Chapter 34
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Fire - 1
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Blue Flower Tower.
It was the tallest building on Tin Powder Street, the infamous hub of the underworld. The soaring pavilion stood as a symbol of the black path itself, a place where the most precious treasures among the back alleys' riches and stolen goods were gathered. A spot this vital wouldn't be left unguarded by the Dragon Star Clan.
Guarding the front entrance were Bird Pattern Viper Master Zhang Yi, his body etched with beastly tattoos, and Night Pig Wen Huaping, a master of external arts. The two alone could fend off raids from lesser gangs. And inside the tower, it brimmed with men—Red Poles and Four Eyes who hadn't been sent to the slums. They feasted on lavish meals without letting their guard down.
This was a time of strife. Every one of them kept a blade within arm's reach.
Beneath the raucous laughter lurked a tension ready to ignite at the slightest spark. Then, from beyond the darkness, something began to stir.
Zhang Yi noticed it first. He was renowned for his keen sense of smell.
"Up, you bastards. Grab your tools."
"What's going on?"
A shrill voice piped up.
"I smell blood. Looks like some half-starved idiots think they're the smartest ones around."
Bird Pattern Viper Master Zhang Yi, deputy leader of the Green Tiger Sect with over a decade in the black path, drew his treasured blade. With his faithful companion through countless killings at his side, he feared nothing.
One by one, chairs scraped against the floor. Terrified folk peeked from behind walls. The quiet spread of fear pleased Zhang Yi. He'd never once regretted devoting himself to the black path.
Beating someone senseless. Fighting, charging ahead. To Zhang Yi, it was as natural as breathing, a clear line between superior and inferior. He paid no mind to some rabble of vagrants rebelling. He'd faced far greater battles.
In one rural village, he'd even clashed to the death with warriors of the Huangfu Clan. A few heads rolling wouldn't scatter this rabble.
The sun had fully set.
Darkness fell. A chill wind prowled the deserted street. Night Pig and Bird Pattern Viper Master, the two hulking brutes, blocked the Blue Flower Tower's front gate like the Four Heavenly Kings carved in stone.
And before them, a horde of demons began to gather.
Click.
A torch flared in the alley beyond.
A beast's bone rolled across the wet earth... then clattered against someone's bony foot. Click. Another torch ignited. Beneath it, faces rotted from starvation. Bathed in the torchlight, crimson-tinged visages marched in silence.
One. Another. Torches blazed one after another. The red flicker spread like contagion, banishing the gloom and illuminating the pitch-black street. At its center, leading the front, stood a one-legged scholar.
Zhang Ping strode rigidly on his wooden leg. Zhang Yi and Wen Huaping stared in disbelief, spitting out retorts.
"Dragon Star Clan must've taken a real beating. Guess I need to reflect on myself today."
"Starved weaklings and that cripple Zhang Ping... Trash who couldn't even pick a fight with black path men, now hiding behind some woman to insult the Dragon Star Clan?!"
Their words ended in thunderous roars laced with killing intent. Zhang Ping's reply wasn't for them. The ones who needed to hear weren't those big dumb brutes.
Those with power saw the vast, boundless world. Their vision was too broad for starving wretches to fit.
Clans played Go with human lives as pieces. Daoist sects holed up in deep mountains reciting scriptures. The black path seized by violence and fear. Nowhere in the world was there a place for the powerless.
Zhang Ping's eyes gleamed with madness.
"Weaklings."
Those not born with strong bones, unable to cultivate martial arts.
"Vagrants."
Those without coin to register at a martial hall, barred from the jianghu.
"Trash."
Those without spiritual roots. Without talent. Ordinary folk lacking the vessel for the Dao. Weaklings who couldn't even hold onto the paltry harvest from a lifetime tilling fields.
Who had given them strength? Who breathed inner power into bodies with sealed meridians choked by poison qi? Who gifted martial arts to one who couldn't walk straight his whole life?
Having received grace, there was a duty to fulfill.
Zhang Yi tightened his grip on his blade. Wen Huaping assumed his fist stance. A bead of cold sweat trickled down his brow.
"No more groveling! Pay them back! Tear down that tower!"
Zhang Ping's shout unleashed a human wave.
Zhang Yi swung his blade with full force, cleaving one man. As the gutted body fell, another surged over it. No time to catch his breath before a stab pierced a chest, claiming another life.
But.
"Argh!"
An nameless vagrant, dying, clutched Zhang Yi's blade with all his might. Behind him loomed a burly laborer. Thud. The descending fist was ferocious. Without Wen Huaping's block, it could've been disastrous.
Did Wen Huaping have any breathing room? No.
Third-rate swordsman Ha Il. Old Kyung, who'd sold his life before fifty. Behind them, Zhang the Third and folk who'd never held a blade swarmed like locusts. Wen Huaping desperately thrust his fists. Unleashed palm strikes. But no fist art he'd learned could triumph over a wave.
In the melee, someone yanked his leg. A vagrant crawling, vomiting blood. Normally a kick would've sufficed, but those fingers clung like glue. His ankle throbbed.
The Reverse Blood Heart Method's power was astonishing. Sturdy legs buckled and swayed. That was the end.
Wen Huaping, off-balance, was embraced by someone and slammed down. Humans swarmed like bees atop his falling form—not people, but a swarm of locusts. His eight-chi frame, honed by secret arts and elixirs, meant nothing.
Skin that withstood hundreds of slashes couldn't endure thousands of fists. Acupoints reacting to the barrage went berserk. Qi deviation—his lifelong cultivation scattered.
Bruises bloomed instantly on his diamond-like flesh. He screamed, mind blank. Flailing arms unknown where they struck... snapped quietly. The unmoving corpse was kicked to the alley's edge. Watching it, terror finally gripped Zhang Yi's heart.
"Aaaagh! Stay back! I said stay back!"
His blade swung fiercely. A sword that had killed dozens. Yet why was Zhang Yi the one retreating? Thud. His back hit the Blue Flower Tower wall. Turning, he saw Zhang Ping grinning maniacally.
Blood dripped from his clenched fist on the blade. Relentlessly, he wouldn't let go.
"Urgh!"
Wide eyes desperate. His yanking arm poured in lifelong power. Yet it couldn't overcome Zhang Ping's grudge. Bam! A fist smashed Zhang Yi's face. Unconscious, he fell—and soon breathed his last.
A massacre unfolded inside Blue Flower Tower.
A Red Pole swung his club. Splurt. A head burst. But in the cramped space, the club had nowhere left to go. Forward, over corpses, forward. The fallen cleared paths for the next, comrades filling in for vengeance.
"Demons. Demon bastards..."
"We gotta get out. They're all insane."
The Four Eyes exchanged panicked glances, then realized there was no escape. Everywhere, a forest of vagrants, torches raised, closing in.
"Please, spare me! I didn't do anything!"
One groveled. Others followed suit. Begging, pleading mercy, apologizing. But kicks rained down. No mercy for anyone.
It took less than an hour for everyone in Blue Flower Tower to die. Blood-soaked Zhang Ping climbed atop the largest table on the first floor.
"Ransack the warehouse! Pull out the grain and distribute it! Then get out quick—don't linger in the tower!"
"What will you do, Scholar?"
"The most important task."
Soon, food and treasures piled like mountains outside. Zhang Ping entered the tower alone. In one kitchen corner, cooking oil and liquor filled jars.
He grabbed one flask of perfumed oil and one of liquor, heading to the topmost floor.
The residence reserved for black path mountain lords across generations. Tailored to current master Yong Heisha's tastes, it dripped with luxury. Yunnan jade. A gold chair engraved with dragons. Thick musk from white deer's fragrance.
Stripping the ornaments here could buy a decent house.
The sight filled Zhang Ping with revulsion. Pop. The flask stopper came free.
Oil and liquor poured. Soaking the tiger-skin rug.
"I'm not the first."
Before Zhang Ping, there was Bai Hui. Before him, the Divine Maiden. And before her?
The oppressed were everywhere if you looked. From the moment human strength proved unequal, from when one life wasn't worth another's—it was inevitable.
"Nor the last."
The masses gathered here today were neither first nor final. Mere harbingers. So.
He had to let them know.
That the time had come, that they weren't alone—proclaim it across the world. Light a massive beacon so all eyes turned here.
Zhang Ping cackled. Far greater pleasure than passing the Hanlin exam thrilled him.
"Now, raise the signal fire. Light the torches."
Hiss. Sparks flew from the fire starter. Flames roared to life.