Volume Three: The Tempest at the Black Tortoise Gate Chapter Seventy-Nine: So This Is What They Call the Jianghu

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After leaving the West Market, Hou Jie led Ming Yu through a series of twists and turns. In no time, they arrived at a secluded spot and quickly slipped into a narrow alley bordered on both sides by high-walled courtyards.

The man in tight-fitting clothes, well-acquainted with the geography of Chang’an, saw the two, panicked and fleeing, dash into a dead end. Secretly pleased, he quickened his pace and followed.

Entering the alley, he found the two young men standing there with arms folded, perfectly at ease, as if they had been expecting him.

The tall, handsome youth sneered, “So slow—took you long enough. Kept me waiting, didn’t you?”

The man in tight clothes was a well-known wanderer of Chang’an. He thought to himself, “What an arrogant brat—let’s see you beg for mercy soon enough.”

More men entered the alley behind him, laughing coldly; Ming Yu recognized at a glance that they were the same ones he had seen at the market.

Several of the thugs split off to block the alley’s entrance—both to prevent Ming Yu from escaping and to keep watch, in case any meddlesome passersby or patrolling guards came by.

The remaining few, all dressed like men of the martial world, stepped forward. Sharing glances, their faces broke into barely restrained grins. With a dead end ahead, the boy’s fate was sealed—there would be no escape today.

Li Ming Yu rolled his neck, unconcerned. “Don’t waste time—come at me all together! Let’s get this over with—I have important matters to attend to!”

Hearing Ming Yu’s dismissive tone, the man in tight clothes was instantly incensed. He snorted coldly, “You ignorant whelp, today I, the Death Sword Swordsman Ma Boliang, will teach you a lesson!”

“Ma Boliang? The Death Sword?” Li Ming Yu hesitated when he heard the name, glancing the man up and down before asking, “So you’re the Death Sword? And you others—what are your names? Announce yourselves!”

A short, plump man in green, his bald head gleaming, hands tucked into his sleeves, chuckled. “I’m Tong Dekun, known in the martial world as the Laughing Maitreya.”

One of the thuggish men, his face full of scars, stepped forward, releasing an ugly, owl-like cackle. “I’m Fang Dashan, the Life-Taker! These are my brothers: Fang Dahai the Soul Reaper, Fang Dajiang the Unseen Ghost, Fang Dahu the Death Summoner, and Fang Datong the Fate Bringer. Together we’re known as the Five Ghosts of the Fang Family!”

Damn, what ridiculous nicknames! Not a decent one among them! Li Ming Yu was not at all intimidated by their reputations. Growing up on the tales of Jin Yong and Gu Long, this was his first true encounter with living, breathing martial world characters of the ancient age. Hearing them announce their monikers, he couldn’t help but be curious what these Tang Dynasty wanderers were really like.

Behind him, Hou Jie drew a sharp breath upon hearing their introductions. “Boss, I’m afraid we’re in real trouble today! That Ma Boliang, the Death Sword, is a famous wanderer—once fought eight on the street, killed five, wounded two, and made one flee, earning a great name in Chang’an! That Laughing Maitreya, Tong Dekun, is said to be a disgraced Shaolin monk from Henan, infamous for ruthless and deadly skills. He challenged seven or eight famous martial halls when he first came to Chang’an, left their masters spitting blood and crippled. And those Fang brothers—the Five Ghosts—are notorious enforcers in the city, never leaving survivors. These men are all outlaws, caring only for silver, not for lives! That damn Du Gujie must’ve paid dearly to hire all of them!”

Li Ming Yu laughed heartily, utterly unconcerned. “Perfect! I’ve seen armies clash on the battlefield, witnessed warriors vie for glory—but I’ve never experienced a true martial world brawl. Today, I’ll finally get a taste!”

The Fang brothers, unable to contain themselves, all drew identical foot-and-a-half short blades. Fang Dashan shouted, “Sharp-tongued brat, let’s see if you’ll still talk big! Today you’ll witness the true skills of the Five Ghosts!”

With that, they brandished their blades—three advancing, two behind—charging at Li Ming Yu and Hou Jie.

Li Ming Yu laughed loudly, shielding Hou Jie behind him. “Jie, stay back and cover me! These guys are nothing—I’ll deal with them single-handedly!”

“Brat, prepare to die!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Fang Dashan lunged with his blade toward Ming Yu’s face.

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Beside him, Fang Dahai and Fang Datong shouted, their blades slicing through the air from left and right for a pincer attack.

Ming Yu shifted his step, tilting his head to avoid the blade thrust at his face, then snatched Fang Dashan’s wrist with his left hand, while his right pressed down on the man’s elbow. With a swift twist, accompanied by a blood-curdling scream, Fang Dashan’s arm bent at an unnatural angle—broken by Ming Yu’s bare hands.

From both sides, the other Fang brothers closed in. Ming Yu launched himself at Fang Datong, raising his knee in a flying strike to the man’s chest.

Fang Datong, propelled by his own charge and Ming Yu’s knee, was sent flying, his chest churning with agony. With a wrenching cough, he spat out a mouthful of blood.

Fang Dahai, missing his first strike, saw Ming Yu going after his brother and hurried to stab at Ming Yu’s back.

Just as Ming Yu landed, Fang Dahai’s blade was only half a foot from his back. One more push and Ming Yu would be done for.

But Ming Yu was as quick as lightning—pivoting on his toes, he spun and unleashed a whip kick that thundered into Fang Dahai’s face, sending him flying four or five feet, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Even that was Ming Yu holding back—had his kick been lower and fully powered, he could have snapped Fang Dahai’s neck with a single blow.

The last two, Fang Dajiang and Fang Dahu, seeing their brothers so grievously injured, attacked in a frenzy, howling with rage.

Ming Yu parried a few blows but saw that their attacks were wild and uncoordinated. He slipped past their blades, seized an opening, and landed a hook punch on Fang Dajiang’s face—teeth and blood flew everywhere.

He then grabbed Fang Dahu’s pulse point, making the man’s body go numb, and knocked him out with a knife-hand strike.

In just a few heartbeats, the Five Ghosts were all dispatched, each with a single move. Li Ming Yu shook his head—so these were the so-called martial world experts? What a disappointment.

He wiped his nose with his thumb, mimicking Bruce Lee’s signature move, then assumed a Jeet Kune Do stance and beckoned to the remaining men.

Ma Boliang snorted, “Useless trash!” Then, turning to Laughing Maitreya, he asked, “You or me?”

Tong Dekun grinned, “The capable should do more. My skills are nothing special—you take the lead, I’ll lend a hand.”

Ma Boliang sneered, stepping before Li Ming Yu, arrogance on his face. “Kid, I underestimated you. But I’m not like that lot—my Soul-Harvesting Death Sword never draws blood in vain! Be smart, surrender now and spare yourself some pain.”

“Bah! Toad yawns, what a big mouth!” Li Ming Yu was thoroughly annoyed by Ma Boliang’s airs. Did this guy really think himself invincible? If only he knew how little he mattered.

Ma Boliang, seeing Ming Yu unmoved, said, “Fine, you asked for it!” With a flash, he drew his longsword, left palm raised, sword leveled at his brow in a flashy opening stance.

Tong Dekun circled to Ming Yu’s rear, the two of them forming a pincer.

“Kid! Taste my blade!” Ma Boliang shouted, and with a flick of his wrist, the sword seemed to split into three, thrusting at Ming Yu’s face, throat, and heart.

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Unarmed, Ming Yu was at a disadvantage. But with his wealth of combat experience, he knew he had to close the distance, crowding Ma Boliang so the sword couldn’t be used to its full effect, creating the opportunity to win.

Having decided, he dodged left and right, avoiding the sword’s edge, shifting his footwork to get in close.

Ma Boliang, however, was not so easily fooled. With a twist of his wrist, the sword slashed back, forcing Ming Yu to retreat.

Just then, as Ming Yu faced Ma Boliang, he suddenly sensed danger from behind—Tong Dekun’s fleshy palms came crashing toward him! Ming Yu thought, “Good, I was waiting for you!”

Earlier, upon Hou Jie’s warning, he’d been vigilant against Tong Dekun’s underhanded tricks—after all, the most dangerous are those who smile as they plot your doom. He’d kept half his attention on his back the whole time, ready for this very moment.

Turning, stepping, and punching in one fluid motion, Ming Yu aimed his full strength at Tong Dekun’s oncoming palms, determined to cripple this treacherous foe first.

But Tong Dekun was devious beyond compare. His attack was only a feint—seeing Ming Yu’s fierce punch, he withdrew his palms, his plump body surprisingly agile as he darted back five or six paces.

Ma Boliang roared, “Boy! Try my Soul-Harvesting Death Sword!”

Hearing this, Ming Yu thought, “Is this guy about to unleash a special move?” He inwardly scoffed—did these martial world types really care so much about etiquette? If there’s a fight, just fight—why announce it?

Even as he mocked, his body was already reacting.

He knew Ma Boliang had a sword and wasn’t about to meet steel with bare fists. He sidestepped, intending to gauge the sword’s trajectory before evading.

But Ma Boliang, for all his reputation, was a scoundrel at heart—why would he give fair warning?

He flashed his sword in front of him, creating a dazzling flourish to distract the eye, but it was all a ruse.

With his left hand, he flung a deadly trick straight at Ming Yu’s face—suddenly, with a soft puff, a cloud of white powder burst forth, covering Li Ming Yu’s head and eyes!

Though Ming Yu had anticipated a hidden weapon and was ready to dodge, he hadn’t expected a face full of lime powder!

Caught off guard, his eyes burned with pain—he could no longer open them. He roared, “Damn you! You actually threw lime!”