Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Murderer

Lady Hu is dead?! Assassinated?! A torrent of emotions—anger, unease, terror, shock, grief—flickered across the faces of those present, as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over their slightly inebriated group. The atmosphere, once lively, was abruptly sobered.

Who was it? Or rather, which one among them on this very ship?!

They had just fought side by side, and now, in the blink of an eye, they were turning on one another. What sort of monster was this martial world? What kind of monsters did it breed?

No one spoke. Silence thickened around them like fog. After a long pause, Zhou Qian rasped, “I need a few of the ladies to help arrange Lady Hu’s body and see if there are any clues.”

Sun Xiaoniang, the White Cloud Hand, and Feng Xian’er, the Green-robed Medical Immortal, stepped forward without a word. Together with Qiqiao, they quietly closed the door. No matter how uninhibited Lady Hu had been in life, she was, in the end, still a woman—her brutal death resonated deeply with the women present.

“Of those who just came up from below, is there anyone not here?” Zhou Qian’s voice was cold. The killer couldn’t possibly have been in two places at once, so anyone not present was still a suspect.

“The Tang Clan’s Deputy Master and Wei Guang, the Golden Fire Avalokitesvara, never came down for drinks! And they’re not here!” someone called out in alarm.

“Old Wei wasn’t around earlier, either!”

“Nonsense, I’d just gone to relieve myself!”

“The Yi couple weren’t here just now, either.”

“What about Rat Ma Liu, where did he go?”

“Everyone, head down to the banquet hall and tell the river bandits on board to search for those missing. I refuse to believe that, on this great river, the killer could simply fly away!” Zhou Qian’s tone was icy.

Back in the grand hall, the dazzling lights cast uneasy shadows over everyone’s faces. Who could it be? Who would dare such a brazen crime?

The first to arrive were the Yi couple, a renowned pair of lovers in the martial world—a handsome man, a beautiful woman. As they entered, they found the entire hall staring at them intently. Yi Yun cupped his hands and declared in a clear voice, “My wife and I were at the stern, admiring the river scenery. We heard screams and rushed here. What has happened?”

“Lady Hu is dead?” Wu Zhang hurried in, “I was just inspecting the cabins as usual. When I heard Young Master Zhou was looking for me, I came at once.”

“Yes, I’ll speak plainly,” Zhou Qian nodded. “Anyone absent just now is a suspect. Since Lady Hu was invited here as an ally, I am responsible for her death. If my questions are offensive, Brother Wu, I hope you won’t take it amiss.”

“As you should!” Wu Zhang replied understandingly. “I was away myself, so I too am under suspicion. Don’t hold back, ask whatever you will!”

“Very well. Since both of you have explained your whereabouts, can anyone vouch for you?” Zhou Qian’s tone was calm.

“I was inspecting the cabins and assigning tasks. Over a hundred sailors saw me, so you may rest assured for now,” Wu Zhang answered frankly.

“My wife and I can vouch for each other. Young Master Zhou, is that sufficient?” Yi Yun hastened to add, anxious not to be labeled the culprit.

“That’s not necessarily true. Perhaps you two are accomplices?” A sly, cutting voice interjected. The speaker was Fang Feifei, master of the Herbalist’s Cave on Yun Jin Mountain, Sichuan. Once a notorious bandit, he had, for reasons unknown, turned over a new leaf, though his foul mouth was legendary.

“You talk nonsense! My wife and I have no dealings with Lady Hu. Why would we want her dead? Don’t slander us!” Zhou Qian couldn’t tell if it was his imagination, but Yi Yun’s voice seemed tinged with nervousness. It was said the couple was deeply in love, and Yi Yun’s wife, Xie Die, was known for her hatred of evil. Yet at this accusation, she said nothing.

“Fang Feifei, shut that filthy mouth of yours! The couple are the envy of all, living happily together. What would they gain from such a thing? If your wife cheats on you, it’s because you’re useless—no need to drag others into it!” someone jeered, noting that Fang Feifei’s reputation was no better than the Yi couple’s.

“Say that again if you dare!” Fang Feifei’s face turned from red to yellow to green. He rolled up his sleeves, ready for a fight.

“I’ll say it again…”

Chaos erupted. Some tried to mediate, others egged them on; the crowd grew restless. After all, it was just a woman who’d died—one with beauty and figure, perhaps, but not someone they cared about. These people risked their own lives daily; why mourn a notorious woman? The martial world was full of bravado, but also cruelty.

“Silence!” Zhou Qian bellowed, unconsciously channeling the strand of immortal energy within him.

Everyone immediately felt their ears ring and saw stars dancing before their eyes. The hall was struck by awe.

Zhou Qian’s breath faltered, and he coughed violently, blood seeping anew from the wound on his chest.

“Who else isn’t here?” he asked.

“Two from the Tang Clan, I think?” Old Master Lou Yuxiao interjected. He was a seasoned veteran, well aware of how unruly this crowd could be.

The next to appear was Rat.

No one knew Rat’s real name, only that he was a skilled assassin with a sharp nose and a penchant for killing according to his own code—not for gold or silver, but on whim or principle. Most of his victims were infamous scoundrels, so although he was wanted by the authorities, he was respected among outlaws.

Rat was neither fat nor thin, but strikingly ugly, with a pointed, upturned nose that looked almost comical.

“Brother Rat, did you know Lady Hu is dead?” Fang Feifei asked with ill intent.

“I know,” Rat nodded. He was rumored to be taciturn.

“Do you know who killed her?”

“No.”

“I heard you’ve killed several women?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They deserved it.”

“Where were you just now?”

“Resting.”

“No one can vouch for you?”

“No one.”

“Hahaha!” Fang Feifei burst out laughing. “An assassin with no alibi, who hates women, and turns up just now—doesn’t that make you a prime suspect?”

The others’ eyes shifted. It was certainly possible. But was it really him? Why was he so calm?

“So you’re the killer, then?” Fang Feifei taunted.

“I am not.”

“Hmph! You say you’re not—are we supposed to take your word for it? Unless you know who the real killer is? Or did you see them?” Fang Feifei suddenly snapped.

“I don’t know who did it,” Rat paused. “But I saw the killer.”

This revelation was like a thunderclap, sending shockwaves through the room. He saw the killer? When? Where? What did they look like? Why murder Lady Hu so cruelly?

“Please explain in detail!” Old Master Lou Yuxiao demanded gravely.

Rat was silent for a moment, choosing his words, then rasped, “I dislike crowds. I was sleeping in my room when I smelled blood. I followed the scent and saw a shadow leaving the doorway. They ran; I gave chase. Their lightness skills were superb, their palm techniques formidable. We exchanged three moves; I was forced back. I tried to track them, but lost their trail.”

He raised his dagger—its blade bent in a pronounced arc. The assembly gasped. All were seasoned fighters, and they knew what kind of immense force it took to bend such a fine blade, especially one wielded by a skilled assassin. What precision and viciousness the attacker must possess!

“May I see that dagger?” Old Master Lou Yuxiao frowned.

Rat nodded and handed it over. Lou Yuxiao examined the bronze blade in deep contemplation.

“Who else is still missing?” Wang Hu suddenly asked.

“The Tang Clan’s Deputy Master and Wei Guang, the Golden Fire Avalokitesvara?!” Zhou Qian’s heart skipped a beat, recalling his second uncle Tu Yong’s warning before leaving: “Beware the Tang Clan...”

“It must be that brat Wei Guang! He’s always been despicable—master of the Refined Iron Palm, son of the Tang Clan’s leader, notorious for his lawlessness! He probably tried to force himself on Lady Hu, and when she refused, he killed her in a fit of rage!” cried a righteous hero, his words speculative but not without reason.

“Nonsense! Am I that kind of man? If I wanted a woman, I’d get her—why would I look twice at that aging harlot? I wouldn’t spare her a glance!” A disgruntled voice came from the doorway.

The newcomer was staggeringly handsome—more so even than Zhou Qian—yet his narrow, slanted eyes gave one an instinctive chill. Beside him stood Fei Yue, one of the Tang Clan’s two Deputy Masters, a man with the face of a crane but the build of an ox, second in size only to Wang Hu. In his day, he too had been a giant, and was rumored to be the Tang Clan’s top fighter.

“Though the Young Master is a solitary soul, he knows the gravity of the situation and wouldn’t act so recklessly. I vouch for him in the name of the Tang Clan,” Fei Yue said coolly.

“Hmph! Everyone in the martial world knows what the Tang Clan is—wolves at heart, every one of you.” Fang Feifei sneered.

“How dare you insult my clan!” Fei Yue’s eyes blazed. With a sudden stomp, he crossed five yards in a flash, his iron claws lashing at Fang Feifei’s face—ready to kill at the slightest provocation.

“Stop!”

“You’ve gone too far!”

“Are you trying to silence us?”

Four or five martial artists leaped forward with sword, spear, and staff, blocking the fiery onslaught. Fei Yue snorted, his nails trembling as golden powder scattered in the air. His right claw swept downward with a howl—like a tiger unleashed.

Boom—a fiery whirlwind exploded within a yard’s radius, spiraling downward. The four or five defenders, all notable for their physical prowess, met the assault head-on, each unleashing their strongest technique: “Sun-born Sword,” “Venom Dragon Spear,” “Raging Sword Rain,” “Ba Fist.”

Fei Yue snorted again, his iron claws flaring. Fire erupted three yards wide, an unearthly force surging forth—swords and spears snapped, the four men hurled back, blood spurting from their mouths.

“My Tang Clan’s reputation will not be besmirched by the likes of you!” Fei Yue sneered, fire curling around him as he bore down on Fang Feifei, illuminating his pale face.

“You fiend, Fei Yue! I’ll come back as a vengeful ghost to haunt you!”

Though Fang Feifei was loath to die, he could only close his eyes and await the end—when suddenly a jet-black sword pierced into the heart of the flames, sending countless sword-lights swirling within, blooming like flowers in the fire. For a time, the mysterious fire technique was matched blow for blow.

It was Zhou Qian—only he, the foremost of the younger generation, could withstand such a blow from this infamous old monster.

But the effort aggravated his earlier injury. Zhou Qian coughed, blood streaking from the corner of his mouth.

“Enough!” At this word, nearly half the martial artists on the ship surrounded the two from the Tang Clan, their eyes deadly serious. The title “Sword Immortal”—whether among the old or young—was the most esteemed in the martial world.

Yet behind Fei Yue stood seven or eight followers, and the tension thickened, a spark away from violence.

“The killer has been found!” Suddenly, a woman’s voice rang from the doorway, a pure white sword tassel flashing in her jade hand.

“The Gentleman’s Divine Sword, Xiang Feihe!?” several exclaimed in astonishment. “Impossible!”