Volume Three: The Turmoil at Xuanwu Gate Chapter Sixty-Six: Another Battle with the Fierce Servant, Little Black Unleashes His Might

Blood spattered as the guard let out a cry of pain, instantly unable to remain standing. He clutched his leg, wailing in agony. Li Mingyu, his spear having found its mark, twisted his wrist and drew the weapon back. He had no intention of killing; he had avoided the femoral artery and only wounded the flesh—enough to render the man unable to stand, stripped of any combat ability.

With a flick of his arm, the spear’s shaft swung left and right, knocking down two more retainers. Then, with a sweeping semicircle from left to right, he shielded himself, forcing back several guards slashing at him with broadswords.

By now, Li Mingyu’s martial skills were fully honed. After years of relentless training under his master, Li Xuanba, he was no longer who he had once been. These household guards and retainers were far from his match. His spear struck like a venomous serpent, swift as lightning, and in mere moments, he had struck down seven or eight men. Each one was hit in the thigh, collapsing and unable to rise.

In his previous life, Li Mingyu had been well versed in combat. He had witnessed bloody battles at Tiger Trap Pass, clashed with hardened veterans in the Black Armor Army for over a month, and learned invaluable lessons—above all, the key to survival in a melee. Amidst these thuggish guards, he darted left and right, moving in concert with his spear, disrupting their formation and forcing them to scatter, never allowing himself to be encircled.

As he fought, Mingyu whistled—sometimes long, sometimes short, sometimes a mixture—sending signals as he moved. Xiao Hei, the black tiger, responded seamlessly to each whistle, appearing now at the front, now behind, darting left and right. The beast did not strike to injure; any who dared bar its path were sent flying with a light swipe of its paw or a swing of its tail.

Sometimes Xiao Hei would break through the ranks as the vanguard; at other times, seeing Mingyu surrounded, it would rush to his aid. Relying on the feline’s innate agility and explosive power, along with the wild beast’s natural intuition, Xiao Hei was truly a phantom—impossible to predict or defend against.

Man and tiger together overwhelmed dozens of opponents, leaving them breathless and bewildered. They began to suspect that the youth was possessed of some supernatural power, able to command a tiger as if it were an extension of himself. Was this some immortal’s secret art, or a sinister sorcery? Each man’s heart was seized by doubt and fear.

How was it, you might wonder, that Mingyu could command Xiao Hei so well? In truth, it was not so extraordinary. As with modern circus trainers who raise wild beasts from cubs, living and eating alongside them, rewarding with carrots and punishing with sticks—“sit” means sit, “lie down” means lie down, jump through a flaming hoop, roll a ball—so, too, had Mingyu trained Xiao Hei.

Ever since returning from Tiger Trap Pass to the mountains, Li Mingyu had practiced tirelessly, honing his skills. Real combat is the best teacher, but the mountains held few worthy opponents. Sparring with his master often left him battered, so he took Xiao Hei to hunt for wild beasts on the surrounding peaks, using these encounters to train himself.

Over the years, the two of them swept through the beasts of Zhongnan Mountain’s many ridges and valleys, fighting hundreds of battles. Leopards, bears, wolves, giant pythons—they had all been driven off or slain.

Thanks to Xiao Hei’s innate intelligence and the deep bond forged from growing up together, they understood each other completely. Through countless battles, they developed their own secret signals. Eventually, a single glance, a change in facial muscle, was enough for Mingyu to know what Xiao Hei intended. A whistle from Mingyu, and Xiao Hei knew exactly what to do. These were the fruits of their years together.

Meanwhile, the young scions—pampered wastrels—were having their wounds hastily bandaged by their servants. With white cloth wrapped around their heads and faces twisted in pain, they truly resembled a gang of “One-Eared” ruffians. Now that reinforcements had arrived, their courage swelled, and from behind their protectors they shouted threats: “Damn you! Where did this bastard come from? You must have a death wish to lay a hand on us! Even my father’s never so much as touched me! I won’t be satisfied until I skin him alive!”

“Idiots! Useless fools!” another of the privileged youths screamed at his men, spittle flying in his rage. “So many of you, and you can’t even take down one brat? Yes—stab him! Kill him! Damn it, he dodged again! What a bunch of worthless cowards!”

Dugu Jie’s face was twisted with fury, his expression dark as he growled to his fellows, “Damn it! Today we’ve been utterly humiliated. If we can’t catch this brat and avenge our disgrace, how will we show our faces in Chang’an again? By tomorrow noon, we’ll be the laughingstock of the whole city!”

The others winced at his words, their faces growing paler still. Hou Mochen Hui, the fourth son of the Hou Mochen family, shoved aside the retainer urging him to return home for treatment and bellowed at the guards left to protect them, “You lot, go! All of you—attack!”

Reluctance flashed across the guards’ faces. If they were absent and their young masters were hurt, that was one thing—but if they were present and the young masters suffered further harm, the punishment could extend to their entire families.

One head guard hesitated, about to protest, but Hou Mochen Hui slapped him hard across the face. “You want the young master’s reputation dragged through the mud? You want us to be the joke of Chang’an? If you don’t catch that brat today, I’ll bury you alive myself when we get home!”

The guard shivered, recalling the young master’s violent temper—how even minor offenses from maids or servants could lead to beatings or worse. Daring no resistance, he ignored the burning pain in his cheek, signaled to his men, and drew his sword as he joined the fray.

Li Mingyu, in the thick of the battle, began to feel his strength waning. He had already fought once before, then stopped a runaway horse—his stamina, after all, was that of a youth whose body had not yet fully matured. He could not match the endurance of grown men.

Moreover, he and Xiao Hei relied on hit-and-run tactics, constantly weaving and dodging to avoid being surrounded—a strategy that only sapped his strength all the faster.

And, as the saying goes, two fists are no match for four hands; even a hero can be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Though his opponents were an unruly mob, a swarm of ants can bite an elephant to death. Dozens of men pressed in, and since Mingyu would not kill, their numbers hardly diminished.

Glancing aside, Mingyu saw the wastrels had sent even their bodyguards into the fray. An idea flashed in his mind: “When shooting at a rider, aim for the horse; when catching a thief, seize the king. If I capture these scions, the rest will be too afraid to act, and victory will be mine.”

With that, his tactics changed. His spear swept in wide, urgent arcs, enveloping a dozen guards. His previously measured whistling became suddenly sharp and rapid.

The retainers believed he was making a desperate last stand. Buoyed by the new arrivals, they exchanged glances and closed in, layer upon layer, surrounding Mingyu.

Xiao Hei, receiving his command, spun about. With a lash of its iron tail, it scattered those nearby. The great beast’s massive body moved with uncanny agility—feinting left, darting right, weaving through the crowd with ease.

Then, with a powerful thrust of its hind legs, Xiao Hei stretched out mid-air, a thunderous roar erupting from its jaws. Both front paws shot forward—ten steel-hook claws, each over two inches long, gleaming coldly as the beast hurtled toward the cowering scions like an arrow loosed from a bow.

These sons of noble families, though trained in a few martial tricks, were born with silver spoons in their mouths. They had never needed to seek fame or fortune by blade or horse; their skills sufficed only for bullying the weak.

But before the king of beasts, they were utterly helpless. At the sudden sight of the black tiger’s relentless charge—a mere two leaps covering ten yards—they panicked, their minds blank with terror. They could think only of escape.

A tiger’s hunt relies on explosive surprise. Xiao Hei, now acting on command and giving its all, was unstoppable. The scions had no chance to react.

Moreover, the roar of a lion or tiger chills the blood. Under such a bellow, even boars and wild oxen are struck dumb with terror. Ordinary men stand no chance.

Throughout history, there have been warriors who could face a beast’s fangs and claws head-on, but such men were not these pampered bullies, who relied on their families’ power to oppress the weak.

In a flash, Xiao Hei was upon them—a pounce, a swipe, a cut—and six or seven of the young nobles screamed in terror, subdued in an instant.

A few tried to crawl away, trembling violently. At the slightest movement, Xiao Hei snarled, baring its teeth. Hou Mochen Hui was so terrified he rolled his eyes and fainted dead away.

Xiao Hei’s enormous paw landed squarely on Dugu Jie’s chest and belly, the steel-hook claws gleaming. The slightest pressure would split him open. Dugu Jie shook uncontrollably, his strength gone, a warm stream trickling down his legs—he had been frightened into wetting himself.