Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Cracks in the Night

The room was dimly lit, the flickering light of a single candle casting dancing shadows on the walls. Li Jian's fists moved through the air in rapid bursts, his form sharp and precise as he practiced the Swift Gale Fist. His punches cut through the silence, each one guided by the Qi that now flowed more freely through his body. Sweat dripped down his brow, but his face was set in grim determination.

Across from him, Li Xuan mirrored the movements, though his strikes were more measured, his control over the Qi more refined. He had always been the more methodical of the two, and now, after weeks of training, it showed in the smoothness of his movements.

"We're getting better," Li Jian said, breathing hard but grinning. "Faster, stronger."

Li Xuan nodded, though his focus remained on the technique. "But we can't get careless. We're still not ready for what's coming."

Just as the words left his mouth, something shifted in the air—a presence, subtle but dangerous. Li Jian froze mid-punch, his eyes narrowing. "You feel that?"

Li Xuan nodded slowly, his body tensing. It was too late. The shadows in the room seemed to thicken, and from the corner of the room, a dark figure emerged. Shi Yong—thin, gaunt, his skin pale and sallow like that of a corpse. His eyes gleamed with malevolence as he stepped forward, moving as silently as a snake.

"Your little training session ends here," Shi Yong rasped, his voice dripping with venom.

Before either brother could react, the door to the room burst open, and in strode Wen Qing. His scholarly appearance was a stark contrast to the sharpness in his eyes, his blade already drawn, gleaming in the candlelight. His steps were light, almost casual, as if he had already calculated the outcome of the fight.

Li Jian's heart raced, but he didn't hesitate. He launched himself at Shi Yong, his fists moving with the speed and force of the Swift Gale Fist, the Qi within him surging forward. But Shi Yong was faster than he looked. He sidestepped the attack with ease, his movements fluid and unnerving. In an instant, he slipped behind Li Jian, his long, bony fingers latching onto Li Jian's wrist with a vice-like grip.

"You're not fast enough, boy," Shi Yong hissed, twisting Li Jian's arm painfully.

Li Jian gritted his teeth, trying to pull away, but Shi Yong's grip was like iron. Worse still, Li Jian felt a cold, creeping sensation spreading through his arm—poison. It was subtle, but it was there, sinking into his flesh with every second.

Meanwhile, Li Xuan had engaged Wen Qing, his own fists moving with controlled bursts of Qi. But Wen Qing was no brute. He didn't rely on strength; he used precision. Each strike Li Xuan threw was parried with minimal effort, Wen Qing's blade dancing in his hand like an extension of his body.

"You fight with spirit," Wen Qing said, almost amused, "but spirit alone won't save you."

Li Xuan grimaced, feeling the strain in his arms as he blocked a series of rapid strikes from Wen Qing's sword. Every movement felt calculated, as though Wen Qing was ten steps ahead of him. His Qi was controlled, precise—just enough to amplify his strikes but never too much to waste energy.

Li Jian, meanwhile, felt his strength beginning to wane as the poison from Shi Yong's touch spread further. He swung wildly, trying to break free, but Shi Yong was too slippery. With a twist of his body, Shi Yong slammed Li Jian into the ground, his thin lips curling into a cruel smile.

"You're strong," Shi Yong said, his voice low and mocking, "but not strong enough."

From the shadows at the back of the room, a new presence made itself known. Xiao Lan stepped forward, her jade-like skin shimmering in the low light. She smiled, licking her lips, the hunger in her eyes unmistakable.

"Let's make this quick," Xiao Lan said, her voice sultry, "I'm in the mood for some fun."

With a burst of speed, Xiao Lan lunged at Li Xuan, her movements more animalistic than human. She didn't fight with the elegance of Wen Qing or the subtlety of Shi Yong. She fought with raw, savage power, her fists infused with bloodlust and Qi. Each strike she threw was meant to tear, to break, to draw blood.

Li Xuan barely managed to block her first strike, the force of her attack sending him stumbling backward. Her second strike was already coming—faster, more vicious—but before it could land, something shifted in the air.

A figure appeared in the doorway. Old Yao, the healer, moved with a grace that belied his age, his hands already raised in a defensive stance. His face was calm, but his eyes were sharp, focused.

"You should've stayed hidden, old man," Xiao Lan snarled, her lips curling into a predatory smile.

But Old Yao didn't respond. Instead, he moved. Fast.

His first strike was a palm thrust, aimed directly at Xiao Lan's chest. She barely had time to react, raising her arms to block, but the force of the blow sent her skidding backward across the floor. The moment she regained her balance, Yao was already upon her again. His movements were fluid, each strike precise and devastating, his hands moving with a practiced ease that spoke of decades of martial training.

Xiao Lan snarled, her Qi flaring wildly as she tried to match his strikes. She lashed out with a vicious kick, aiming for Yao's ribs, but he sidestepped it effortlessly, delivering a crushing blow to her exposed side. Her eyes widened in shock as the air was driven from her lungs, but her expression quickly twisted into rage.

Meanwhile, Shi Yong had released Li Jian, turning his attention to Yao. His hands moved in intricate patterns, a sickly green Qi forming around his fingers as he prepared to unleash his poison techniques. He lashed out with a flurry of strikes, his Qi laced with venom, but Yao was already moving.

With a swift, precise motion, Yao deflected each of Shi Yong's strikes, his hand brushing the assassin's wrist just enough to send his attacks off course. Shi Yong's face twisted in frustration as he tried to find an opening, but Yao's defense was impenetrable.

"You rely too much on poison," Yao said calmly, his voice steady even in the heat of battle.

Shi Yong's eyes flashed with anger, and he lunged forward, desperate to land a blow. But Yao was faster. With a sharp twist of his body, he slammed his elbow into Shi Yong's chest, sending him crashing to the ground.

Wen Qing, watching from the side, knew better than to attack recklessly. He moved with careful precision, circling Yao, his blade glinting in the dim light. Yao's eyes flicked toward him, and in an instant, Wen Qing struck. His blade moved like lightning, but Yao met it with his palm, deflecting the strike just enough to avoid the killing blow.

Wen Qing's eyes narrowed as he stepped back, recalculating his approach. He feinted left, then struck right, his blade arcing toward Yao's throat. But Yao was already there, his hand catching the blade in mid-swing, the force of the Qi in his palm shattering the weapon.

Before Wen Qing could react, Yao's fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground beside Shi Yong.

Xiao Lan, now enraged, charged at Yao with a wild scream, her fists glowing with blood-red Qi. But Yao moved with a dancer's grace, dodging her strikes and delivering sharp, devastating blows to her body. She fought like a beast, but Yao's control over his martial arts was absolute. With a final, powerful strike, he sent Xiao Lan crashing to the floor, gasping for breath.

But before Yao could even catch his own, the walls of the small room shook.

The air grew thick with malice as a towering figure appeared in the doorway. Bo Xiāo, his hulking frame filling the entrance, stepped forward. His golden and jade Hanfu shimmered, but it was his eyes—cold and filled with cruel amusement—that struck fear into the room. His muscles rippled beneath his robes, his presence suffocating.

"You've made quite a mess of my lieutenants, old man," Bo Xiāo said, his voice low and dangerous. "But this ends now."

Yao's eyes narrowed as he shifted into a defensive stance. Bo Xiāo didn't hesitate. He moved with the force of an avalanche, his fist swinging with terrifying speed and strength. Yao blocked, but the impact sent shockwaves through his body, his feet digging into the ground as he struggled to hold his position.

Bo Xiāo grinned, his next punch already coming. He fought like a beast unleashed—raw power combined with brutal, efficient martial arts. His strikes weren't just fast; they were devastating, each one aimed to break. Yao deflected where he could, but Bo Xiāo's strength was overwhelming. Every block, every counterattack, drained Yao's energy.

With a savage roar, Bo Xiāo grabbed Yao by the arm and threw him across the room. Yao crashed into the wall with a sickening thud, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Before he could recover, Bo Xiāo was on him again, his fist slamming into Yao's ribs with enough force to crack bone.

"You're strong, old man," Bo Xiāo growled, his voice a mixture of amusement and cruelty. "But you're no match for me."

Yao gasped for breath, his body broken, his Qi depleted. With one final, devastating strike, Bo Xiāo brought his fist down on Yao's chest, shattering his ribs and driving the life from his body.

The room fell silent, save for the faint crackling of the brazier. Bo Xiāo stood over the healer's body, his breathing steady, his expression cold.

He turned to the brothers, who lay bruised and beaten on the ground, barely conscious.

"You two," Bo Xiāo said, his voice sharp and commanding, "you're coming with me."

Li Jian, his vision blurred, tried to speak, but the pain in his body was overwhelming. Li Xuan, equally broken, could only stare up at Bo Xiāo, his mind racing.

"You have potential," Bo Xiāo continued, his tone devoid of emotion. "I can use you. You'll join my gang, or you'll die here."

Without waiting for a response, Bo Xiāo grabbed both brothers by the arms and hauled them to their feet. His grip was iron, his strength undeniable.

As Bo Xiāo dragged the brothers from the room, his lieutenants still lay unconscious on the floor, their usefulness to him now at an end. Bo Xiāo didn't look back.

Weaklings had no place in his world.