HCAW 11

Chapter 11 – Back into the Wolf’s Den

Chu Kuang was dragged out of the iron cage, his hands and feet shackled with chains. After a payment of two taels of silver, the other end of the chain was handed over to Fang Jingyu.

Fang Jingyu glanced at him—hunched over, trembling all over. Not from fear, but grinding his teeth in fury, coiled like a spring, as if ready to pounce and tear at his skin any moment.

The slave broker counted the silver with a grin almost stretching to his ears. With the money in hand and a troublemaker cleared out of the cage, it was a double blessing for him today. He said to Fang Jingyu, “Sir, you may take him now.”

But Chu Kuang plopped right down, sitting proudly in the mud, and declared, “I’m not going.”

“Not going?” Fang Jingyu frowned.

“I’m staying in the cage. Everyone in there’s a talent, and they talk so nicely. I’m having the time of my life. Besides, they feed you here. What good would it do me to leave with you?”

“My household provides meals too.”

“Pah! Empty sweet talk! One look at you and I can tell you’re lewd enough to handle ten boys in a night. If I go to your place, won’t I be screwed till my ass breaks?” Chu Kuang sprawled on the ground, arms and legs splayed, refusing to move, shouting, “I’m not going! I’m not going with you!”

The broker flew into a rage. Seeing a good deal about to be ruined by this wretch, he raised his whip to strike, only for Fang Jingyu to grab his wrist. Fang Jingyu shook his head. “Don’t hit him. Now that I’ve paid, he’s mine. If you damage him, won’t you have to compensate me?”

The broker, though resentful, withdrew his hand and spat toward Chu Kuang. “Damn that cursed wretch!”

Fang Jingyu looked at Chu Kuang, his eyes darkening. That line from earlier—he’d heard it before. That assassin at Zui Chun Garden had said the same thing. Suspicion surged higher in his mind.

“I’ve paid the silver. Whether you want to or not, you’re coming with me.”

“Heh, try and make me move!” Chu Kuang taunted from the ground.

Fang Jingyu said nothing. He simply tugged the chain and started walking. His strength had been forged by Dragonhead Iron, and with it, he easily dragged Chu Kuang—still in a daze—across the ground, leaving a muddy trail behind him.

The broker and the attendants all stared, stunned, as Fang Jingyu dragged Chu Kuang away, unfazed after over a hundred steps. At the mouth of the alley, he looked back at the man on the ground. “You want me to drag you all the way back, or are you going to use those perfectly good legs and walk?”

By now, Chu Kuang’s head felt like it had been scraped raw against the stone pavement. He sprang up and flailed angrily. “Fine, I’ll walk! I’ll walk myself!”

Not long after, two odd figures appeared on the streets, drawing curious glances from passersby.

A young man in black robes, bearing a sword and saber, walked slowly, holding the chain that was attached to a filthy man with ragged clothes and a hunched back, whose eyes occasionally flashed with murderous light beneath his messy hair.

Fang Jingyu ignored the stares and casually asked, “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

He had bought this man out of suspicion. Fang Jingyu was convinced they had crossed paths before—this man’s voice, build, movements, even his temperament all matched that of the assassin from Zui Chun Garden. Though he had no proof, Fang Jingyu wasn’t about to let a suspect slip past him.

Chu Kuang cackled wildly. “Of course we’ve met!”

Fang Jingyu stopped in his tracks and turned to look at him.

“Your family shrine has a portrait of me! Grandpa, I’m your ancestor!” Chu Kuang roared with laughter, spouting nonsense. Fang Jingyu sighed and turned away. He shouldn’t have expected anything—this was just a halfwit he bought for two taels of silver.

A few more steps later, he suddenly felt a weight on the chain. Looking back, he saw Chu Kuang had collapsed onto the ground, completely motionless.

Fang Jingyu asked, “What now? Weren’t you going to walk on your own?” He tugged the chain a few times, but Chu Kuang didn’t move, lying face-down like a dead fish.

Something felt off. Cautiously approaching, Fang Jingyu stayed alert for a sneak attack while flipping Chu Kuang over. Blood had seeped through his filthy linen robe. Chu Kuang lay unmoving, his face pale, breathing ragged, his forehead burning hot like a furnace.

Fang Jingyu lifted a corner of the robe and sucked in a breath. Chu Kuang’s body was covered in mottled wounds, like bites from worms and snakes, many of them still bleeding and inflamed. This slave was so used to prolonged abuse that even with a body covered in wounds, he’d shown no sign of pain.

Without a word, Fang Jingyu dropped the chain, bent down, and hoisted the unconscious Chu Kuang onto his back, hurrying home.

He had one concern—if this man was faking his injuries and used the chance to strangle him from behind, he’d be caught off guard. But Chu Kuang lay silently against his back, apparently truly unconscious.

Back in Qingyuan Alley, Fang Jingyu called out, “Qin Jiao!”

A moment later, a girl in red opened the door. As soon as she saw him, she licked her lips and chirped like a bird, “You tight-lipped gourd, did you bring me those pork buns with the thin stuffing?”

“I brought you the man who ate your buns.”

Only then did she notice the figure on his back, nearly dropping her jaw in shock. She stepped aside in a daze as Fang Jingyu swept into the courtyard like a gust of wind.

He entered the main room and laid the man on the couch. “Boil some hot water,” he told Qin Jiao, then carefully loosened Chu Kuang’s clothing. Once opened, Fang Jingyu grew both fearful and disheartened. Chu Kuang’s body was a mess of open wounds with barely a patch of intact skin. His face was deathly pale. It looked like he had little time left.

But his frame was wiry and strong—clearly trained.

Moments later, Qin Jiao returned with a bucket of water, flustered. When she saw the state of the man on the couch, her eyes widened. “Can this… can he even be treated?”

Fang Jingyu shook his head and dipped a towel into the water. “We’re officiers, not doctors. How could we treat him?”

“Then why did you bring him here?”

“I already paid for him. If I don’t bring him back, that’s a loss,” Fang Jingyu said as he gently wiped away the blood and cleaned the wounds. But he soon found himself unsure how to proceed. With a sigh, he said, “Go find a doctor.”

“I just checked our pouch. Not a single coin left! And even if we had money, it’s already past curfew. All the apothecaries are shut…”

Fang Jingyu frowned in thought for a while, then suddenly recalled someone. “Go fetch Zheng Deli.”

Qin Jiao’s eyes lit up at those words. Zheng Deli was Fang Jingyu’s childhood friend and shared a close bond with him. Though he looked like a frail, bookish scholar, he had an avid interest in divination and medicine. In the past, whenever they suffered from colds or minor ailments and couldn’t afford a physician, Zheng Deli had often taken care of them.

“Alright, I’ll go find him!” Qin Jiao nodded and dashed out of the courtyard. Though Penglai had a curfew, she, as an official of Xian Mountain, never cared for such restrictions.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and the moonlight gleamed like frost. Tree shadows spilled like ink across the stone steps. She flitted through the streets like a bird and arrived at the Zheng residence. Familiar with the place, she didn’t go through the main gate but leapt onto the wall and slipped into the courtyard, making her way to a side room and knocking on the door.

“Xiao Feng, don’t call me again,” came a weary voice from within. A shadow flickered behind the lamplight. It was Zheng Deli, speaking in dejection. “Father scolded me again today. I’ve got to kneel until morning. Go get some rest.”

Qin Jiao pressed close to the door and whispered, “I’m not Xiao Feng. It’s Qin Jiao. You useless Young Master Zheng, I need your help!”

The shadow inside flinched, then gradually approached the door. A narrow slit opened, revealing Zheng Deli’s pale and delicate face.

He wore a plain blue robe, and his eyes were rimmed red. His features were refined, gentle like a cultured scholar. Seeing Qin Jiao surprised him. “Miss Qin? Why are you here?”

“I need your help. Come with me—now.” Qin Jiao grabbed his wrist without another word and roughly dragged him along. Zheng Deli panicked. “W-What is it? My father’s confined me at home!”

At that moment, a soft voice called from the corridor. A young maid in a pale yellow blouse and white skirt approached with delicate steps. She bowed deeply to Qin Jiao—it was Xiao Feng, a maid of the Zheng household. She spoke anxiously, “Miss Qin, why are you here so late? Young Master Zheng already got punished for standing up for me, going to brothels to seek revenge. After the master found out, he’s been kneeling every night. If you take him out now, won’t you ruin him completely?”

Qin Jiao stamped her foot. “I don’t have a choice! I need him to save someone’s life!”

“Save someone’s life?” Both Zheng Deli and Xiao Feng were stunned.

While they froze, Qin Jiao’s eyes swept the room. She spotted a small box made of yellow flowering pear and recognized it as Zheng Deli’s usual supply. She dashed over, snatched the box in one hand, yanked Zheng Deli with the other, and bolted off, shouting:

“Yes, yes, I’m taking him to save someone! As the saying goes, saving a life is better than building… better than building…” As an illiterate girl, she stumbled for a while, then declared, “Better than building seven sticks of tofu skin!”¹“Saving a life is better than building a seven-story pagoda.” (救人一命，胜造七级浮屠) It’s a classic proverb meaning that the merit of saving one life surpasses that of constructing a grand religious structure (like a tall pagoda), which is traditionally seen as a great act of devotion or virtue.

Before long, Zheng Deli had been dragged all the way to the courtyard in Qingyuan Alley.

Fang Jingyu was seated by the couch and stood to the side as they entered. In that short time, he had cleaned the wounds and wiped away the blood. Seeing the injured man’s condition, Zheng Deli instantly understood why Qin Jiao had dragged him here and said no more. He opened the medicine box, took out some blood-activating herb powder, sewed the wounds with mulberry bark thread, applied hemostatic powder, and wrapped the injuries with fine cloth.

They worked through most of the night and finally managed to settle the patient. The early dawn light filtered softly through the oiled paper windows, faint as blush. Zheng Deli, now relaxed, washed his hands in a wooden tub and collapsed onto the floor with a sigh. “Done!”

Only after he said this did the other two allow themselves to relax. Their eyes, kept open all night, began to ache. Qin Jiao beamed. “Young Master Zheng, I thought you were just a half-baked amateur, but you’ve got real healing hands!”

Zheng Deli blushed at the praise, smiling shyly. Fang Jingyu said calmly, “Ah-Li, it’s thanks to you that this life was saved. The curfew was long past last night. All the doors were closed, the pharmacies shut. Without you, we’d have been at a total loss.”

“It was nothing. I’m no good at studies and always thought of becoming a medical assistant at the Imperial Medical Bureau, but it hasn’t happened yet. If you don’t mind my half-baked skills, I’m glad to help,” Zheng Deli said with embarrassment. Then he asked curiously, “Who is this man? One of your fellow officials?”

Since both Fang Jingyu and Qin Jiao were Xian Mountain officials, they often dealt with chasing criminals, and injuries weren’t rare. Zheng Deli had bandaged them a few times before and naturally assumed this person was one of them too. Having worked all night focusing on wounds, he hadn’t yet looked at the man’s face. Now, as he spoke, he glanced over and brushed aside the man’s messy hair—and was immediately struck dumb with horror.

The injured man on the couch, unconscious, with ink-black brows and skin pale as snow—was none other than the assassin he had encountered that night at the brothel while seeking revenge for Xiao Feng!

Zheng Deli’s eyes widened. The events of that night were still vivid in his mind. He recalled meeting a strange, austere man in Zui Chun Garden, strong and fierce, who split iron chains with a carpenter’s axe, boasted arrogantly, and claimed he was going to seek vengeance on Yu Ji Guard and Young Master Tao. But Zheng Deli had waited all night in the brothel and never saw that man return. The courtesans eventually led him out, still baffled.

In the end, Xiao Feng’s revenge remained unfulfilled, and that strange man vanished without a trace. Later, when Zheng Deli saw guards posted everywhere in Zui Chun Garden, he guessed that man had really attempted an assassination. But when he saw Young Master Tao still swaggering around the streets, he realized the assassin had failed, leaving him disheartened. His father found out about the brothel visit, mistook it for debauchery, and furiously punished him with nightly kneelings.

Now, seeing the man again felt like a blow to the head. His mind buzzed. He shouted in shock:

“He… he’s—”

Fang Jingyu and Qin Jiao instantly turned to look at him.

Zheng Deli stammered for a long while, pointing at Chu Kuang. “He’s the one I saw at Zui Chun Garden…”

He wanted to say the assassin I met, but hesitated—afraid his intent to have someone killed might be exposed. As he faltered, the man on the couch suddenly opened his eyes. One iris black, the other double-pupiled—his gaze sharp as a blade of ice, stabbing into Zheng Deli.

In a flash, Chu Kuang bit down, clamping his teeth onto Zheng Deli’s palm. His sharp teeth sank deep into the flesh like nails. Zheng Deli cried out in pain, and from those eyes, he saw a threat that made his hair stand on end.

“What are you doing!” Fang Jingyu and Qin Jiao immediately pulled the two apart, though with gentler force since one of them was still injured.

Chu Kuang barked like a mad dog, growling and cursing through clenched teeth, as if Zheng Deli’s attempt to save him was some terrible mistake.

Qin Jiao, clearly displeased, turned to Zheng Deli and asked, “Hey, Young Master Zheng, who exactly is this guy? Looks like he’s got quite the grudge against you.”

There was no grudge—it was clearly a warning to keep his mouth shut. Zheng Deli was drenched in cold sweat. That man, who had tried to kill Yu Ji Guard, now stared wide-eyed, baring his teeth. Zheng Deli, weak and helpless, stood no chance against him. If Fang Jingyu so much as loosened his grip, the man would leap up and tear his throat out.

Terrified, Zheng Deli finally muttered, “I met him at Zui Chun Garden…”

The two officials stared at him unblinkingly. Zheng Deli, drenched in sweat, eventually shut his eyes and mumbled:

“…he’s someone I… I slept with.”

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  “Saving a life is better than building a seven-story pagoda.” (救人一命，胜造七级浮屠) It’s a classic proverb meaning that the merit of saving one life surpasses that of constructing a grand religious structure (like a tall pagoda), which is traditionally seen as a great act of devotion or virtue.