Chapter 6
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: The Vigil (3)
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It was late afternoon.
The man known as Iron Scripture, Hidden Moon’s right-hand man, had paid a visit to the Fufeng Four Heroes. Cutting straight to the chase, he had asked them to hold off on messing with Flying Tiger tonight.
A warning couched as a request.
Iron Scripture’s plea, made on Hidden Moon’s behalf, was an unwritten law among bounty hunters—one they simply had to honor. It was much like the rule that no one could pick a fight in Hidden Moon’s Western Pavilion.
What would happen if someone broke it?
No one knew for sure.
For whatever reason, the denizens of Chang'an’s underworld generally toed Hidden Moon’s line quite faithfully. Those who didn’t... well, they tended to vanish quietly from time to time.
In short, there was no one left to spill the beans.
Pung-sam’s nagging unease stemmed from precisely that. Pung-il, on the other hand, was a man of strong pride. Now that he was playing in deeper waters, he figured the underworld’s lame little taboos could go straight to the dogs.
Not that Pung-il thought Hidden Moon was a joke.
Still, he’d be shipping out to the battlefield tomorrow anyway. And if he racked up some merits and made it back alive, wouldn’t everything—from his standing to the whole damn world—look completely different by then?
That was his line of thinking.
For much the same reason, Pung-il hated Flying Tiger’s guts.
One day, he’d caught a chilling glint in those cocky eyes of his. He’d backed off and yielded a step without even realizing it. No big deal. A trivial nothing he couldn’t even recall anymore. If he had to guess, maybe it had something to do with the girl he now wanted to put in her place? That young pup was usually pretty docile, so long as it didn’t involve his own woman.
Whatever the case, it had bruised his pride back then. The memory might have faded, but the grudge had hardened into a solid crystal lodged in his body, like gallstones.
A thorn in his eye.
Wasn’t that reason enough for one man to hate another? Did it really need to be anything more?
‘So before that head of his gets any bigger, I’ll lop it right off!’
That was Pung-il’s way of surviving in this brutal jianghu.
Thus, this was simply clearing out the old baggage for a fresh start.
The market streets were rowdy and alive, but the dingy back alley where Flying Tiger lived was quieter than usual. Just one bridge across the Silgaecheon, and you’d find food and fun everywhere—who’d bother trekking all the way to this drab hole? So the only traffic was the odd lost drunk or a stray wanderer or two.
Thud thud.
Four men with swords stepped into the back alley.
A perfect night for killing.
“But Second Brother, is that pup’s girl really that pretty? Word on the street is she’s so sick she might kick it any day now.”
Pung-sa, the fourth of the Fufeng Four Heroes, tossed the question at Pung-i out of sheer boredom while they walked.
“Heh heh heh! Seeing’s believing. You’ll check her out with your own peepers soon enough. Fun fact: first time I laid eyes on her, I thought a fairy’d come down from heaven—stared like a slack-jawed idiot. Dainty little face, tits big as her head, and legs... man, those legs...”
“Hmph! Fairy, my ass. When those guys first showed up around here, folks said they drifted in along the Silk Road from the west. So by my reckoning, that bitch must be from Tianzhu Kingdom, right?”
Pung-sam, still grumpy at his second brother, chimed in with his two cents. Pung-sa clapped like he’d heard the gospel.
“Oho! So Third Brother’s saying she ain’t no fairy—she’s a bodhisattva straight from Buddha’s backyard. Traveled all this way just to grace us with her body, huh? Puhehe!”
The girl they were yapping about, Gong Won-yeong, was a half-blood born to a Persian trading magnate of a father and a scholarly clan mother. Her looks stood out sharply from your typical Tianzhu native.
But these ignoramuses? No chance they’d know the difference. They just ran their mouths like the clueless hacks they were.
Clap.
Pung-il clapped sharply, snapping his rowdy little brothers back to attention. Pretty roses came with thorns, after all—and good as that sounded, there was business to handle first. He hated Flying Tiger, sure, but he didn’t underestimate him. Same way he aimed to top Hidden Moon without treating him like dirt.
Just like that, the Fufeng Four Heroes’ three underlings clammed up. They drew their sinister weapons, faces hardening with murderous intent. Full work mode engaged.
Shing!Click, click!
Human garbage, maybe—but damn if they didn’t have their uses. Otherwise, why would Pung-il drag them everywhere?
Pung-il shot a glance. Pung-i spat on the ground and took point.
This one was a back-alley rat born and bred. He’d even scouted the place yesterday. Made him the perfect spearhead.
Pung-i’s buggy eyes gleamed with oily menace, churning with malice, bloodlust, and greedy hunger for the rewards.
‘Listen up, pup. Two reasons you gotta die. One: those eyes of yours staring me down are way too damn cocky. Two: a cocky little shit like you’s got no business owning a bitch that fine. So I’ll kill ya and claim her. Lookin’ forward to it.’
Pung-i slunk forward, leading the way. The rest fell in behind, footsteps muffled.
These alleys twisted like a maze, but they navigated without a hitch. In no time flat, they reached Flying Tiger’s stretch.
That’s where the four split up.
Pung-sam hung back to stand watch—securing their escape. Pung-sa looped around back to cut off any runners.
Pung-i and Pung-il? Straight-up blitz into Flying Tiger’s shack!
They’d spotted lantern light flickering through the window just seconds ago—someone was up. No creeping around, then. Lightning raid it was.
Dash dash—thud.
Pung-i bolted right up and jammed a prepped poison bomb straight through the window.
Psssh~
Thick gray smoke billowed out, reeking of rotten eggs and fish. Nerve-scrambler special.
Would’ve been nice if it paralyzed or poisoned on contact—but shit like that cost a fortune even if you could find it. Bad business, plain and simple.
Crash! Ugh?
Things toppling over. A faint, brief groan.
Jackpot!
Pung-i backed off the window a step, locking eager eyes with Pung-il.
Pung-il had his sword cocked and ready by the door. Anyone bursting out? Straight to the heart.
......
Short silence.
No more of the reactions they wanted. Pung-il gripped the doorknob and nodded at Pung-i.
Pung-i whipped cloth over his nose and mouth, reset his sword grip, and nodded back.
Bang!
Door flew wide. Pung-i charged in.
“Huh?”
Pung-il’s eyebrow twitched at the bewildered yelp. He’d even braced for a counterattack—but this?
That instant, Flying Tiger made his move!
Flying Tiger had been perched on the roof of a lean-to diagonally across from his shack, waiting for his evening guests. He nursed his throat with sips of liquor now and then. When boredom hit anyway, he’d pop a dried grape or two from his stash.
Not like he was dead certain.
But earlier that day, he’d read the malice in Pung-i’s gaze. So he’d prepped. Right after dinner. If no-shows, he’d have hunkered down till just before dawn.
Heck, he’d pulled plenty of all-nighters like this before—false alarms that went nowhere. Waiting was old hat.
And tonight?
Guests at last. Time for the VIP treatment.
He’d show them exactly what happened when you groped his woman. Why they called him the Mad Dog.
Six Jia Gate?
Martial Qin Alliance?
Didn’t give a damn.
Flying Tiger snagged Pung-sa first—the one circling to the rear.
He vaulted from roof to wall to roof with fluid ease. Up front, Pung-il and Pung-i were still fumbling around.
Pung-sa didn’t sense a thing until the pounce.
Just a sudden chill down his spine.
That’s when his head whipped around—right off his shoulders.
Crack.
Flying Tiger snapped the neck, then drove his reverse-gripped dagger deep between the collarbones.
Flap flap.
...Tremble tremble.
Took about as long as a few blinks for the soul to rip free.
Flying Tiger eased the limp corpse to the ground.
Then the straw pile out back heaved. Gong Won-yeong crawled out.
Secret tunnel.
Flying Tiger and Gong Won-yeong had dodged obsessive hunters for years, dancing on death’s edge. Evasion was second nature.
So yeah, she’d been geared up too. Those startled noises Pung-il and Pung-i heard inside? Misdirection.
Her face was ashen, but she forced a calm look and locked eyes with Flying Tiger.
‘Be careful.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back.’
They split.
Gong Won-yeong slipped into her backup hidey-hole out back—one of those cramped nooks tacked onto the place.
Flying Tiger went to greet the rest.
In a puny four-mat shack like that, how many hiding spots could there be?
Pung-i spotted the narrow tunnel under the bed quick enough. But diving in headfirst? Bad idea.
Traps.
Iron grates scattered across the dark floor, thinly covered in cloth. Crude and basic, but you couldn’t just ignore ’em. Who knew what else lurked? Or if Flying Tiger wasn’t holed up in the shadows with blade drawn.
So Pung-i poked around cautious-like, moving slow. Pung-il watched, fuming at the delay.
Surprise attack was toast. Now it was swords at dawn with the damn pup. What was supposed to be a stroll in the park had gone straight to hell.
‘Goddamn it! Might end up spilling some blood here. Bail now and pretend it never happened?’
Getting in was their call. Getting out? Not so much. Owner wasn’t having it.
Dash.
Flying Tiger vaulted onto the back roof in a heartbeat, crossed it in two strides, and dropped like a meteor—sword cocked high—right onto Pung-il!
Pung-il had felt the presence behind him and crouched to listen.
Too late. He spotted Flying Tiger plummeting from the sky, jolted in shock, flung up his sword to parry—and realized his screw-up.
Clear mismatch.
No blocking that!
Bisection incoming!
Pung-il hurled himself into the shack in a roll. Flying Tiger’s slash grazed by a hair, slamming into the dirt.
Thud.
Buried over a full chi deep—thirty centimeters at least.
Pung-il dodged the slice by luck, but the vicious sword wind carved a long gash from his left flank clear to his thigh.
Stung like hell.
Couldn’t put full weight on the left leg now.
Pung-i inside whipped around at Flying Tiger’s flashy entrance, startled. Right then, he clutched a fresh poison bomb—poised to lob it down the tunnel.
Pung-il clocked it and bellowed in panic.
“Throw it! Fuck!”