Chapter Four: The Crematorium

Nantianmen Mountain was the closest summit to the sea and also the tallest in the region. It was famed as the southern gateway of the nation, a celebrated scenic spot of Lingnan. Yuezhou City lay just a hundred miles away.

A heinous incident occurred with shocking suddenness: a restaurant at the foot of the mountain was annihilated. Every single one of its hundred or so inhabitants, from top to bottom, was slaughtered.

Though public security in Lingnan had never been particularly good—it had, after all, been a place of exile twenty years ago—years of governance, especially several costly campaigns to rid the seas of pirates, had made such massacres of villages and towns all but a thing of the past.

Yet now, such a tragedy had happened once more.

Officials, soldiers, constables, even higher-ups from the prefecture, cordoned off the scene immediately. What methods they used to investigate remained unknown to outsiders, but the information that leaked out pointed to a feud among warriors.

Again, it was the damned martial artists!

The Water Dragon Gang became the chief suspect, with motive, opportunity, and means so evident that there was no washing the suspicion away.

...

On a stretch of sea near the coast, a small ship glided slowly through the waves. It was termed a sea vessel, but in truth, it was an old fishing boat that had been refitted—its hull reinforced, planks broadened, the bottom sharp, the bow rounded, topped with a black canopy.

This was the very boat that Kou Li had bought from an old fisherman. It was said that it had once made it as far as the Ryukyu Islands.

That night, the man in the bamboo hat had killed on sight, staining everything red with blood. When Kou Li and Zheng Xiaobao finally managed to escape, the perimeter was already sealed.

Fortunately, fate left a path. In anticipation of the worst, Kou Li had once thought to seek immortals overseas, so he had purchased this boat, never expecting it would become their lifeline at the last moment.

“Kou brother, do you think Grandpa will be alright?” Since the previous night, Zheng Baor had been silent, but now she spoke for the first time.

Kou Li shook his head gently. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

The sea stretched endlessly, waves glittering blue-green, but neither of them was in the mood to admire the view.

Especially Kou Li, whose face darkened at a sudden realization: the wordless map he always carried with him had gone missing the night before.

Damn it, this was truly uncanny!

To prevent it from being lost, he had even tied it with a tight knot. The knot was still there, but the map was gone.

Amid the chaos, he had no idea when exactly he lost it; it was only upon boarding the boat that he noticed.

He knew well what a treasure that map was—it had driven two immortals to fight to the death, flattening several mountains in the process. Its value was self-evident.

This made Kou Li bitter. His sole gain from three years of hardship had vanished just like that!

“Kou brother,” Zheng Xiaobao, sitting in the cabin, suddenly handed him his jacket. Only then did Kou Li notice that sewn into the lining was a brocade pouch.

“Grandpa said he brought me to seek a master this time. If I show this, that person will surely take me as a disciple. Will you take me to find him? I want to beg him to save Grandpa.”

Kou Li raised his brows; the person must be the Southern Fist master Zheng Old Man had mentioned. Opening the pouch, he found a black tally inscribed with the character “Lin”—likely a token. He nodded. Such a small favor was nothing to him.

He was curious too, to see if the Martial Immortal Sect truly existed.

After traveling for an hour, the silhouette of Yuezhou City became faintly visible, the sounds of people drifting across the water.

On the nearby sea, a battered sampan floated with two people atop, seemingly calling for help—a man and a woman, by the look of them.

“Kou brother, I think someone’s calling,” Zheng Xiaobao looked left and right, uncertain.

Kou Li was about to reply when he suddenly froze. It was understandable that Baor couldn’t see ten miles away—but when had his own vision become so sharp?

“You’re mistaken,” Kou Li said coolly. He was no saint, nor even much of a decent man. Who knew if they were pirates or fishermen? He wasn’t going to take the risk.

Half an hour passed when, with a splash, a bedraggled person suddenly burst from the stern, furious. “I told you to stop the boat! Why didn’t you stop?”

The voice was clear and vibrant, as fresh as new bamboo shoots—it was the woman from the sampan, and she was a strong swimmer.

“This is my boat,” Kou Li glanced at her sideways, replying calmly.

She choked for a moment but soon recovered, exclaiming, “Hurry and help me save someone!”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“What if you’re pirates?”

“We’re not pirates!”

“Still not helping.”

Yan Feiniang, though a skilled swimmer, was exhausted after so long in the water. Her lungs burned, and she collapsed onto the deck, breathless.

“You… you—!”

“What, not a pirate but planning to hijack us?” Kou Li eyed the sword at her waist, ready to be drawn at any moment.

“Kou brother, can’t you help this sister?” Zheng Baor tugged at his sleeve, whispering.

“Is that a woman? Baor, are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

Yan Feiniang couldn’t take it any longer. Rolling her eyes, she fainted from anger.

It was some time before she awoke, to find her supposed fiancé watching her with concern. The moment she stirred, he exclaimed with delight, “Feiniang, you’re awake! Thank goodness we ran into Kou brother—otherwise, we’d have been doomed this time.”

“You know him?” Yan Feiniang caught this detail. In her mind, this cold fisherman didn’t seem the type to introduce himself.

“Of course! This is Kou Li, my friend from the inn. I didn’t expect he’d also escape that massacre. What luck!”

This was the befuddled scholar from before, who had also survived—undoubtedly thanks to his fiancée.

“Oh, and don’t forget the thousand taels of silver.”

Yan Feiniang’s eyes went wide. “You still dare ask for money?!”

“You two short of money?” Kou Li glanced at them oddly. He didn’t know much about the woman, but the scholar certainly wasn’t poor. That gilded fan alone was worth at least eight hundred taels.

“That’s not the point! How can you be so—so—”

“So you think your lives aren’t worth a mere thousand taels?” Kou Li mused. True, with a thousand taels, one could buy seven or eight clever maidservants from the brokers. Perhaps these two lives weren’t worth that much.

“Of course not!” they replied in unison. Clearly, neither was poor.

“Then it’s settled.”

…

After introductions, the bedraggled woman was named Yan Feiniang, the young scholar Zhou Xinxin. The two had been betrothed since childhood, though it seemed Yan Feiniang wasn’t fond of her fiancé and had run away from home. Zhou Xinxin had journeyed far and wide in pursuit.

By the logic of romance tales, this was perfectly normal; by the standards of feudal tradition, highly irregular—there must be more to the story.

But Kou Li couldn’t care less. To him, these two were but fleeting passengers in his life—they’d go their separate ways once ashore.

Yet the scholar was especially enthusiastic, insisting on inviting Kou Li to share a drink, claiming that surviving such peril called for celebration.

In the largest seafood restaurant of Yuezhou, Zhou Xinxin took pains to clean up before appearing. Already delicate of feature, with slender limbs and a custom silk robe, he looked every bit the handsome youth.

“A true dandy,” Kou Li thought with irony.

Shortly after, Yan Feiniang also finished dressing. The clack of her steps on the stairs made her fiancé stare, entranced.

Her hair, black as oil, was tied with a green ribbon. Though not a peerless beauty, her features were refined, and a heroic air shone between her brows. With a sword at her waist, she cut a bold and gallant figure—especially rare for a woman of her era. No wonder Zhou Xinxin was so smitten.

Catching sight of Kou Li, she rolled her eyes and muttered, “Miser!”

“Ahem, come, Kou brother, Baor, don’t be shy—eat!” Zhou Xinxin greeted them warmly. The feast was sumptuous—crystal shrimp, double-headed abalone, deep-sea fish bone soup—all top-quality fare. Yet none had much appetite.

Zheng Baor worried for her grandfather; Kou Li was distracted; only Yan Feiniang ate hungrily, though she glared at Kou Li from time to time as if holding a grudge.

“Feiniang, I have something to discuss,” Zhou Xinxin finally said after some hesitation. “We’ve traveled enough—shouldn’t we go home and… get married?”

“What did you say?!” Yan Feiniang’s brows shot up as she slammed her chopsticks on the table, making her fiancé’s legs go weak.

Kou Li at last understood why the scholar was so insistent on this meal—he must have figured that with outsiders present, Yan Feiniang wouldn’t beat him out of embarrassment.

“Feiniang, it’s too dangerous out here. So many people were slaughtered in a day—it’s too cruel. Let’s just go home—”

“This was the Water Dragon Gang’s doing. Rest assured, I’ll avenge you. Don’t say more about anything else.”

“How do you know it was the Water Dragon Gang?” Kou Li interjected.

Yan Feiniang shot him a cold look. “I have my sources.”

Water Dragon Gang—Kou Li felt a flicker of doubt. Perhaps that visit from their chief had been just for show?

“So you’re a person of the martial world,” Kou Li said seriously.

“And if I am?” Yan Feiniang’s tone softened slightly, as if recognition of her status pleased her.

“Then do you know who the greatest Southern Fist master in Lingnan is?”

“Why do you ask?” Yan Feiniang eyed him suspiciously.

“To become his disciple.”

“You? Seeking a master?” She looked as though she’d heard the world’s funniest joke, her lips twitching upward. “With your frail frame, flabby muscles, and weak stance, you think anyone would take you?”

He’d already been mocked by Old Zheng, but still, Kou Li was aggrieved. Was he destined to be hopeless at both martial arts and immortal cultivation?

“Well, will you tell me or not?”

“I’ll tell you—just so you can make a fool of yourself!”

“Guangdong is one of the birthplaces of southern boxing. There are hundreds of martial schools and academies here, but the three most famous are the Burning Body Hall, the Five Elephants Hall, and the Che Family Fist.

“But in all of Guangdong, only one man is worthy of being called a Southern Fist master—Master Lin Xianshi of Burning Body Hall, known as the Hundred-Handed Master in the martial world!”

Kou Li and Zheng Baor exchanged a glance, both delighted—they’d come to the right place.

“A cavalry unit is coming,” Kou Li said abruptly, sensing something.

“There’s no cavalry in the city,” Yan Feiniang scoffed.

Kou Li kept his eyes on the street corner; the noise grew louder. After half a stick of incense, even Yan Feiniang could hear it. She looked at him in disbelief as more than twenty armored soldiers thundered past on horseback.

“Kou brother, how can your hearing be so sharp?” Zhou Xinxin marveled.

“Yes, how can it be so sharp?” Kou Li murmured to himself.