Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Gathering Storm

The one speaking was a young gentleman dressed in splendid silks and brocade. Seated atop a tall steed and surrounded by more than a dozen attendants, he gazed down at Jiang Chen with an air of lofty superiority.

“Did you all hear what he just said? This fellow seems to think himself someone extraordinary, daring to boast so shamelessly. Has he gone mad from hunger, perhaps?”

The crowd broke into raucous laughter, certain that Jiang Chen’s words were nothing but the arrogance of a fool overestimating himself.

Wu Yue, displeased, retorted, “Who are you people, and what right have you to mock others?”

The young gentleman’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Wu Yue, and a lecherous malice flickered instantly across his face.

He altered his tone and addressed Wu Yue, “Miss, if you remain outside the city, you’re courting certain death. Why not come with me? With such beauty as yours, you could serve as my personal maid.”

“If you follow me, you’ll never want for food or clothing again, nor live a life of hopeless misery. For someone your age to perish in the wild would be too great a pity.”

He carried himself with lordly arrogance, treating Wu Yue as nothing more than a desperate refugee and daring, even in Jiang Chen’s presence, to humiliate her openly.

At this, Jiang Chen stood up, meeting the man’s contemptuous gaze and spoke with gravity: “No matter who you are, anyone seeing such suffering among the people ought to feel compassion, not stand above them and utter such callous words.”

“And furthermore, my Yue’er is not a refugee, and you are not fit to speak to her!”

At these words, the attendants around the young gentleman glowered fiercely, itching for a fight.

“Master, let me teach this reckless fool a lesson, and seize the girl for you. To meet someone as kind-hearted as you is the fortune of her lifetime!”

Wu Yue’s heart clenched in alarm, realizing her impulsiveness might have offended someone in power. The thought filled her with anxious dread—if this brought harm to Jiang Chen or led to unimaginable consequences, she would never forgive herself.

But at that crucial moment, Jiang Chen unhesitatingly stepped in front of her, shielding her with his not-so-brawny frame as he faced down the hulking men.

The refugees who had benefited from Jiang Chen’s kindness grew deeply anxious. It seemed impossible for Jiang Chen to prevail against such men.

“You’re feeling bold, aren’t you, boy?” said one, rolling up his sleeves, ready to teach Jiang Chen a lesson. Yet, unbeknownst to him, Jiang Chen was of the same mind; though his build looked unimposing, he had always disciplined himself through regular exercise.

Moreover, battle skills ingrained deep within his bones were more than enough to deal with these brutes, whose strength was all for show.

Just as the confrontation was about to erupt, the young gentleman on horseback arrogantly called out, “Enough!”

“You’re one of my attendants—if word got out that you brawled with lowly refugees in a place like this, would that not disgrace me?”

“But Master, this boy—” the man protested, only to be silenced by the young gentleman’s sharp glare.

“I—I was wrong, Master, please don’t be angry!” The burly, bearded man shrank before the young gentleman, as meek as a frightened cat.

“Come, we’re entering the city!” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed his men—not out of any sense of kindness, but pure disdain for sullying himself with disputes among mere refugees. His arrogance was infuriating.

Jiang Chen’s gaze remained fixed on the arrogant youth. He watched as the group exchanged only a few brief words with the city guards, and then the long-closed gates of Ziyang City swung open before them.

The onlookers were astonished, and began speculating about the young man’s true identity. To enter Ziyang City with such blatant ease, he must surely be the son of a powerful court official, or perhaps had some extraordinary relationship with the city’s commander, Di Hong.

Wu Yue secretly let out a breath of relief. Her heart had been at her throat moments earlier—if her thoughtlessness had led to Jiang Chen’s injury, or even to dreadful consequences, she would never have forgiven herself.

“Chen, I’m sorry. I’ve caused you trouble.”

Seeing the guilt and unease on her face, Jiang Chen comforted her, “Yue’er, there’s no need to apologize. It was that man’s arrogance and his disrespect toward you. Sooner or later, he’ll learn his lesson.”

Afterwards, the two of them prepared a second pot of fish soup, doing what they could for the homeless refugees. Not until the moon was high and the stars faded did they set out in their mule cart, returning to Shanguan Town.

This fruitless trip left Jiang Chen rather frustrated. It seemed he would have to find another way if he wished to enter Ziyang City.

When they were still more than twenty li from Shanguan Town, three broad-shouldered men appeared in the dim night ahead, each with a shining straight-bladed sword at his waist—a sight that aroused suspicion.

Could they be bandits from Tiger Head Mountain?

Jiang Chen’s first thought was that these were three bandits out to rob travelers by night. But he had no fear; after all, he was in league with Huang Sicai. As long as he revealed his identity, they would not dare lay a hand on him.

As he pondered, the three men noticed their mule cart and, as if by prior agreement, turned and waved toward the road ahead.

“Chen, what do you think they want?” Wu Yue asked in alarm.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Jiang Chen replied, slowing the mule cart and calling out, “Good sirs, what brings you here?”

One of the men, a long-faced fellow, responded amicably, “Brother, could you tell us which direction Shanguan Town lies, and how far it is from here?”

“Head west ten li, cross the bridge, then south for another ten li, and you’ll be there,” Jiang Chen answered.

“Many thanks, truly!” they replied.

Jiang Chen continued on his way, not relaxing until he had put a good distance between himself and the three men.

“Chen, do you think those men were bandits? They seemed quite friendly, though the long swords at their waists were a bit frightening,” Wu Yue asked curiously.

“No, they’re not bandits. Bandits don’t carry such finely crafted blades. Besides, there’s a very particular aura about them.”

“Oh? Did you notice something, Chen?”

Jiang Chen glanced up at the full moon, now disappearing behind thick clouds, and his heart tightened. He sensed some hidden danger approaching the distant Shanguan Town.

After a long pause, he finally said, “I’m not sure, but those men didn’t look like good people. In any case, we should get home as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, I think so too! They were a bit odd—smiling as they spoke, but still giving me chills down my spine.”

In truth, Jiang Chen kept his deepest fears to himself, not wanting to frighten Wu Yue.

From those three men, he had caught the scent of death—the kind of lingering odor that clings to those who make killing their trade.

Wu the Butcher bore a similar scent, but there was a marked difference between the two.