8: Chapter 8 Midnight Crisis

It was the end of June.

The night was sweltering, and cicadas were chirping incessantly in the trees.

Yang Yuan lay on the bamboo mat, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

Cheng Ying slept on the inside, her breathing steady.

Her belly was already as large as an inverted pot; it was difficult for her to lie on her side, so she could only half-lean against the pillow.

Yang Yuan stared at the rafters for a while and simply sat up.

He got out of bed lightly, picked up the single-blade sword leaning against the headboard, and pushed open the door.

There was a breeze in the courtyard.

The leaves of the jujube tree fluttered in the moonlight, casting swaying shadows on the ground.

He walked to the well, drew a bucket of water, washed his face, and then leaned against the trunk of the jujube tree, closing his eyes to regulate his breathing.

The warm current of the Qi Cultivation Method flowed through his Meridians.

He hadn't slacked off these past few days, practicing every night, and his Internal Energy was much more solid than when he first arrived in Jiaxing.

Although he couldn't be considered a "martial arts expert," he was at least stronger than the average person.

Suddenly, there was an unusual sound mixed into the wind.

Yang Yuan opened his eyes.

The sound was very faint, buried within the chirping of the cicadas, like something sliding across roof tiles—very light, but very urgent.

He stood up straight, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, and looked toward the courtyard gate.

The courtyard gate was closed, and the bolt was fastened.

But there was movement in the alley.

Footsteps. More than one person. They were running fast, and there was the sound of metal clashing.

Yang Yuan frowned.

He didn't make a sound, keeping close to the wall as he slowly walked behind the courtyard gate and peered out through a crack.

The alley was pitch black.

Moonlight was blocked by the eaves on both sides, and he could only see a few blurry shadows moving.

Two people were running. The one in front was stumbling, clutching his shoulder with one hand and dragging a broken sword with the other.

The one behind was in hot pursuit, gripping a scimitar, its blade glinting coldly in the moonlight.

"Stop!"

The pursuer gave a low shout and thrust his blade forward.

The person in front dodged to the side, but not cleanly; the tip of the blade grazed his waist, tearing open a gash.

He let out a muffled groan and fell to the ground.

The pursuer stepped forward and raised his blade to strike—

"Pfft."

A soft sound.

A piece of broken roof tile flew in from the side, striking the pursuer's wrist dead on.

The pursuer's wrist went numb, and he almost dropped his blade.

He turned his head sharply, looking toward the courtyard gate.

"Who is it?"

Yang Yuan stood at the gate, his single-blade sword in hand.

He didn't answer, just watching the two people in the alley.

The pursuer was a man in black, about thirty years old, with a scar across his face.

He sized Yang Yuan up, his gaze lingering on the sword in his hand, then swept over the tightly closed door behind him.

"Jianghu grievances have nothing to do with you," the scarred man said in a low voice. "Get lost."

Yang Yuan didn't move.

He looked at the person on the ground. He was young, in his early twenties, his face deathly pale, blood seeping from his shoulder and waist.

His eyes were half-open, looking at him, his lips moving without making a sound.

"I'll count to three," the scarred man's eyes turned cold. "One."

Yang Yuan still didn't move.

"Two."

The scarred man raised his blade and took a step forward.

Yang Yuan suddenly moved.

He didn't charge forward; instead, he pushed off the ground, dodged to the side, and pressed his body against the courtyard wall, circling to the scarred man's blind spot.

The scarred man reacted quickly, turning around to slash.

Yang Yuan didn't take the blow head-on. He turned to the side, the blade tip grazing his clothes, and he took another step forward—

This step was very close.

So close that the scarred man couldn't retract his blade in time.

Yang Yuan pressed his left hand onto the scarred man's wrist, and with his right hand, he thrust his sword forward, the hilt smashing hard into the man's ribs.

"Crack."

The scarred man let out a muffled grunt, his knees went weak, and he fell to one knee.

Yang Yuan didn't stop. He drove his knee upward, striking the scarred man squarely on the chin. The scarred man's head snapped back, his eyes rolled, and he collapsed.

The alley went quiet.

Yang Yuan looked down at the scarred man, confirming he was just unconscious, not dead.

He sheathed his sword, walked over to the young man, and crouched down.

"Can you still walk?"

The young man nodded, wanting to brace himself to stand, but his legs went weak and he sat back down.

Yang Yuan didn't waste words; he hoisted the young man's arm, helped him up, and half-dragged, half-carried him into the courtyard.

"Wait—" the young man panted, "That man... will wake up..."

"He won't wake up anytime soon."

Yang Yuan helped him to the side room, let him sit against the wall, and then turned to get water and cloth strips.

Cheng Ying had woken up at some point; she stood at the doorway of the main room, her hand on the doorframe, gazing toward the side room.

"What happened?"

"It's nothing," Yang Yuan didn't even turn his head. "Go back to sleep."

Cheng Ying didn't move.

She watched Yang Yuan carry the basin into the side room, watched for a few seconds, then slowly walked back into the room.

In the side room, Yang Yuan used the light of an oil lamp to check the young man's injuries.

The gash on the shoulder was the deepest, the blade having pierced half an inch, but fortunately, it hadn't hit the bone. The one on the waist was shallower but long, with the skin and flesh torn open.

"Bear with it."

Yang Yuan rinsed the wound with strong spirits, and the young man gritted his teeth, sweat covering his forehead.

"What is your name?"

"Liu... Liu Qingyun," the young man panted. "Thank you, benefactor."

"Why were you being chased?"

Liu Qingyun gave a bitter smile.

"Black Wind Fortress," he lowered his voice. "I'm a caravan guard passing through Jiaxing, and I accidentally bumped into their people meeting in the city... and heard some things I shouldn't have."

"What things?"

Liu Qingyun hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "It won't do you any good if I tell you."

Yang Yuan didn't press.

He finished treating the wound, wrapped it with cloth strips, and then fished a small packet of herbal medicine from his robes and handed it over.

"Take this medicine. Change the dressing tomorrow."

Liu Qingyun took the medicine and was stunned.

"This medicine..." he stared at the packet, "This scent, it's like the secret recipe from Jishitang?"

"I concocted it myself," Yang Yuan stood up. "Rest here for the night, and leave early tomorrow morning."

Liu Qingyun braced himself to stand up. "Benefactor—"

"No need to thank me," Yang Yuan interrupted him. "You're just lucky I couldn't sleep."

Liu Qingyun looked at him, opened his mouth, and finally fished something out from his robes.

It was a token.

It was iron, the size of a palm, with edges worn shiny. An outline of an eagle was carved on the front, and some small characters were carved on the back, but they were too worn to be legible.

"Take this," Liu Qingyun shoved the token into his hand. "This is my token of trust. If you ever need me in the future, with this, I, Liu Qingyun, will not hesitate."

Yang Yuan looked down at the token.

The iron token was heavy, feeling a bit cold in his hand.

"Black Wind Fortress," he suddenly spoke. "Where is it?"

Liu Qingyun was stunned. "Thirty miles northwest of the city."

"What are they looking for?"

Liu Qingyun was silent for a few seconds.

"...A woman. And something else, called a 'dark iron fragment'."

Yang Yuan's fingers paused on the edge of the token.

A dark iron fragment.

He recalled that map fragment—drawn with the lay of the mountains and rivers, with "Beware of Peach Blossom Island" written on the back.

Were the two things related?

He didn't ask again, just nodded. "Leave through the back door early tomorrow morning."

Liu Qingyun nodded.

Yang Yuan walked out of the side room and closed the door.

In the courtyard, the shadows of the jujube tree swayed on the ground. The wind blew from the alley, carrying a faint scent of blood.

He walked to the courtyard gate and peered out through a crack.

The alley was empty. The scarred man was gone.

Yang Yuan fastened the bolt and moved a stone to brace the door from behind.

Then he returned to the main room; Cheng Ying was already lying down, but her eyes were open, watching him enter.

"Is everything all right?"

"It's fine," Yang Yuan lay down beside her, placing his sword under the pillow. "Go to sleep."

Cheng Ying didn't ask again.

She turned on her side, her hand resting on her belly, and slowly closed her eyes.

Yang Yuan lay in the darkness, staring at the rafters.

Black Wind Fortress. dark iron fragment. Peach Blossom Island.

He gripped the iron token in his hand.

This Jianghu was more complicated than he had imagined.