Yang Jing hurried on his way, not stopping until he was several miles from Fenglou Village, where he finally veered into a remote forest.
He rummaged through his pack and pulled out a clean set of coarse linen clothes. By the light of the moon, he quickly changed out of his bloodstained garments.
The bloodstains had long since congealed into dark red patches in the cold wind, and their metallic-sweet scent made his stomach clench.
Yang Jing wadded the dirty clothes into a ball, found a pile of dry twigs, and took out a fire-starter to light them.
The flame licked at the fabric, quickly erupting into a blaze that incinerated the dark red stains, along with any other traces that could expose him, reducing it all to ash.
He stared at the fire until the embers grew cold, then buried them with dirt and stomped on the spot a few times to ensure nothing looked out of the ordinary.
Once that was done, he took a roundabout path before leaning against the trunk of a large tree and pulling the coin purse from his robes.
His fingers trembled slightly as they touched the knot at the mouth of the purse.
He untied it and looked inside. There were a full eleven taels of silver, along with two small silver fragments, all glinting with a cold, white light under the moon.
Yang Jing swallowed hard. This was the largest sum of silver coins he had seen since he'd transmigrated to this world.
It truly was as the old saying went: murderers and arsonists wear golden sashes, while those who build bridges and mend roads die without a grave.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the tumultuous emotions swirling within him.
He then took out three taels and the two silver fragments, tucking them into his sleeve. He took the remaining eight taels, still in the coin purse, and found an old locust tree deep in the forest. Using his dagger, he dug a deep pit, buried the purse, covered it with a thick layer of earth, and placed a few stones on top to mark the spot.
This silver was both a liability and a safety net. To be prudent, Yang Jing decided not to carry it on his person for the time being.
After taking care of everything, Yang Jing didn't linger. He traveled through the night to the posthouse outside the city walls.
The posthouse's lanterns cast a dim, yellow glow in the cold night. The yawning Posthouse Soldier on watch took twenty large copper coins from him and pointed to a room deeper inside.
It was much like the room he had stayed in last time. He pushed the door open to reveal a sparsely furnished space containing only a hard plank bed, a low table, and a few chairs.
Yang Jing shut the door behind him and slid to the floor, his back pressed against the wood.
It was only then, with the dust settled and alone in the room, that the emotions he had been forcefully suppressing finally came rushing to the surface.
He lifted his right hand and stared at it. 'I washed them clean, but I can still feel that warm, metallic stickiness on my fingertips.'
The calm he'd felt while killing the man was like a thin sheet of ice, and now it shattered, leaving only an unstoppable, creeping dread.
The choked gurgle as Feng Lei's throat was slit, the feeling of his body convulsing, the splash of blood on his hand... The scenes flashed before his eyes, one after another, making his heart pound and his breath come in ragged gasps.
In his two lifetimes, this was the first time he had ever killed another person, the first time his hands had been stained with human blood.
It wasn't that he hadn't been afraid. He had been. But at that moment, driven by anger and resolve, there had been no room for even a shred of hesitation.
But now, sitting alone in the posthouse room, the reality of the act washed over him like a tidal wave.
Tension twisted his stomach, and a chilling apprehension washed over him.
'I've killed someone. From this day forward, these hands are no longer just the hands of someone who has wielded a blade and practiced his fists.'
It was, after all, the first time he had personally ended a life. The lingering fear made his breathing ragged.
Yang Jing sat on the floor, closed his eyes, and took a moment to compose himself. He dug his fingertips into the rough floorboards, slowly steadying his mind.
In the darkness, his thoughts turned to his family. He remembered the filth thrown on their courtyard gate. He remembered his uncle's dog, Heizi, who they had raised for years, kicked to death by Feng Lei. He thought of the helplessness and despair of his grandfather, his grandmother, and his mother. He thought of his father, signing up to guard a grain transport just for a handful of silver coins. He thought of the bleached bones of refugees and the blades of bandits in these chaotic times.
Those images seared his heart like a branding iron, and the panic he'd just felt began to recede, bit by bit.
When he opened his eyes again, not a trace of hesitation remained in their depths.
He slowly rose to his feet, walked over to the table, and sat down. He raised a hand to his own throat, then looked at his palm. The physical memory of the kill was still there, but it no longer terrified him.
'So, this is what it's like to end a life with your own hands. It's not as unbearable as I imagined.'
In fact... he was even faintly thrilled by it!
'This world is chaos. The strong preying on the weak is the natural order. If you don't raise your own blade, you're just waiting to be slaughtered.'
'Men like Feng Lei, relying on the backing of powerful landowners to oppress the common folk and bully the decent—who knows how much innocent suffering is on their hands? Killing him was both revenge and self-preservation.'
"Better to strike first than to wait to be killed," Yang Jing muttered to himself. His voice was exceptionally clear in the empty room.
He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, a ruthless glint flashing in his eyes.
...
「The next day.」
When Feng Lei failed to show up after a long wait, his underlings went to his house together, only to find him cold and dead in his bed.
News of Feng Lei's murder spread quickly through Wazi Town.
Everyone who heard the news rejoiced.
"What? Feng Lei is dead?"
"Serves him right! He should've died long ago!"
"It's just as the old saying goes: good deeds are rewarded, and evil deeds are punished. It's not a matter of if, but when. It looks like King Yama has finally come to collect his due."
...
Meanwhile, the Ning Family sent their own people to investigate, but they couldn't find any leads.
With Feng Lei's death, the Ning Family had lost one of their key henchmen.
Wazi Town. The Ning Family Estate. The study.
The Ning Family's Patriarch, Ning Xuezhi, sat in his chair. He was around fifty, with slightly graying hair and naturally puffy eyelids. His brow was tightly furrowed, and he tapped the tip of his right index finger intermittently on the desk.
He had been in the city celebrating a friend's birthday and planned to stay for a few days, but he had rushed back immediately upon hearing that Feng Lei had been murdered.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
A knock came at the study door.
Ning Xuezhi looked up. "Come in," he said, his voice a bit hoarse.
The moment he spoke, the Ning Family's housekeeper pushed the door open and entered, a sheet of paper in his hand.
The housekeeper walked to the desk and handed the paper to Ning Xuezhi. "Patriarch," he said respectfully, "please take a look. This is the list you requested. My men and I just finished compiling it."
Ning Xuezhi took the paper, spread it out on the desk, and began to read it carefully.
The paper listed over twenty names, each one belonging to someone who'd had a conflict with Feng Lei.
Ning Xuezhi went through the names one by one.
Some of the people on the list he recognized, others he did not.
When he came across a name he didn't know, he would ask the housekeeper standing beside him.
Even before his association with the Ning Family, Feng Lei had been a brawler who spent his days picking fights. Now, with the Ning Family's backing in both silver and supplies, he had gathered a posse of local thugs and ran rampant through the countryside. Was there any village where he hadn't made a few enemies?
"Hm?"
After reading through sixteen or seventeen names, Ning Xuezhi's gaze fell upon the next one: Yang Jing.
"Old Shi, who is this Yang Jing?" Ning Xuezhi asked, frowning.
Housekeeper Shi glanced at the name on the list. "He's the grandson of Yang Shouzhuo from Yang Family Village," he said after a moment's thought. "He's currently studying at the Sun's Martial Arts Hall in the city."
"A disciple of a Martial Arts Hall?" At this, Ning Xuezhi's frown deepened.