull, wet, crushing sound echoed, as if an overripe melon had burst inside his chest cavity.
Zhao Chuan’s eyes bulged. He could clearly hear the sound of his own heart and lungs being utterly shredded as the residual Power from the attack worked in concert with his existing injuries.
All his strength, his schemes, his resentment, and his very life force crumbled and dissipated into nothingness with that single press.
Looking at the thoroughly dead Zhao Chuan, Chen Cheng finally let out the foul breath he had been holding in for so long.
After more than half a month of tailing and patiently waiting, Chen Cheng had finally gotten the perfect opportunity to eliminate Zhao Chuan with ease.
After composing himself, Chen Cheng immediately began to search Zhao Chuan’s body thoroughly.
He eventually found a rather flat Money Bag and a thin booklet with a blood-red cover.
On the booklet’s cover were a few faded golden characters: *Red Moon Original Vow Scripture*.
Chen Cheng had no interest in chanting sutras or worshiping Buddhas, but if this was something Zhao Chuan had risked his life to bring back, that was another matter entirely.
Chen Cheng emptied the Money Bag of its broken silver and copper coins—a little less than five taels in total—and tucked them into his robes along with the scripture.
After doing all this, he did not get up immediately.
His gaze carefully swept over Zhao Chuan’s corpse, his own position, and every corner he had passed on his way in.
Once he confirmed that he had left no trace that could lead back to him, he quickly left the scene.
Chen Cheng had already scouted and familiarized himself with the vicinity over the past half-month.
Instead of returning to the main street, he turned in the opposite direction from the side path and slipped into the dark, inconspicuous alleys, disappearing without a trace as if he had never been there at all.
...
「Night fell.」
The slums, usually dead silent, were an entirely different scene tonight.
All across the Black Wolf Gang’s territories, all hell broke loose at once.
Men from the surrounding Major Gangs poured out in full force. A tide of shadowy figures, armed with clubs, blades, and axes, swarmed and butchered any Black Wolf Gang member they saw.
In an instant, curses, the pounding of doors, the clash of steel, and ghastly, piercing screams tangled together like a chaotic knot in the stinking, damp, dark alleyways, as if hell itself had descended upon the earth.
The poor residents of these areas had long since bolted their doors and windows shut. They didn’t dare light a lamp, let alone breathe too loudly.
—
