Watching Deng Zhuo and his men disappear around the corner, Zhao Xuanqi looked away and headed home.
CREAK!!
Before he even got close to their little house, the door opened and Zhao Qin stepped out, her face lit with a joyous surprise.
She had been watching for any activity outside and had seen the entire exchange. She also understood the significance of the gray Martial Arts Uniform Zhao Xuanqi was wearing.
"You passed the assessment?"
Zhao Qin looked the gray Martial Arts Uniform on Zhao Xuanqi up and down, her delight impossible to conceal.
With this Martial Arts Uniform, the two of them had finally established a foothold in Celestial Sea Prefecture. They wouldn't be bullied by just anyone anymore.
"Is there any doubt?"
Zhao Xuanqi said with a smile.
"That's wonderful! We have to celebrate tonight…"
Zhao Qin said happily, but then she remembered that Zhao Xuanqi had eaten through their last bit of savings. Her expression turned a little sheepish. "But... we're out of money now. I'm afraid we'll have to keep it simple."
"What do you mean, keep it simple? Of course we're celebrating properly. Don't worry about the money, I'll handle it. But I have to go out again this afternoon and might not be back until evening. We'll celebrate then."
"You have to go out again?"
"Yeah. Now that I've passed the assessment, there are still some things I need to handle."
"That makes sense."
"Sis, I'm a little hungry. Could you cook up whatever ingredients are left?"
"Oh, right. I'll get on it."
As Zhao Qin headed to the small side-kitchen and the cooking smoke began to rise, Zhao Xuanqi rummaged through the house. He found a pair of iron scissors and Zhao Qin's sewing pouch, which he tucked away.
He then grabbed a set of black clothes, wrapped the iron scissors and sewing pouch inside, tied it into a bundle, and tossed it out the window.
Once Zhao Qin finished cooking, he scarfed down the meal, then said his goodbyes. When she wasn't looking, he swiped the whetstone from the kitchen. After leaving the house, he casually retrieved the bundle from outside the window and headed for the riverbank.
Down by the river, Zhao Xuanqi took the iron scissors from his bundle. He removed the screw, separating them into two halves. He then painstakingly sharpened each half on the whetstone, grinding a double edge onto both blades and honing their tips to a fine point.
It took him about two hours to finish. Gazing at the cold glint of the newly honed edges, Zhao Xuanqi nodded in satisfaction. He wrapped them up again, then made a trip to a nearby kiln to buy a bag of lime powder.
After all this was done, he glanced at the sky. It was only three or four in the afternoon, and his stomach was already rumbling again. He dug through his pockets, managing to find only a single copper coin and a few smaller coppers. Shaking his head in resignation, he found a roadside noodle shop and ordered a large bowl of wide noodles. Once he'd finished eating, he headed toward the port in the South Suburb.
Hengsheng Warehouse was located two kilometers north of Xingnan Port in the South Suburb.
The warehouse was a property of the Sanshui Gang and also served as the base of operations for Deng Zhuo and his crew.
It was the warehouse's busiest time of day, with people constantly coming and going. Zhao Xuanqi didn't get too close. Instead, he changed into dark clothing and climbed a large tree near the warehouse. His figure concealed within the dense canopy, he observed the activity inside through gaps in the leaves.
In his past life, he had assassinated key combatants from multiple nations, infiltrated top-secret bases, and repeatedly escaped joint international operations. He had relied on more than just formidable personal might.
The Hundred Beasts Fist imitates the forms of a hundred beasts. Concealment, lying in wait, and silent endurance—this is the very essence of a predator's hunt.
Since ancient times, the Hundred Beasts Sect had been regarded by many in the Blue Star Martial Arts World as a heretical school. Its disciples were often eccentric, ferocious, and tyrannical, always acting as they pleased, which earned them a poor reputation.
In truth, this was related to the practice of the Hundred Beasts Fist. This Fist Technique involved observing the forms of beasts, internalizing their nature, and embracing their intent. This process often had a profound impact on a Cultivator's state of mind and personality.
Ferocity! Malice! Savagery! Bloodlust! Ruthlessness!
The beasts of the wild live by the naked law of the jungle: the weak are meat for the strong. They act on instinct, devoid of mercy or morality.
Thus, the Hundred Beasts Fist is the most savage of killing arts. Every move, every form, stops at nothing, embodying the bloody cruelty of natural selection.
To prevent disciples from being dominated by animalistic nature as they practiced the fist technique, the founding ancestor established the precepts of the "Seven Kills." All who entered the sect were bound to obey them:
Those who are treacherous and criminal may be killed!
Those who use their strength to bully the weak may be killed!
Those who are wealthy but cruel may be killed!
Those who kill wantonly may be killed!
Those who threaten one's home and country may be killed!
Those who are faithless and treacherous may be killed!
Those who threaten one's life may be killed!
All others must not be killed!
However, even with the Seven Kills precepts in place, not everyone chose to abide by them. The rules were also far too open to subjective interpretation, easily twisted by personal rationalization. As a result, the Hundred Beasts Sect strayed ever further down its heretical path. Its disciples dwindled until, by Zhao Xuanqi's generation, he was the sole practitioner of the True Inheritance.
Zhao Xuanqi, hidden in the canopy, spotted Deng Zhuo in the distance inside the warehouse. His expression was calm as he murmured to himself, 'The Sanshui Gang is treacherous and bullies the weak. They may be killed!'
Deng Zhuo was a lingering threat. Even now that he was an Outer Disciple of the Xiaolin Martial Arts Hall, there was no guarantee Deng Zhuo wouldn't try to cause trouble for him from the shadows. After all, the enmity between them was irreconcilable.
And since he was a threat, he had to be eliminated as soon as possible. This was how Zhao Xuanqi had always operated.
He never put off until tomorrow the revenge he could take today.
Soon, night fell, and a light drizzle began to drift down. The foot traffic dwindled, and most of the day laborers began to leave the warehouse. Once the activity had mostly ceased, and after confirming that Deng Zhuo hadn't left, Zhao Xuanqi dropped down from the tree. He carefully circled the warehouse twice to get the lay of the land.
Most of the porters had already gone home for the day. Patrolling the warehouse perimeter were five able-bodied men armed with steel pipes and machetes—likely a night watch posted by Deng Zhuo to guard the cargo. Deng Zhuo himself was still inside, his exact status unknown.
Zhao Xuanqi's expression was placid. He crouched in a peculiar posture within the deep shadows. His breathing was slowed to a near-standstill, his heartbeat was imperceptible, and his entire presence was so diminished one could look right at him and see nothing.
This was the result of immense skill and confidence.
In his past life on Blue Star, the level of technology was orders of magnitude higher than this world's, yet even their most heavily fortified secret bases couldn't stop his silent infiltration. Though his current strength was less than a hundredth of what it once was, how could Hengsheng Warehouse and its handful of laborers possibly compare to the secret bases and special forces of his past?
'An era without surveillance... it's a beautiful thing...'
Zhao Xuanqi murmured, pulling the two sharp scissor-halves from his clothes. He held them in his hands like daggers, then silently vaulted the fence. Slipping into the warehouse grounds, he locked onto his first target.
The target was a sturdy, dark-skinned man, about 1.7 meters tall, dressed as a laborer with a long steel pipe tucked at his waist. He was holding a tobacco pipe, apparently unable to light it in the drizzle. He had taken shelter under a lean-to, his back against a crate, cupping his hand to shield the flame as he tried to light up.
What he failed to notice was the shadow that had already, soundlessly, arrived at his side.
Suddenly, the corner of his eye caught a flicker of silver.
He seemed to realize something in that instant. He whipped his head around, mouth opening as if to shout.
But it was already too late.