The spear hounded him relentlessly, striking in turn at his face, his throat, sometimes shifting direction mid-thrust to dart toward his knees or abdomen. Whenever Zhang Ming tried to close the distance, the tip lunged for his heart while its master retreated. He controlled the rhythm of the fight, forcing Zhang Ming to defend and struggle for his life with every breath, all while keeping safely out of reach. The man and his spear moved as one, supple, elusive, each of their movements forced Zhang Ming to make three of his own.

  Several cuts opened across his body, and a red point bloomed at his throat when he barely escaped death. Fortunately, his inhuman endurance sustained him. Moreover, he fought with cold composure, as though playing a game of chess. Without haste or panic, he studied his opponent and the surroundings, calculating a strategy. He had faced strong fighters before; a duel was far from the worst fate had ever thrown at him.

  The estate courtyard offered ample room to maneuver, and by toppling decorative statues in his retreat, Zhang Ming drew his opponent exactly where he wished. Suddenly, as if slipping, he bent low, scooped up a bucket brimming with rainwater in a single motion, and hurled it like a projectile at the man’s face.

  By instinct, the lean fighter shattered the flying object with his spear, drenching himself from head to toe. Only then did he realize his mistake, but too late. Zhang Ming closed the distance in an instant, slamming into his abdomen and sweeping his legs out from under him, driving him to the ground. Then he rained down heavy blows without pause. At the third stage of Body Tempering, his fists were like iron hammers.

  The man writhed and struggled, trying to break free, but he did not know how to grapple. One punch shattered his collarbone, pain flashing through his entire body. Finally, a crushing fist struck his face, and the spearman moved no more.

  “You said not to kill anyone!” Lu Piao’s voice sounded from behind.

  “He’s alive. Don’t worry. I was gentle.”

  That night, the squad looted two more estates, each belonging either to an important city official or to a family with powerful connections. Zhang Ming had chosen his targets carefully, scouting the compounds beforehand with the help of local gangs. He sought influential households with relatives in high posts, so that the uproar they raised could not be silenced even by the Hengyang Clan, yet their guards could not be overly strong. One of the targets was the residence of an official from a respected family, married to the provincial prefect’s niece.

  In their most absurd dreams, these powerful families could never have imagined anyone daring to rob them, yet in a single night some lost a portion of their wealth. Carts laden with spoils rolled through narrow streets toward the port. The curtain of rain reduced visibility to barely three paces; even if someone had looked out a window, they would have seen nothing. Under the cover of darkness and the roar of rain, the bandits hauled their plunder onward.

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  “Move faster!” Lu Piao urged. “You can rest in the afterlife!”

  Dawn approached. The rain gradually weakened. Zhang Ming’s unit advanced toward their final target, a wealthy siheyuan complex belonging to the judge. They had deliberately saved it for last, for inside was stationed a squad of soldiers led by two martial masters, one of whom did not fall short of Zhang Ming in strength. Though the raiders outnumbered the defenders, the clash proved brutal. Three bandits fell to arrows; two more met death on the tips of spears; during the struggle with one of the masters, three raiders lost their heads.

  Zhang Ming had to end the battle quickly, or nothing would remain of his force. After a night of unbroken fighting, he was exhausted, his body covered in wounds. Yet the thought of his daughters waiting in Puyang warmed his heart and gave him strength to step beyond pain. Moreover, the lives of three girls imprisoned on the mountain depended on him. He simply could not afford to die.

  Even if they strip the flesh from my bones, Zhang Ming thought, I will see this through.

  He fought at the limit of his strength, exploiting every advantage in power and speed, yet he could not overwhelm the commander of the defenders. His lack of experience told against him; his swordsmanship extended little beyond the fundamentals. The situation reached a stalemate. He could not afford to wait for the martial master to tire, so he resolved to stake everything on a single strike.

  Seizing the instant when his opponent’s attention flicked toward the twang of a bowstring, Zhang Ming launched himself forward like a cannon shot and crashed into him, driving a punch at the same time. Though a blade pierced his left side, the commander was hurled against a stone wall with such force that he could not rise, coughing blood. In the next heartbeat, Zhang Ming was upon him and thrust through his heart before anyone could intervene. Thunder shook the heavens.

  “That was a foolish idea,” Zhang Ming grimaced, clutching his bleeding side. “Don’t do that again.”

  Seeing their commander fall, the other master sprinted toward the courtyard wall, caught its edge with his hands, preparing to vault over in a single leap, but a spear pierced clean through his back. Pinned to the stone like an insect, he groaned and roared, scraping at the masonry with his fingers, yet could not free himself. The next moment, footsteps sounded behind him.

  “Did you think I’d let you run?” Zhang Ming said. “You abandoned your soldiers. Coward. You don’t wish to die for a corrupt judge, yet you enjoyed his favors.” With a single sweep of his sword, he severed the head of the master at the first stage of Body Tempering.

  Without their commanders, the soldiers did not resist long. Soon the last of them breathed his final breath. The estate was stripped as swiftly as the others. Three carts of goods vanished into the night beneath the raging downpour. Behind them rolled a wagon bearing the bodies of fallen raiders. Last to leave was Zhang Ming, holding his wounded side. With one hand he closed the gates behind him and departed beneath the rumble of thunder. Lightning split the sky, illuminating a courtyard awash in blood.

  “You never found the judge?” Zhang Ming asked on the way. “Where did he go? All his concubines were present.”

  “The servants say he went to the House of Flower Fairies,” one bandit replied.

  “That’s a brothel?”

  “Mm. Three wives and five concubines aren’t enough for him…”

  An hour later, the rain had nearly ceased, the sea calmed, and the sky began to pale. Weighing anchor in the harbor, a merchant vessel drew up to the pier, where an enormous quantity of goods was hastily loaded, along with several dozen new passengers. With documents purchased in advance, the ship quietly departed Baohe and vanished into the mist rising above the river after the storm.