Chapter 54: The Red-Eyed Messenger

The blade of Mad Swordsman Chu San was like a storm sweeping through the desert—rough, fierce, and volatile. Most boxers, if they mastered the art of weaponry, would find their strength doubled compared to bare-handed fighting, but someone like him, his power was tripled at the very least.

Superior swordsmanship allowed one to fuse emotion into the techniques, and Chu San’s temper was notoriously foul. Wherever he passed, broken limbs and mangled bodies followed; even apprentices from martial halls versed in boxing were no match for him, especially with a squad of sword-and-shield soldiers standing behind him.

Outside Guangcheng, five hundred soldiers encircled the small city belonging to the Xu family. Beneath the banner of the Guangdong general, Xu Kaishan, clad in heavy armor, watched the carnage with a deep, contemplative gaze.

Footsteps echoed in the alley; dozens of tattooed Xu townsfolk charged out, faces twisted with rage and grief. A junior officer in the army saw this, waved his command flag, and a cavalry unit surged forward, their sabers gleaming with cold light and bloodlust.

In moments, screams of agony rang out.

“The Xu people are truly fierce. Even now, they refuse to surrender. We owe it to you—without your collaboration from within, taking this city would have been far harder.”

“All thanks to your wise command, sir,” said Crocodile, bowing in humility.

Xu Kaishan laughed heartily, “I’m not one of those old bureaucrats, full of empty official talk. Let’s be blunt. Some suggested my father offer the heads of your Xu tribe to Superintendent Shen, but that’s tens of thousands of lives. It’s been nearly ten years since Qinghai, and the fewer deaths, the better. So, the number we kill depends on how many resist.”

“Furthermore, after this campaign, the Xu leaders must be replaced by men of the government. You’ve been clever, and indeed, you have deep enmity with Lu Zhixiong, but that’s not enough. Do you understand?”

“Yes, thank you for your guidance, young general!” Crocodile was elated, whistled, and nearly a hundred Xu tribesmen surged forward, helping the soldiers clear the streets, their brutality surpassing even the army’s.

“It’s just as my father said—no one is harsher on their own kind than themselves,” Xu Kaishan muttered, watching Crocodile smash a Xu family child to death. He shook his head.

“Are the pirates blocked?”

“Yes, sir. Three pirate boats tried to escape by sea, but we sank them and captured some prisoners. They claim to know inside information.”

“Sir, sir, the Xu family’s old man fled last night. I saw them board the ship with women and children. According to their rules, women never board ships, even in death,” the pirate leader reported with utmost humility.

“Is that so? Seems the news reached them. It’ll be hard to explain this when I return,” Xu Kaishan frowned. “How many pirates are still in the city?”

“About three hundred.”

Xu Kaishan, seated atop his tall warhorse, his gaze growing fierce, swung his Japanese blade, splitting a head and splattering himself with blood. “Three hundred heads—barely enough to silence them. Follow me!”

The cavalry, like a dragon, thundered into the city under the rolling sound of storm.

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“You mean they escaped!?” Crocodile snarled, clutching the elderly steward. He had moved swiftly at dawn, bringing soldiers to attack, but was still a step too late.

“Yes, yes, the old master, madam, young master—all left in the night. We only found out this morning,” the trembling steward replied.

“Lu Zhixiong—it must be him. You can run, but you can’t hide. You think you, a state criminal, can escape forever?” Crocodile roared, glaring around. In the alleys, windows, and doors, his tribesmen watched him not with warmth, but with awe and unfamiliarity—the same way they looked at the old master.

He Niang, at last, I am no longer naive. I have become the person you wanted me to be.

“There’s still one brat they didn’t take,” Crocodile grabbed a confidant and hissed, “Go to Wolfhead Hollow, leave him a message…”

Meanwhile, Kou Li and Luo Yanzong arrived at Yuexing—the old Buddhist tower between Guangdong and Foshan. The temple had been transformed beyond recognition; on the Hall of the Tathagata, over a dozen fighting stages were erected, with all sorts of practice posts—plum-blossom posts, human-shaped posts, horse stance posts, and more.

The boxers here were unlike martial hall apprentices. Though there were dozens present, Kou Li heard not a single footstep; clearly, their skills had been honed in their legs and feet.

All their gazes focused on Luo Yanzong, expressions varied. This top disciple of the Burning Body Hall was famed for both his prowess and his low profile, much like his master.

A black-haired elder greeted them, steady in gait, his hands and feet thick and sturdy. Were it not for his wrinkles and age spots, he’d look like a man in his forties.

“Old Eight, this is Master Feng of White Brow Fist—once a legend across half the province, respected for his virtue, now the elder of Yuexing.”

The so-called ‘elder’ was a senior responsible for managing the affairs of the fighting guild, beneath only the grandmaster. Not only must his boxing be deep, but his character exemplary, able to judge fairly. According to Luo Yanzong, he and Master Feng had exchanged fists—a bond in the martial world that often meant risking one’s life for another.

“Kou Li greets Elder Feng.”

Master Feng looked Kou Li up and down, clicked his tongue, “Your hall keeps secrets well; even I never heard of a boxer so skilled to the bone. When did your master take a disciple?”

Luo Yanzong smiled wryly, “Not a disciple—just an apprentice.”

“Apprentice? Then let your apprentice join my disciples; I won’t mind,” Master Feng said earnestly.

“Don’t joke, Elder Feng. We’re here for Old Eight to join the fighting guild.”

“What? Has the wind stopped blowing in Guangdong today? Has your master changed his mind? Wait, apprentice—what’s going on?”

Luo Yanzong gave Kou Li a look, then led Master Feng aside to a secluded spot. The fewer who knew about the Water Dragon Gang, the better—these boxers had keen ears.

Kou Li wandered through the modified temple, which had nine floors. The first was a vast training ground, the second a bustling marketplace, selling ointments for injuries and health, as well as all sorts of weapons—each seemingly finely crafted.

---

Some things truly broadened Kou Li’s horizons: a ghost-head knife whose back sprayed smoke, a sword with hidden springs, its tip able to eject three feet of blue steel.

According to the sellers, these were fun toys for wandering the martial world.

On the third floor, books were arranged in a circle—mostly on basic boxing principles and bodily acupoints, but more were Buddhist scriptures.

“This temple was originally donated by Master Fuhai, one of the Five Monks, so it’s not odd to see Buddhist texts.”

Seeing Kou Li’s interest in the scriptures, a nearby voice spoke.

He looked up—a young man with slender arms and ordinary features, except for amber-like yellow eyes.

“If you’re looking for boxing methods, you should head to the fourth floor. There are plenty there, though most are just standard boxing techniques.”

“Thank you,” Kou Li said, studying the man. He sensed a familiar aura—after a moment, he realized it was the scent of amber prayer beads.

Footsteps echoed from the stairway. Three men burst in; the leader was a cold-faced, bald youth, oddly dressed in a robe like a Buddhist cassock. Though his head bore no scars, a fist-sized strange eye was tattooed upon it.

“You’re the one challenging the Cult Leader?”

“Cult Leader, Diao Fengsheng?” Kou Li replied.

“How dare you speak the Cult Leader’s name aloud!” The two men beside him erupted in fury, as if he’d committed an unforgivable crime.

Ancient folk religions abounded—not only the most famous rebellious sects, but also primal worship of natural gods and trade ancestors, what the court called ‘illicit cults.’

As the saying went, “All shrines whose gods have no merit to the people or are not part of the ritual canon are illicit cults; sacrifices offered with no results.”

But in a world with real immortals, Kou Li was not so sure—but at the very least, ‘Cult Leaders’ in the martial world were likely not divine beings.

“I am the Red-Eyed Messenger. To challenge the Cult Leader, you must first defeat me.” The bald youth stared at him, eyes burning with unnatural fervor.

Kou Li eyed him carefully, especially his hands—smooth and pale as jade. He grinned, “Very well.”