Volume Three: Storm at the Gate of Black Tortoise Chapter Sixty-Five: One-Eared

With a swift motion, Li Mingyu brought his blade down, and the pampered scions let out a chorus of shrill screams. In the blink of an eye, six or seven of them were reduced to “one-eared men.”

Outside the gates of Chang’an, the air was thick with wailing and cries for parents, the scene soaked in agony. The crowd of commoners who had gathered to watch was awash with mixed emotions. On one hand, they felt that at last, heaven had opened its eyes—a ruthless figure had arrived to teach these lawless, arrogant sons of the rich a lesson, those who bullied men and women alike. It was a delight to see them punished. On the other, Li Mingyu’s actions made their hearts pound in fear, for several severed ears lay bloody on the ground.

Old Zhou, the city gate official, couldn’t help but twitch at the spectacle. Born and bred in Chang’an, he was accustomed to the young rakes brawling and fighting—fistfights were a common sight, and black eyes were as routine as daily bread. Losing a hand or foot was rare enough to make headlines.

But this young man, barehanded, had beaten six or seven pampered nobles and a dozen of their burly retainers until they were wetting themselves—such a thing was nearly unheard of. Even more outrageous, he acted with utter indifference to their status, cutting off ears as if it were nothing, showing no change of expression as he mutilated them. Old Zhou thought to himself: this young master from the Prince of Qin’s household is truly ruthless—does he not consider the consequences? He’s essentially declaring war on several of the city’s most powerful clans.

Meanwhile, Yu Dayong, the deputy constable on duty from Yongzhou Prefecture, had heard that a group of nobles’ sons were fighting at the East Gate of Chang’an, and his head throbbed with dread. Everyone in Chang’an knew that the last people you wanted to cross were these privileged scoundrels. Arrogant and lawless, they were vicious, vindictive, and delighted in preying on the weak; to them, bullying and even killing was a trivial matter. Their family clans, deeply entrenched and fiercely protective, always found a way to hush up their crimes—these young men were considered the number one scourge of the city.

Yet duty compelled him to go. By the time Yu Dayong arrived with his men—after much foot-dragging—he saw Li Mingyu in the act of slicing off ears. Yu Dayong shivered. What a brazen youth! To commit such violence before my very eyes—there’s no way I can ignore this, or I’ll be the one held responsible.

He raised an eyebrow, muttered a curse—who knew if it was aimed at the attacker or the troublemaking heirs—and was about to order his men to intervene when someone tugged at his sleeve.

It was Old Zhou, the gate officer, who, seeing Yu Dayong about to wade into this mess, hurried over. They were both old hands in Chang’an, and Zhou, recognizing an opportunity to curry favor, leaned in and quietly revealed Li Mingyu’s identity.

Yu Dayong rubbed his hands together—now things were complicated. Both sides were powerful: the Prince of Qin’s household on one, the city’s great clans on the other. What seemed a brawl among young rakes was bound to escalate into a struggle between major factions. This was no simple matter.

Best to wait, he decided, and let someone with more authority handle it. My lowly rank has its advantages—no one could blame a minor official for doing nothing. He’d just put on a show of doing his job and keep out of the fray.

Having made up his mind, Yu Dayong wiped the cold sweat from his brow and cupped his fists to Old Zhou. “Thank you for the warning, Brother Zhou. I owe you one.”

Old Zhou stroked his beard, smiling. “It’s nothing.”

But the burly retainers who had called Yu Dayong over refused to accept this. One glared at him and shouted angrily, “Damn it, Yu! What are you good for? Don’t you see our young master’s been injured? Get in there!”

Yu Dayong rolled his eyes, cursing him inwardly as a dog who relied on his master’s power. He forced a laugh. “Boys, clear the crowd and secure the scene! Don’t let the culprit escape!”

The retainer was furious. “Damn you, Yu Dayong! Are you looking to lose your job?!”

Yu Dayong shot him a glance, too lazy to argue, but kept up appearances, calling out with a forced grin, “Men, draw your weapons and protect the young masters! This fellow is dangerous. Surround him, wear him down, and we’ll take care of him in due course.”

Though his words sounded diligent, Yu Dayong didn’t move an inch. His men, all low-level enforcers with questionable backgrounds, had spent years navigating the city’s undercurrents—they understood exactly what their boss meant and shouted without lifting a finger.

While Yu Dayong and his men “stood by” for effect, Li Mingyu was far from idle. After severing a half-dozen ears, he tossed them aside.

He thought to himself that these retainers were no better than their masters—complicit in their crimes, they must have caused untold suffering among the common folk. They, too, deserved a lesson. He reversed his broadsword, using the flat of the blade like an iron whip, and broke a leg of every retainer—whether conscious or not. The air outside the city gate filled with anguished cries and the sound of weeping.

Just as Li Mingyu finished, a commotion erupted within Chang’an as another group rushed over, weapons in hand. These were more retainers and bodyguards from the noble families, led by the servant who had earlier fled to summon reinforcements. At the sight of the carnage—the blood, the mutilated heirs writhing and clutching their ears—he wailed in despair. “Oh, my young master! What happened here?!”

One of the young nobles, clutching his ear and streaming tears and snot, shouted, “Are you blind? Can’t you see I’m hurt? Go fetch a physician! Get an imperial doctor from the palace!”

Dugu Jie, his face twisted in pain, snarled, “Never mind that—seize this bastard first!”

The servant barked orders for some to tend the wounded, then turned to Li Mingyu with a vicious grin. “You dare injure my young master? You must not know the meaning of death! Get him!”

“More and more of you, is it?” Li Mingyu observed the seventy or eighty men arrayed against him and realized he couldn’t afford to be careless. With a flick of his toe, he picked up a long spear discarded by one of the scions and gripped it with both hands, spinning it with a flourish.

A long spear and a cavalry lance were wielded in much the same way, though the lance was longer and sharper. The spear was cheaper to make, usually of wood—a budget version of the lance.

Holding the spear, Li Mingyu found it light and unwieldy, but it was better than nothing. Weapon in hand, his confidence grew. He struck a pose and cocked his chin at the retainers, signaling them to come at him.

Beside him, Little Black could barely contain himself, pacing with a low, threatening rumble in his throat.

In these great aristocratic families of the north, it was unthinkable not to have dozens or even hundreds of retainers skilled in archery and arms—deadly household warriors kept as a show of strength. But such elite fighters were carefully hidden, reserved for true crises. Those present were merely sturdy fellows with basic skills, fit to bully commoners but ignorant of true battlefield tactics.

Now, seeing only Li Mingyu and a fierce tiger, they grew bold in their numbers—surely seventy or eighty strong men could handle one man and a beast? With their young masters watching, each wanted to prove himself, hoping for future rewards. With a roar, they surged toward Li Mingyu.

But Li Mingyu had witnessed the carnage of Tiger Trap Pass, where armies of hundreds of thousands clashed in a sea of blood. He had led troops in battle and once captured the “King of Xia,” Dou Jiande, with his own hands. These rabble were nothing to him. He bellowed, thrusting his spear forward.

Little Black, who had grown up with him and understood him perfectly, let out a thunderous tiger’s roar, shaking the earth and drowning out the shouts of dozens of men.

The retainers, startled by the sudden roar, nearly dropped their weapons—before they could recover, Li Mingyu was upon them with his spear.

The lead guard, a burly man with a face full of scars, tried to parry, boasting two years of martial training. But he was no match for Li Mingyu. The spear seemed aimed at his gut, but at the last instant dipped and drove into his thigh with a sickening thud.