43: Chapter 43 The villain suffers a crushing defeat and is filled with resentment.

Night wind swept ashes through a gap in the collapsed wall. The fire had long since died down, leaving only the dull red glow of charred timber smoldering in the dark, flickering on and off within the ruins of the mansion's tunnels.

Several shadowy figures crouched beside fallen beams, carefully prying away the rubble pinning a man down. The man beneath was covered in blood, his chest caved in, his breathing faint.

"The boss is still alive," a black-clad figure checked for breath and whispered.

The person beside him wiped soot from his face. "As long as he's alive, get him out of here, quick."

Using a door plank as a stretcher, they hastily lifted the man, their movements as gentle as possible, afraid of jolting another mouthful of blood from him. Just as they reached the alley entrance, one person suddenly stopped. "Wait. There's movement over there."

Everyone held their breath. At the end of the main road stood several indistinct figures, their outlines silhouetted by the distant firelight. They didn't approach, nor did they call out. They merely stood there for a moment before turning and leaving.

"Just onlookers," someone sighed in relief. "Word's spread. They say there was a big fight here last night."

"Who won?"

"Who else? Chen Xuan burned down half the street. Seventy or eighty men surrounded him alone, and he still managed to break through."

"Didn't he rely on women for that?"

"Bullshit! Did you see his women act? Leng Shuang freezing the ground, Zhao Hongling smashing people—that's true. But that final palm strike... Boom! The ground exploded for thirty feet, a wave of fire blasted off the rooftops. That was vicious! He did that himself."

As they spoke, the crowd dispersed, leaving only the wind wailing at the alley's mouth.

The black-clad figures wasted no more time. Carrying their burden, they hurried through streets and alleys, turning into an inconspicuous commoner's house.

Inside, a bed and a medicine chest were already prepared. An elderly man with bandages sat waiting under the lamplight. Hearing footsteps, he immediately rose to examine the injured man.

"Five ribs broken, internal organs shaken. Lucky they weren't ruptured."

The old man shook his head while taking the man's pulse. "The one who struck knew restraint. Didn't kill him, just aimed to break his arrogance."

"He shouldn't have gone personally in the first place," a subordinate muttered. "With dozens of us in ambush, we could have handled it quietly. But he had to oversee the command, had to show his face."

The old man sneered. "He wouldn't listen. The day before yesterday, he heard Chen Xuan was just a weakling coasting on fame from the Husband Selection Ceremony. Said he had to see for himself. And the result..."

Before he could finish, the man on the bed coughed violently, spewing a mouthful of dark blood. His eyelids fluttered, slowly opening.

The room fell silent.

He stared at the ceiling beam, his voice hoarse. "I... lost?"

No one answered.

He asked again, "Chen Xuan... escaped?"

"Escaped," one person forced himself to reply. "And he left a message in the street: 'Anyone else want to try?' No one dared answer."

The man on the bed gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his arm as he struggled to sit up, but the old man held him down.

"Don't move. If you tear it open again, not even a god could save you."

"I can't accept this!" he roared, agitating his wounds and triggering another fit of coughing. "I trained the Yin Sha Palm for twenty years, command three hundred death warriors, can even stir up trouble in the imperial city... and I lost to a nobody? How? Just because a few women protect him?"

"It wasn't the women."

The subordinate who had reported earlier spoke softly. "He broke the cage himself. The iron bars were thick as a child's arm. He struck with one palm, melting two with high heat. The flames spread along the ground, forcing back the seven men closest. Leng Shuang just seized the chance to escape. The one who tore open the gap was him."

"Then tell me, where did he get that kind of palm strength? Nine Suns Scorching Heaven? Isn't that a legendary Cultivation Technique?"

"This subordinate doesn't know. But he definitely has a move called 'Nine Suns Scorching Heaven Palm.' When it landed, a wave of fire exploded, flipping eight men on the spot, even setting the rooftops ablaze."

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The man closed his eyes, his face ashen. "I thought he was just a pretty face who climbed up using women, clever at best, able to dodge a few assassinations. I never imagined... he hides even deeper than I do."

"What do we do now?" someone asked.

"What do we do?" He slowly sat up, refusing to lie back down even as cold sweat dripped from the pain. "We do it again, of course."

He scanned the room, his gaze sinister. "This time, I won't believe rumors, won't listen to analysis. I want to know what time he wakes up every day, how many bowls of rice he eats, which roads he takes, who he meets. I'll give him a knife when he's most at ease."

"But his reputation has grown. People on the street recognize him. After last night, even the city patrol guards don't dare check his residence lightly."

"Then we wait."

"How long?"

"One year, two years—we'll wait." He sneered. "I can afford to lose once, but I will never lose a second time. The stronger he is, the more viciously I'll destroy him. As long as he remains in this city for one more day, I won't stop."

Outside, the night watchman's drum sounded. The third watch had passed.

In another secret chamber elsewhere, candlelight flickered. Several faces sat around a table, all in brocade robes and jade belts, but none wore official uniforms. One man held tea but did not drink, his brow furrowed.

"I heard thirteen died last night, over twenty injured."

"All elites."

"Chen Xuan has certainly made a name for himself with this fight."

"I warned you not to act rashly, but you wouldn't listen. Now look. Not only is he not dead, he's fought his way to prestige. The commoners are spreading tales—saying he single-handedly repelled a crowd of enemies, that his flame palm kept foes from getting close."

"Victory and defeat are common in war."

A man with bandages wrapped around his head sat in the corner—the leader who had been blasted away earlier. "But if this grudge goes unavenged, I vow I am no man."

A man at the table sneered. "Don't say that where outsiders might hear. Even within our own ranks, we must suppress the news. Orders have come from above forbidding any further mention of last night's events. Anyone who openly talks of moving against him now will be seen as a madman."

"Then we won't do it openly."

The bandaged man slowly stood up. "The covert agents stay put, intelligence gathering continues. Watch his every move. I don't believe he'll stay this vigilant forever. There will come a day when he thinks peace has returned, when he lets his guard down. And then..."

He didn't finish, merely made a throat-slitting gesture.

After a moment of silence, someone finally nodded. "Alright. But we can't use overt force again. If we lose another batch of men, and the higher-ups investigate, none of us can cover it up."

"Understood." The bandaged man sat back down. "This time, I'll plan it myself. No death warriors, no blades. We'll use time, use patience. Wear him down."

Meanwhile, on the second floor of a tavern in the southern part of the city, several Jianghu men sat drinking around a table.

"Did you hear? Last night in West Alley, Chen Xuan alone fought off dozens of masked men."

"Nonsense! One man against dozens?"

"Absolutely true! My cousin lives nearby, saw the flames shooting into the sky with his own eyes, heard people shouting 'Don't let him escape!' And the result? He just dusted himself off and walked away. The pursuers didn't even dare leave the alley."

"No wonder so many have started calling him Young Master Chen lately. They used to just call him 'that kid Chen Xuan.'"

"Who dares now? The day before yesterday, a drunken caravan guard cursed him. The next day, he was kicked out of the guard company. They said his conduct was improper, damaged the industry's reputation."

"Heh, isn't that setting him up for a fall?"

"It's not setting up, it's fear. He's not just some contestant Martial Artist anymore. He's a ruthless character who can burn down half a street. Anyone who provokes him knows the consequences."

Downstairs at a tea stall, two idlers cracked melon seeds.

"You think he's been hiding his skills all along? Playing the weakling?"

"Definitely. Why do you think those women follow him? A cold face like Leng Shuang's—who does she smile for? Zhao Hongling has a fiery temper, glares at everyone, yet she acts coy with him.

Du Gu Xue, a princess from the northern border; Liu Ruyan, the top courtesan south of the Yangtze—they all circle around him. If he didn't have something real, how could he keep such a group in check?"

"I reckon, for this Husband Selection Ceremony, the champion is definitely him."

"Champion or not, I'm not daring to provoke him."

In a courtyard in the eastern part of the city, a room's doors and windows were tightly shut. A spy knelt on the floor before a tall, thin man.

"Last night's operation failed. Casualties were heavy. The leader is severely wounded."

After listening, the tall, thin man remained silent for a long time before speaking. "Pass down the order. Suspend all actions targeting Chen Xuan. Intelligence collection continues as usual, but do not approach within a hundred paces of his residence. Do not record the details of his daily routines."

"But..."

"No 'buts.'"

The man said coldly, "Moving against him now is tantamount to warning him he's being watched.

He just went through a major battle. He's at his most alert.

If we pull back now, he'll instead suspect we have another scheme, will waste energy guessing. Only when he slowly starts to feel safe will he show a flaw."

"Then... we just accept this?"

"Accept?" The man's lips curved slightly. "I didn't say we let him go. I just said there's no hurry."

He walked to the window, pushed it open a crack, and looked out at the distant street.

Morning sunlight spilled onto the bluestone pavement. Several children were chasing and playing, their laughter crisp and clear.

"He's at the peak of his glory now, revered and feared by all. Good. Let him enjoy a few more days of that glory."

He gently closed the window. "The moment he starts to truly savor that glory will be the first step of his downfall."

And in an ordinary commoner's house in the western part of the city, Chen Xuan sat basking in the sun in the courtyard.

The wound on his shoulder had already scabbed over; the burn marks on his palm had also faded considerably.

He held a steamed bun, taking slow bites, occasionally looking up at the sky.

The courtyard was very quiet.

He knew some people wouldn't just let it go.

He also knew the days to come would be more troublesome.

But he didn't care.

He finished the last bite, clapped his hands, stood up, and stretched.

Then he turned and walked into the house, closing the door behind him.

Outside, the sunlight was just right. The wind stirred a copper bell at the eaves, which chimed once.