Hong Fu, forty-three years old and a former disciple of the Tianmen (天门) Sect. He had once been a distinguished disciple that had achieved the state of heart purification, though not qualifying of becoming an inner sect member, he still had small renown. Yet his name suddenly disappeared from sect records in the 2nd year of Yong. Who would have known that he had found a wife, and chosen to settle down in the slums of Lin’an?


    Tianmen Sect was a righteous sect with high renown and skilled at divination. Since it was impossible to convince a holy place to become involved in the secular world, Jing Ping had sought after Hong Fu, who now lived a truly wretched life.


    During the event that led to Jing Ping’s assassination, Hong Fu had accompanied the main carriage before defecting to the perpetrators. Afterwards, he remained entangled for most of the incident, only withdrawing after all of Jing Ping and Princess Kang’s guards had been killed. While he did not know the whole truth behind the Jing couple’s death, if a capable person learnt of what Hong Fu knew, they would likely be able to conjecture what happened that day.


    Thus, he must die.


    Jing Wen chewed meticulously on the piece of rotten lettuce. Swallowing its slimy leaves, Jing Wen then picked up a clump of rice from the bowl.


    Surprisingly, the rice was clean and rid of impurities, which was a rare occurrence among the dishes of the slum. One could assume this was done to preserve the quality of Hong Jingfei’s molars.


    The meal was pitifully little, but it was only finished after a long time. During the whole time, neither Jing Wen nor Hong Fu exchanged any words, simply fuddling around with their chopsticks.


    Placing down the pair of chopsticks, Jing Wen looked at Hong Fu and reached for the handle of his sword. Standing up, he slowly walked to the other side of the table.


    The second pair of chopsticks was placed on the table, snapping against the wood with a crisp and clear sound that was much different from the pitiful screech of the door. After signalling something to Hong Jingfei, Hong Fu reached for the knife on the nearby countertop. He then said, looking at the blind youth who had acted with strange courtesy, “In truth, I do not trust that you will provide for my daughter.”


    Whether he trusted Jing Wen or not didn’t matter. The sharp sword still wet from the snow that had soaked through the oil paper, cut through the wooden table, the plate containing the remaining soup of the lettuce, and eventually, the knowledge of that day.


    Hong Fu lifted his knife, causing it to suddenly give off a deep buzz, as if suddenly struck by thousands of hammers. Then abruptly, it met with Jing Wen’s sword, creating harsh winds that swirled around their arms and causing their sleeves to flutter. It was as though that wrecked door had been opened, and the severe blizzard enveloping the capital had entered into this broken-down residency.


    The two weapons encountered each other at dawn, and the sliver of sunlight shining into the residency reflected off the two blades like a turbulent stream. Although they were ordinary weapons, at this moment, they appeared truly extraordinary.


    As the weapons made contact, Jing Wen felt a burst of aching on his arm as though it was pricked by countless needles. Stomping his left foot heavily against the dirt flooring, Jing Wen quickly retreated three paces, placing his back against the stovetop.


    Hiss.


    The porridge cooking within the wok splashed against Jing Wen’s legs, causing the cloth to stick to his thigh. However, Jing Wen seemed not to notice this. “Staring’ at Hong Fu, he said, “You’ve reached Qi Manifestation?”If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Hong Fu shook his head. “It’s only a few small tricks.”


    “Good.”


    Jing Wen’s right foot then trampled on a bundle of loose paper, forcing it to contort to the shape of his foot as he jumped onto the stovetop, and then, past the window. Stepping onto the street filled with snow, Jing Wen sheathed the sword with a single action and took out an arrow with the next.


    Hong Fu knew Jing Wen’s actions naturally was not done to retreat but to give himself an opportunity to use the bow. Pushing past the wrecked door, Hong Fu looked at the youth, saying, “How foolish. If you had shot a arrow to begin with, I would have no chance to resist.”


    In Hong Fu’s right hand, the index finger and the middle finger swiftly extended itself, forming a sword gesture that pointed to the back of the fleeing Jing Wen. The process was done somewhat stiffly, as though it had gone unpractised for a long time.


    Following the direction of the fingers, a piece of small pebbles left his palm. Splitting the brilliance of dawn, it faded into the snowstorm in a trace of light, thrusting towards the roof tiles Jing Wen was running on.


    Jing Wen felt the intangible power within the pebble’s silent flight. His silk shoes stomping the shingles stopped as he wielded the arrow in his hand, hacking away at the stone. The energy behind the gravel left a grain-size gap at the edge of the arrow and forced Jing Wen from the rooftop.


    Suddenly, another pebble left Hong Fu’s hand, and a snowflake was broken into countless pieces.


    Jing Wen twisted his body and flopped down onto the fresh snow. The dim vestige of the pebble darted past the avenue, scraping his shoulders and leaving a deep tunnel in the walls of the abandoned manor at the end of the street.


    Jing Wen slammed the ground by his palm, using the force to stand up once more. Then, he distanced himself from that broken-down residency once more, his feet interchanging like flashes of lighting as countless pebbles repeatedly sunk into the layer of snow before his feet. The pebbles disappeared so silently, yet each of them managed to pierce through the layer of snow, mud and even the stone beneath.


    After an unknown amount of time, Jing Wen’s position had reached the end of the street.


    The wrecked door had long been shut by the blowing wind, its’ spindles giving off a sharp screech as it closed. Next to the spillage stood Hong Fu, who was giving off laboured breathes.


    The distance between Jing Wen and he had grown much. Yet it was still far from where the bow would be most effective, and Hong Fu’s technique would become redundant.


    A gentle smile slowly merged on Hong Fu’s wrinkled face. Blooming like a chrysanthemum.


    ---


    Clenching the ox-bow in his hand, Jing Wen kept his head lowered, as if lacking the energy or diligence to keep it raised. This was done to ensure his entire being was focused on the trajectory of those pebbles, and that he could deflect them at any time. Because of this alarming degree of concentration, Jing Wen’s face appeared very strange; it was stiff, as though frozen permanently by ice.


    He had fought against cultivators and martial artists countless times, but that was when he still had the state of Qi Manifestation, and with the support of the Imperial Guards. Moreover, compared to Nangong Zhu, Hong Fu’s method was far less orthodox and difficult to counter. Perhaps if Jing Wen were a particular sort of person, this would be the point at which he forsakes the combat, and beg for his life, promising wealth and status to Hong Fu in order to complacent him.


    However, Jing Wen was not that sort of person. In fact, this thought have never appeared in his mind, for he was clear that if he was distracted by unnecessary thoughts; it was no different than ushering death.


    Another piece of pebble shot with a silent howl towards him, yet Jing Wen did not use his arrow to divert the stone’s path. If Jing Wen wished to let loose his arrow, it was natural that he must use his two hands for this purpose instead of deflecting the incoming gravel.


    As small as a grain and as fast as light, the grey pebbles quickly sunk into Jing Wen’s body, leaving numerous holes on his white robes. Then, blood began to infaltrate out of these wounds. Extruding through his garments, it began drip on the surface of his body, staining the dirty snow beneath his shoes.


    But Jing Wen’s whose back was nailed to the wall of that old manor and hands were raising the ox bone bow, remained unchanging in his expression. He showed no panic, no fear, or even any excitement from the adrenaline of battle in this desperate situation.


    “A fool that does not value his life.”


    Hong Fu gradually withdrew his smile. Looking at the blind youth not far away from him, he calmly said, “My pebbles may not do much and cannot directly kill you. However, there are many holes in your body, and each is letting out blood. If you do not treat it soon, you will die.”


    Jing Wen did not answer, but his intentions were cloor; “Then that means I must kill you before I lose all my blood.”


    “How senseless,” Hong Fu shook his head towards Jing Wen with some sympathy.


    At this point, the porridge within the wok began to overflow. The murky liquid bubbled up, spilling out like the blood spilling out of Jing Wen’s wound.


    Hong Fu placed his left hand on the wrecked door, preparing to push it open for the final time. Looking at Hong Jingfei, he then turned his head toward Jing Wen, saying, “I must prepare dinner. Young master Jing, please have a safe trip.”