Volume Three: The Storm at Xuanwu Gate Chapter Ninety-Three: Buy Your Life with Money? Bloodletting Before Death

Chang'an, as the ancient capital of several dynasties and a place of imperial consequence under heaven's own gaze, was naturally home to countless gifted men and fierce experts from every quarter. For Duan Hu to take root there, build up such a vast enterprise, and lord over the prosperous West City, it was not enough that he had tied himself to a mighty clan as a supporting tree; the men at his command were also no mere rabble. Otherwise, he could never have kept a hundred-odd subordinates obedient and cowed.

In his hand Duan Hu wielded a horn-curved saber, much like the curved blades favored by the Hu peoples, its body arcing like a full moon. His martial style followed the manner of wandering martial duels: swift and fierce, with every strike linked to the next, dense as a sudden downpour, each angle cunning and treacherous. Added to that, Duan Hu had roamed the rivers and lakes for many years, rich in combat experience, and his blows were vicious and ruthless.

As for Mingyu, he had learned the Li family saber technique taught by his master, Xuanba Li, a method meant for slaughter on the battlefield. It emphasized broad, sweeping movements, fierce and overbearing, fighting with a spirit of bold advance and unstoppable momentum.

Inside the cramped room, darkness lay thick as pitch, and nothing could be seen.

The two of them exchanged blow for blow in the blackness, fighting hand to hand, and for a time they were evenly matched.

After more than a dozen exchanges, Mingyu began to feel his strength ebbing. He knew he had already endured a succession of bloody battles and spent much of his stamina; if this stalemate dragged on, he feared he would soon be at a disadvantage.

Worse still, they were in this dark room, forced to rely on sound to judge position. Duan Hu, however, held the advantage of terrain. This was his own bedroom, and every piece of furniture and every arrangement in it was etched into his memory; whether there was light or not made little difference to him.

He needed a way to end this quickly, before trouble brewed.

At that thought, Mingyu changed tactics. Just then Duan Hu slashed down at him. Mingyu gave a tiger's roar, listened for the wind to judge the line of attack, raised his blade, and deliberately met Duan Hu's curved saber head-on with his own horizontal saber.

But this time he poured all his strength into it, determined to knock Duan Hu's weapon from his hand.

With a thunderous clang, the two blades crashed together, sparks flying in all directions.

Duan Hu felt his wrist go numb and his tiger's mouth shake violently. His saber flew out of his grasp.

Mingyu did not fare lightly either. The collision had been a brutal one. His horizontal saber was of only average quality to begin with, and after much cutting and killing it was already battered and scarred. Duan Hu's curved saber, on the other hand, was made of fine material; under the force of Mingyu's blow, the horizontal saber snapped cleanly in two.

The broken blade was of no consequence. Knocking Duan Hu's saber away had already accomplished its task. Mingyu had never intended to win by saber technique alone. He flung away the broken weapon, fixed on Duan Hu's position, and lunged straight in!

Duan Hu was startled. He had never imagined the boy would fight in such a fashion.

Though disarmed, he was no weakling in fist and foot either. He met the attack without fear, and the two closed and battled again at close quarters.

Duan Hu's hand-to-hand skill was not poor, but that depended on who he faced.

In his previous life, Li Mingyu had been a hand-to-hand combat instructor for the special forces and had once represented his military region in the armed forces tournament. He was already one of the finest fighters in the army.

Now, in close combat, he was at his most formidable.

Modern military combat techniques absorb the strengths of martial systems from many nations and schools, stressing a single strike to kill. The techniques may seem to boil down to only a handful of moves, simple in appearance, yet they are the essence of battle: refined and pared down by generations of experts, improved again and again to become more efficient and easier to learn. One might say they are the grand culmination of centuries upon centuries.

On top of that, ever since Li Mingyu had come to the Tang era, who could say whether his crossing over had altered his body, or whether the tiger's milk he had drunk as a child and the secret foundation-building formula of the Li family, given to him by Master Xuanba, had truly worked wonders? His constitution had grown even tougher, his strength was born unnatural, his recovery astonishing, and from childhood to adulthood he had never once suffered even the smallest illness or ailment.

A body of iron paired with peerless strength, added to the sharpened combat skills tempered by countless trials in a later age: if one judged only by bare-handed fighting, Li Mingyu was nothing less than a machine built for slaughter.

Duan Hu grew more shocked and afraid with every passing moment. Why were this boy's moves so strange? They gave no trace of any orthodox system at all, and yet in more than twenty years of roaming the martial world, he had never even heard of such techniques.

Barely managing to withstand three or two exchanges, Duan Hu was so frustrated he could have coughed up blood. The boy's attacks were truly fast and vicious, always aimed at the vital points: the brow, the throat, the groin, the eyes. Without his familiarity with the terrain, he might not even have been able to block those few strikes.

Seeing the situation turn bad, Duan Hu feinted with a punch, hoping to force back the Li boy, who was pressing him step by step, so that he might break away and flee.

Hearing the rush of the fist through the air, Mingyu's heart leapt. Good! That is exactly what I wanted. I was just worried I couldn't get hold of you.

He tilted his body left, slipping the fist away.

Then he stepped forward, his left hand clenched into a fist, driving it out in a twisting surge from his abdomen.

The left hook landed squarely on Duan Hu's face. In the next instant, the right fist followed, smashing a right hook into his features as well. Then his left arm bent, and he finished with an upward elbow strike that crashed into Duan Hu's chin.

The entire combination was delivered in one breath, each strike aimed at Duan Hu's face, battering him until he was dizzy, swollen, and bruised, his chin seeming nearly broken, while he let out shrieks like a slaughtered pig.

Mingyu pressed in, raised his knee, and drove it into Duan Hu's lower abdomen, sending him reeling backward against his will amid fresh cries of agony.

Finally, he seized Duan Hu's arm, twisted it the other way, and with a sharp crack, broke it by brute force.

At the same time he hooked a leg behind him and sent Duan Hu sprawling onto his back. Then he lifted his right foot and stomped hard on Duan Hu's kneecap.

After Duan Hu let out a cry so inhuman it scarcely sounded like a man, his eyes rolled back and he passed out from the pain.

All of this happened in one unbroken flow, as swift as wind and lightning. In only a few breaths, Duan Hu had lost one hand and one arm.

"Humph. Overestimating yourself," Mingyu said coldly. He left Duan Hu unconscious on the floor and went to the table to light the lamp.

When the flame rose again, light returned to the room.

Mingyu saw that the mother and daughter still tied to the bed were trembling all over. He picked up Duan Hu's curved saber and cut the ropes binding them.

Then he instructed them, "Go wait outside first. I still have questions for Duan Hu."

The mother and daughter thanked him profusely. They did not dare spare so much as a glance at Duan Hu on the floor; heads bowed, like startled rabbits, they hurried out.

After sending them away, Mingyu rolled his shoulders and stretched his limbs, only to find his whole body aching, hungry, and parched.

Only then did he remember that since leaving the Prince of Qin's manor, he had not eaten or drunk a thing all day.

After so many fierce exchanges, he had spent a great deal of strength. Seeing the table laden with wine and dishes, his stomach burned all the more fiercely with emptiness. He reached out, took a leg of lamb that had been stewed until tender, and began to eat.

As he ate, he studied Duan Hu's appearance in the lamplight.

Duan Hu looked to be around forty. True to his name, he was a fearsome-looking man indeed. He had a square face, dark skin, a lion's nose, a broad mouth, and eyes shaped like inverted triangles. His beard and whiskers were thick and tangled. Across his face ran an old healed scar from brow to mouth, splitting it in two and making him look even more like a demon from the underworld.

Seeing the corner of Duan Hu's eye twitch, Mingyu casually hurled the bone from the eaten lamb at his face.

"Since you're awake, don't even think about playing any tricks," he said. "Otherwise you'll suffer even more."

Duan Hu opened his eyes wide. Though the pain had him baring his teeth, he was a man who knew how to carry himself, and said, "Young sir, what fine skill! I am outmatched, and I accept my defeat. We had no deep enmity to begin with. I kidnapped you, you beat me, and you killed many of my men. Let us call it even. Besides, you've already crippled one hand and one leg. Your anger should be spent by now. I am willing to offer you another sum of silver as compensation. What do you say, young sir?"

"Compensation?" Mingyu looked at him, finding the man's manner strangely like that of a wandering martial gangster. Could it be that he thought this was no more than an ordinary vendetta in the martial world, something that could be settled with a bit of silver? Or was he merely pretending not to understand? It seemed that unless he applied some pressure, the man would never speak honestly. With that thought, Mingyu's expression turned hard.

"Oh! No, no, not compensation," Duan Hu blurted quickly when he saw Mingyu's face change. "It is ransom. I am willing to buy my life! I only ask that you show mercy, young sir."

"Heh, buy your life? How much are you offering?" Li Mingyu had already sentenced Duan Hu to death in his heart. For all that the man had done, no amount of pleading could save him. Still, if he could make him bleed a little before killing him, so much the better. With that thought, his expression eased.

"The room holds today's entire income from the gambling house, more than two hundred strings of cash. I am willing to give it all to you, so long as you spare my life!" Duan Hu said hurriedly, his eyes fixed on Mingyu, seizing on the fact that his expression had softened.

Mingyu was startled after hearing this. Duan Hu really knew how to rake in money. He had thought a hundred or eighty strings would already be considerable, yet a tiny gambling den could bring in nearly two hundred strings in a single day.

Ah, this was a pillow delivered just when he was drowsy. He had been worrying about how to raise starting capital for his business, and now Duan Hu had obediently brought it to his doorstep. Since it was all ill-gotten wealth, leaving it there would be foolish.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow. "Where is it?"

Duan Hu, at least for once, was honest. "Move the cabinet. There's a hidden compartment behind it."

Mingyu did as he was told. Sure enough, there was a concealed recess. Inside sat a not-small wooden chest filled with heavy copper cash coins. A rough count showed more than two hundred strings, if anything slightly more.

"So, Duan Hu, you weren't being honest," Mingyu said, quite pleased now that he had found the stolen silver. Still, the Evil Tiger Gang had occupied the West City for years and done every manner of evil. If someone told him they had only two or three hundred strings tucked away, no fool would believe it.

He walked to Duan Hu's side, kicked the broken arm lightly, and said, "If you want to buy your life, then speak plainly and honestly. Who in this world doesn't know your Evil Tiger Gang is dripping with fat? Trying to fool me with two hundred strings? Do you take me for someone who has never seen money?"

Duan Hu's eyes twitched from the pain. With a bitter smile, he said, "Young sir, I am only a dog kept by my betters. Over these years I have indeed earned a fair amount, but it was all handed over in full long ago. This is truly all I can produce right now."

"Very well. Then tell me first: who ordered you to send men to kidnap me?" Mingyu was in no hurry. Sooner or later, you will spit it out obediently. First let me learn who the mastermind is.

"This..." Duan Hu hesitated. Thinking of the many methods of the noble behind him, he still did not dare speak. His eyes darted about as he replied, "This was only a private grudge between us. Seeing that you were dressed like someone of wealth, I thought to kidnap you and extort some ransom money. No one ordered me to do it."

"Bullshit!" Mingyu snapped. "Duan Hu, do you think I'm some child of a few years old? I know exactly what I am to you. Don't make me waste my effort. If you do, you'll have plenty of suffering to taste."