Chapter 24: Homicide

"Give them the money and send them away," a voice commanded from inside the house. "Tell those brats that if they come back here looking for handouts again, they’ll learn just how fearsome their elders can be."

This was expected; even the men inside the house felt no surprise. Outside the gate stood two hunters. Anyone hanging around the lowest rungs of Mayi City knew better than to provoke these men from the wilderness. Among the hunters, villains were common—they were to the city's toughs what wild wolf cubs were to a household’s guard dogs. What made them most formidable was their solidarity; once slighted, they would swarm into the city in packs to settle the score. Furthermore, as they held military registration, even if a dispute reached the Magistrate’s office, the outsiders usually ended up on the losing end, provided no lives were taken. Only someone like Li Po, pushed to the brink, would specifically seek out trouble with the hunters; others, even if they didn't treat these village men with kindness, would never go out of their way to provoke them.

Thirty copper coins, tied in several strings, were tossed out. With a heavy thud, the gate slammed shut.

Shi Da glanced at Shi Er, muttering with a hint of cowardice, "At least they know what's good for them, otherwise... hmph."

As he spoke, Li Po picked up the strings of coins and shoved them into his arms. The two brothers beamed, exchanging a few polite refusals with Li Po before finally accepting the money, promising that when they came into the city in a few days, they would bring Li Po some firewood and food. Li Po didn't linger this time; he led them out of the slave market and saw them off.

Li Po waited patiently for two days, no longer poking his head around the market. That evening, he insisted on drinking three bowls of porridge at the gruel stall. Upon returning to his grass hut, he ate two grilled fish and chewed through four pieces of dried meat. The food reserves in the hut dwindled rapidly. Li Chun didn't feel a pang of regret, but as he watched his brother’s increasingly calm gaze, he couldn't help but feel a sudden, inexplicable fear.

When the moon hung high in the center of the sky, Li Po wrapped his tattered boots with rags, retrieved the limping man's short blade, and tucked it into his waistband. He glanced at Li Chun, who appeared to be asleep, and quietly exited the hut. At that moment, Li Chun opened his eyes. The first time his brother had gone out in the middle of the night, he had killed two people—what would happen this time? Of course, in his heart, these things were secondary; he worried that his brother might be injured, or...

He dared not think further. He sat up, added some firewood to the stove, and prepared to wait for his brother's return. He hated that he was too young to help. Children raised in hardship are always precocious, and as they grow, they are destined to be different from the rest.

In the night, Li Po, moving through the darkness, was a completely different person from the one seen during the day. He let the cold wind whip against his face and body, offering no resistance; though his flesh was cold, he did not tremble. He appeared light and agile.

He slipped quietly through the refugee camp, alert enough to dodge away like a scavenging beast at the slightest sound. Reaching the slave market, he found a spot that would leave no tracks, took a quick running start, kicked off the low wattle fence twice, and with a light press of his hand on the top, vaulted over.

The slave market was quiet, but unlike the refugee camp, some areas still had lamps lit, with muffled, boorish laughter and shouts drifting through the air. A single wall separated these two worlds. Of course, Li Po was in no mood for such reflections. The large house was not far off, and he soon reached it.

They say a bright moon is for killing, and a strong wind is for burning. This night, with its clear moonlight and howling cold wind, was truly perfect for murder and arson. Naturally, Li Po did not go up and kick the door again. He circled to the back of the house and climbed into the courtyard.

The slave trader’s yard looked chilling under the moonlight. Hanging racks, iron hooks, and leather whips gave Li Po the feeling of stepping into a sadist's secret chamber. From the rooms behind, soft groans could be heard, but they did not distract him; that was not his target.

He didn't need to search long before he spotted the back door and windows. As luck would have it, just as Li Po was carefully checking whether the door or windows were left unlatched, the back door creaked open, and a figure stumbled out. Whether the man was heading to the latrine or elsewhere made no difference to Li Po. Hiding in the shadows, Li Po gently drew his short blade and set the scabbard on the ground.

He approached the figure silently, clamped a hand over the man's mouth, and drew the blade across his throat. A moment later, he dragged the corpse into the darkness, leaving behind only a large pool of blood. Then, he went to the back door, pushed it open slightly, and slipped inside.

The house was warm. Li Po stood still by the door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The air here smelled foul—a faint, musty rot hung in the atmosphere, mingled with the stench of sweat, stinking feet, food, and wine; it would have been strange if it smelled of anything else.

There were over a dozen rooms in the house, and the heavy sound of snoring was the main melody. The rest was simple: he was here to kill, with no other purpose. He searched room by room. Most doors were not even latched, and even if they were, he could easily pry the bolts open. Like a diligent ant, he repeated the same motions: entering a room, plunging the short blade into the throat of the sleeper, holding them down to prevent any loud noise, leaving the corpse on the bed, and moving to the next.

Like birds returning to the nest, the house held more people than Li Po had anticipated. One man was simply sleeping on a large table in the room. The scent of blood grew thick, and Li Po finally found his primary target.

The big man had grown slightly paunchy and was no longer young. He lay on the bed, sleeping soundly. Li Po did not know what their values were, but judging by the man's expression, someone who could sleep with such sweet contentment clearly felt no burden for his life of sin.

Of course, Li Po was no messenger of justice. He had no grand thoughts; he simply reached the bedside and, with lightning speed, plunged the blade into the man's throat. The man was no different from the others: he opened his eyes wide, blood foam quickly bubbling from his lips, his eyes turning red from congestion. His still-strong body twisted and convulsed involuntarily, but Li Po held him down firmly.

When the house fell into a deathly silence, Li Po breathed a long, quiet sigh.