Chapter 32: Fate's Narrow Path

Chapter 32: Fate’s Narrow Path

“Well, well, it’s that coward!”

Sha Lifei had clearly spotted him too, instinctively hunching his shoulders and slouching, but when he saw Li Yan standing ramrod straight with his left hand gripping the sword hilt, his face fell. He immediately straightened up.

“I’m back,” Li Yan announced calmly.

Master Zhou snorted and moved to lead his group into the courtyard.

A fat man with his chest bare nearby sneered, “Well, Master Zhou’s a man of his word! We were just saying, if you didn’t come back soon, we’d have gone in ourselves—”

“Step aside!”

Before he could finish, a hand shot out, shoving him backward with a stumble. The man started to curse but clamped his mouth shut when he saw who it was.

The culprit was none other than Meng Haicheng.

He stared at Li Yan, eyes gleaming with vindictive joy. “Well, well, fate brings us together again! I was just thinking about hunting you down!”

Li Yan shot him a cold glance. “Still not satisfied? Want another round?”

Hearing their exchange, Master Zhou’s expression shifted. He hadn’t expected the young man behind Master Wang to also have a grudge with the Iron Blade Gang.

“Satisfied? I’ll show you satisfaction!” Meng Haicheng spat, his face reddening. “Forget it! Let’s take this brat down first, brothers!”

“Right, Hai-ge!” A group of ruffians surged forward.

“Hey, hey!” Sha Lifei panicked, shouting, “Meng Haicheng, you shameless bastard! Ganging up on one person? What about Jianghu rules?!”

Meng Haicheng scoffed, “Rules? You dare talk to me about rules?!”

Whoosh!

Before he finished speaking, a shadow lunged forward.

Li Yan had struck first, his left hand thrusting forward while his right swept low.

“You again with this move!” Meng Haicheng snarled, his temper flaring.

Last time, Li Yan had used the same stance to land a crushing crown-elbow strike, forcing Meng to drop his Wheat Reapers and flee in disgrace. That humiliation had ruined his reputation as a Wheat Reaper—no one would work with a swordsman who abandoned his weapon mid-battle, no matter the reason.

As for Li Yan’s hope that Zhou Pan would protect him, Meng knew better. His master was a ruthless man. If Zhou learned Meng had been bested and humiliated, he’d punish him severely.

So Meng had fled the life of a swordsman, swallowing his pride and coming to Xianyang City to grovel as a henchman under his senior apprentice.

Now, seeing Li Yan charge, Meng stood his ground.

He crouched low, twisting his waist, his right arm snapping upward like a coiled spring. His posture resembled a squatting macaque—Zhou Pan’s deadly technique.

If Li Yan attempted the crown-elbow strike again, Meng would counter with the “Old Ape Plummets from Branch,” a vicious kick aimed straight at his opponent’s crotch, crippling him for life. If Li Yan switched to a side kick, Meng would retaliate with “Macaque Entangles Silk,” clawing at his eyes and tearing his face to shreds. Every variation was brutal, covering upper, middle, and lower strikes. This time, he’d be ready.

But Li Yan’s hand, which had swept low, suddenly gripped his sword hilt. In a flash, he changed tactics.

Clang!

The blade sliced through the rain like a streak of cold lightning.

Guanzhong Quickblade was no ordinary technique. Before Meng could react, a blade was already pressed to his throat, breaking the skin with a chill.

To the onlookers, the scene was absurd:

Meng crouched like a monkey, while Li Yan loomed over him, sword raised as if slaying a beast.

Humiliated again, Meng roared, “You fight with fists, then draw a blade? No rules?!”

Li Yan arched a brow. “Rules… You dare talk to me about rules?”

“You—”

Meng’s mind reeled with rage. Before he could speak, his face paled. Li Yan advanced, blade in hand, forcing him to stumble backward into the courtyard.

Without turning, Li Yan’s voice cut cold and calm: “Step through this gate, and you’ll get his head as a gift.”

The Iron Blade Gang outside weren’t cowed. These men lived on borrowed time, their lives as fleeting as candle flames. The previous dynasty called them “Lahu,” the Golden Horde called them “Stateless Ronin,” and secret societies dubbed them “No Fate Society”—all names for desperate men.

Like the “Gang Pots” in Jinmen, who drew lots for death matches—boiling oil, three cuts and six wounds, eye-gouging. A true man didn’t flinch.

Guanzhong folk were stubborn, fierce, and unyielding. A man with one eye larger than the other stepped forward, Heartpoint Dagger in hand, and sneered, “Oh, you’ve got a blade, huh?” He jabbed a finger at his own throat.

“Come on then! Let my brother go, slash right here, kill me and prove you’re a real man! Brothers, watch this!”

The gang roared with laughter, unafraid.

They’d seen countless swordsmen—dealing with them was simple: play dirty.

The Great Xuan Dynasty’s laws were strict, treating Jianghu and mystic sects alike. Kill someone in daylight, and you’d be hunted with a bounty.

But they had the Iron Blade Gang’s backing, bribes covering their tracks. And technically, they were just loitering at the door—no crime at all.

Their logic was simple: If the swordsman killed them, he’d be hunted by both the law and the gang. But if he hesitated…

This was their moment to shine.

Li Yan didn’t waste words. He snorted coldly, twisting the blade deeper into Meng’s throat. Blood gushed, staining Meng’s torso.

“Don’t! Don’t!” Meng’s face turned ghostly pale, his voice shrill. “Back off! He’s mad! Do you want me dead?!”

The gang halted, but their gazes at Meng were now laced with mockery.

He was the boss’s junior apprentice—his death would be a headache. But when the moment came, he’d crumbled.

Li Yan ignored them. Their rules were nothing like Jianghu cultivators’. Their “strength” was just lawless bullying, hiding behind legal loopholes and terrorizing commoners.

In the wilds, without the law’s shield, he’d have slaughtered them all without hesitation.

The commotion had stirred the courtyard. From the dilapidated mansion, a crowd poured out—men, women, elders, and children, most unarmed. A tear-streaked girl clutched a broom, an elderly musician trembled with a dagger, children brandished sticks. Young men glared fiercely.

Li Yan understood why Master Zhou, despite his skill, dared not resist.

Shadow Puppetry troupes typically required singers, puppeteers, and instrumentalists. Sometimes a singer doubled as a musician, and with a dedicated puppeteer, two could form a troupe for temple fairs.

Clearly, the Spring Breeze Troupe was large, bringing their families and children.

In these days of rampant land consolidation, people clung to their homes. Only when stripped of land would they flee into the Jianghu, dragging their families.

“Nothing to worry about,” Master Zhou soothed, his voice strained but steady. “This is Master Wang I’ve invited. Return to your rooms, don’t get involved.”

He glanced at Li Yan, words unspoken.

He’d had no choice but to invite a savior who’d also become a disaster. One reckless slash, and the hotheaded youth could vanish, but the troupe would face the Iron Blade Gang’s wrath.

Master Zhou was out of options.

Wang Daoxuan’s expression softened slightly. “Master Zhou, rest assured. I’ll handle your matter.”

Seeing the troupe’s vulnerable faces, his suspicions eased. These were no skin-flaying cultists.

Still, he turned to Li Yan.

Li Yan held his sword in one hand, the other forming a Yang Seal. He inhaled deeply, the scents within a hundred meters flooding his nose before he shut them out with a Yin Seal.

The stench from the boxes was purely animal hide. No trace of dark sorcery.

He nodded to Wang Daoxuan, then suddenly kicked a stone from the ground, caught it mid-air, and hurled it over the wall.

The Flying Locust Stone technique was common in Jianghu. Li Yan had once herded sheep, honing his aim to strike their horns and steer them.

“Hey, you coward!” A scream erupted as the stone flew.

A gang member had been sneaking over the wall to take a hostage.

Li Yan smirked, slapping Meng’s face with the sword hilt. “Decide—today or later?”

Meng gritted his teeth. “Today?”

“Simple,” Li Yan said. “I kill you, slaughter the rest, get hunted by the court, and vanish elsewhere.”

Meng swallowed hard. “Later?”

Li Yan lifted his gaze. “Then follow Jianghu rules. After this job, I’ll fight you openly—anyone you choose, to the death!”

Meng had no choice but to snarl, “Fine! Don’t run when the time comes!”

Li Yan scoffed. “A son of Li Hu, fleeing Zhou Hou’s territory? You’d be happy, but I’m not!”

With that, he kicked Meng out the gate.

Meng, skilled in martial arts, steadied himself mid-stumble and roared, “Brat! Three days from now, I’ll bury you!”

“We’re leaving!” He barked, storming off.

Once they vanished, Li Yan turned. “Sha Laoshu, spread the word—Li Hu’s son is here. They’ll have no choice but to fight!”

“Got it!” Sha Lifei rushed out, understanding instantly.

As Wang Daoxuan watched, he nodded. “Tomorrow should clear up. Master Zhou, prepare your things.”

“Tonight,” Li Yan said, “we go to the Chaotic Burial Mound.”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end