Chapter 8
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Chapter 3. The Ghost's Mask (1)
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A dark shadow slipped quietly along the base of the brick wall in the alley paved with neat, square bricks.
The shadow paused briefly at the turning corner before heading toward the tall stone wall across the street, lanterns hanging every three zhang apart.
And then it scampered up.
Clinging to the wall effortlessly as if it had suction cups on its hands and feet, its movements resembled a gecko—so much so that the technique was called the Wall Tiger Skill.
Having scaled the wall, the shadow settled beneath a nearby tree trunk and began blending back into the darkness.
It spent roughly one gak—about thirty minutes—observing the movements within the manor.
As Flying Tiger had anticipated in his shadow form, infiltrating this manor rented by Six Jia Gate was no difficult feat.
Even though lanterns illuminated every corner and guards stood watch or patrolled at key points.
Thinking about it, it made perfect sense.
This was the heartland of the Martial Qin Alliance, far from any battlefield. Starting tomorrow, the main march would begin in earnest.
So the higher-ups had tightened discipline and set up ironclad security, but the actual guards on duty had their minds in the bean fields. The lax atmosphere was palpable. Those wandering about chatted idly while giving their surroundings only cursory glances, and half of those standing post dozed off with heads nodding. And everyone tacitly ignored it—no one said a word.
Thus, for Flying Tiger, Six Jia Gate's guard network posed no significant obstacle.
Yet here he was, hesitating. For an utterly unexpected reason.
'Now's the perfect time to search for Pung-sam while the patrol passes, but my instincts feel off. It's that prickling sensation right before disaster strikes. Should I just give up and head back?'
Flying Tiger had always trusted his gut, following it unless there was good reason not to.
He had faced countless life-or-death crossroads, sometimes forced to decide on pure instinct without a shred of evidence. And he'd survived every time. So didn't that earn him the right to trust it?
That instinct whispered vaguely now.
'Be careful. There's something—or someone—extremely dangerous in this manor!'
Had he the luxury of time, Flying Tiger might have washed his hands of it and retreated cleanly.
But time was not on his side.
He needed at least to confirm Pung-sam's presence here before he could stretch out and sleep soundly or pack up and make his escape.
After a moment's hesitation, he quelled his nagging doubts.
'Fine. Even if some peerless master is staying here, what of it? I'll just do my business and slip out before things get messy.'
Flying Tiger drew a slow breath, then exhaled sharply with a "Hup!" as he launched his body forward.
He had already mapped the building layouts, guard positions, and patrol routes—the organic flow of it all. Though he'd seen only fragments, he could infer the overall structure and security setup.
He was trained to glimpse one thing and intuit ten.
Sasasak.
Flying Tiger moved only along dark paths, sticking to the deepest shadows. He paused just once en route before reaching the area where he suspected the Fufeng Four Heroes lodged.
It was a detached building on the western outskirts, separated from the others. Foot traffic was freer here, the atmosphere distinctly different. From Six Jia Gate's perspective, it was the perfect spot to house ambiguous allies and guests.
Flying Tiger took cover near the outhouse behind the annex and prepared to greet his "guest."
First, he recited a special breathing technique, tapping his acupoints in sequence while manipulating his joints.
Crack! Crunch!
Amazingly, his waist hunched over, and his limbs shortened. By twisting and contracting his bones bit by bit, he executed the Bone Shrinking Skill, a technique from Tianzhu's yogic arts.
His transformed figure was squat and stooped, with a thick, barrel-like chest. No single change was drastic, but the overall impression was of an entirely different body type.
Then Flying Tiger removed his mask and donned the prepared Human Skin Mask over his face.
Crafted from thinly peeled pigskin treated with special drugs—a handmade job by Flying Tiger himself—it resembled human skin.
His craftsmanship fell short of a professional's, though. At a glance, it passed for a human face, but it had flaws aplenty. It couldn't convey emotions at all, and its eerie shape looked less like a man and more like a ghost.
But that didn't matter.
It was pitch black night, and he had a few tricks to deceive anyone who saw him.
Thus disguised from face to physique, Flying Tiger cleared his throat once, then muttered softly to roughen and rasp his voice, completing his preparations.
Now he waited for a customer.
'This feels bad.'
Flying Tiger frowned, noticing his own growing impatience.
Waiting was second nature to him. He could hole up for three days straight if needed, pursuing his goal relentlessly. He'd even wondered once if his true strength lay in patience and endurance.
Yet now it chafed. That uneasy feeling from earlier had sharpened into certainty.
A sticky, insidious air dominated the manor. Something foul was on the verge of erupting.
Or perhaps it already had!
'I need to move. Now.'
Flying Tiger sprang to his feet.
He abandoned waiting, planning instead to lure one of the loiterers near the annex. If that failed...
Give up?
Either way, he intended to wrap this up and escape as quickly as possible. Risks would follow, of course, but he saw this anxiety as a wildfire. Sitting tight would let it encircle and trap him before he knew it.
Pure instinct.
Couldn't he be wrong?
He was a swordsman of the jianghu, staking his life on split-second judgments with a single blade.
Once decided, he acted.
Flinch.
But this time, he couldn't follow through.
As Flying Tiger awkwardly lowered his stance and ducked into the bushes, someone came stumbling along, clutching their waist.
His long-awaited guest.
"Ugh~ damn! Feels good. Almost pissed my pants there."
Shoooo~
A disheveled man with a rat-like face unleashed a thick stream of urine, savoring the petty relief. Even the drunken haze from evening's binge seemed to drain away.
As the pleasure faded, the rat-faced man shuddered, squeezing out the last drops.
Then Flying Tiger's knife-hand struck the nape of his neck from behind, followed by a storm of blows. He couldn't breathe, couldn't even cry out—no idea where or how he'd been hit.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
The rat-faced man curled shrimp-like on the ground, trembling involuntarily this time.
What the hell? Lightning from a clear sky?
Who the hell is this guy?
Am I gonna die?
As the barrage ended, the rat-faced man cracked open fishy eyes from his prone position and peeked at his mysterious assailant.
A short, ugly stranger.
The bastard glared daggers at him, fuming with indignation—despite being the one who'd taken the beating.
"Who... are you?"
"You little Pung-i bastard, you dare try to screw over Im Dal-chung? Hand over the money. Now."
Pung-i? One of the Fufeng Four Heroes' second brother?
Ah, a misunderstanding.
He wasn't even angry. No room for it—that stone-like fist had hurt like hell.
"I'm not Pung-i, sir. There's been some mistake..."
"What? You're not? You shoe-polishing shit! Then where's that bastard now?"
"He went out drinking this evening and hasn't come back yet."
"Hah~ Then how about Pung-sam? Where's that fucker?"
"He went out with Pung-i."
"For real?"
What a brazen little runt.
Shouldn't you apologize first for hitting the wrong guy?
Yet this punk grilled him with utter shamelessness, as if ready to hold him jointly liable.
Where did that confidence come from?
Acting like he owned the manor, looking down on even the Fufeng Four Heroes—could he be some black path heavyweight Six Jia Gate had secretly brought in?
Half out of his mind, the man figured he needed to toss his attacker something plausible to escape this mess.
A memory surfaced.
"Oh, right. Pung-sam—that guy—came back to his room about one shichen ago? Then left again."
"Huh? You sure?"
"Yes. His face was pale as a ghost, rushing around all flustered—it stuck in my mind. Thought he'd lost big at gambling and come to refill the pot."
"That's my money!"
"Aha! So it was tribute for you, elder."
"Good. So where'd the bastard go?"
"Huh? How should I know?"
"What? You don't know?"
"Gah! Uh... well, you see... something about Sullamune... or whatever..."
Flying Tiger widened his eyes threateningly, and the rat-faced man panicked into babbling nonsense.
But Flying Tiger tuned it out. He'd gotten all the info needed and successfully imprinted his disguised image on the man.
'Sounds like Pung-sam didn't even think to report to Six Jia Gate—just grabbed the Four Heroes' money and bolted. Perfect. Got what I came for. Time to go.'
"Shut it!"
Crack!
Flying Tiger knocked him out with one solid blow, silencing the incoherent drivel.
As he dragged the man toward the bushes behind the outhouse to hide him...
"Kyaak!"
A chilling scream pierced from deep within the manor.
Just as Flying Tiger finished his business and was about to leave—the very event he'd dreaded all along erupted.
The first death rattle was followed by shouts and the shrill clashes of blades.
Then came a spine-chilling wail—joyful or mournful, impossible to tell—like the cry of a ghost.
"Ehehehehehe~"
That piercing sound jolted the sleeping manor awake!
Ding-ding-ding-dong~
Emergency bells rang out, and the manor stirred. Guards reacted first, drawing swords to hold their posts, then warriors poured out from everywhere.
Flying Tiger dropped the man and bolted.
This place would soon become a dragon's pool or tiger's den. Better to risk a few guards' eyes and pursuit while chaos reigned than get encircled later.
But before Flying Tiger took more than a few steps, someone shouted, forcing him to rethink.
"It's the Ghost Mask!"
"The Ghost Mask has appeared!"
Ghost Mask. The serial killer who terrorized Shaanxi province wearing a demonic visage.
His notoriety was such that even Flying Tiger—who cared for nothing outside his own affairs—had heard of him.
Rumor held that Ghost Mask targeted only renowned clan heads and direct heirs.
Speculation abounded on his motives, but Flying Tiger ignored the gossip. The one fact he knew?
Ghost Mask was a supreme master!